Throwback Thursday -- A Repost

Stained Glass Epiphanies

originally posted 2/6/13

I grew up in the center of the Bible belt -- Nashville, Tennessee. I am the daughter of a conservative, evangelical minister who was a literature professor as well. In his spare time, he loved doing community theater.  A strange amalgamation.

I married a man raised in the Methodist church. His mother had been raised Catholic. We are an odd compilation. 

The first time it happened was in a church in a Key West, FL. My husband and I walked into an episcopal church just as tourists. I sat down in a pew and began to look around at the stained glass windows depicting different scenes from Bible stories with which I was all too familiar. And I began to cry.

It may have been the first crack in the armor I'd been using all my life. Armor established in early childhood to protect myself from the horrors of abuse, but also from the dissonance of my home life. A conservative minister, who gave me Stephen King and The Catcher in the Rye to read. Who took me to see The Effects of Gamma Rays on Man-in-the-Moon Marigolds and Equus by the time I was 14, and quoted Mark Twain more than the Bible. 

I looked at those stained glass windows, and for the first time instead of seeing gaudy, papist opulence, I saw devotion and love between God and man. I saw a God who was in love in with me, instead of a God who held a rule book in one hand and ledger of misdeeds in the other. My husband sat beside me, and understood what I couldn't articulate. 

I've spent a lot of time since then looking, seeking, and reading. Trying to decode what were merely religious traditions from what God actually wants from me and for me. I still have more questions than answers, but it doesn't scare me the way it once did. 

Stained glass epiphanies.

Surviving in Numbers

Earlier this week I posted this as my Facebook status --

Number of abusers: 6 / Years since abuse stopped: 22 / Years since I first told anyone: 13 / Years married to a wonderful supportive man: 28+ / Children: 2 / Blog posts read: over 80,000 / Friends who support me daily: innumerable 

It was the result of having looked at this Surviving in Numbers post via Tumblr.

After posting my status I got that old feeling again. The one where my body starts telling me I've done something really bad. My head begins to hurt. My shoulders round over my body. My stomach begins to grumble. My breathing becomes shallow.

I kept looking back at my impromptu list, and thinking I should revise it. I should have given it more thought before throwing it out into the universe. I should have explained certain things. 

And that's when I saw it. The "shoulds" had returned. 

I used to live my life based on a very long list of "shoulds". Most of them had something to do with what others might think about me or my family if I expressed my feelings. 

I saw those lists of numbers that other survivors had posted and it made me think about my experiences in a numerical way. The first number that popped into my head was the number of abusers. When I started this journey, I believed there was 1. One person who had made me do some things I wished I hadn't done. Years of talking and journaling have led me to understand that that one person abused me. I had no choice or control in any of it. All that work also made it possible to recognize other people and events as abusers and abuse. 

The next number that popped into my head was how many times it had happened. The problem with that number is that I have no idea. I think I "should" know, but I don't. There is a part of me that wants and needs to catalog each episode so that I can categorize and order them, because that will somehow help me understand them. Wishful thinking. Maybe even magical thinking. 

At that point I stopped thinking and just started typing. Realizing that the list could go on and on. 

Number of therapists I tried to get some help from: 8

Number of years since the abuse started: 48

Number of journals filled with writing: at least 10

Number of magazine articles written: 1

Number of groups I've spoken to about abuse: 4

Number of blog posts about the abuse: over 200

Number of degrees obtained: 3 (high school, college, masters level)

Number of years of mothering: 24

And that's the point at which I understood what the Tumblr post was really about. It's not about the abuse. It's about what I've done in spite of the abuse. For me, the abuse has provided a platform, but it's a platform that has led to so much more than dealing with abuse. 

I am a survivor, but more importantly I am a wife, mother, librarian, writer, reader, cook, artist, and child of God. The only things that really matter.


linking up with Just Write and Imperfect Prose

Snuggle Buddies

linking up with Wordless Wednesday & The Jenny Evolution

The Simple Woman's Daybook

FOR TODAY . . . February 4, 2014

Outside my window . . . it is grey and cold, but we are above freezing. 

I am thinking . . . about how to be more productive with people in and out of the house all day long. My concentration has been taking a hit, as I do not multi-task well.

I am thankful . . . for opportunities to talk with my children. The fact that they so willingly share with me is a true blessing.

In the kitchen . . . over the weekend I tried 2 new recipes. You can see one here, and the other I'll post next week. Today I'll be making breakfast burritos for RITI.

I am wearing . . . my flannel gown and slippers with a throw over my legs as I type.

I am creating . . . crocheted burp cloths. I never would have thought of this, but saw a pattern and decided to give it a go.

I am going . . . to hem pants, crochet, and do yoga today. And make those burritos. And figure out what to feed my family for dinner. And try to catch up on Bible study. 

Hmmm . . . I might have a bit too much planned.

I am wondering . . . my sudden desire to talk more about the abuse I survived.

I am reading . . . The Hangman's Daughter by Oliver Potzsch. I'm just getting started and I'm not sure where it's heading, but I like it so far.

I am looking forward to . . . seeing where 2014 leads me.

I am hearing . . . the clock ticking and the keys clicking. It's a lovely sound of quiet and solitude.

Around the house . . . I cleaned the laundry room last week with LBB's help. Then I bought a rug for it and added some sunflowers and a couple of good quotes printed out to read when I'm in there.

I am praying . . . friends who are pregnant, a family whose husband/dad was hurt in grainery accident, a young lady whose baby was stillborn. So many people in pain.

One of my favorite things . . . is completing a project. I've been having trouble staying focused lately, so I'd really like to finish up at least one project this week.

A few plans for the rest of the week . . . fun/work with LBB today, RITI breakfast, therapy, Precept class, yoga, date night, and company on Saturday night.

Here is a picture for thought I am sharing . . . 

next project to complete

for more visit The Simple Woman's Daybook

Cheater's Latin Soup

Yesterday I wanted soup. But I wanted it quickly, and I was feeling lazy. So here's what I did.

1 32-oz. carton Latin Style Black Bean Soup

1 32-oz. carton Organic Roasted Red Pepper and Tomato Soup (I had the low sodium version on hand)

2 15-oz cans black beans, drained and rinsed

garlic salt and coarse black pepper to taste

That's it. I heated it all up together. Toasted some corn tortillas in my iron skillet. Put out the Fritos and leftover cornbread, along with some shredded cheese and sour cream. Pretty darn tasty for a cold Sunday afternoon.

Happy eating!

linking up with Made by You Monday

a reason to not be silent

In support of survivors everywhere:

An Open Letter From Dylan Farrow

{this moment}

A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember.