As a little girl, one of my "happy moments" that has stuck with me
was when I would sprawl out on the floor of the bedroom I shared
with my sisters, and pick up all the acrylic beads that had been
dropped, that no one else wanted.
Of course, I would always have to sort through them later to get
the fuzz and hair off them, but I was very protective of those
little beads. They were like my personal pieces of happy, in a
a broken and confused little girl's heart.
We all have to pick through the fuzzies and hair of life to find
our little bits of happy.
But once you get past the fuzzies and hair, you find things that
are pretty and sparkle.
But the things that are pretty and sparkly are no good unless you
appreciate them.
We all have stories of being broken and sad.
But let's start to share the stories of being strong and whole.
Let's build each other up, and let the bad be drowned in the good.
Let's take the broken memories and piece them together
and use them to light the way for others.
Let's take those happy moments, and build them up to hours
and days
then months
years
a lifetime.
Those neglected beads on the floor of my bedroom?
I put them in a jar.
I put my childhood in a jar
and I choose to make it beautiful.
It's worth getting past all the fuzzies and hair
to create the little rainbow in a jar,
a reminder that there is beauty and happiness in the ordinary
even when things look bad.
I am reminded that no matter how big or small the jar is,
as long as there is some happiness in it,
I have so much to be thankful for.
Look at this picture.
Look at it closely.
Because this exists.
This is real.
Many people don't see it,
but it's there.
It is real.
It is a choice.
One that many choose to make.
But it's one you don't have to make.
There is hope.
Hope is real.
I have talked to a lot of hurt people.
A lot of people that are broken inside.
A lot of people that think they are alone in their pain.
And yet, I stand before them, a fellow hurt person, knowing, better than they think I do, exactly how they feel.
You were never alone,
you just didn't give someone the chance to actually be there for you.
I get it.
Your pain is your life.
It's your safety place.
When everything else around us seems to fall apart, going back to being broken and wallowing in pain is a shelter.
It's exactly like being a child.
When you are scared, you always go to the place that makes you feel safest.
Like, in your mom's arms, or on your dad's lap.
Like cuddling with your favorite blankie or stuffed animal and hiding in a corner.
We become so adjusted to pain that when all else fails, that is what we return to.
You never realized that, did you?
You defend your pain: you protect it from the harmful judgement of others, because we are afraid that their pain may be more than ours.
That they may get more attention for their pain.
Selfishness. That is pure selfishness.
You don't acknowledge that it's possible for someone to be worse off than you.
I acknowledge that you have been hurt.
I acknowledge that you are suffering deep inside.
I am listening.
I am hearing.
And I am seeing.
But stop.
Stop letting it be this way. It doesn't have to be.
You tell me that you want to let it all go and give it to God.
You tell me that you can't help but feel that way.
Stop letting pain write the end of your story.
You can choose to write the pain out in one chapter. Don't make it your whole book.
How are you going to write it? How are you going to take the hurt as its thrown at you?
What has motivated you to stay here this long?
You don't have to OD on drugs,
You don't have to cut your skin with a knife,
You don't have to choke yourself to death,
You don't have to resort to secret addictions.
I would tell you to OD on God, but that really isn't possible.
Use God as your drug to counteract the bad,
Use His word to cut away the bitterness around your heart,
Use Prayer to choke out the voices in your head that tell you you're not worth it,
Let GOD be your addiction.
Don't let the self-centeredness of your hurting heart convince you that you're the only one going through this.
I've tried it that way.
It's a dead end.
