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Archive for October, 2008

My Journey to Peace with PTSD

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The following poem was written by Frank Ochberg, MD, founder of Gift from Within

Survivor Psalm

I have been victimized.
I was in a fight that was
not a fair fight.
I did not ask for the fight.
I lost.
There is no shame in losing
such fights.
I have reached the stage of
survivor and am no longer a
slave of victim status.
I look back with sadness
rather than hate.
I look forward with hope
rather than despair.
I may never forget, but I need
not constantly remember.
I was a victim.
I am a survivor.

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Pieces of the Whole

A true mosaic is made of tiny little pieces, hand picked for their relation to the completed picture.  

Chosen by color to fit within a certain place at a certain time to create a picture.  The picture may be of something soothing to the soul, something of a graphic nature or anything the artist culls from the depths of his being and seen with his mind’s eye.

Life is like that mosaic, God’s hand gathering lives of color to form a masterpiece, a body, cell by cell.  Tiny little pieces put together color by color and forging something unforgettable, something that fits perfectly into the master plan, God’s handiwork that is continually growing and always seeking the path to Heaven.

Reflecting back upon the years of my life, I have found that the pieces fit perfectly, not always by my doing and not always understanding.  People have come and gone but the memory of them is always at hand.  Everyone that has made an appearance in my life has served a purpose, at least for that time, some I reflect on fondly, others I think about and toss them back into the dark corners of my memory.

Happiness and pain fitting together because one can’t know one without the other.  The ups and downs, the ins and outs, the ying and the yang, all mean there is a perfect balance somewhere and we spend our waking hours searching for it.  Pushing and pulling and wondering why is this happening to me?

There is an order to life, it is a perfect order and it is perfectly timed, but  while putting the pieces together there are some which are imperfect, but somehow they fit.  There are pieces of colors we know nothing about, yet somehow they also fit.  The mosaic of life can only be made by a master.

by Delila

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Little Boy You

Confused am I – to say the least – By your Heart of Stone

Methodical beat – within a shell – Faint Cries for Love Unknown

Had I known you – as a boy – I’d have Covered You with Love

The kind of love – you never knew – The Love from Him Above

You never had it – reason unknown – The Boy is Not to Blame

He’s a victim – of love withheld – A Target of Their Pain

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Once Upon A Time…there was a Little Me…So innocent, so fragile…so pure…

Perfectly created, perfectly shiny…perfectly new…

Perfect neat or naughty…perfect messy, perfect happily just being me…

Such a free litle girl who danced through her life, giggling without reason, loving

 without hesitation, trusting without any reason not to…perfectly loved in an unconditional

 way…perfectly safe, perfectly protected from what someday would come my way.

Free to imagine how great I’d become, to daydream almost always, to be scared of the night and terrified of forever…free to be silly, free to spill my milk, to sometimes be flighty, usually messy and often late…a fragile piece of blown clear glass with nothing to hide, nor to hide from…free to be perfectly imperfect me.

One day older plus many days more…my perfect, some older. fragile glass self was gentley taken off my safe shelf.

And my happy go lucky, ignorant youth, happily skipped into a far from perfect, fallen world.

So I got chipped a little, scratched a lot, but polished up quickly without too much harm due…until…there was you.

Did you notice my beauty then, the first time we met?  How truly transparent I was?  I had nothing to hide then nor anything yet built up on me to hide it with…do you remember how pristine the glass was before the first time you touched me?

And…I can’t help but wonder…did a part of you ever pause before you put that first smudge on me?  Did you not know then how ugly you’d find the dirty, cracked glass of your creation?  Or had you always planned to break your promise to be ever so gentle with easily breakable, delicate me?

And the last time you left me, when right before you left…well, why didn’t you just leave?  Why did you first have to find me…to hurt me again.

You grabbed me from that dusty shelf that I was hiding on, why did you hate me?  You eagerly, almost with pleasure shook me and then you…you smashed me on the floor.

I used to wonder…what made you so mad at me?  Whatever was it that made you not even want me enough to keep kicking me around?  Of course then I remember, the word that I said, to bring on even greater rage from you…you really don’t like it all, do you?…When someone says ‘STOP’ to you…

So you threw me and I violently crashed…I exploded, I shattered…you decided to put an end to my story that day.  The delicate work of clear blown glass, the little me I once was…now just a million different pieces of sharp and jagged glass, each one bleeding their own unique shade…right there, where you left me, upon the dirty floor.

Did you ever consider pausing before you quickly walked away?  Did you ever think about cleaning up that mess that you had made?

But you don’t write my whole life’s story and it wasn’t your decision to say The End.

So the millions of pieces of shattered glass upon the floor each now displaying the millions of forever stained shades from the colors they bled before…they got up, they moved on, they live now, so damn much better than before.

Did you think that I’d just be swept up, quickly thrown away?  Did you think that was the last of the once prized trophy you tried to destroy that day?

And now…if you could see me, how stunned you’d truly be, so taken aback by my intriquite beauty, by the better me, now me.

It’s really quite a miracle, it even surprises myself…to live my cherished presence, to love who I am today…because, well…there’s just so much more to me now, in part because you smashed me to the floor that day.  Who would have thought, not you, I’m sure…the result of your destruction…would end up blooming into something greater than we could have ever imagined?

Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t easy and it took more than just me…to create this breathtaking showpiece that you still most likely just haven’t the sight to see.  I’ve finally come into myself, moreso of who God always intended me to be…only His Design could turn a million shattered pieces into a whole, complete…perfectly perfect me.

And now…when the light shines through me, the colors that I once bled…they reflect a million different shades of light…an irredescent mix of me, the reflection of how I choose to display the entirity of me.

Sometimes, this gift, this light…it shines outside of me, magically finding and seeking the darkened paths of those most in need.  And I am so blessed to have this light, to be able to share it…the joy, the gift to do so…well, to you…I can’t explain, but…it gives back so much more, makes such an even brighter me!

So that’s me…perfectly imperfect.  The clear, transparent glass you once destroyed now lives out loud with so much to give, reflecting God, shining forth His Grace in a myriad of amazing, most colorful ways…

It’s just..beautiful…and…It’s Me!

Perfectly Imperfect Mosaic Me

 

by Sara Huizenga Lubbers

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