Blessings of Immeasurable Worth

I'm no stranger to the saying that blessings come in all sorts of shapes and sizes and usually when you least expect them. I've witnessed it happening at several pivotal moments in my life. I must say though that these last two weeks have been full of nothing short of trials and tests and ultimately the revealing of the loving hands of a Father that desires to shower His children with His richest blessings.

I believe some of the richest blessings are in the people that you come in contact with throughout the course of your life. Some of them are there to refine you. Some are there to strengthen and sharpen you. Others are there to shape and mold. And a precious group of them are there to become more like your family.

Recently I've been introduced to a group of people that make you feel as though you are a part of a family. I had often heard the pledge drive on the radio and thought to myself that I really should make the time to go volunteer, but it always seemed like there was something blocking my schedule from participating. This year I decided that it was going to be different and I was going to be a part of it no matter what. Through the training course, I distinctly heard God telling me that this was exactly where He wanted me to be. Furthermore, I had a story to share. For those who don't know me well, you should know that I keep a lot of things to myself and rarely share them with people I don't know. It's one of those deep rooted protection mechanisms that I have a hard time relinquishing control. There was something different about this group. There was a feeling of safety there. So after learning where to submit my story, I wrote out the brief version and sent it in. No big deal, and really not a second thought about this act of obedience.

About a week later, I arrived for my first volunteer shift. It was an absolutely incredible atmosphere to be in, almost overwhelming at first. Shortly after arriving, I found the sweet lady responsible for sending out the birthday cards for the station and knew I needed to express my thanks in person. In doing so, I had an opportunity to share a bit about the two heart testimony I had written about. I went back to my chair and took a couple of calls before supper arrived. Before long, I had another opportunity to share my story and found out that my story was on the station website... I was shocked to say the least. I knew an opportunity to share this part of my testimony was coming but I had no idea that it was going to be in this manner.

This experience has introduced me to a group of people that I absolutely consider to be a part of that special group I call my "family of friends." They are all special to me. It is not very often that you find a group of people that greet you warmly, no matter where you see them, like this group. I know that this experience was just another way of Father God reaching down and hugging me with human arms. They are a blessing of immeasurable worth to me... Their names? I hope I get them all... Carrie, Mike, Jennifer, Jeff, Kevin, Chad, Troy, Margie, Jill, and Anna... Plus countless others from the "phone zone." It's an experience I will not soon forget.
How has God blessed you today?

Are you living full or empty?

"Are you going to live full or empty?"
Quite a question to ask of anyone. I propose that the answer to this question is that we should do both. That's impossible you might be tempted to say. You can't live both full and empty. Allow me to take you on a journey through this point of view.

Are you going to live full? We can be full of many things. Full of love, full of life, full of ideas, full of hate, full of ____ you fill in the blank. It is a list with endless possibilities. Being full of something always requires you to be empty of other things. You can't be full of love and hate at the same time. You can't be full of compassion and selfishness. You choose what you will be filled with.

My question is this... What are you being filled with that is taking up the space that God wants for himself? This requires a long hard look into the deepest recesses of your heart and a true examination of its motives. Admittedly this is not an easy examination. It reveals shortcomings and no one wants to admit that they have them.

I want to live my life full and empty. I want to be full of the things that bring God glory. I want to be full of love, kindness, patience, gentleness, and all of the rest of the fruits of the Spirit. I want to be full of joy... That's a choice and will be a future post... I want to be full of compassion for others. All of these require one thing. A choice to turn my back on the negative things that try to take their place. It's not an easy path to walk. It takes willing obedience.

Today's the day to choose! Are you going to live full or empty?

Growing Pains

     Change is inevitable. I myself am a creature of habit. I like to be scheduled and absolutely know what is happening moment to moment. Being off schedule bothers me. I know if you looked in my classroom or inside my brain you wouldn't see any way for that to be the case... Her? Scheduled?!? Yeah Right!!! Scattered, disorganized ... A mess would be more like it. I like to know what I'm doing and thrive on that knowledge. Blindly following a path isn't my typical go to plan. When someone steps in and tries to change even the most minute of aspects, my first instinct is to dig I'm my heels and hold on with all my strength.

     I honestly believed that I had my role in this body of believers figured out. I'm a teacher by nature. It seems to come from my very core. I don't plan it. It just happens. My thoughts turn to a project to highlight a concept or a story. My mind often wanders coming up with a different way to instruct or teach... It's my second nature. I'd committed to teaching another year of Sunday school without reservation. Again, it's second nature. My world rocked slightly as I found out that it wasn't to be that way. Being a Sunday school member isn't new... It's going to be a change because that certainly isn't an environment that I flourish in. I tend to sit back quietly and take in the conversation of the room rather than offering my opinion or insight for fear of being ridiculed or said to be wrong... either to my face or behind my back. Probably irrational but real to me nonetheless. I'm okay with sitting back and listening. It takes a while for my mind to process things sometimes especially when I decide to go chasing rabbits with a random thought... I have a feeling that whichever class I end up attending this won't necessarily be the case. I'm not entirely sure what the purpose behind this change is... teaching is one of those things that causes joy to emanate from my soul. I'm not entirely sure why even though I love it, it feels as though an entirely too heavy burden has been lifted from my shoulders and transferred to someone's who are much more broad and capable. I LOVE to teach... what about that became a burden? What causes the switch from emanating joy to burdensome task? Was it my heart motive? Was it my time to move on? I don't have all of the answers to these questions. All I want is to understand this change and what the end result is going to be... I get that I'm not ready to handle all of that information just yet. I still have the desire to know what is going on. I guess that just goes back to the original part of my nature that I talked about earlier.

     Just when I thought my boat was steadying from the waves another surge appeared on the horizon. Was I prepared? Absolutely NOT!!!! In fact at this time I can honestly say that I was completely blind sided... I suppose this part needs a bit of background information. My name is Melody Ann. It means "Song" "Grace-Favor". It seems like from birth I've had a definite course to be a musician of some sort. In school, I was an average musician. I sat in the middle of the section and always strived to be better. I didn't exactly know what I wanted to be when I grew up... I love music... logical choice. I changed majors for about the millionth time and began the journey of being a seriously committed musician. It was hard work, but I don't mind the challenge. I thrive on those challenges. While at SFA, I changed to general education with a minor in music and eventually contracted Bell's palsy. My boat rocked... not too badly but still it rocked. After graduation UT Tyler with a BSIS, I hadn't played in ages. I missed it but didn't see any opportunities. Then TCAWM happened and it became clear what God was asking. Play! Play for me! Play with JOY! Joy emanates from my soul when I play. Certain songs aren't the same when I sing them. "Beautiful" "How Great is Our God" "I Will Rise" just to name a few. Singing these songs is nice... Playing them is incredible. I've been blessed to be a part of the praise band through changes and reworking and everything always turns out to be incredible. I was able to play at my dad's funeral. Amazing ministry opportunities. Change is coming. Unlike the teaching change, I don't want to be receptive. I don't want to but whether or not the change is coming. A few weeks ago I was asked about singing in a praise choir. Without hesitation I said sure. My head caught up with my heart and I had to qualify that sure. I like to sing and I happen to do a good job, but my heart truly lies in playing. My steadily rocking boat was about to capsize. I vocalized my reservations and all too quickly was informed that my priority will become singing. WHY?!?!?  My response "Yes sir." Plaster on the smile make it to private surroundings then and only then may the tears fall. Don't let them see you hurt. It's all okay. That facade is tough to maintain for very long. My resolve to hold it together is quickly crumbling. My questions... Was I don't something wrong? Am I not good enough? Why is something being taken away that I love and being replaced with something that I only happen to do well? I don’t understand it at all. My mind can't comprehend this change. Perhaps I don't have the correct perspective. I'm too close. Emotions are too raw. This need time to marinate and absorb. I'd love to believe that this will be a quick process. Change requires time and pressure. The strength of the pressure may determine the length of time. It could be a proportional relationship. However it goes back to my original statement. Change is inevitable. 

     Proverbs 1:7 "The fear of the Lord is the beginning of knowledge, but fools despise wisdom and instruction." Knowledge brings about change. Foolish people look at that knowledge and run from its acquisition. Am I ready for knowledge? I believe so. Therefore I've got to endure some growing pains. I don't want to hurt. I'll do most anything to avoid it. Most normal people would do the same. I’m not really resistant to this bout of growing pains, but I have a sense of hesitancy mixed with expectation. I look forward to where this newly illuminated section of the path on my journey will lead, but I'm not sure I'm ready to take the first step. I'm certain of just one thing. Whether or not I take the step down this path the growing pains are going to come. It's going to hurt no doubt about it. However remaining stationary isn't going to make the pain easier to take. In fact remaining stationary will most likely increase the intensity and duration of the pain. Don't get me wrong. I'd like to sit down and pitch a good old fashioned screaming hollering fit. At this point in time it only feels like it would be a waste of precious time and energy. It isn't going to change the eventual outcome. Acting out in rebellion isn’t going to make a difference. I’m still going to have to make these changes. The attitude of my heart determines the outcome of the changes. If I am accepting and open to the changes, the transition will be easy. If I choose to rebel, I open myself up to a plethora of consequences that I am certain I don’t want to deal with. Obedience brings blessings. It’s a fairly simple choice when looking at it in those terms. Blessings versus discipline and correction, growth versus stagnation… It’s a lot clearer when put in those terms or at least it is for me.

Change is coming… the question is will I be ready?

Until next time,

~Melody~

Perspective

I drove by a church recently and was struck by the message on the sign in front of the building. It read "God can change your life". I've driven by this sign several times since I first saw it and every time I am hit with the same reaction. I believe the word choice is incorrect.

I suppose it's all a matter of the perspective you use to evaluate things with. On the surface the message of the sign is true. God is absolutely in the business of changing lives. I propose though that it is not a matter of whether of not He is able to change your life. There is no question about the power that God holds that will forever change your life. The point is God will change your life. There is no question about that fact. The question comes in whether or not you will allow that change to happen.

God has given us a free will. We have the choice to either respond to God or to reject him. The fact of the matter is that we have done absolutely nothing to deserve to have this choice. The truth of it all is that we are loved beyond belief by God who chose to send his son to earth to be born of a virgin, live a sinless life, be tried and found guilty of crimes he did not commit, and then sent to die on a cross bearing the wrath of God for all of our sins-- past, present, and future. That kind of love is hard to comprehend at times. It doesn't make sense that someone loves me in spite of all of the things I do that grieve His heart. That's what makes His love different. It was a choice on His part to give His son. It's a choice on our part to accept that gift freely. The consequences for rejection.... Far more steep than anything I would want to pay.

I say all of this to tell you one thing. Choose wisely. Choose carefully. Radical change will happen when you allow God to have control over your life. You will be able to do things you never imagined because they aren't being done in your strength or power. Take time and just look back and marvel at the things that God has done and watch expectantly for what is coming in the future. You won't be disappointed!

Heart's Desires

How often do you hear someone say I want this or that with all my heart? I wish for ----... There are millions of things that could go in that blank. We wish we were skinnier, prettier, richer... And the list goes on endlessly.

I am no different. I could fill that blank in with endless things. However if you really took time to examine that list how many of them are on that list for purely selfish reasons? I would be lying if I said there were no things in my list that aren't selfish. I want more time with my mom and dad-- just because I want to remember what their voices sound like and to feel them give me a hug again. There is nothing to be gained from this desire... Except to possibly bring a tear or two to my eyes and what benefit does that have truly?
In recent months, weeks, days, and even hours I find myself pondering on a lone thought. What are the deepest desires of my heart?

I can say without a doubt the two deepest desires of my heart are to get married and to learn the location where God has for me to be on the mission field. In looking at these desires I am forced to question myself... What is the motive in my heart behind these? If it is all about self and serving my wants then the likelihood of God allowing the blessing of those desires to happen is slim. If the intent of my heart is to serve, praise, and honor God then I truly believe that He will give me above and beyond anything my heart could desire. In saying that it is also about waiting for the right timing. Rushing God's timing is about as useful as trying to stop a ship from sinking using a teaspoon. It won't work. It only leads to frustration and anger.

So what's the solution? For me, for now, all I know is that I have to do everything I can to gather the knowledge that is waiting for me to glean from those people around me. I believe that there are things God is teaching and changing about me that would not have been as easy to accomplish if I was married. I have learned a lot about what I do and don't want out of a relationship. I've seen things that I want to remember to do when I am finally married. God has shown me things about that glorious day. I choose to keep most of them to myself because for now they are secret surprises that will be revealed when the time comes. For now I am filing things away that I'm learning and getting myself ready for that day when I meet the man that I am going to spend the rest of my life with. I can only control me and my life. My future husband is in God's hands and when we are both ready that's when things will fall into place. I've seen it happen with my own eyes... My prince is yet to come, but when he does... I want to be ready!

Heart Motive

Heart motive.
Have you checked yours lately? It is the driving force behind everything you say and do, and is a rather important thing to consider.
The implied meaning of spoken swords have become extraordinarily important to me here in recent weeks. I began to think I was the victim of some cruel hormonal experiment before recognizing that my emotions were merely responding to a prayer I had prayed recently. I had no idea at the time that praying for my spirit to be receptive to external things and to guide me in correct responses was going to lead me down a path in this direction.
I hear people talking all of the time, but now it's different. My heart hears things in an entirely new way. Many times I believe the speaker had no intention for the message to come across as it did to me, but nonetheless it did. The implied meaning of their words comes across in facial expressions, tone of voice, and body language in general. Mean, hateful words followed by "bless her heart" , "I'm just sayin'", or a million other socially acceptable phrases don't change the true meaning. The heart motive was to tear down and destroy. I suppose there are millions of examples I could choose from, but one sticks out most in my mind currently. Not too long ago I was out shopping with some friends and casually remarked about a future wedding present of Fiestaware... Not that there are any prospects at this time, but being the only single girl in my group of friends, I often daydream about that blissful event. Comments made at that time while likely not intended to hurt someone's feelings did just that. I walked away from that display feeling as though my dreams had been crushed and thrown by the wayside. It would have been easy to react with the motive of hurting someone else as much as I had been hurt... Not what I had prayed for... I prayed for discernment. I prayed for knowledge. God was showing me what I asked for... Just not in the manner I expected. I took a step back, walked away, and contemplated this event. Did I cry?? Well sure... Was I hurt??? You bet... Did my friend intend to hurt my feelings? Probably not. The message was cloaked with the ever popular "I'm just sayin". Still what was the heart motive?
Words spoken out of anger, frustration, or any other emotion besides love are best left unsaid. I want the words that I speak to come across as love. I may have a hard message to bring, but I believe even hard messages can be spoken with love.

Until next time,
~Melody~

Healing Continues Here

There was a ring that I’d worn since high school on my left ring finger. It was special. My daddy had given that ring to me in honor of a promise that I’d made to remain pure for my future husband.  The night the man took that purity away forcibly, I threw the ring in the bottom of my jewelry box, wanting to never see it again. It was a painful reminder that I had broken a promise. I had to lie to my dad and tell him that I lost the ring in the jumble of working three different jobs. I am fairly certain that he knew the truth, but he never asked any questions. I hated lying to him but that was easier than facing up to the reaction that would have come from just telling him the truth. I couldn’t have dealt with the look of disappointment that would have been on his face if he knew the truth. In some ways, I guess I was scared that he wouldn’t love in the same way. My dad’s approval was important. It was important that he was pleased with me and the things that I did. Instead, I threw myself into work.

I was searching for a place to belong where there was no pressure to fit into a set of societal standards.  I wasn’t pretty enough for the campus sororities. I wasn’t smart enough for the academic societies. I wasn’t a talented enough musician to make my dreams of being a music teacher come true. I didn’t fit in at the church that I was attending at the time. I began to believe the voice that said I was dirty, filthy, unlovable, shameful, a disappointment to my family. Those words pierced my inner being and stuck. I couldn’t trust people around me. They wouldn’t understand. They would judge and I didn’t need their condemnation on top of what I was already heaping on myself. I truly began to believe that the nagging voice that said these things was speaking the truth. I’d broken the promise. That’s what it all boiled down to. I was to blame and until I could forgive myself nothing was going to change.

You know to be perfectly honest; I have never considered myself a pretty person. Not really pretty. Of course the images and ideas of what makes someone pretty in my head were far from the reality of the matter. I know that I don’t fit into that Barbie, super model mold of what society finds to be the image of beauty and perfection.  Weight has been a struggle for as long as I can remember.  It never failed that every summer, I vowed to eat healthier, lose weight, and look better. I started out great. I stuck to the diet and workout regimen. And then one day, the images from the night of the rape, the sights, sounds, and smells begin to flash through my mind. Conversations replayed. Attention from people would come noting the change in my appearance and how pretty I was starting to look. I couldn’t handle it. I didn’t want that kind of attention and I would decide then and there that I didn’t want to be pretty. It wasn’t worth it. It wasn’t worth the risk of attracting another man that would treat me the same way as the one before had. Keeping a distance from people was the only safety that I could find. Looking the way that I do doesn’t attract the wrong kind of attention from men. There was safety in that knowledge. There for I stay the same, hating the fact that I am single and alone but comfortable knowing that it keeps me “safe”. This is such a messed up way of thinking.  It almost sounds self-destructive. It’s become my normal mode of thinking and it MUST change.

I am a lot more broken than I originally wanted to admit. Today is the day that I am saying enough is enough. My righteousness isn’t dependent upon anything I did or didn’t do. It comes from Jesus who paid the price for my sins and sent the fullness of the blessings from the throne room of God to me. I can’t believe this statement and listen to the accusing voice of the Enemy. Today I declare, Satan you have no more right to accuse or torment me about this rape. It was not my fault nor did I ask for it to happen. You no longer have the right to accuse or harass because I am choosing to stand in my authority as a Christian and rebuke this wrong way of thinking. I am cherished. I am precious. I am loved. Most of all I am forgiven and therefore you have no right to stand.

Healing is an interesting thing. It doesn’t come in the way that you think it is going to all of the time. We pray for healing at the drop of a hat. Someone asks you to pray for them or someone they know who is sick or hurt or whatever. You pray. Did you stop to think about what you are praying? Does healing always come in the form of the physical removal of an illness or injury? I can attest to the fact that it does not. The next part of my journey through healing begins with my daddy. Probably from the day I was born, I was a daddy’s girl. The song by Red Sovine called Daddy’s Girl probably sums it up just about right. The song describes a dad and daughter who do EVERYTHING together. That was us. You didn’t see my dad without seeing me trailing behind. We were fishing buddies, even though I had the attention span of a goldfish for fishing. It didn’t matter. We were spending time together.  My dad was my biggest fan and at times my harshest critic. It didn’t matter. He was paying attention to me and that was all I wanted. I wanted him to notice that I was being good or was good at something. There is just something special to a little girl about attention from her father. It makes her feel cherished, special, loved. It is important in developing her character where a husband in concerned. She learns about dating and the ways that a woman should be treated. The need to be noticed became that much stronger when he separated from my mother and began a relationship with another woman. It wasn’t easy seeing his attention that had been just for me was devoted to another woman’s children. I worked harder, smiled more, and tried to do everything better. It wasn’t enough. I was seen as spoiled and ungrateful because I had grandparents that lovingly took me in when no one else wanted me. I had everything I needed in their house except the one thing that I wanted… my dad. It almost seemed like he belonged to the other family. That’s how it felt to me at least. I felt abandoned and alone. I wasn’t accustomed to feeling this way. It had always been me and Dad. This other woman felt like an intruder into something special.  I made attempts to like her because it was the only way to still get time with my dad. Over time, things became different. Dad settled into a life with her and her children, and it wasn’t long before there was another child being born. Things most certainly changed after that. I was torn between wanting to live in the stability of my grandparents’ house and wanting to live in the crazy new normal at my dad’s house. Nothing made sense anymore. I poured myself into schoolwork and getting better grades. I was focused on being the perfect child and perfect student so that dad would notice and bring some of that attention back to me where I felt it belonged to begin with.  I thrived in this random chaos. It was the perfect outlet for a perfectionist attention seeking child.  It was sometime when I was in junior high that Dad began to have heart problems. He had several angioplasties over the years to open blocked arteries. It was when I was in college that he finally had to have quadruple bypass surgery. After many days in the ICU on a ventilator, things began to turn around for the better.  Diets changed for short term periods. It was a strange cycle of doctor visits, hospitalizations, and attempted life style changes. He had a defibrillator/pacemaker installed in his chest which helped temporarily, but eventually more needed to be done. Finally Dr. Leatherman suggested that he visit with Dr. Hall at Baylor Medical Center in Dallas. There was talk of a heart transplant, medications, and a wide variety of other options. It was during this time that I remember beginning to pray for miraculous healing. My deepest desire was for God to heal his heart and give him the testimony to proclaim to the world. He was hospitalized in Dallas in August right before my second year of teaching was to begin. I would love to say that my focus was wholly on him, but it wasn’t. I had a job to do and very little time to prepare to do it. I knew it was direly important for me to be the best I could be at this job, but it was also direly important for me to focus on my time with him. I had no idea at that time how important it would be. Dr. Hall determined that the best course of action for Dad was to put him at the bottom of the transplant list, install a PICC line, and start him on a course of medication touted to improve the quality of your life but possibly shorten the quantity.  It seemed like the solution we were all searching for. In fact there was a time that daddy got a phone call to get to the hospital ASAP because he was number two on the transplant list and if the heart wasn’t right for the number one candidate and It was for him he would get the heart. There was more than one occasion that we were at the hospital for doctors visits and we would see the doctor with the cooler that said heart on it. It was a strange assurance that there was hope on this new leg of the journey.  Around the beginning of November, the decision was made to send dad to the hospital to stay until he got a new heart. It was the only way to ensure that he stayed at the top of the transplant list without his status having to be reviewed every two weeks. He moved into a room in the ICU and life took on a new normal. We talked on the phone every day and had regular visits on Saturdays. The nurses often commented about how he was the healthiest sick person on the floor. It was true. He was able to walk around the floor to keep up muscle strength. He began to work on watercolor pictures. His art was absolutely gorgeous. His talent was amazing. He played marathon games of scrabble and sorry with the nursing staff. He had conversations about pace maker replacements with one of his nurses. Things took a turn for the worse near the end of January. They had to implant a device to help circulate his blood because his heart just couldn’t do it anymore. Just before that surgery would be the last time I would talk to my father and have an actual conversation. The device did its job, but it was determined that Dad couldn’t wait any longer for a heart and the Jarvis mechanical heart was his best option. The only drawback is that having the mechanical heart implanted automatically sends you back to the bottom of the transplant list. The prognosis with the mechanical heart was good and most people decide to just live with the mechanical heart. The surgery was to take place on Monday February 1^st. I took off of work and was prepared to sit through the hour’s long surgery knowing that the outcome would be fine. I had prayed for this healing and finally it seemed as though that was going to take place. On Saturday night, the hospital called and said that Dad had acquired an infection and his health was declining quickly. We found out that because of the infection and the fever he would not be able to have the operation on Monday. We gathered around the bed and watched as the nurses came in repeatedly to check vital signs or to stop some machine from beeping. We hadn’t been there long when both the nurse and Dr. Hall came in to talk to us. She told us that his time was short. His heart was showing signs of shutting down. His kidneys weren’t working and his liver was beginning to shut down. We talked with the chaplain and spent most of the time in tears. Everyone else left the room to go secure hotel rooms in the hospital hotel for the night. I stayed in the room. Dad and I had our final conversation. I told him how much I loved him and how much he meant to me. I had gotten a text message from a friend asking me to relay a message of thanks to him. I did and tears began to stream from his eyes. I knew he understood. It wasn’t very long before I found myself tearfully telling him that it was okay for him to go to Heaven. It was okay for him to let go. I said it, but in my heart I didn’t mean it. My champion. My hero. I was telling him it was okay to be gone from me for the rest of my life. That wasn’t really okay.  I wanted him to be here forever. Who else was going to understand me? Who understood the absolute hilarity of Vivian and Victor? Who knew how to make Ken do pushups for hours? Who was going to be there when I got married? Who would be there when I was sad or happy or needed someone to just listen? Who knew the significance of I love you all my muches, Shucky, the blanket show, schwa, and all of the other millions of memories we had together? I felt like a part of my heart was dying with him. Healing came to my daddy that night in the ICU. It wasn’t in the form that I believed I had prayed for. I never prayed for him to die. I prayed for a new heart to come so that he could do the things he wanted to do. Daddy did get a new heart and a new body to go along with it. The heart that God chose to provide was far superior to any that I could have found for him here on Earth.  It wasn’t fair. It had barely been a year since Momma died. Why me? Did I do something wrong to deserve to lose both of my parents? Was I strong enough to go through this again so soon? I had just learned how to deal without my mom at holidays. It was too much to expect for me to be able to function through family gatherings without some sadness. However that was what was expected. I was supposed to be the strong woman who had dealt with this once before already and knew all of the answers and how to deal with all of the emotions and stress. I’m not that woman. I wasn’t strong. I tried to make people think I was. I took one day off to deal with the grief and then had to get back to work and deal with everything there. It didn’t matter that I didn’t want to get out of bed much less face all of the people at work. It didn’t matter that I hurt and the hurt went so deep that I couldn’t bear it most of the time.  Yet again, I slapped on that happy face and trudged along through it. The service was planned and things were set to be wonderful. It wasn’t going to be your traditional service, but that was how Daddy wanted it. I went to praise team practice and was ready to play through the songs that we had picked out. It didn’t hit me until I went to bed that night what I was getting ready to do. The family questions began and the criticism was sharp. I shouldn’t be up on that stage playing. It was shameful. It was not my place. My place was to be with the family grieving. Those of you, who truly know me, know that I love to play. It is a release. It allows for the expression of numerous emotions and stresses. I was grieving, but I had promised my daddy that I would play at his service. I don’t back down from my promises. It is just part of who I am. In spite of the criticism I knew what I had to do.

I am ever so thankful for friends that love me like I am a part of their own families. The night before the service, I had no idea the surprises that were in store for me. I had plans with my sweet friend Gayla to go shop for something new to wear to the service. We shopped and had plans to go eat Mexican food afterwards. On our way there, we were about to take a detour to Mardel when her phone rang. I was still blissfully out of the loop. We decided to go on to the restaurant. We walked into a very busy restaurant and I figured we would be there for quite a while waiting for a table. I was shocked when Gayla said that our table was ready. I tried to protest but was ushered around a staircase to a rather large table. I couldn’t believe my eyes. There were nearly thirty people seated around a table waiting for me to arrive. I was speechless. Shocking I know. I was given a slight push and told to go hug everyone at the table. I wasn’t sure what was going on at that time and began to hug people. I was handed various sized envelopes and several gift bags. I finally made it to an empty chair and had to sit and try to process what was going on. It took several minutes for the fact that they had all come together as a surprise for me to sink in. I know I cried repeatedly as I opened and read cards with heartfelt wishes of sympathy and words of encouragement.

 The next morning, tears threatened to begin to fall from my eyes from the moment I woke up. I vowed to remain strong through the service. I played with gusto. It was a true worship experience for me. I could feel the love in the room from the people that mattered the most to me. I could feel the condemnation from the people that didn’t understand or didn’t feel the way that they made it seem they did at the service. There was a different feeling about this service. It wasn’t the same as Mom’s. It was more joyful. I was sad, but this time it was different. I wasn’t as angry as before. I was more at peace. This new normal way of life didn’t seem to take as much getting used to as the one before. Maybe it was because I had been here before. I am not sure what made it different but I was glad that it was.

It wasn’t that long ago that I realized that I had been keeping a spot in my heart that belonged to God for my daddy. I had to let go and learn to allow God to fill those voids. They run deep. It has not been easy to give up that control and allow the healing to begin. In fact I am fairly certain that these wounds are being opened once again to allow the nasty infected parts to be cleansed with an antiseptic that can only be found in the loving arms of Papa God, my Abba Father.  I am beginning to find the significance in these song lyrics. They bring me to tears every time I hear them.

Healing is in Your Hands

No mountain, no valley, no gain or loss we know

Could keep us from your love

No sickness, no secret, no chain is strong enough

To keep us from your love

How high?  How wide?

No matter where I am, healing is in Your hands

Healing is coming. I can feel the balm of peace beginning to take the place of the pain and the sorrow. It doesn’t mean that I don’t still feel sad. Not a day goes by that I don’t miss both of my parents. There are days that I would give anything to have them back for even just a minute. It’s hard when I can’t remember what their voices sound like. It’s hard when I can’t remember what a hug feels like from them. It makes me long for the day when I will see them in Heaven and get to experience it for real once again. It also shouldn’t surprise me in the slightest that God has chosen to bless me with spiritual parents that love me like I am one of their own. My “new” parents are amazing. I will have to post about them soon. They play an important part in my new journey. I look forward to sharing it with them. For now though, I believe I have bared enough of my soul for one posting.

Until next time,

Melody