Blog – Page 4 – The Journey to My Father's Kingdom

My Truth About My Postpartum Story – Part 2: Intensive Care Unit

The ER entrance seemed like the secret back door of the hospital. Bump. Bump. Moan. Pain. They rolled me straight to triage. The EMTs spouted some sort of medical information to the receiving medical team. Vitals again. Hushed voices again…or maybe they weren’t hushed. But urgent. They were urgent.

“Where’s my husband?”

“He’s on his way, honey,” a stressed voice sounded, “he’s just parking the car.”

I don’t remember him walking into the room, but he was there. Holding my hand. He was there.

As I write. As I remember. I want him here, now. I want that strong hand. That, “It’s going to be ok. The doctors and nurses know what they’re doing.” I finally remember, but it’s painful to go back. To re-engage. To sit with myself in that ambulance, that room, that hallway. Cold. Bright. Sterile.

My Truth About My Postpartum Story – Part 1: The Ambulance

I haven’t told my story – the story that continually haunts me. I haven’t told my story. Not to me. Not to anyone. Not completely. Little snippets here and there, but not in its entirety. It took me a long time to gather the memories. Many of them were blacked out.

I haven’t told my story, but in order to completely heal. In order to move on. In the case that someone else has a similar unique story, I need to tell my story. I need to tell my story. For me. For other women out there who have felt so alone in their postpartum journey.

When The Mountain Will Not Break You

The little train rumbled over the tracks. She was a happy little train. Her cars were filled with toy animals… There were dolls and the funniest little toy clown you ever saw. But that was not all. Some cars were filled with good things for boys and girls to eat – and lollipops for after meal treats. The little train was carrying all these wonderful things to the little boys and girls on the other side of the mountain.

A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and he fell among robbers, who stripped him and beat him and departed, leaving him half dead.

Who was this man? What brought him from Jerusalem to Jericho?

Homesick Refocused

Lake ripples roll out a lullaby of childhood memories. Full of life, waves sweep me up in their motion. “Shlip, shlip, gulp, shlap” sings the song of my youth. The dinging of the masts in the sleepy marina ring out a melody of memories gone by. Rising and falling softly and gently in my bunk I sneak just one more chapter out of the novel I’ve been glued to before I hear an annoyed, “Beth, turn out the light and go to sleep.”

I wake suddenly to a hard scraping kind of noise, then vruh-shhh-vruh-shhh over my head. Dad wakes early to spray and scrub the bugs sticking to the dewy deck above. Every. Morning.

Rebuilding My Life After Sheer Destruction

For the past couple of years, instead of making a New Year’s Resolution, I have asked God to give me a word. Last year’s word – probably the HARDEST year of my life – was oddly enough, “Joy.” He challenged me to find joy in the hard things. There was plenty of hard to choose from. I’ve talked about the gut wrenching hard on several posts in the past couple of months, so I’d like to take a break from rehashing the gory details.

If you want a taste go here, here, and here. And here. And here.

When 2020 rolled around, the word God gave me was, “Rebuilding.” I had to check and double check because the last 4 years were a build up to the ultimate crisis explosion of 2019. In 2017, I thought that nothing could be worse than almost dying. In 2018, things continued to build upon the healing from nearly dying. In 2019, I reached my breaking point and literally became out of my mind. My world came crashing down into a pile of mess. My family was a mess because of people who had severely wronged us. My family was a mess because I was a manic-depressive mess. It stinks being the reason your family is a mess. It stinks when it really IS your fault. Overall, living in the mess of utter destruction just stinks. It just stinks.

So when God told me that my 2020 word was “Rebuilding,” you can see why I thought it was my flesh wishfully thinking. So, I started to study the word in the Bible. In Hebrew, “shuwb,” “to rebuild,” “to reconstruct ,” “to restore,” and “to return to.” Yes. That’s right. To return to. My study took me to what should be the obvious place, but it caught me by surprise.

Fasting Current Events

Presidential elections, racial injustice, killer virus, and on and on and on. Everywhere you turn, it’s there.

It’s a flyer hanging on your door with someone smiling. Usually a man. Usually white. Many times surrounded by a beautiful wife and two or three darling children in well coordinated clothing. Maybe even matching. Maybe even a dog snuggled into the man’s arms looking excitedly at a toy bouncing around behind the camera. “Vote for me!,” it says. “I will make a difference!,” the slogan reads in a fancy convincing way.

It’s people on social media acting like they have a PhD, an MBA, an JD, etc. arguing until the cows come home about some matter or another. We all know it all because we read it online, now, don’t we? I am not immune.

It’s a face to face comment intended for you to read between the lines about a strong opinion, like they’re testing the waters to see if you agree, disagree, interested in talking about it. You don’t just ask the question, you dance around it like a cat toy on a string to see if you’re interested in playtime.

Continue reading “Fasting Current Events”

Grieving My Scars

I’m grieving my scars
Both inside and out
I’m grieving the losses
That created self doubt

Will I ever be beautiful?
Will I ever be sane?
Will I ever be happy?
Will I ever be free?

Free of my cosmetic deformities
Of my mental catastrophes
Of my relational disasters
I want to be free.
And be me.

I’m grieving my scars
Both inside and out
I’m grieving the losses
That created self doubt

Will I ever get past the past
That haunts me?
Will I ever evolve to
A time where disaster ends
And my life begins?
Will I ever stand before a
360 degree mirror in
Awe of life’s beauty ?
Will I ever embrace the
scars that remain from
the traumas of physical and
emotional pain?

Embrace my husband
My son
My learnings from
Yearning so long
My Self
Who I am.
Regardless of who I was.

I’m grieving my scars
Both inside and out
I’m grieving the losses
That created self doubt

Centering On Peace Amidst Tension

It’s been extremely difficult for me to follow the news and watch the political climate of our country unfold over the past three months. Yes, there have been so many hardships and so we’re all becoming news weary. It’s all been very emotional. Unfortunately, because my mental health has been poor to begin with, I am unable to handle emotions very well. The emotional energy needed to sort through current events and various opinions and viewpoints have worn me down. I know that I’m not the only one.

Hurting People Hurt People: Part 3 – Recovery

My manic-depressive cycles spread my moods all over like a strong wind blows sand in patterned deposits next to a turbulent sea. Except I haven’t figured out the pattern so that I can flow with it, embrace it, and control it.

These cycles, as I describe in the first post of this series, leave myself and others wounded. And tired. In the second post of this series, I describe the people I’m so horribly mean to – the hurt piled on top of hurt. I’m seeking recovery, but the journey is long, arduous, and leaves me parched, longing for stability in soft ever drifting sand.

Hurting People Hurt People: Part 2 – Mean Girl

Receiving a diagnosis of manic-depression in 2019 has flipped my world upside down. Again. If it’s not one crisis, it’s another. My life is a continual cycle of moods rising up into uncontrollable energy, peaking in a fight or flight rampage, and then a hard crash into depression. I explored the layers of this cycle in the first post in this series. Now to address the hurt. The fight or flight impulses. The mean girl.

Hurting People Hurt People: Part 1 – “Cycling”

Hurting people hurt people. It’s a saying I hear a lot and have said as many times when someone has done something hurtful to me or someone else. This is a phrase I have always applied to someone else. I love Jesus and follow him daily. I wouldn’t hurt anyone!

Well, I wouldn’t intentionally hurt anyone, but the truth is that I am a hurting person and I do hurt others. Especially lately.

The Enduring Leader

It’s been a rough day and I am not sure I can emotionally handle this phone call. I can’t make excuses. I need to do this. The dial tone begins, “ring, ring.” Ok, no going back, now. Please don’t answer.

“Cody Inglis.”

“Hi! It’s Bethany Marinelli…err, Ferdinand.” Maiden name? Married name? I don’t know. This is awkward.

“Hi! How are you? Thanks so much for calling, Beth!”

Ok. This is right. Relief.

My Journey in Writing…And Why It Matters To Anyone

On a particularly beautiful spring day, at eight years old, I was walking with my family through our small rural neighborhood. The sun was shining, plants were growing and blooming. The snow had melted (finally!) and the air started smelling fresh and clean again. I was especially in awe of God’s creation that day. As soon as I got home I wrote a poem about it. The next day I brought my poem to school and something novel happened for my 8 year old self in 1991 where computers were just something you had a class for about 30 minutes per week. My teacher typed up my poem, put a floral border on it, and there it came through her dot-matrix printer. I was so excited. To see MY words on a piece of PRINTED paper! I took pink, blue, purple and green markers and neatly colored the flowers. I brought my masterpiece home and proudly shared it with my parents.

I saved that paper for as long as I can remember. In college I came across it in my parents basement and thought, “Wow, this is actually pretty decent for a little kid. Very profoundly demonstrates a child’s heart for God.”

And I haven’t seen it since. I rifle through my parent’s basement every time I visit them (which isn’t often these days). Every time I come up empty handed and every time my heart breaks a little more for that lost paper which held my first significant piece of writing in a long journey of growing love for the craft.

The Virtuous Woman Manages Her Life

My life has had so many moving parts lately, I don’t know whether I’m coming or going, awake or asleep. Between my marriage, motherhood, our family business, housekeeping, and many other responsibilities, it’s so easy to feel vanquished. “I’m not enough!” is a phrase I often cry out in defeat at the end of the day. After being overwhelmed by this feeling time and again, I was lead to study Proverbs 31 and found that the thematic difference between the Virtuous Woman (whom I’ve named Aretha) and myself is that she knows she’s enough.

In part one I explored how she prioritizes her life in order to love and serve her husband, children, and community well. Everyone in her life having their place gives her the ability to have everything in a productive order.

Continue reading “The Virtuous Woman Manages Her Life”

The Virtuous Woman Sets Her Priorities

I have succumbed to the classic lie that nearly every woman believes at least once in her existence. I am not enough. Lately I’ve been fighting this lie standing up, laying down, and often with a flailing 1 ½ year old in my arms, for months.

Life has been really hard for a while. Our family business is struggling because of some poor decisions our landlord has made. My husband is more often than not putting out fires at our shop in the after-hours than home with our family. I’m still working on regaining my health from my postpartum complications and learning to except the physical and emotional scars that experience has left. Our marriage has suffered after having to deal with one crisis after another. I’m trying to hold up the physical, emotional, and financial strain of my present life with one hand and trying to care for my son, my husband, and my many other responsibilities with the other. I’m more likely to feel like a failure than a success.

That’s when I started questioning if I’m really putting what energy I have into the right things. There are only 24 hours in a day, after all. What was God calling me to in this onerous season of life? I was led to study Proverbs 31. What does this “Virtuous Woman” have that I don’t have? What is she doing that I am missing? How is she finding success in her many ventures? The answers surprised me a little. Join me as I walk through answering these questions in this two-part series.Continue reading “The Virtuous Woman Sets Her Priorities”

What It’s Like to Have an Anxiety Attack and Still Believe in God

There’s noise all around me. The TV is humming it’s daily tune, ceasing to drown out reality. I’m alone. A sudden wave of fear flutters up inside me. My thoughts plod through my head like a thousand runners vying for the top spot.

Continue reading “What It’s Like to Have an Anxiety Attack and Still Believe in God”

One Year Post-Trauma

Someone recently said to me, “I have no idea what would be like to face the anniversary of the day I almost died.”

“It’s more than just that,” I replied.

Continue reading “One Year Post-Trauma”

My Battle with Body Image After Postpartum Trauma

Body image was not something that I struggled with as a teenager. It’s not like I thought I was gorgeous – I had other insecurities about my looks – but I was athletic with a fast metabolism and clothes fit me well and easily. My insecurities were many (i.e. I’ve battled life-long depression, which went untreated for 26 years), but they had different roots.

After 12 years working in youth ministry with pre-teen and teen girls, I thought I had all the answers for those struggling with body image. “God made you unique,” and “God made you the way you are for a reason,” and “God made you beautiful just the way you are.” I had a host of Bible verses to back up what I told these girls (Psalm 139 and 1 Samuel 16 were my favorite) and never thought twice about it…until I was in their shoes.

The thing is, now that I have my own body image issues at 34 years old, I can’t take my own advice. Continue reading “My Battle with Body Image After Postpartum Trauma”

Giving Thanks For the Hard Things

It’s easy to give thanks for friends and family, for jobs and churches and all the other good stuff going on in our lives. We should be thankful for those things. It’s easy to be thankful for those things. As I look back on the past year I have realized that it’s harder to give thanks for the hurt, the misfortunes, the devastation in our lives.Continue reading “Giving Thanks For the Hard Things”

No Insurance, No Worries

Over the last year I’ve had a big flare up of my depression and anxiety. I gave birth to my first child (a beautiful boy!), almost died, subsequently experienced PTSD and have been through hours and hours of various forms of therapy in my recovery, and resumed my role in our new family business. It’s been extremely overwhelming. I certainly don’t need any more on my plate!

As open enrollment for health insurance has a lot of my friends stressed and in a tizzy, I sit by as cool as a cucumber. Paying my medical bills (nearly $400,000 from my maternity care, to childbirth, to 3 weeks in and out of ICU, and recovery care) has been the least of my concerns over the past year. The reason? I don’t have insurance.
Continue reading “No Insurance, No Worries”

Healing Mind, Body, and Spirit

I sat on my in-laws couch the morning after being discharged from the hospital, where I was critically ill for most of my one-month old son’s life, and I look at his tiny face.

Who is this child?

What is he like?

What does he like?

What doesn’t he like?

My parents knew. My in-laws knew. I had no idea. He was a stranger to me. I was supposed to love this itty bitty baby but my heart was filled with grief. Disbelief. Confusion.Continue reading “Healing Mind, Body, and Spirit”

He Makes All Things New

God's Testimony Through My Postpartum Trauma

About a year ago I sat in church on Easter Sunday holding back tears as I watched a beautiful little toddler dance wobbly next to the rows of chairs. I had been wanting a child of my own very badly, but situation and means prevented us. When my husband and I got in the car he told me that he was ready to start our family. The tears came forth, but transformed from longing to relief.

Continue reading “He Makes All Things New”

Preparing A Place

“Do not let your hearts be troubled. You believe in God; believe also in me. My Father’s house has many rooms; if that were not so, would I have told you that I am going there to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am. You know the way to the place where I am going.” John 14:1-4

I don’t think I ever fully understood the depth of this passage until just recently. I grew up with this unrealistic view that heaven was for everyone and everyone will eventually end up there. Maybe, just maybe, they wouldn’t end up in heaven if they were really bad; I mean really really bad. But, for the most part, the gate was wide open.

Read at a surface level, this passage may have proven my point – Don’t worry, my Father’s house has plenty of rooms. It’s this wide open, doors unlocked mansion, and I’m making it ready for you, so just chill and meet me there someday. So casual, so welcoming, so open. If you read it like that, than you are missing the whole point.Continue reading “Preparing A Place”

Finding My Sacred Space

Constant life transitions, depression, and apathy have stolen my consistency in my time spent before Jesus’ feet over a few years. I just couldn’t seem to get it together. Sure, I had periods of being more consistent and the fruit of that was evident in the blogging I did during that time. If you’ve been following my blog, you’ve also read posts about my struggle with the Lord. I prayed and prayed for God to help me find a way to be consistent in my time praying, journaling, and studying His Word because I’ve experienced how it can bring me life and shape the way I live. Then, a series of events and the influence of three women finally helped me get back on that path in a way that only God could have ordained.Continue reading “Finding My Sacred Space”

Receiving Help at Rock Bottom and Preventing the Fall

While the phrase “hit rock bottom” has become a bit cliche in our culture, I find it a rather accurate description of my experience with depression. I most definitely hit my rock bottom seven years ago. My depression became so severe I pictured myself as a helpless child curled up in fetal position in the bottom of an abandoned well, much like what you’d see on TV or the movies wherein a harrowing rescue effort would ensue. These scenes usually ended with frazzled parents embracing the frightened child encircled by a cheering crowd of dirty rescuers.

The only difference between the movie scene and my reality was that in a movie the child can’t wait to get out of the well, whereas I found safety in my pit, as dreadful as it was. I was too frightened that if I sought help, I wouldn’t be able to face myself, or the cheering crowd of rescuers. Thankfully, peering down from the top of the pit were a handful of people who coaxed me out with God’s grace. It happened very slowly during which time I did my best to hide in plain sight. I moved to a new city and spent a lot of time at home. I found a large church where I could blend in with the crowd and avoid any kind of meaningful conversation. I kept at distance from my peers, avoiding making friends.Continue reading “Receiving Help at Rock Bottom and Preventing the Fall”