It’s been a long time since I’ve written a blog. I’ve gradually felt better enough to spend time with my chickens, goats, and family in my large garden and backyard forest. I crave the simple life. I crave peace. I find it tucked away in the bosom of nature or the company of animals. That’s where I meet God. I no longer allow drama and toxic people to steal my energy, time, and peace. By helping such broken versions of people, I ended up breaking myself. I’m okay being alone. I love it. I miss some of you, but I pray for you often and wish you well daily.
My progress on the second edition of Yellow Matter is slow. The days of this year seem to have flown by irritatingly fast. But I’ll get there and bring out a better version of a story I absolutely love and find myself in repeatedly.
I keep in touch on the progress of some of your lives via Facebook, where I glimpse in a hurry every now and again. I’m always happy to see you do well and succeed in your life.
I wrote a prayer in the near past when I was momentarily struggling. Here it is:
God, I have to apologize.
At times during my life
I’ve allowed fear to go beyond the normal limits
And spill into the mixture of an ever-consuming torment plaster
Forgetting that I matter in your eyes, that I have value in you, and that’s enough.
For allowing guilt to scramble my thoughts and hunt my emotions
For not believing that you have my back,
For acting impulsively and messing up my conscience in the process.
For doing the right thing and getting frustrated that you did not respond the way I expected
For listening to my own voice and advice more than yours
For taking shortcuts.
For believing the lies in my mind instead of believing your promises
For refusing to take time to get advice from you
For thinking, I’m better than you
For thinking I can do it better than you
For being angry at how slow your response to my perceived problems is
For not having faith that you can help me or that you can help the country and the world.
For taking on my shoulders the burdens that are not mine, thinking I have Jesus’s powers to fix them, only to fall apart
For thinking, I’m better than others at times.
For thinking I’m less valuable than others at times.
For believing I take too much space on this earth.
For believing I don’t have the right to be in this world.
For thinking you are cruel.
For believing that you are stupid.
For wondering if you care.
Ignoring or choosing not to believe that I’m loved and wanted.
For always being afraid.
For not spending time with you.
For thinking the small moments of life I love and cherish are not good enough for me.
For worrying beyond reason.
For hating certain people.
For hating.
For wanting to die.
For thinking I’m a cancer to society.
For not appreciating the gift of life you’ve given me.
For cowardness.
For trying so hard instead of taking time to rest,
For allowing mental torment to strip away my peace and connection with you,
For turning my back to you,
For being afraid to connect with you,
For being afraid, you’ll ask too much of me If I connect,
For loving my comfort to the point that I became numb to other’s pain,
For carrying too much to the point of losing my peace,
I’ve missed you guys! I’m doing something new, giving you the platform! I’ll start with the series “The Bride of Christ Breaking Free” and the raw truth of our battles in this world, no sugar coating necessary:) It’s tough out there, Christian or not.
Part 1– “The Rushed Testimony” by Anonymous, age range, 20-30’s.
“As a culture, I’ve noticed that we obsess over testimony a little too much, meaning that when something terrible happens to us, whether it is self-inflicted or devil-inflicted, we’re so quick to justify the means and try to get healing and absolution, so that we can have a testimony to share with people. We rush to get there, but we don’t fully heal. We don’t fully understand what happened; we just go and tell the masses what happened. And it’s like–hurry up and heal so we can preach about it! Somewhere down the line, this has morphed into a form of self-righteousness. Not all believers do this, but enough to damage the perception of Christ’s nature to believers and non-believers.
We preach and share testimonies: seasons of struggle and trauma for glory, but the glory isn’t focused on Christ; it’s focused on us. Look what I went through; woe is me, but look how strong I am. But praise God, thank the Lord for His mercy.
This isn’t to say we deserve credit for our effort in perseverance, for Christ does want us to be proud of ourselves when transformative work is accomplished, but He must stay at the center.
The majority of the time, due to our ego and negligence to face insecurity and offense, we put ourselves in traumatic situations that the devil doesn’t even need to partake in. We do all the work already, then we shake our fists at the sky, angry that God doesn’t deliver us, yet we’re the ones holding the gun to our heads. Then, a half-conceptualized and pieced-together testimony is thrown around, and we subconsciously expect praise for our sufferings to be validated and valued by other people. Because of this subtly dangerous mentality, we, as a modern church community, have weaponized trauma and sought out self-righteous suffering hidden under the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.
Years ago, I felt as if my rehab journey was rushed so that my struggle with addiction could be a testimony to anyone who was bothered to listen. It was all about: “You’ll help so many people with your testimony once you’ve completed the therapy,” and this and that. I remember my family would tell other people about what I was going through, and this changed the way those people saw me. I was perceived differently. Silently judged. Feared. Maybe questionable. How does a believer of Christ become a…drug addict?
I went to rehab for an addiction that I chose to cope with, for cruel things that were said and done to me that I didn’t deserve. But yet, the conversation only shifted to my testimony’s potential success–from the church’s perspective. A testimony that didn’t exist at that moment but was expected and demanded. To be honest with you? That testimony shouldn’t exist at all. There are battles we can avoid–stories and lessons that don’t need to be created. We’ve twisted brokenness into bragging rights and testimonies into torture.”
Context: Young Bride of Christ struggling with life, multiple suicide attempts as a result of a toxic mother, an enabling father, and unfulfilled, empty church teachings. Blame was put upon this young Bride of Christ to be demon-possessed. Further, blame was spit in hate over the years regarding just about everything. As a result, this Bride of Christ walked away from Christ and lingered in the valley of shadows for some years until it found its way back to Christ. The return is strong, the healing is confirmed, the joy is present, and the reunion is celebrated. However, the old ways of church culture are not what did this.
My input: (even if not needed). Please think how many times you cursed and cussed the enemy that caused you harm, out loud or otherwise. It hasn’t been all “Praise the Lord,” kumbaya; I got this. I’m sure there have been a few #$%&% and *^^%# words and attitudes embedded in that testimony because we’re imperfect humans. Letting go must start somewhere, and realizing you’re not alone in the muck and the downright filthy pits of darkness is where we begin. God starts a relationship with you between your snotty and salty teary meltdowns. Yes, we all mess up; we’re all imperfect versions of humanity, so stop photoshopping your testimony for the sake of a higher rate of approval. I’m sure homeless people can teach us more than most preachers who’ve never had to eat out of a garbage can. Most of us have never truly felt discarded, mocked, ignored, trashed, and invisible. As the Bride of Christ, we should be real with each other, even if we don’t like it. Truth is better.
God Bless:)
Romanian
M-ia fost dor de voi! Încep ceva nou, vă dau vouă platforma! Încep cu seria ‘Mireasa lui Hristos eliberată‘ și adevărul crud al luptelor noastre în această lume, din perspectiva voastră:) E grea viața, fie că ești creștin sau nu.
Partea 1 – ‘Mărturia grăbită‘ de Anonim, vârsta 20-30 de ani.”
“Ca și cultură, am observat că ne obsedăm prea mult cu mărturiile, adică atunci când ni se întâmplă ceva teribil, fie că este auto-infligat sau provocat de diavol, suntem atât de grăbiți să justificăm mijloacele și să căutăm vindecare și absolvire, astfel încât să avem o mărturie de împărtășit cu oamenii. Ne grăbim să ajungem acolo, dar nu ne vindecăm complet. Nu înțelegem pe deplin ce s-a întâmplat și pur și simplu mergem să spunem maselor ce s-a întâmplat. Și este ca și cum—grabă să ne vindecăm ca să putem predica despre asta! Undeva pe parcurs, acest lucru s-a transformat într-o formă de dreptate proprie. Nu toți credincioșii fac asta, dar suficient de mulți pentru a afecta percepția naturii lui Cristos atât în rândul credincioșilor, cât și al necredincioșilor.
Predicăm și împărtășim mărturii: sezoane de luptă și traumă pentru slavă, dar slava nu este concentrată pe Cristos, este concentrată pe noi. Uitați prin ce am trecut, vai de mine, uitați cât de puternic sunt eu. Dar slavă lui Dumnezeu, mulțumire Domnului pentru mila Lui, e mail rară.
Aceasta nu înseamnă că nu merităm credit pentru efortul nostru în perseverență, pentru că Cristos vrea să fim mândri de noi înșine atunci când se realizează o lucrare transformatoare, dar El trebuie să rămână în centrul atenției.
De cele mai multe ori, din cauza ego-ului nostru, a neglijenței de a ne confrunta cu nesiguranța proprie și a ne ofensa, ne plasăm singuri în situații traumatizante în care diavolul nici măcar nu trebuie să participe. Facem deja toată munca, apoi ne aruncăm pumnii spre cer, furioși că Dumnezeu nu ne eliberează, totuși noi suntem cei care ținem pistolul la cap. Apoi, o mărturie în jumătate conceptualizată și asamblată este aruncată în jurul nostru și ne așteptăm subconștient ca suferințele noastre să fie validate și valorificate de către alte persoane. Din cauza acestei mentalități subtil periculoase, noi, ca comunitate a Bisericii moderne, am folosit traumele ca armă și căutăm suferința dreptății proprii ascunsă sub numele Tatălui, al Fiului și al Sfântului Spirit.
Cu ani în urmă, am simțit că drumul meu de reabilitare a fost grăbit astfel încât lupta mea cu dependența să poată fi o mărturie pentru cei care au avut răbdare să asculte. Totul era despre: „Veți ajuta atât de multe persoane cu mărturia ta după ce vei termina terapia”. Îmi amintesc că familia mea spunea altor persoane prin ce treceam și asta a schimbat modul în care acele persoane mă percepeau. Eram văzut diferit. Judecat în tăcere. Frică. Poate contestat. Cum poate un credincios în Cristos să devină… dependent de droguri?
Am mers la dezintoxicare pentru o dependență pe care am ales-o ca mecanism de adaptare, pentru lucruri crude care mi-au fost spuse și făcute și pe care nu le-am meritat. Dar totuși, conversația s-a schimbat doar spre potențialul de succes al mărturiei mele—din perspectiva Bisericii. O mărturie care nu ar trebui să existe în acest moment, dar era așteptată, cerută. Să vă spun sincer? Acea mărturie nu ar trebui să existe deloc.
Există bătălii pe care le putem evita—povești și lecții care nu trebuie create. Am transformat ruina în drepturi de laudă și mărturii în tortură.”
Context: Tânăra Mireasă a lui Hristos luptând cu viața, cu mai multe încercări de sinucidere ca rezultat al unei mame toxice, a unui tată permisiv și a învățăturilor goale și nesatisfăcătoare ale bisericii. S-a pus vina pe această tânără Mireasă a lui Hristos că ar fi posedată de demoni. Mai mult, vina a fost scuipată în ură de-a lungul anilor în legătură cu aproape orice. Ca rezultat, această Mireasă a lui Hristos s-a îndepărtat de Hristos și a rătăcit în valea umbrelor timp de câțiva ani până când a găsit din nou drumul către Hristos. Întoarcerea este puternică, vindecarea este confirmată, bucuria este prezentă și reuniunea este sărbătorită. Cu toate acestea, vechile moduri ale culturii bisericești nu au fost cele care au făcut acest lucru.
Contribuția mea (chiar dacă nu este necesară). Gândește-te de câte ori l-ai blestemat pe dușmanul care ți-a cauzat suferință, fie în gând, fie cu voce tare. Nu a fost totul “Slavă Domnului.” Sunt sigură că au fost câteva cuvinte și atitudini obscene încorporate în acea mărturie pentru că suntem oameni imperfecți. Să renunți la egou trebuie să înceapă de undeva, și realizarea că nu ești singur în mocirla și întunericul murdar este locul unde începem. Dumnezeu începe o relație cu tine în timpul prăbușirilor tale lacrimogene și sărate. Da, greșim cu toții; suntem versiuni imperfecte ale umanității, deci nu mai retuși mărturia ta pentru a obține o mai mare aprobare. Sunt sigur că oamenii străzii ne pot învăța mai mult decât cei mai mari predicatori care nu au trebuit niciodată să mănânce dintr-un coș de gunoi. Majoritatea dintre noi nu am simțit cu adevărat că suntem aruncați la o parte, batjocoriți, ignorați, și invizibili, cum se simt vagabonzii străzilor. Ca Mireasa lui Hristos, ar trebui să fim sinceri unii cu alții, chiar dacă nu ne place. Adevărul este mai bun.
27 years already? How did that time fly so fast? Yet, looking at my children, all taller than me, I realize that my squeeky joints are there for a reason- time has passed- and even if I’ve never gave it permission to do so, time does not answer to me, I answer to it.
Chet and I, had so many adventures already and we plan on more if God allows us the time to do so. Was it easy? Some of you may ask and I answer. At times, not really. Was it worth it? Absolutely:) A marriage goes through seasons too; some are harder, some are easier but every season presents unbelievably beautiful moments if you look for them. Advice? Patience. Lots of it. Forgiveness. Lots of that too. Communication. As clear as possible. And so much more… that last one wasn’t helpful was it:)
But I think often while secretly looking at Chet; he’s just a boy wanting to be good, wanting to be loved and I’m just a girl wanting exactly the same things. We’re broken together, we’re whole together, we’re brave together, we’re scared together, we’re happy together, we’re sad together etc. Together is the secret. And for us God is part of this together journey, without him there never would’ve been a Carmen and Chet, without him we may have fallen and we may have died in spirit, love or body.
Chet, looking forward to our future adventures:) Europe is still part of those adventures, God willing.
May you celebrate your lives often with a smile both on your faces and in your hearts for all the years to come. Amen.
As Chet and I began marching along side thousands of silent protesters yesterday, Friday June 12th 2020, here in Seattle, I asked myself one very important questions: Why am I marching?
Fake news is not to be trusted and there’s nothing better than being present and see first hand what’s really happening, historically, in America today. The march was mostly attended by white people, it was peaceful if you exclude some of the hateful signs and the rainy-cold weather was something I could handle. (Due to sound sensitivity the silence was why I could be there and the weather was another plus.) I felt healthy and strong enough to be there, but the other reasons I was there are explained in the sentences below.
There’s two sides to every coin.
Back in 1993, when I stepped foot for the first time on American soil as a legal alien with no rights to vote and an American husband by my side I saw for the second time in my life black people in real life (it was my first time for Asians, Mexicans, Indians and Samoans) and I marveled thinking: I can’t believe how imaginative God can be in his masterful work. I never, not for one second considered myself superior. In fact it may have been the opposite- the communistic propaganda learned over the years does not drop off you just because you stepped across another country’s border- for you see I was tolled by the system, mostly in school, that I was an inferior human being for two reasons: I was a woman and I was a christian. But I digress.
Since that day in 1993 I’ve had many black friends, mostly women, and I loved hanging out with them, seeing nothing but a human being on the other side of my conversation and friendship. I like to give my mother full credit for that. She raised us, the Damean kids, to believe that every human being is God’s child, created equally and equally important. (You see, back during communism times when I was only nine years old or so, my parents hid in our small apartment an African missionary. If caught by the communist party they would’ve faced jail or worse- be put to death. All their christian friends were too afraid to take the poor man in but not my mother. Not my mother! Who I believe to be the strongest human being I’ve even met. She not only took this wonderful man in, fed him and sheltered him, but along the years took many street children in, if only for a day, bathed them, fed them, and clothed them. Her heart always had room for those in need and she saw everyone as God’s children, some marginalized by society.) Thus I grew up, along my siblings, eating at the same table with those rejected by society be that an African man or the poor or the rejected children living on the street. My mother thought us that all people were God’s children and we should take care of them, not harm them. So you see one of the reason for marching it has to do with my upbringing and seeing other people (not color), suffer. I marched because I understand suffering.
Now, time passed since 1993 and about five years ago I was startled by a black man. (It was not his fault. I was suffering the neurological consequences Lyme disease and its complications brought in my life at the time. The poor man apologized deeply even thought he was not in the wrong.) That’s when I also realized for the first time that a part of me was also scared of him, part of that fear was associated with Lyme disease the other part was associated …with what exactly? What changed in me since 1993? I took time and pondered on this, sorting time and memories to find the answer. It came down to two culprits: media and a close American relative who on numerous occasions showed fear and spoke that fear out loud while I was around, warning me of hidden dangers I never thought about.
Loving and recognizing that all of humanity are God’s children created no fear in my heart, but suspicion and prejudice did. I was not aware of the American history on race until I came here and learned it. But the media fueled what once used to be and no longer needed to be repeated. Communism used media to control people’s minds and separate them. By separating us it’s easy to conquer us. So I marched because I refuse to allow the lying media separate us.
Since my future son-in-law is part black this hits even closer to home for us. He’s an extraordinary young man and I see thought his silent eyes some of the struggles he’s had to endure. I also hear loud and clear the grace and forgiveness his heart constantly bestows on those who wronged him. I see God in him, I see Jesus’s example in action. It’s very healing and so human. Imarched in the thunderous silence for those wonderful human beings who lost their lives while innocent, or less perfect, because of expressed hatred.
While marching I thought of all those suffering from lyme disease or other horrible illness which leave them disabled and stuck in their bed or behind closed doors too fatigue or ill to march alongside me. I thought of you and your desire to come along if only the frail body would allow it. I like to think I represented you in that march.
Here comes the other side of the coin, the conflicting part within myself.
I do not believe in the politicized version of Black Life Matter movement, you know that part which expresses anger and hate by destroying other people’s hard earned livelihood.
I do not believe in police defunding. Why? They follow orders from higher up; it’s the politicians who give the orders of how the society should be run. If I believe in defunding anyone, and I do, I believe in defunding the crooked politicians with hidden agendas and their megaphone puppets we know as “media”. They are the ones that made me aware of racism, not God. (Here I don’t add the misguided people who speak in the name of God spreading hate meanwhile seriously disconnected from Jesus’s message. For Jesus did’t die on the cross for white, rich people that believe only a certain denomination is “the right one” he died for all, including those who hated him and didn’t believe in him.)
In conclusion, I’m not sure if I helped anyone by writing this blog, or if I’ve simply added to the pile of opinions out there irrelevant in some manner, but I do stand for one thing: All people (be them nice or not) were made in the image of God and all are his children and if every single one of us really believed that we would not have marches of any kind because we’d be too busy living peacefully among ourselves.
What a great summer this one was for us:) The apartment construction work is almost done. I had the most wonderful and unexpected visit for Easter from two of my brothers: Sergiu came from Germany and Flesh came from Romania. They took me completely by surprise:) We had a great time showing them Seattle, among other things and after they left and the weather warmed up, Chet and I spent many hours cycling on bike trails with my in-laws:) I also took lots of macro photos, a hobby of mine, and you can see one such photos at the very top (honey bee on a clover:)
I’m getting stronger every day. I have changed my Lyme tincture treatment to a new product and so far I think it helped me the most (or I’ve had lots of help from previous treatments and this one sort of sealed it). It’s a new product I found on Amazon called Holistic Tincture 7, made in Germany. It’s a 13 Herb tincture (Japanese Knotwood herbage, Teasel root, Cats Claw flower, Coriander herbage, Garlic, Hawthorn leave, Sarsaparilla root, Devil’s Claw root, Boneset leave, Astragalus root, Olive Leaves, Panax Ginseng root, Ginkgo leave) specifically design for those suffering from Lyme. Currently unavailable on Amazon as of today, but you can go directly on their website at http://www.biotraxx.eu to order. Heads up their info is in german (Amazon has an English version), and you need to take 20 drops three times a day for 6 months. One bottle lasts about 2.5 weeks.
It really helped me so I hope it does the same for you:) (The cost is around $28 per bottle plus shipping $7).
This year we’ve celebrated our 26th Wedding anniversary:)
I’m grateful and I’m looking forward to the wonderful things to come in this life:) So keep on fighting for those ones not yet on the other side because there’s hope:)
Here are a few more pictures I like sharing with you:)
At one point in our lives, we’ll experience pain in some form. When the pain is so unbearable that the only prayer coming out of our lips is “Help me, God!” don’t stress over the fact that it’s not lengthy or theologically rich. In those moments the very help we receive is God himself in the person of the Holy Spirit. This presence can be through a particular person, thought of hope or strength, a book someone was inspired to write just so you can find courage through reading it, etc. Here’s one of my own experience during one of such unbearable painful moments in the past.
Quote from my future novel.
“Laying in bed was the new activity I reluctantly had to accept, chained down by the mystery of unbearable pain. This pain brought along a certain amount of fear at times. But then there was a level of pain I’ve achieved where nothing but silence reigned, no questions, no reasoning, no fear, only silence. It’s in this horizontal position with a face washed by tears that I saw my bed expend quickly suddenly holding millions upon millions of broken diseased infested (physically or emotionally) humans. Their faces also washed in tears, millions upon millions of tears. People of all ages, from every nation, both genders and from all sorts of belief backgrounds. Holy Ghost in the shape of motherly presents sat, tears in her eyes, next to me ever so gently wiping my brow. I found temporary relief every time she did that and I was very grateful. I was not mad, angry, demanding answers or asking questions, because I saw how much God cared for me and her presence by my side day and night was constant. I don’t feel alone. She didn’t have to say one word for I understood every emotion or thought she exchanged with me. In her eyes, I saw how she mourned every single one of us, not just me, and on the bed of suffering, there wasn’t discrimination. It was equally devastating for her to see our suffering. Her heart was wounded and her face was burdened by our collective suffering, an emotion she felt far deeper than we’ll ever understand. Silent, loyal and everpresent by the side of suffering and pain she sat and wiped our sorrows softly.
I had no strength to finish a fragmented prayer I began, but she did it for me by looking deeply into my soul through my eyes and uttering the most intense pleading prayer without as much as parting her lips. But I could hear it. I didn’t understand the strange language full of color and sounds no human being will ever understand or utter. But I knew this was Trinity’s language and I only heard it from the outside, but there was an inner depth I could not hear or see but somehow know it was there. The language was meant for them that much I understand, on behalf of us, their children, whom at one point or another chose to divide among themselves driven by fear and hate. Our choice. Not theirs. A set of chains called “human will” were wrapped around her hands. Every hateful act against one another added more tears and pain to the bed of suffering which began to groan with a fresh wave of pain affecting all of us and her. I looked into her eyes but she didn’t hate us for hurting her. She loved us. Because we were her children.”
I felt the need to add this fragment now before the book is being done (maybe in a couple of years), because some of us may need to read this today.
Tonight while watching the Netflix Original documentary, Quincy, I found out something interesting I never knew about Chet. While living with Grandpa Charlie in Skyway, Seattle, he met and formed a friendship with Quincy Jones’ mother Sarah Wells Jones.
During an intermission of the Bill Gothard Christian Conference called “Insitute in Basic Life Principles” in 1988 at the Seattle Center, most likely at the Key Arena, while reading his Bible outside on a bench a thin lady sat down next to him and soon a conversation began, mostly about the Bible and God, creating an instant bond between the two. Soon after, Chet began visiting her small apartment downtown where she watched a small boy and girl most days. He remembers the good humor they shared while spending time together despite the age difference and the odd homeless look she seemed to have about her. He also noticed that something was a little off with her at times.
In their conversations, the name of Quincy Jones and his brother Lloyd came up and that’s when Chet realized the connection and wondered why would the mother of Quincy Jones live in such a small run-down apartment, knowing absolutely nothing of the personal history between the two. Sarah Jones seemed to be more proud of Lloyd and his important job at the Komo TV station, mentioning him often in the conversation, while hardly mentioning Quincy.
The relationship lasted about six months while Chet moved on to other things in his life and even though their friendship was short-lived, throughout the years he still thinks about her fondly.
This is a prayer for myself and anyone else who wants it:)
I thank you, God, for the ability to forgive and the gift of forgiveness. Until recently I couldn’t forgive no matter how I went about it, not sure why, but I presume it had to do with the hate taking all the space available in my heart leaving no room for anything else, including forgiveness or joy.
Thank you for breaking that hard calcified wax of hate towards others and myself and melting it away from my soal. Now I have room for forgiveness, love, and joy. Now I can forgive myself and others; sure it’s still an effort, sure it’s still my will and choice but I have the power to choose now versus being stuck within my sick soul with no way out except a continuous and exhaustingly constant squirming and no progress other than fatigue. I earnestly thank you now for giving me the parents I have, for bringing me to this part of the world, for my family, and for giving me the body I have. What tremendous spectacular things I’ve learned because of these privileges and what great privileges I have to help others.
Thank you for waking me up to my potential by revealing to me my fears, fears that captured me in a self-restraining smuggled dark suit all these years. By showing me these fears and their consequences, you opened up the eyes of my soul to the things I’ve missed and the opportunities not taken if choosing to remain in that snuggled dark suit called fear.
I will choose life, love, and joy. I will risk opening up and be vulnerable in order to gain these three qualities. I will re-learn and re-direct my focus, thoughts, and behaviors in order to experience the consequences of life, love, and joy. In my quest, I will fail sometimes but I will get up and continue because my focus has shifted. I finally see that I have the right to experience life, love, and joy, a right you gave me a long time ago but was taken away by other’s fears only to be recently recaptured.
It’s a re-learning process based on the truth that what others said or did in order to keep me down was based on their own insecurities and fears, not mine. Their walls, not mine. I thank you, Father God, for opening not only my eyes but my soul as well to accept this, for acceptance is the bridge between success and failure. In the past, I’ve accepted false versions of someone’s truths and it brought nothing but a vast desert in my soul, now I will accept your truth to choose life, love, and joy. After all, that’s the definition of balance. Not one without the other, not one over the other. Balance. Truth. This time your truth and let’s see what that brings along and where will it end.
The pelvic area stores lots of emotions, here’s where we experience sexual intimacy, new life, here’s where elimination of no longer needed elements in the body happens, the process of filtration and hormonal activity.
Father God, I ask for complete pelvic healing in my body and everyone else suffering from pelvic related illnesses, diseases, and emotional traumatic trapped memories. I pray full relief in the hearts of raped or sexually molested people, hormonal imbalance issues, inflammation, ovarian issues, bowel problems, genital damages, colon and kidney issues, urinary bladder issue, uterus health let us learn how to filter out of our souls and bodies damaging pain, let our body re-adjust to the proper health as we let go of what once was, but no longer is. Let us see the past hurts no longer delegating our present functionality. For those who lost certain body parts (ovaries, uterus, genitals, colon, rectum, kidneys) we pray that any grieving they’re going through over the missing parts is heard by you and that healing takes over and a new outlook is built.
The lower back is the gate between the lower part of the body and the upper part, it’s where stability lies. Do you feel instability in your life? Do you have a hard time grounding your feet in your situation? Do you feel the troubles bend your shoulders heavily adding pain to the lower back?
Father God, may the lower back pain in us be restored to the original design, may we look up to you and see how in fact you wipe the pain off our brows and with a smile larger than life are asking us to give you our burdens so we could regain our balance between the lower part of us and the higher part which is you. The imbalance we may have felt at one point, be fixed. All pain, inflammation, bone and the synovial fluid between the spinal vertebrae issue be restored fully. God paint back the strength of a complete person so we can stand tall and unashamed before man and you, God, as well. Whatever shame have bent us midway be undone, and true healing of the soul may bring us back into the upright position. May the weight most men feel due to the responsibilities of their family be transformed into the joy of the privilege loved ones bring. The men in our lives are so very important and let them feel it daily. God, you’re the belt that keeps us upright and strengthens our shoulders in the weary times and for that, we’re so very grateful, so very grateful. Thank you for the balance our mid-section brings to our body, and our soul. Thank you for healing, today and every day all lower back pain, disease and uneasiness until we’ve done all the good in this world that we could and are ready to come home to you:)
Thank you for loving us:) And thank you for our healed lower backs:)
Tomorrow I’ll be praying for anyone with pelvic pain:)
What a great summer this one was for us:) The apartment construction work is almost done. I had the most wonderful and unexpected visit for Easter from two of my brothers: Sergiu came from Germany and Flesh came from Romania. 
They took me completely by surprise:) We had a great time showing them Seattle, among other things and after they left and the weather warmed up, Chet and I spent many hours cycling on bike trails with my in-laws:) 
I also took lots of macro photos, a hobby of mine, and you can see one such photos at the very top (honey bee on a clover:)
Journey 