When discouragement tries to bury us…

In the process of recovery from PTSD, depression, or addiction, it’s easy to become overwhelmed and discouraged in the layers of pain and problems of our lives. And worst case scenarios can dominate our minds, compounding the issues we need to sort and heal. We worry about our kids, our finances, and our relationships. Projecting our future based on our current pain dooms us from the start.

So, when we start feeling hopeless, it’s good to remember to surrender each day, each moment of fear into the hands of God. Because when we empty our tired hands into His infinite strength and grace, His love will have its way with us. And one day at a time, our hearts are knit closer to His, and hope replaces discouragement.

There’s a peace takes root in the leading of our true Healer and Savior – Jesus Christ. And no matter what our history tells us, He can make us overcomers. No matter what.

Posted in addiction, Addictions, anxiety, christianity, depression, eating disorders, EMDR, fear, grace, grief work, healing, hope, love, ptsd, recovery, shame, spiritual healing, trauma | Tagged , , , , , , | 9 Comments

Non-Military PTSD and My Life

Shelly and Wanda are friends of mine. If you suffer from PTSD or you know someone who does, I highly recommend their new book, “Love letters from the Edge.”

Blessings to all who struggle. May you find the healing and freedom and the life you were created to enjoy.

Sandscribblings

Causes

Ten years ago I didn’t know very much about post-traumatic stress disorder. Unfortunately, I didn’t know that trauma was influencing the lives of many of my family members. Today I look back and know that if I’d known then what I know now, I’d have been able to help those I love in more effective ways.

  • Accidents. When my son was two, he bit an extension cord and suffered a devastating shock through the mouth that seared his lips and required reconstructive surgery. During the hour-long drive through the country to the hospital, his head swelled and distorted as he lay in my arms. In those moments, I believed my child was going to die before we arrived.
  • Suicide. My father-in-law lost his father to suicide when he was a child. The trauma influenced Norman for the remainder of his life, leaving him “stuck” emotionally and family members confused about…

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My new blog- please respond…

Hello, friends.

I’ve changed my blog name to http://www.lorilara.com.

I really want to stay connected. Please visit my site and click follow so we can stay connected…sorry if this is a duplicate message. I’m not a very techie person.:/

Blessings.🙂

Posted in addiction, anxiety, blog, brain cancer, christianity, co-dependency, depression, eating disorders, EMDR, fear, friendship, Glioblastoma Multiforme, grace, gratitude, grief work, guilt, healing, hope, inspiration, love, mother daughter relationships, motherhood, parenting, ptsd, recovery, secrets, self help, shame, spiritual healing, spirituality, therapy, trauma | 2 Comments

understanding my mom’s tears

It was a bright sunny day a year and a half ago, and I can still picture us alone in the car on the way to my grandma’s funeral.  Sorrow filled our eyes as my mom’s perfume mixed in the air with the smell of leather seating. She put on a Celtic praise cd and put on a song entitled, “Garments of praise”.  I looked over and saw how, at age 65, my mom was still the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.

I want this song played at my funeral.” She said.

Mom, stop it. Don’t say things like that.” I immediately replied.

She answered, “Well, I just thought you’d want to know.”

Her comment scared me, which made the grief for my grandma more complicated. Who knew how quickly her request would be called in.

Then she turned up the volume higher than I thought she ever would, a signal for me to stop talking, and I watched the familiar tears began to fall as she sang along.

I often remember my mom crying while she worshipped. I never did understand why.

It’s been almost three weeks since my mom died, and as I hide under the sheets in bed listening to that same song with the haunting and yearning bagpipes, I immediately go back to that warm ride in the car. Then quickly my mind takes me back to my mom’s hospital bedside when I held her hand firmly in mine as we stared at each other listening to our song again.

Remember this song, Mom?” I said as I leaned in closely. She nodded slightly with the little strength the brain cancer hadn’t yet taken. Those 30 minutes of worship alone with my mom at her bedside were the most sacred minutes of my life. They are as precious to me as the day my children were born. After decades of being in church together, I knew this would be our last worship time with each other. This would be our last moments of anything together. And I knew if she had one last request, she would have asked to worship the Lord.

And then I flash to when she lost consciousness for the last time and I worshipped alone, singing the words as she did, with tears streaming down my face with the deepest longing I’ve ever known. Oh, how I wished she’d open her eyes just one more time. I never had a beautiful singing voice like she did, but I sang with unguarded sorrow, knowing she was truly on her way to the One she longed for her entire life. Her tears were being wiped away forever. Never again would she sing praises with an aching heart. As her longing was being fulfilled, mine was growing deeper.

Being on this side of her life, where I have to play old phone messages to hear her voice, I think I understand what all her worship tears were about. It’s beyond desire; it’s a homesickness that earth can never satisfy. It’s an impossible need that, try as I might, can’t be fulfilled this side of Heaven. But, I know one day it will be.

I miss you, Mom. I can just imagine your joy now…

Here’s a link to the song, “Garments of Praise.”

Posted in blog, brain cancer, christianity, Glioblastoma Multiforme, grace, grief work, healing, hope, mother daughter relationships, spiritual healing, trauma | 21 Comments

Where meaning and purpose reside…

meaning and purpose1

Written as I lie facedown in the valley of losing my mom…

love to you…

Posted in blog, brain cancer, christianity, Glioblastoma Multiforme, grief work, healing, hope, love, mother daughter relationships, recovery, spiritual healing, trauma | 9 Comments

The small things…

ponder the small things copy

Taking these photos of my mom’s flowers has taught me that life is too short to miss the beauty found inside a lily. I wonder how many other treasures I’ve missed because I’m too busy with my to-do list and entirely too focused on planning my future, which may or may not ever happen.

One of my goals is to slow down and savor the miracles that lie all around me TODAY.

Ever felt this way? I’d love to hear about your experience.

Posted in blog, Glioblastoma Multiforme, inspiration, love, mother daughter relationships, spiritual healing | 13 Comments

the bridge to my mom…

Every aspect of my mom’s memorial service on Saturday was beautiful. God gave me incredible peace and strength to write and deliver her eulogy, my part of honoring my mom and serving my dad and family. It happened exactly as it did in the dream I awoke from on December 4th. God gave me a message to deliver, and I’m still floored that I was able to stand in front of everyone and talk about my mom. God’s grace is just flat-out amazing. He covered me while I spoke.

But now that the business of her dying is over and I’m left with the quiet awareness, I long for a shortcut through this grief. The waves of sadness hit me out of nowhere. And then as quickly and unsuspectingly as it comes, it leaves and then I go numb again. No one can save me from it, or make me feel better. I feel everyone’s wish to find the right words to help ease my pain, but there are no words of comfort when you lose your mom. I feel compelled to save them from their impotence.

I’ve found the blessings that happened with my mom and my family during the last 3 ½ months of her life, which are innumerable and miraculous, have almost nothing to do with the devastation of her death. They’re completely separate. Yes, knowing she’s heaven helps me feel better for her, but it does nothing for my pain. Yes, God was merciful; she died peacefully and with all the love she could have imagined. But we’re still left without her, and the effects of her not being here are vast and sometimes hidden in the most innocuous places. I knew that going through her clothes and smelling her scent in her closet was going to be hard. I was somewhat prepared for that. But I had no idea how much I’d cry over seeing her sewing machine and crochet needles. I forgot that she was going to teach me how to crochet. Just another thing we’ll never do together. We found her Jesus and angel pins on the red sweater she wore for Christmas. She wore them every Christmas. That was a very bitter-sweet moment for my family.

In my mind, my mom died 100 deaths since her brain cancer diagnosis on October 1st. We knew the stats on her cancer. We knew she had no chance of survival. But we also knew that God could have done a miracle and so we held out hope, even if it was just a little bit. But witnessing the removal of her IV fluids while she was still staring into my eyes, knowing she was going to die and wondering if she knew what was happening as dozens of people were crying at her bedside, and then seeing her lifeless body after she was gone were all things I could never have prepared for. Imagination goes only so far; it pales in comparison to the real thing.

I’ve never known such impossible reality. And I’m fearfully aware that I still don’t know it.

There’s only one person who can offer anything of hope and peace to me. And that’s Jesus. When I pray or listen to my mom’s favorite worship music, I feel a strange closeness to my mom. I realize he’s the connection between my mom and me. She’s with him. And he’s with me. So because of him, I’m connected to my mom. He’s the bridge.

So when I miss her most and wish I could talk to her one more time, I ask Jesus to give her a message for me. Mostly, I just tell her how much I love her.

Jesus and angel pins

Posted in blog, brain cancer, christianity, Glioblastoma Multiforme, grace, grief work, healing, hope, love, mother daughter relationships, recovery, trauma | 20 Comments