Posts Tagged ‘Release’

A wound superficially covered will cause infection, but bleeding and allowing the wound exposure is often the best way to heal it. At least it is for me…

  • True Forgiveness Requires Grief!
  • It Requires Stages.
  • It Requires that one face the pain of what happened and why it happened.
  • It Requires Identifying who is responsible.

All the answers may never be gathered, but to slap a “Forgive and Forget It” Band-Aid on a Gaping Wound is senseless and now I realize is simply unbiblical! The Process Requires the need to not just breathe in God’s redemptive air, but to also bleed…

The Stages of Grief are denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance.

So now I realize why I had pangs of guilt after thinking of the pain I’ve endured at the hands of others were unwarranted. I responded out of order. Rather, I reacted.

A response is one made with thoughtful intention, but my reaction was bred in a tainted petri dish…one where I was led to believe forgiveness is an all or nothing process…

Hmph…to say anything is an ALL or NOTHING PROCESS is oxymoronic in itself…Every process requires LAYERS….

I’ve been forced to consider things differently now and I am glad I’ve obliged.

There is a delicate and perpetual PROCESS to forgiving.  It is not merely “letting it go” as the Greek word for forgive, “aphesis” has so often been misapplied. Now the term does mean “let go,” but there are other meanings so don’t get me wrong here. I am still a word nerd.

“Release” is the definition that resonated with me the most. And since yesterday I realize the meaning is more than “releasing the offender from accountability.”  Rather, for me this release is solely for me…for my peace of mind… I release him, I release her, I release them for me!

I release myself to fully go through the process of grieving the loss of my ability to trust, to set proper boundaries, to receive unconditional love, to be myself without shame or condemnation…

I release myself to be angry with the circumstances and the fact that sometimes it seems that those who do wrong get away with it…

I release the thought that denial of what happened will make everything better…

I release the depression I didn’t know I was in for far too many years because I chose to bury what was still very much alive…

I release the need to bargain with God or myself as to whether I feel comfortable having this person or that person in my life again.  I don’t.

I release myself to the freedom of accepting that forgiveness is not one size fits all…that the process is perpetual…that I am not condemned for having a moment. I have had many moments and I will likely have many more. Regardless, for me, just forgiving and forgetting is not an option anymore.

©2017 Nadia Davis. All Rights Reserved.

I suppose I have resisted this place for some time now….but I cannot continue to run away from the inner most parts of myself a moment longer. So I thought to myself yesterday that yes, perhaps I should have my head examined after all….everyone seems to think they know me…I consider the shear ignorance of it all and I’m baffled and drained in an instant. I recall all too vividly the moment I decided my fascination with the recluse…yes, I’m speaking of the spider…once I wasn’t afraid of them…once I was so fascinated with these critters that I simply observed one meandering across my foot as a child. I had no fear…I distinctly recall thinking, wow, a violin shape on its back so I didn’t move…again, not from fear but wonder that it thought my brown skin just an extension of the dark carpet it sought to camouflage its movement…

Have I too found a means of camouflaging my movement by blending in with a society still so foreign to my thinking? With my being? And after this morning’s devotional, the face in the mirror staring at me had something else in common with what I now know is absolutely toxic when threatened…over the years I learned to do one of two things when bothered…hide or attack with a most treacherous bite…one that might merely sting initially, but later is evidence of the tragic encounter…it has been a while since I dared to inflict such pain on an innocent bystander…it seems instead my thoughts at times have taken a liking to my own flesh instead…I consider this sort of cannibalism not a bad thing because piece by piece my purpose requires the old me to methodically die…to bleed out and breathe her last…the she I once was is and has always been an unnecessary shell…so with silence and time I have been forced into a molting process…so as my purpose expands and my hunger grows more insatiable, the case that once housed me with fears and procrastination no longer fits this body…so I peel the layers as the decaying flesh with every step forward…still there is pain within this process….it has been an ugly transition so far…so much care must be administered…the wound must be covered but the wrong covering only leads to festering…so my heart longs for a covering that allows me to breathe…one who like me has endured the growing pains with resistance….a most horrible season of selfish discovery…so I found my eyes begging for the strength to allow my wounds to be uncovered…for my being to be unashamed…for my mind to be in agreement…with what my heart already knew…and the layer of resistance fades with every step…

Release is the necessary conclusion in wholeness…Still detoxification drains…purpose requires effort I had not always been willing to surrender…the face confronted in the mirror of God’s word wasn’t the same one reflected in my bathroom this morning…the latter “she” was a discontent soul…but she’s no longer allowed in my sphere of influence…

And my heart’s anthem shook me out of my stupor with a command,

“UN-ARREST YOUR DEVELOPMENT!” 

So I combed through the manual until my eyes met a familiar yet necessary venue: Father, please teach me how…

 

©2017 Nadia Davis. All Rights Reserved.

A few months ago I wrote about how God kept placing on my heart the need to slow down and take a pause. I suppose between then and now, I may have actually listened only a handful of times. “I’m ambitious” was the excuse in my mind, but my heart still longed to rest…to truly rest in His presence and to have the peace that I couldn’t understand in every moment. Yes, there have been times and even full days that I have experienced this peace, however, the majority of that time, I have been overwhelmed.

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And not in a good way. I realize in my attempts to get things done that I lost the reason why I needed them done. I have had a huge vision for a long time and in recent weeks God has connected me with so many people who I know will be intricate to His plan for my life, however, I still failed to pause. I still decided to stay up a full 24 hours to overdo things…things I learned were really unnecessary.

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God needed me to let go of the tension and release the burdens of my ever-growing to-do list to Him. So today before I woke I prayed to my Father in my heart and before I could get out of bed I’d recounted all the things that I would do today. Unaware of the necessity to rest and get the proper direction, I jumped up and was met with the reminder that I pause…that I do so regularly…that I release and receive only the things that He allows me to handle in that moment. So I have some plans, but I understand my best plans are no match for His worse. So today I will pause and reflect on His majesty…Tomorrow I will pause and take in all that He provides. I invite you to do the same.

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I’ll edit this later…just flowing from the heart…

I used to say “I didn’t have a good example when I grew up.”  It was my excuse.  I suppose I felt less guilty for my own shortcomings as a parent by blaming my mother for the woes I’d experienced.  Yet, now I realize how untrue that statement was.

There were good days with my mother. That truth has allowed me to now cherish those good times I shared with her more.

No, my mother didn’t teach me to cook or sew.  Experimenting with Betty Crocker recipes and Girl Scouts did that.  Yet she allowed me to play in her hair and play dress up in her clothes when I was little just because she could.

While I’m aware of the times I’ve missed the imaginary mark of motherhood, I simply refuse to demonize myself or my mother for what either of us lacks because I know God makes no mistakes.  While we cannot choose our family members, He chose them long before we were ever conceived.  Now I can say that I am so grateful for the gift He gave me in my mother and as I type these words I understand why saying goodbye isn’t as hard as I might have thought it would be.

I received a call after midnight from my brother.  I was asleep so I wasn’t aware of it until about 6 am.  He’d left a message, but somehow before I listened to it, I already knew what he struggled to say those few seconds the machine allowed.

Mama passed away not a half hour before he picked up the phone to reach me. 

I hadn’t cried in two months over the thoughts of a lost childhood…over resentment of what might have been…I surmised even after hearing the news recorded that I still would not do so.  Yet, when I called my brother back and discussed what was evident and what needed to take place in the coming week, I found my words losing fluency. Choppy and forced, I allowed them to flow…not out of necessity or regret, but joy in her transition.

Last I saw her, she was in pain…yet still able to smile when she recognized her likeness standing over her. As a child, I’d always been called her shadow for two reasons: I was always two steps behind her and the main differences between us visually were time and complexion…I prayed then that her pain would cease…knowing that mine had already. I am indeed grateful for the time I’ve had both as a child before things seemed to have gone awry.

Before that time, I’d told a friend that I’m choosing to remember the good a while ago, but in reality, at the time, I couldn’t stop myself from only remembering the bad.  I was in a rut and I allowed that to dictate my life for a while…for too long…so long that my own role as a parent had begun to wane.

Her Goods-

Having never earned a driver’s license, she never allowed that deficiency stop her from taking us with her every Saturday somewhere…to the movies…to the fair…to the mall…downtown…to the Orpheum–Mama, I want to sing at 6 years old-my love for music was ignited– to see plays because she wanted to make sure my brother and I were “cultured.”

I used to think the reason she had us taking lessons for violin and cello,  Spanish, computer, and even tap after school was so she could get a break, but I understand now that she wanted only to ensure that he and I couldn’t be denied one later.

I have a new appreciation for Ode to Joy!!!

I still remember the red booths at Woolworth’s we’d claim and the flavor of the buttery kernels that seemed popped just for us.  They would melt in your mouth.  Back then a dollar could stretch much farther.

Although she had her bachelor’s in education, she opted to teach us more at home instead of others’ children in school.  She chose to work only part-time for many years and was always there when my brother and I arrived from school.  Single motherhood was worn well on her in those early years…those years I had taken for granted as I grew because for some reason she and I became distant.

Anger took over where love never meant to leave off…I couldn’t understand why it seemed she loved the “little me” so much, but hated what I was growing to become.

I realize now that what I deemed as hatred was just not so.  Rather, her fear of not being enough fed her fury.  Her fear that someone would hurt me as she’d been hurt consumed her. I didn’t know it initially that she’d been taken against her will.  A fit of rage spilled those details and gave me a clue.  Still, at that age, I couldn’t understand.  I didn’t try. I had never known anyone to have been raped before so there was no way that I could relate. Instead, I filed it along with the other displaced memories I’d vacated years ago.  A chance encounter with a photo album would reveal more of her puzzle without anyone overhead saying a word.   Back then, “issues” weren’t discussed so they were held in with massive consequences.

The result- an inevitable implosion or explosion…there were many casualties…but I’ve considered even those the result of involuntary manslaughter now.  Eighteen years of solitary confinement was long enough to suffer, to re-group, to rehabilitate a soul.  She too had been bent, infirmed, desperate for relief.

I believe 2 months ago I received that relief…Yesterday, she finally received hers. So while I dab at tears I’d once denied permission to flow, I revel at the cleansing power they possess.  My joy had indeed been renewed.

My Heavenly Father knew the day would come when I would finally realize the gift He provided me. She did the best she could…

She nurtured the love of words in me long ago.  I remember I denied the desire to write because even at 7 years old, my strong will fought for independence.  I wanted to do my own thing.  Yet, the more I tried to distance myself from what she had already claimed of me…a poet…a writer…I fell back into the comfort of this calling…words…I escaped through the words of a story…I calculated the words from another’s mouth…I practiced over and over until my penmanship was perfected because I loved words and the way they took a life of their own on a page…my mother was a lover of words too I suppose.  Although she’d often comment how her writing was intolerably cruel for the reader to decipher as the scribbling she owned resembled a foreign language, she still fostered a love of them by quizzing my brother and I every chance she got.  She’d read to us often.  My choice was to have the books read at least twice before I could go to sleep. She always happily obliged.  Only later would I realize why she did it anyway despite how tired she had been of the story itself and how exhausted she’d been herself.

No Regrets

I had planned to see her yesterday, but…

Just but…the excuses don’t matter now…I know I’ll see her again…I’m glad that I understand God’s plan and that I don’t have the guilt of “what if” to deal with anymore.

So even now, I choose to honor her by the good she did, she was, and the good she intended.  There’s no need to say goodbye so I’ll just say, “See you later, mama!”

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Gone for now, but never forgotten!

©2015 Nadia Davis. All Rights Reserved.