Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Miss me? I’m still here, just haven’t been writing. And me not writing is, well, not me. I have to write to stay sane. Recently, I’ve been filled with self-doubt, criticism, even loathing toward who I am internally, so the last thing I want to do is put those thoughts on paper for the world to see… and judge.
But God wants me to write. Not only write, but glorify Him with my writing.
I have never been so sure of anything as I am of His purpose for me. I love writing. I love God. I love glorifying God. So what’s the problem? Satan convincing me I have nothing worthwhile to say, and things I feel may help others will only show what a terrible person I was… or I am.
So I started talking to a Pastor who is showing me I haven’t dealt with things… things I believed were all done. Finished. Kaput. Things that Satan uses to remind me who I am. Sure. These things happened years ago, but I never confessed them, never laid them at the Cross and walked away. I know Jesus has forgiven me, but I haven’t forgiven myself. Instead, I have buried them deep in my heart to take out whenever I am feeling worthless. Lately, they have been out of burial constantly and never far from my mind.
Still, I could not understand why I was unable to put words on paper. It didn’t make sense until last week, as I was walking across the church parking lot. God reminded me of those days in March after I had been released from the hospital from a Xanax overdose. My mind was crap for 6 weeks… no short term memory, frequently getting lost driving on roads I have known for my lifetime… real, serious brain damage. The psychiatrist had told me I needed to rest my brain for 6 weeks… no complex thinking, not even crime TV shows… nothing taxing on my brain. And as he promised, 6 weeks later, I had my old brain back and could write again! I was so thankful, vowing to never take writing for granted again!
Time erased that vow from my memory. After receiving an upsetting phone call recently, I took a Xanax. The next night, I did it again. And again. And again. That is when my writing stopped. A day later, I remembered a profoundly intimate encounter I had had with God back in March. Suddenly, it all made sense.
It was one of those undeniable messages from God: “Your time on earth is not finished- you are staying here. I want you to spread my message through the gift of writing I have given you. You cannot witness for me while being strung out on Xanax. So here is your choice: Waste your days being drugged up on Xanax, or write for me. You cannot do both.”
The past few days, I’ve chosen the Xanax. And each day I take one, I get a little more depressed, feeling a little more guilt. The breaking point was taking Communion the other night. I choked on the wafer, as if it was some psychosomatic message telling me I don’t believe/accept taking on the life of Christ in place of my own. It has been devastating.
But, thank God, Michele met me at Starbucks when I called her crying and we talked for a long time. She cried with me, telling me this is all the enemy trying to pull me back down. She convinced me to keep going to talk with the Pastor so I can work through this.
She also told me to lay off the Xanax.
I am meeting with the pastor today. I have not taken a Xanax. And I am writing.