Heartbreak on Display

     There is a new type of porn running rampant, “tragedy porn,” more aptly called “heartbreak porn.” I can scroll through my Facebook feed, or I can go to any news station website and there will be any number of videos or pictures putting someone’s heartbreak on display. There is a new breed of ambulance chasers. Technology is dehumanizing us. Too often we sit behind the safety of an electronic screen. Sifting through the rubble, wreckage, and ashes of someone else’s life. Perhaps with thoughts of “How awful.” “What a shame.” Services them right.” Glad it’s not me.” “Someone needs to do something about that.” But there is a degree of separation.  We get to walk away from without getting dirty, no ashes to wash away. The truth is we are not walking away clean, or at least we should not be.  The part of us that makes us human is getting dirty. I will confess that I will read stories. I will check as many facts as I can. I do not watch videos if I can avoid it. I will occasionally look at photos.  During my time wandering through the lives of others, I pray. Most often I have no words, just a heart that is broken. It is broken for the families that lost loved ones in an accident. It breaks for those that have lost everything in a disaster. My heart weeps for those that feel shame in their lives because they have some type of stigma attached to them. I am heartbroken for the victims. I am sad for the person that is victimizing.   My heart is broken for the homeless and the hopeless. I am grieved for more than I can put into words, because words are too simple for the grieved spirit. I am angry. I am appalled. I am dismayed. We as a people are failing. One thing that I do have is hope, confident expectation, or as a dear friend and sister says JOYFUL expectation. The wonderful thing about HOPE is I do not have to know the how and the why for it. HOPE, much like FAITH, is assurance that things which are uncertain, unclear and unknown will change. HOPE and Faith require action. An action of LOVE. LOVE is not passive. LOVE moves to COMPASSION.  COMPASSION is LOVE in action.

Not in My Father's House

They say smell is closely linked to memory and can be a trigger for emotional memory. Whomever they are they are right. I was at Wal-Mart the other day getting a few things for work. Over all it was a good morning for me. I had gotten some sleep. I did not hurt and was able to walk, so that is a good start to the morning for me. Then my emotional world came crashing in on me. I walked by a man that had on cologne, and the smell of it triggered an emotional and physical  response  I was afraid.  I wanted to scream. I thought I was going to throw up, and over all become hysterical in the frozen food section. All I could do was repeat over and over in my head “God help me.”  I managed to get out of there without any hysterics. I managed to only have a few tears fall on the way to the office. By the time I got to work, I was doing okay.

I wanted to tell my husband about this, but by the time I had a chance, it was late, and I did not want to think about it before going to bed. I did not want to have any nightmares. I did mention it to him Wednesday evening after church. I felt confident that enough time had passed that I would be okay and did not need to worry about any nightmares. I was correct. By Thursday, I had not thought anymore about it, perhaps because no specific memory was triggered just emotional and a little physical reaction.  

Last night, early morning, the nightmares came. They came in crushing waves, drowning me, suffocating me. The last one that I woke from had me sobbing and shacking, and I watched as the last of the darkness turned to light.

I will not go into any great details. They are not needed. However, there was something very important in that last dreaming.  I was in a house, a huge house, call it a mansion. It seemed to have a million rooms, and every room I went into something awful happened. The first rooms were not as bad as the last. One thing that was the same through each room was what I was saying, “ Not in my Father’s house.” By the time I was in the last part of the nightmare, I was screaming it over and over again.  I am struggling not to cry as I write this. Hard to type through tears.

Upon waking ,I had no idea why I would be saying that. I knew that the house in my dream was not my dad’s.  

As the fear and horrors of the dreams started to loss their grip on me, I realized what I meant by my words. “Not in my Father’s House.” I am a child of God. Every part of me, my waking and my sleeping mind, both are my Father’s. My mind is a part of my Father’s house. Those demons that waited had  no right to be there inside my head. My subconscious mind knew this and was rebuking them. Even though I know it was all nightmares triggered from a smell, the emotional effects are still there.  I also know that even though I have felt distant from my Holy Father, my subconscious mind still cries out for Him.

I have felt as though I have been going through the motions of life spiritually and, well, just living in general. My body hates me more days than not and lately. It has added more things to starts failing. It takes a toll physically, but it is the emotional toll that does the real killing of the spirit.

I can say it is well with my soul, because I love God, but my spirit is as ill as the rest of my body, perhaps in some ways more. There is hope. I know this because of the nightmares from last night. I have always had Daddy to help me. I now have, “Not in MY FATHERS HOUSE!”  The enemy has no rights, and, as Abba’s child, I have the right to proclaim this and to rebuke any and all enemies from trying to take it away.