Blog Introduction

This blog is the story of how my husband and I faced the illness and death of two of our children. Each blog post is essentially a chapter in the story, so in order to truly understand it, you are going to benefit by starting at the beginning.
I hope you find our story touching, and in some way find comfort and hope through it as you face your own storms in life.

Friday, May 4, 2012

Dreams Return

Counseling sessions with Pastor Dawn became my lifeline.  After only one or two meetings, the feelings I had experienced in Slovenia erupted full force to the surface once again, proving that the root of my problem was still alive and well.  It may have been cut back or severely pruned during my time with Tim and Karen, but the source of the anxiety, depression, and inner turmoil continued to thrive in my mind and spirit.  Unseen, it waited for the opportunity to send out tentacles of torment to wreak havoc on my emotions. Each meeting with Dawn left me unsettled and ill-at-ease; yet, oddly enough, I drew life-breath waiting for the next one.  We were tearing down the walls I had erected all those years ago, and while the confrontations were painful, I knew this was the war I needed to be in.  This was my final battleground, and my final hope. I clung to our sessions like a drowning man clings to a lifeline.

As my emotions were once again stirred up, so came the return of dreams.  Vivid, extremely clear dreams.  Dreams with an obvious message.  God was showing me things in the night.
One dream was about my sessions with Dawn. In the dream, I went in for my long-awaited appointment, only to find she had other things she was involved in.  Her assistant met me at the door where I could see Dawn through the glass window; she was working with other people. Her assistant stood in front of me and said with a smirk, "Oh, I'm so sorry, but we'll have to cancel your appointment again," and both of them looked at me and laughed the kind of laugh that says, "Oops! Oh, well."  I walked away, frustrated and angry. I passed several people I knew as I walked down the hallway, but I was so sullen I barely acknowledged they were there.  My head was hanging down, and my shoulders rounded as I bore the frustration of another disappointment. I kept walking as one of our pastors came up to me laughing, repeatedly trying to tell me a joke. It was odd because it was so obvious I was upset, yet it seemed he was totally oblivious to it- as if he and the others around me couldn't see it at all.  By the time I had exited the building, my emotions were so "built up" I fell to my knees on the parking lot pavement and began pounding my fists on the ground crying, "I can't take it anymore! I can't keep getting torn open and then left!"  At this, the dream ended. I noted in my journal that it was probably the worst night of sleep I'd had in a long time.

What did this dream reveal?  What was being said?  First of all, it reflected how vital my appointments were with Dawn, and how I counted on them. She had never treated me in anyway like the dream indicated, so it wasn't a true reflection of that relationship. But it revealed how I felt unworthy and undeserving of her time.  Plus, I believe the enemy was taunting me with those very thoughts. If my only "safe" person didn't have time for me, then I should just quit. How easy it would have been to do just that! Satan doesn't want us to be whole, he wants to destroy us, and he was working overtime in my thoughts.  It also revealed how invisible I felt.  Even in the midst of obvious pain and struggle, it seemed as if no one could see it. I felt alone in my suffering, even when surrounded by people who knew me and were in positions of spiritual leadership, trained to minister to the wounded. No one was seeing. And the dream showed how completely agonizing it was to have the pain brought to the surface time and time again, and not complete the work.  It would be like a surgeon taking a scalpel to an area of abscess on a leg. He would cut in only to a shallow depth, and then stop for a day or a week, only to return and cut a little deeper; still not accessing the infection.  Imagine the surgeon doing this week after week- inflicting pain with every stroke of the blade as he skillfully worked toward the infection, but leaving the wound open and in fresh pain at each meeting. That was how it felt.
It would take a long time to reach the core of my "infection", and it would be a pain-filled process. But the pain was necessary.  It meant we were getting closer to healing. I had someone who was willing to walk that road with me until the end; through the pain, through the messiness of emotional surgery, through the ugliness of exposing festering wounds and untruths, all the way to healing. I had someone who not only "sat in the dirt" with me by the side of the road, I had someone who took my hand and helped me start crawling toward my healing.  I had a hero.

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