All posts tagged: #healing

Six Different Ways to Be Beautiful

If you are looking for an article about crunches, the Whole 30, or eyelash lengtheners, this is not the piece for you. This is about being Brave. I bet you’re rolling your eyes. Is this going to be about “beauty on the inside”? Probably written by woman who could benefit from some airbrushing? Is she going to talk about our “good personalities” or how much “Jesus made us and loves us”? No thanks. I really am just going to talk about 6 Brave things I’ve done that make me feel more Beautiful, whole, and strong. I’ve been walking toward this kind of beauty for a long time, with lots of counseling, prayer, and reflection. I was flabbergasted to find my story written out by someone else. Lee Wolf Blum’s new book, Brave is the New Beautiful, is compelling, encouraging, and relatable. I read it cover to cover in one very long bath. I smiled and cried reading stories so similar to mine (and similar to yours, I guarantee it). There were 6 things I learned about being Brave, …

Still Waiting by Ann Swindell

I’m not good at waiting. I rip open the new bag of chips in the Kroger parking lot, love reading spoilers for TV season finales, weave in and out of the fast lane, and almost die waiting for my kids to get to the point of whatever story they’re telling. I’m definitely not good at waiting for big, important things. I writhed, groaned, swore, cried, doubted, and yelled at God in the hard, long seasons of waiting before I finally recovered from a car accident, finally got pregnant, and finally popped the champagne when my husband got a new job. I’m still waiting for lots of things. I’m back in physical therapy for a running injury and back in counseling for heartaches. A beloved friend might be on the verge of finally beating her decades-long illness. My kids pray everyday for me to stop being allergic to dogs so they can get one. We can’t find a church that nourishes and challenges us. Sometimes I’m not sure if I’m supposed to change my prayers or just give up …

Legion

[featured on Perissos, 5/18/16] The story of Legion gives me nightmares. It’s about a naked, bleeding, demon-possessed man with super-human strength, who lives in a cemetery, intentionally cuts himself with stones, and haunts the region with his screams. I think Legion looks like Sasquatch, the Hulk, and Satan all mixed together. In my dreams I walk toward the hillside at night, and I want to help him. I want to take him to a homeless shelter where he can get a shower, a meal, and a bed. I want to drive him to the ER and have someone look at his open wounds. I want him to get transferred to the Psych Ward. I want to give him a fresh start. I walk up the hill in the moonlight driven to find him. When he jumps out from behind a stone my adrenaline surges. I see his crazed eyes, long, matted hair, and gray teeth. I see his naked skin smeared with months of dirt and blood. I see deep scars from all his self-harm, …

Scabs and Scars

At eight years old I overheard a woman say an Arabian prince could only choose a woman with no scars to be his princess. I was devastated. I had scars from mosquito bites, chicken pox, bike accidents, and scraping my feet in Gramma’s big cement pool. I also had a belly button, and wondered if those princes were smart enough to realize that everyone had at least one scar. Did the holes from getting our ears pierced count? I’m an almost albino redhead. I’ve had eight suspicious moles removed. The first one was near my right breast. I was 20, and the plastic surgeon named, I kid you not, Dr. Scarzella, said he didn’t want to do the surgery because the scar might hinder intimacy with my partner. I was not even close to being sexually active, but I somehow had enough sense of self to say, “well, I don’t think I’m going to be intimate with any guy who couldn’t handle a scar on my boob.” He laughed and patted my shoulder. I had …

Wrecked

Our first child was born October 3, 1998. We had been married 2 years. It was an unexpected, terrible birth. She was an ugly, horrible baby. She’s an awful demanding 17 year old. And while we’ve made peace, most days I fear her. My first baby’s name is Pain. She was born the night I was hit by a drunk driver. That day, my sister and I were hit from behind, pushed into oncoming traffic, and crashed into a second car. The guy who hit us side-swiped 3 other cars and sped off. My sister was covered in sparkling glass, we had some cuts, headaches and big bruises, but the paramedics couldn’t find anything severely wrong with us. But there was. Pain had arrived. She was an insufferable colicky newborn for 2.5 years. She demanded my full attention day and night. It felt like a steaming hot iron was being dropped on my tailbone every 10 minutes. To keep her quiet, I carried a pillow and ice packs to client meetings. I tried 8 different pain meds. We saw …