Blog – Page 8 – The Journey to My Father's Kingdom

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.