Desperate For Change


Perhaps your typical pattern is that, when you start to think about what happened, you wallow in despair for two hours and cap that off with wolfing down a whole bag of potato chips and drinking a two-liter cola. A small step… might be that in half an hour… maybe you decide to say “hello” to someone instead of avoiding them; or you snap out of your self-preoccupation, and give your child a hug and ask how her day went. These little things are huge, radical steps…

I am desperate for change. I read this from a ‘Recovering From Child Abuse’ pamphlet written by the CCEF in Philadelphia. This small steps concept is what I’m desperately trying to do. This morning, instead of going back to bed after my daughter went down for her morning nap, I got up and made my husband breakfast and took a shower. Instead of going back to bed after my shower, I read this pamphlet that has remained unread on my dresser for at least a year. I read my Bible. I’m not saying I sought God, because that’s not my style. My style is to run from Him as fast as my legs will carry me. But I found comfort in Isaiah 43. I found answers. I found, “You are Mine.” If I can learn to trust God, I have found a new identity in Him. I am His daughter. I am His. Other portions of this passage say, “Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by your name; you are Mine,” “I have loved you,” and….

“When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; And through the rivers, they shall not overflow you. When you walk through the fire, you shall not be burned, nor shall the flame scorch you.” I believe God’s promises for myself, yet I also believe I am being overflowed by the rivers and I feel the fire is scorching my skin and soul. This passage does not say God will rescue me from trial, but He will be with me in it and He will not leave me. If I can bring myself to trust God, it sounds like I have found a potential best friend. I know He is my Savior. I desire a best friend.

A Therapist’s Son

I asked my son what he was drawing and he said, “I’m drawing what’s inside my heart.” I asked him to tell me about it and he replied, “I can’t say. Let me draw it. I’m drawing my heart.” Here is what he drew. He is such a therapist’s son.

A's heart

My therapist has always told me to re-do my art therapy when it is dark; do an opposite. While my inside feels dark, bruised, and bloody, this is what I want my heart to feel like. I want it to feel vibrant, happy, and colorful. I used a lot of yellow because it’s light; I used a lot of pink because it’s one of my favorite colors; and I used orange because it’s my son’s favorite color. I noticed that using so many colors requires more effort. In order to fill all the gaps with different colors, it takes time and careful calculation. I believe this is how much of my life is. I can allow my life to be dark, black, and red. It’s easier to allow the darkness to overtake me. But if I put just a little more effort in and add a few vibrant colors, perhaps just a tiny bit of light will shine through. That is all we need to have hope and endurance; a little bit of light.