Archive for Identity

A Touch Of Sadness- Conclusion

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , on December 4, 2010 by Her Broken Wing

She could hear a scream. It would take some time before she realized it was her own shriek coming from the deep throes of her soul. Even now, she can still hear the sound in her sleep, in her dreams and in her waking hours.She hoped that she would soon wake up from this dreadful nightmare.

 She was not aware of how much time had passed before she felt a sudden thrust backwards. Life had grabbed her with such force it knocked her off her feet. She fell as she watched her life unveil itself. Soon, the streets were a haziness of red and blue lights. Voices were nothing more than echo’s in her head. She was paralyzed.

I sit back and wonder “How could she?” or anyone for that matter do something so horrible. But slowly, I think back to the time when I…


… am no different.

I have my moments of sheer terror and times in my life where time literally stopped. The world became surreal as I wondered how others could continue to go on about life in the midst of my pain.

It does not matter whether I caused it or “it” was a happen-chance, the result was always the same.

I look into the stories of your life and literally thrive off your pain– Yet, disconnect in my anguish. I was too afraid to veer into my life . To view your life, kept me at a safe distance from any pain.

Why don’t people stop and help others? Plenty cease what they are doing to stare and gawk. This only drives the sorrow of where I was— “Alone” to a greater depth.

There is a dark side to all of us. The touch of sadness is like touching my toes into the arctic water, it only gives me taste of that which is beyond my comprehension, pain and fear.

In this story, whether the boy lives or dies is irrelevant because we all have stories where he lives and dies. There will be some of us that will be disappointed and let down if he does not die and make this story even greater than it is. Yes, but most will not admit it. The dark side of our soul that wants to know we will survive the worst in life. So seeing it through the eyes of another, we can grasp something tangible.

I know that God says I will not have all the answers on this side of Heaven. Why does the addict live and the innocent die?

Maybe I am the innocent child, brushed by addiction, called to a higher plan.

Christ–He is my Light in the darkest places and shadows of my past.

Beautifully Awkward

Identity Bestowed

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , on July 18, 2010 by Her Broken Wing

Identity bestowed

Who am I?

Walking throughout my life, running at times, hiding mostly from the arrows of pain, I do not know who I am—yet.

I sometimes think I should wear a shirt that says, “Under Construction.” (phil 1:6)

From stories told, I came into this world fighting. I have always been very strong-willed to my detriment. But little by little my fight has been chiseled away.  All my life, I let my identity be defined by others. What difference do I make in someone else’s life? …And when that goes awry, my false self rears her ugly little head.

I have worked to prove myself worthy. Did they notice me? No wonder I was so tired—all the time. When I was young, I was a major tomboy(ok, still am). But to prove my versatility, I tried out for cheerleading. It should have come as no surprise I was not chosen for the team. I couldn’t have kicked a bug six inches in front of me. When the call came, I cried. I had been rejected. I took it very personal. My identity was shaken.

On another occasion, it was Thanksgiving. We had family over and the kitchen was destroyed. I was young, maybe ten years-old. I decided to surprise my mom by cleaning up the kitchen. When she got home from wherever, she looked at the kitchen and just turned around and walked out. I was crushed. At that moment, I remember thinking, “I screwed up again.” She will never love me.

One more poisonous arrow to my heart. One more wall built constructed around it as I vowed secretly to not let anyone in–ever.

The truth is—we all want to be accepted, loved and feel as we have a purpose in someone’s life. That is a major piece of our identity, is it not?

My addiction was a temporary fix. But even the pain of the drug use became greater than the pain of life.

Through these storms that I have weathered, they have eroded the ugly walls of my spirit in which I had built and still build.

I have come to believe this is God’s plan. He works to find the sweet undulating center of my soul where He awaits…

He is my identity bestowed as a gift

Beautifully Awkward