My True Love Story

There was a woman who was broken from years of sexual abuse.  She was insecure, filled with shame, and suffered from low self-esteem.  She looked to food for love, and hid behind the weight that began to pile on.  It was her way of protecting herself from more pain.

She looked for love in many ways, but none of those reached the deepest recesses of her heart.  She tried to fill that emptiness as she could, but they were only temporary fixes for the hole inside of her heart.

Through it all, however, she could feel the hand of God protecting her, guiding her to a better place in her life.  No matter how low she sank, God would always find her and pull her back up.  When she sank again, His hand was there reaching....pulling her back into the light.  Even when she tried to go in  directions that led her away from God, He passed her by and was waiting at the destination for her...protecting her from harm.  He brought people into her life in the middle of her direst circumstance to support her, love her, and help her to grow.

She saw doors open that she had never even knocked upon except for deep in her heart.  She saw circumstances that were painful turn into reasons for rejoicing.

She came to expect miracles in her life.

She began to wonder why God would waste his time on someone like her.  Perhaps, in the eyes of God, she WAS loveable...she WAS beautiful....she WAS worthy.  Tears streamed down her face at the realization that the hole in her heart had finally been filled.  Her search for love was over.  The love she had found was a love that was 100% unconditional.  She did not have to be perfect in order to have this love.  He loved her in her brokenness, and in that brokenness she found her healing.

This woman is me, and this is why I believe in God and His healing love and power.  I don't need scientific proof, for the proof is in my heart.  I may not always be able to answer the questions that skeptics have, but I KNOW.  I  know He is alive as surely as I know that I am alive.  Not only is He alive, He is Love.  People search for love in so many ways.  They go through life looking for anyone or anything to make them feel alive, worthy, and loved.  They turn to drugs, alcohol, video games, sex, shopping, food...all temporary fixes for a heart that is meant for so much more.

God is the answer to a hurting heart.  God is the Love you are looking for.

                                                           Cheryl A. Williams, 2013

An Epiphany for Me

Sometimes life throws us a curve ball, and though painful, it forces us to reflect on our life and the choices we have made.  

Lately, I've been experiencing a lot of different emotions and thoughts about my life.  First of all, I have always had a longing deep inside that there is something more for me.  Don't get me wrong.  I'm content.  I have a good life.  I'm making my way in this world.  Still, I believe God is calling me to something more.

For a long time, I have felt that God called me to be a writer.  I still believe that, but not in the same sense that I used to believe.  I used to have lofty dreams of writing the next best seller.  To tell the truth, I have never really cared about money or fame or any of that.  My main goal when I write anything is that what I write might touch or inspire someone else.  So I've been trying to focus more on writing helpful articles or stories.

But there's more.  I have also come to the realization that I often use my writing as a crutch for avoiding my life or for making me feel important.  I did it as a teenager.  I remember walking up and down the halls carrying my book of poetry I had written.  People thought I was cool because i wrote poetry, and that is really all I had in the area of "cool" going for me.  These days  I have another job working in a cafe.  I love the people, but don't really like the job. It just isn't me.  If anything I feel like I'm just contributing to the obesity of America.  I try and be nice and friendly and helpful to customers, but that is the only satisfaction I get from the work.   I do a good job.  I'm efficient.  I'm a good trainer.  Still, I believe I have more to offer the world. 

 THUS comes my reply when anyone asks me what I do for a living.  Do I say "I'm a Cafe Worker"?  Of course not.  I say I'm a "WRITER".  I mean, it sounds so much more glamorous and important than being a cafe worker.  Nobody knows what I write....how much I've written....or how much money I've made.  It has an air of mystery about it, and it makes people respond by saying "Wow.  How cool.  What do you write?"  Again, it makes me feel important for all of the wrong reasons.

The truth is, I've had a lot of short stories, poems, and articles published.  I have published three books.  I've made very little money, however, and imagining I might live on any of my earnings from what I've written is pretty funny.

Which brings me to my new epiphany.  I feel like God is calling me to do some kind of mission work.  This isn't really new.  As a child I wanted to be a missionary.  I even had a scrapbook of places I wanted to go and people I wanted to help.  I married a man whose greatest desire was to dooverseas mission work, but our finances never allowed it.  A part of me believes that I need to carry out what God placed on both of our hearts.  I'm  not sure when or where.  I've always had a desire to be a Red Cross Disaster Volunteer as well....whether in America or overseas.  Perhaps God can use my writing skills, and my singing skills in mission work someway.  I'm open to His guiding hand...and I know if He wants me to do this, He will open doors for me.  I just need to pray, have faith, and walk through each door He opens.  

A Difficult Day

Today I went to the hospital with a friend who was having an x-ray done.  A flood of memories came washing over me.  You see...the last time I was in this hospital was to say goodbye to my husband of 33 years.

It was as if it had just happened yesterday.  The call...the panic...the fear in my heart.  Rushing down the long hospital corridor to the door to his corner room in the ICU...and seeing him hooked up to machines, unresponsive.  Seeing the fear in my children's faces...hearing the Dr. say "It doesn't look good.  He probably will not live through the day"....

And then, a week later...after being tested to see if his brain was still alive....The Dr and nurses coming into the room with the family.  They began closing the blinds in the room, and I knew. Without a word being said, I knew.  He was gone.

The rest of the night is a blur.  I remember prayers being said as all of his closest friends and family surrounded the bed where he lay.  I remember talking to organ donation people.

I remember....

I remember how bipolar disorder ripped my husband from my life.  I HATE bipolar disorder.  It took a loving, kind-hearted, Christian man and stole so many precious lovely moments from him.  Because of it, he gave up on our marriage.  Because of it, he gave up on himself and his dream of doing mission work to help starving people overseas. He gave up on his dream of being a grandfather one day.

Because of it, he has missed so many beautiful moments.  He has missed the moments of watching his youngest son join the U.S. Navy where he serves in Japan.  He has missed seeing his daughter move into a great house in a nice neighborhood near friends and find love....and seeing his oldest son excel at his job, part-time business, and marriage.  He has missed seeing me publish the book that would not have been possible without him believing in me and supporting me in an advanced publishing course that I took.

I have so many wonderful memories of Bob.  Still, bipolar disorder is always lurking around the corner, interjecting the moments that were painful, at times angry.  I wish I could convince every person who suffer from bi-polar disorder to take their medication, to seek therapy...and to never give up.

Today was hard.  I felt my husband's presence in those hospital corridors, and I remembered the anguish of losing him.  I would not wish that kind of day on anyone.