She could not tolerate broken things So she decided to fix it Every tear Every bleeding heart Little Miss Fix-it could fix it
She was the queen of her realm Commander and chief She had everything under control But in the process of trying to fix the world The world ended up breaking her soul
Little Miss Fix-it was easy prey For ravenous wolves in sheep’s clothing Her heart was devoured Her soul was crushed Her mind was mauled by confusion
Her heart was too broken To fix on her own Too distrusting and disbelieving So the only thing left for her to do Was entrusting it to God for healing
Little Miss Fix-it is much wiser now From the hard lessons she has learned She stopped playing God Jumped off the Throne And ran through the gates of freedom
The moral of Little Miss Fix-it’s story is Be careful of the choices you make Stop believing the lies you’ve been told Live only the life that is yours And leave all the fixin’ to God
Like an explosive volcanic eruption Angry words spewed across the page Vile Hateful Slanderous As if the Devil himself penned the words They pierced the heart Crushed the soul Provoked a storm within Revenge! The raging heart screamed An Eye for an eye A word for a word I will have the last say Then my heart remembered The treaty it signed To lay down the weapons To rid the armor of pride And put on the shield of Forgiveness How the heart struggled How it longed to get even But amid the hurt and anger Arose a heart of victory And all that remains of the letter Is ashes in the wind
Genesis 5:24 NIV Enoch walked faithfully with God; then he was no more because God took him home.
Heaven is looking brighter and clearer every day And the more wicked this world gets The more ready I am to leave How I loathe the hatred and lies The shootings and killings The butchering of babies still in the womb Where does this sense of entitlement come from? Where is the remorse? The shame? When was a lie ever the truth? Who opened the door to the pit of Hell? Do my prayers and tears reach Heaven? Has God turned His back on His creation? Or is He waiting for one more soul to believe in Him? The world has become a giant monster of evil I don’t want to be here anymore I’ve seen and heard enough I’m old and tired My feet are bruised and sore My legs tremble in weakness The walk has been long and arduous But I continue pushing forward Continue trusting and believing That at the end of the road Jesus is waiting to carry me home And I’m excited about that!
GOD I grew up thinking that God was looking down from heaven, arms crossed, frowning, and shaking His head in disappointment; a stark contrast between what I read in the Bible and what I was taught in Sunday School.
He’s your Heavenly Father, they said. His love is higher than the mountains, deeper than the ocean, they said. His love is unconditional, they said. You don’t have to earn it, beg for it, clean yourself up for it. Good or bad, it’s all yours, they said. My brain believed it, but my heart didn’t feel it, and I couldn’t settle for that.
I’m a sensitive, emotional human being that relies on my feelings, and if I can’t feel it, I’m paddling against the current of emptiness, frustration and confusion. And I can’t live like that. I have to feel God. I want, I need, I can’t live without knowing, believing, and feeling God in my heart.
So, I kept searching; crawling through the wreckage of my past, facing the ghosts, grieving my losses, wrapping my arms around the truth, cursing the lies and deceit of the people that said they loved me.
And there, in the midst of the wreckage, sat a shadowy figure staring into space, oblivious to the world in which he lived. My dad; in the flesh, but absent in the spirit.
Suddenly, in the crashing waves of anger and grief, I found my answer. When I finally opened my crying eyes, I saw God; smiling, arms open wide for me to come and feel His highest, deepest, unconditional love of my Heavenly Father. He was there all along; I just couldn’t feel Him. Now I do.
FAMILY That’s where relationships are born. That’s where parents love, discipline and protect their children, make them feel safe, and teach them how to spread their wings and fly. Family is the potter; children are the clay. Either they are lovingly shaped and molded into something beautiful, or they are ruthlessly marred and disfigured for life.
RELATIONSHIPS There’s no gentle way to put this: my family was screwed up. The most important relationships I always wanted, I learned to live without. For the sake of my own sanity, I walked away; I said enough!
I want to live a happy life. And, when I became a mom, I broke the chains of child abuse and loved my one and only child unconditionally, no strings attached. And as a result, he is a loving, caring human being, an awesome son, husband, father of four, and grandfather of nine, beautiful grandchildren.
There are no conflicts that we can’t work out. We all come together, laugh, work, and play together, because we know how important wholesome relationships are for each other’s well-being in a world that grows more stupid and evil every day.
CONCLUSION If we want a good life with a beautiful, flourishing flower garden, we have to do everything within our power to care for it properly. Otherwise, it will dry up, dwindle and die. And that’s no life at all.
She was beautiful with her long, raven black hair, dark eyes and golden bronze skin; a stark contrast to my fair skin, red hair and freckles. Even her name was beautiful: Shawna Lee. We were kids when we met, and though I have long forgotten her face, I have never forgotten her name. So, when I got married and became pregnant, I had the perfect girl’s name picked out. But I had a boy, so I saved that lovely name for when I had a girl. Sadly, due to childbirth complications and neumerous surgeries, motherhood was a one-and-done deal for me. However, when my short-lived marriage ended in divorce, my X remarried and named one of his two daughters, “Shawna Lee“. I don’t know why, but I’m glad he did. Goes to show that like people, some names are special and will never be forgotten.
If you could unzip my skin, you would see my wounds. But, unless you’ve walked a mile in my shoes, you will never know how much it hurts.
Sandi Staton
I have episodes when I feel that everyone I love has died. The feeling is so overwhelmingly dark and painful, that I just want to curl up and die. Sharing those feelings with my medical doctor a few years ago is when he diagnosed me with BPD (borderline personality disorder). I had never heard of it before, so I went online to see what it was, and discovered that he was right. And, for the first time in my life, I had a better understanding of my anxieties, fears and phobias, and noise intolerance. Why rejection feels like my heart is in a wood chipper. Why depression never goes to sleep. No matter how hard I try not to go there, I get sucked into the maddening cycle of ups and downs, of feeling okay for a few days, sometimes weeks, then falling back down to the pit of hell, and clawing my way back out again. It’s murderous! A never-ending torment of feeling good and then bad, and then like a demon from hell. I’ve been like this all my life. Social gatherings are sometimes so painful that I avoid them. It’s true, my home life was as dysfunctional as the Hatfield’s and McCoy’s. But through my own blood, sweat, and tears, I am crawling towards recovery. I dove into the murky river of lies and deceit in search of the truth, and a more functional way of life. It took guts. It tore my world apart. It opened my eyes to the brutal, emotional abuse that I endured. And there, in the deepest parts of my battered soul, I saw God. No judgement. No finger pointing. No demented glaring eyes. But, rather, I saw arms open wide, eyes filled with tears, and a smile bigger than the universe. And sobbing in His embracing arms of steel, I felt the depths of His warm and tender love.
I still struggle. I’m still learning and growing. I still take three steps forward and two steps backward. But I will never give up! I know God didn’t create me this way. God doesn’t maim, He heals. God doesn’t hate, He loves. God doesn’t laugh when I fall, He cries and picks me up. He brushes off the dirt of the world, takes hold of my feeble hand, and walks beside me every wavering step of the way.
Isaiah 48:17NIV This is what the Lord says . . . your Redeemer, the Holy One of Israel: “I am the Lord your God, who teaches you what is best for you, who directs you in the way you should go.”
Sugar runs through my veins. Not blood. SUGAR! I’m a sugar junkie. Malted Milk Balls? I never eat just one. I eat the whole box in one setting. Milk Duds? Caramel Chews? M&M’s? Gummy Bears? Please, stop! Give me a truckload. No, a dump truck load, and I’ll scream for more. If I were a hoarder, my house would be bursting at the seams with candy! Am I diabetic? Nope! I’m just an insane, full-blown addict!
And, since Christmas, I’ve added hot chocolate to the list. Covered with marshmallows. So yummy. Then I ran into a problem. A big problem. I got hooked on the marshmallows! My brain wouldn’t shut up about it. Every time I started doing something, I’d hear, “Sandi. Come and eat us,” till I ended up eating two whole bags full.
I only wish my body liked candy as much as my taste buds do. But, it doesn’t. It suddenly got too big for its britches. Between the bloat and neuropathy, my feet and legs swelled like road kill on the verge of bursting open. I complained. I moaned and groaned. My poor body was suffering, and my brain didn’t care.
I had to make a decision: keep up the insanity, or straighten up. I chose to straighten up. Since this is not my first rodeo, I knew what I had to do. DETOX!
I dislike water as much as I love candy. And intermittent fasting is almost as bad. But, because I’m an all or nothing freak, I do better at eating nothing than going on a stupid, calorie-restricted diet that never works for me. Fasting is a beautiful word compared to the evil, diet word.
Oh, and one other thing. I started walking. Since I quit jogging after seventeen years (another stupid thing I did), I’ve gained weight and lost a ton of muscle strength till it’s difficult walking up just a few steps. And I fall. A lot. And I’m old. Real old (77). But, that’s okay. I can’t fix that, but I can fix what I do with it from here on out. I must admit, though, that since my legs refuse to support me at times, I feared falling in the middle of the road and getting run over if I started a walking program. My son, an insane hiker, marathon runner, and body builder, told me about trekking poles that athletes are using today. I bought a set, tried them out, and fell in love with them. It took me a few walks before I got the hang of it, but I won’t walk without them. Ever!
The moral of my story is this: If you value your body, no matter what your age, take care of it. It’s the only one you have, and it ain’t gettin’ younger! Trust me!
If the only reason someone wants to be your friend is to dump all their problems on you, then run! They don’t love you. They don’t even like you. You are just a dumping ground for all their stinking garbage.
~Sandi
I thought I was just a nice person, that’s why people liked me. Everyone likes nice people, right? Nice people that allow them to use you. To keep you on standby. To cry on your shoulder and pour their guts out. To dump and run, leaving you with all their mess to clean up.
I’ve had lots of friends like that. I guess I just had that look about me, or a sign on my head that said, “Use me! Abuse me! I won’t fight back, because I’m nice!”
It all started with my mother. Wow! My own mother! But I loved her so much that I was blinded by her destructive narcissism because I was so busy trying to please her. To fix her. Being her little scapegoat. Her little performer. Her little shoulder to carry all her childhood scars and wounds. All her anger and disappointments. All her stinking trash.
Without going into a fifty-thousand-mile marathon, let’s just say she really did a number on me. She crushed my spirit before I could read, and continued ripping and tearing and jerking, and playing with my emotions to adulthood. Until finally, I said ENOUGH! Until I finally walked out of her life. For six long years. To pry her fingers loose from my life that I served her on a silver platter. Because she was my mother, and my mother would never, ever hurt me.
I wasn’t born with mental health issues. I was a happy, sweet-loving little girl. I remember that clearly. How I loved romping in the woods along trickling streams, swinging on the swing my dad hung on a tree limb, singing and chasing butterflies and playing with turtles, lizards and giant bullfrogs. I was a free spirit. The world was mine to explore, and to be swept away in all its glory and splendor.
But, after years of being dragged through the mud with people’s garbage strapped on my back, I started looking and smelling bad. My attitude changed. My thinking changed. My heart changed. I am no longer that free-spirited sweet little girl that I never had to try to be. I just was. But, today, I still struggle with my identity. Maybe because I’m older now. Maybe because I look in the mirror and only see my mother staring back at me. Maybe because I am my mother, after all.
Run! Run as fast as you can from the people who try to drag you down. Draw from your inner strength and scream, “ENOUGH”! Tell yourself you are good. You are sweet, loving and kind. Be yourself. Never give away your soul. For, if you do, you will die a slow, agonizing death.
My daily goal, from the moment I open my eyes in the morning till the time I close them at night, is to be free. To stop beating myself up for every wrong that I do and every word that I say. For the real me to break through the filthy, stinking garbage and prove to myself that my deceased mother, and all my once-upon-a-time fake friends were dead wrong about me. Because, I’m not the city dump. I’m a person. A real, live, human being that is still trying to break free.
Straight From the Heart 