Here's the deal. Five Minute Friday. You go find the little prompt at the wonderful Lisa-Jo's blog, set the time and write for five minutes, and then just stop. Where you are, no edits, just publish raw words.

SONG... GO.

I often see my life in pictures. There are times I stop and say "Wow, this would make a great music video."  My life is my album, and though none of the songs are mine, they define me.  The paths I've walked, the hurt, the heartache, the joy, the triumph, it's all recorded in my heart through music. I wouldn't be who I am without it. It helps me to express things that I cannot, to put emotions into words where I am left blank, help me sort through the things that I don't understand. There have been defining moments in my life that were stamped with a song. There were times that I was only able to find the will or the courage to do something because of a certain song, often played on repeat until the task was done.  It kept me alive through the endless abuse. It kept me holding on through the years of fallout. It showed me I'm not alone. I can't say to you that there is one song, because there isn't. There are a hundred, each with their significance, their own meaning, their own place. 

But there is this one song that's on my heart today. It breaks my heart and gives me hope. It carried me through many a dark night, sometimes shattering the emotionless void I was encased in, given me a chance to push through and move forward. Sometimes it just makes me ache for everything I didn't have. And sometimes it makes me so very grateful for the things I have now. The love I have now. The one who carries me through it all.



This is my song today. Please take a minute to hear it... It might be your song, too.

STOP

Here's the deal. Five Minute Friday. You go find the little prompt at the wonderful Lisa-Jo's blog, set the time and write for five minutes, and then just stop. Where you are, no edits, just publish raw words.

Here.

Where is here? Today here is everywhere. It's errand day and I have things to do. "Here" is at my kids' school for an awards ceremony.  "Here" is at lunch with my very best friend. "Here" is at the grocery store, buying enough food for the next two weeks, and then a brand new bike for my sweet 7 year old boy.  "Here" is at gymnastics, watching my 9 year old hot shot gymnast perfect her beam routine and practice her sole circle. "Here" is cuddled in bed with my husband, tickling and laughing and being loved.

Here I am, a 29 year old mother of 2 (.5) kids living the good life. Here I am in my jeans and my baseball shirt and my black chucks, looking all of 19.  Here I am, a Christian woman trying her best to share her faith and love for the Lord with her family, friends, and strangers too.  Here I sit, writing to you, longing for community and approval and kind words. Here I am worrying about my son... praying for my daughter... Living my life.

I like here. Here is good.  Let's stay here.

Stop.

Today I am just frustrated. I almost want to cry for my son. In fact, I probably will cry before this post is done. I haven't talked much about it because for the longest time Dylan, to us, has just been Dylan. He's sweet and loving and a nerd. And a klutz. And a little awkward. And we love him because he is so unique and fun.

But lately Dylan has really been struggling in school.  His teacher will tell you that he is extremely gifted, yet his grades do not reflect that at all.  He has an awful time writing. He can tell you the answer to anything you want to know, but if you ask him to write it, he will fail every time. And now, in the third quarter of 1st grade, they've started grading writing.

And it isn't fair.

I know, I'm his mom and I think that anything that messes with my son isn't fair, but it's just so frustrating. It doesn't just affect his writing capabilities  It carries over to math and science and anything else that requires him to write things down manually onto a piece of paper. Today he took a math test that we have studied for. He knew the answers. And yet he got a 51 on it. Why? Because it was timed and he has poor fine motor skills and he just can't keep up. And it breaks my heart.

I went to his teacher and talked to her AGAIN today because things just aren't getting better. She said that we can try to have him do things on the computer from now on if that is easiest. We'll see how that goes. I got a copy of the test he took today and I want to see if he can properly answer the questions in the allotted time if he can type them instead of write them. It's a start, at least.

So now that I've ranted, here's what else is going on. A few months ago Dylan just about completely stopped doing any school work that involved writing. He was getting distracted easily by other kids in his class. He has always been an unorganized forgetful child. He's very clumsy and his poor muscle tone. He tires easily. He can't tie his shoes. He struggles with things that seem simple sometimes. And it's frustrating. We took him to his pediatrician Wednesday and he was diagnosed with ADD. We aren't shocked by this. You have to call his name 4 or 5 times before he acknowledges you. He spaces out on the soccer pitch in the middle of a game and you have to remind him that he needs to be playing. You have to remind him to stay on task just about every other minute sometimes. It can be very frustrating. For us, and for him.

The pediatrician referred us to a Neurologist to look deeper into things. I don't know where this road will lead us, but I know I'm very ready to be on it. I am ready to have a better idea of what is going on with him. Not because it's going to change anything, but because it will be much easier to deal with if we know what it is we're dealing with.

Deep breath. Please pray with us that he isn't just pushed aside. Pray that the Dr. will really look hard at everything and do his best to give us some answers. Some suggestions. Anything. Because right now I feel helpless, and all I want  to do is help him to succeed, to be the best he can, and to not feel inferior because he struggles with things, and that it isn't his fault. He needs to know that it is not his fault.

There are days that go by when I think at the end of the day that the word God was not said nearly enough. Or even at all. We get busy and Life goes on. And it's WRONG. And I feel this gnawing guilt in my stomach and I feel even less adequate. And I see these moms, you know the ones... With their perfect hair and their beautifully dressed, polite, well behaved kids and their blogs about Jesus and Christianity and all of these wonderful things and I think I'll never stack up.

Here's the deal. Five Minute Friday. You go find the little prompt at the wonderful Lisa-Jo's blog, set the time and write for five minutes, and then just stop. Where you are, no edits, just publish raw words. (yes, I did just copy paste that from you, OneGirl) And even though it's technically not Friday anymore... Here we go.


After: Go.

I was a girl lost in a world of craziness. I didn't know what to do or where to go, and I made a lot of mistakes along the way.  I tried everything I could to do the right thing, be the right person. I was hurt and alone. A whole life of pain, anger and fear lay behind me. Abuse, sin, emptiness. It was all there ever present in my mind, displayed before me as a testimony of my life. I refused to let that be what my life was made up of. So I fought. I struggled. I prayed. I cried. A lot. And I'm here. And I smile at that. Because now I know that all of that was my BEFORE. 

But it isn't before anymore. This is my life. My love. This is my AFTER, and this is what matters. 

I have been looking for a way to get back in. I've not blogged in so long, I didn't even know where to start. I just had a long conversation with my friend the Squirrel, and it made me think that I really wish I still blogged. I really wish that I still shared my heart and soul and life with these people that I've made family. Sure we keep up on facebook, but sometimes I think it's called that for a reason, so we can decide what face to show the world.  I don't want that anymore.

On top of the fact that I've not been blogging, I've not been reading blogs either. I apologize, by the way.  But tonight I opened up blogger. And I'm taking it as a sign. It's five minute Friday.  And do you know what the prompt for today's five minute Friday is?  Broken... I'm not sure I can stop at five, but I'll do my best.



(I'm actually delaying starting because I'm just not sure how I'll ever get this right)

(Also, I'm giving myself ten minutes because my 'o' key is missing and it makes typing very awkward)

And... Go.

There's this thing you should know about being broken... I'll get to that in a minute.

If you've never read my blog (and you probably haven't) then you don't know just how much this word broken means to me.  It just made me start blogging again.  I hear the word broken, and even now, to this day, it defines me.  Even after years of therapy, years of healing, reconciliation and restoration, still, I am broken.

I was sexually abused as a child by my brother.  For many, many years (between the ages of 7 and 14, I believe) I was used as his object. He manipulated me in every way you can manipulate someone.  And when it's your 7 year old little sister who wants nothing but for you to accept her... it doesn't take much.  He wasn't the only person that abused me, and the other people who did, well he made that possible. I spent a lot of years in denial, a lot of years self-medicating with whatever drugs and as much alcohol as I could find.  Even after the abuse ended he was in my life, right there on the edge of things, just enough to keep me... broken.  I never really could heal. I didn't really even know what the wound was.

When I was 19 I was married, and shortly after I was pregnant.  When I was 23 we moved away from "home". 500 miles away.  And he was there waiting for me when we got there.  Yes, he moved 500 miles away, too.  Just to be near me. It was a never ending cycle of abuse, even if it wasn't physical anymore.

And then, just like that, he moved away, and for the first time in my life, I was left to deal with the aftermath. I had a nightmare. I can remember it like it was yesterday, and it brought back a FLOOD of memories that I did NOT want. I spiraled downward. Fast. I lost 50 pounds, I stopped functioning. I could barely get out of bed. While I did not start drinking or doing drugs again, I did start self-injuring again. And for 5 years I went through this phase of hell. There have been times when my only goal was to survive the night, and times that I didn't think that would happen.

But it did.

I am here. I am standing strong(ish), proof that anything is possible. Sometime around the end of 2011 my brother and I started to reconcile.  Somehow, after all of the hurt and the hate and the anger, we managed to find some common ground.  And there has been a long road of healing since then.  And there are days that I think I'm better.  And in truth, I am.  But then there are days, weeks even, that I am still that shattered little girl. I still fight nightmares and the occasional flashback. I have trust issues and intimacy issues and faith issues. But I'm still standing here. Still alive.  Still fighting, even through the (sometimes) crippling pain. I am here.

So that thing about being broken I mentioned earlier?  When something breaks... you fix it. I always think of the broken pitcher. You glue it back together, piece by piece, bit by bit, and in the end, you have a pitcher again.  But it is not the same as it was before it was broken. No, it has changed. It was become something more. There are scars now where the glue is bonding the shattered remains of your life back together. There are bits missing here and there, "shards of me to small to put back together". But a pitcher it remains, and eventually, when all the glue is dried and the pieces are mended, it is useful again. And that is where my heart is. That is why I can tell you how I have been broken, and how God is slowly putting me back together.  Because somehow, after all I've been through, somehow I have to make it worth it again. I have to help someone else who has been broken.

HAHA I'm so broken I can't get the picture for the link up to work. That, my friends, is talent!

I woke up this morning hopeful. I took the children to school and rested a while longer before it was time to head to the doctor. I walked in the office, my head pounding, hoping for some answers, hoping for anything.