The battle for my soul has already been won.
But I still feel trapped, invisible, inferior.
I think I need therapy or more Jesus.

I’m choosing Jesus. I’m choosing to work out my salvation with fear and trembling by writing about it. New blog.

I might as well start from the end, an end that became a new beginning I did not want.
My mom died on Aug. 9, 2011. I loved her more than anyone else ever loved their mom, at least it feels that way.
No. You know what? No qualifiers. I won’t lie. I believe I loved my mom more than anyone else loved their mom. I loved her so much that God took her to punish me.
Even though I know God doesn’t work that way.
But maybe he took her to teach me something. Or maybe she died because we all die and it was her time. Maybe he can use that to teach me something. Whatever it is, I’d rather not learn it, thank you very much. I’d rather just have her back.
In my darkest moments, and they come all too often, I utter those words: “I want my mom. I want her back.”
I have told God that if he just gives her back, I won’t even question it. If he assembles her again from the ashes, I will not wonder why or how. I will just embrace her and weep and praise God and live again.
I haven’t really been living. I don’t think that’s a well-kept secret. Everyone knows. Lauren is a thousand miles away and she knows. Jess is across town and she knows. I haven’t even had to tell them.
I have to take a moment to let my heart just hurt. I can’t function until I acknowledge it, anyway. I can put off the sobs that escape after I’ve barely made it out of church or I can write while tears squeeze from my eyes, but it always catches up with me.
I need…I need my mom. No, I mean I need need my mom. But I can’t have her back. Not yet.

I guess there’s no use trying to hide this, either: I’m lost. (My soul’s not lost — the battle for it is already won. I don’t know if I’m telling this to the world or myself.)
But I have no idea what I’m doing. If I’m going through the motions, you’ll have to forgive me. Maybe my medicine is not adjusted correctly or I’m not accepting that I have to keep living and not just marking time until I die. Regardless the reason, I am totally lost. I lean completely on Matt, my husband, and occasionally remember God, too.
My job is a mess. Part of it is a culmination of events and the other part is me. How much of my job is who I am? I hope none of it, because I’m not proud of it. I’m not proud of myself and I can’t summon even a scrap of concern.
So many things are pointing to a fresh start. But what and where? Do I leave and start new in my same field? I’ve tried that, to no avail. Should I just take whatever I can get that doesn’t make me want to scream and thrash and throw a childish fit? It may come to that. Money isn’t everything, Matt reminds me. Enjoying my job is so much more important. My peace of mind is so much more important.

I don’t know which direction I’m going, but I do know where I want to be. I want to feel light pulsing through me and escaping from my eyes and fingertips and laughter. I don’t mind hurting for Mom and mourning her the rest of my life, but I need the pure joy that comes from being happy to be alive, too.
I want to work it out. I have other battles to fight now that the battle for my soul is won.

So. If I’m called to write, I guess I’ll do it here.
So. Here goes nothing.


Listen, I tell you a mystery: We will not all sleep, but we will all be changed— in a flash, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet. For the trumpet will sound, the dead will be raised imperishable, and we will be changed. For the perishable must clothe itself with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality. When the perishable has been clothed with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality, then the saying that is written will come true: “Death has been swallowed up in victory.” (1 Corinthians 15:51-54 NIV)