tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-41705343846456489922024-03-08T01:16:17.512-08:00Floating with my SalvationAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11596739403209366944noreply@blogger.comBlogger11125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4170534384645648992.post-86300401445978343662015-10-06T11:09:00.000-07:002015-10-06T11:09:53.870-07:00A Season for it AllThis will be the first time that I publicly announced that my boyfriend, Justin, is right. Go ahead and gloat sweetheart, but kidding aside, Justin came to me with the absolute best advice, and I bet he doesn't even realize how philosophical it was to me.<br />
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I've been struggling lately with "out with the old, and in with the new" for lack of a better way of saying it. I want so badly to be normal. And to me, normal was the me before my accident. Normal was comfortably having friends over and enjoying myself. Not, dreading having to see people because of how high my anxiety would get. Normal was falling asleep without even a second thought. Not, anxiously reciting a children's book as part of a bibliotherapy routine to keep from becoming a shrieking mess in the middle of the night. Normal was loving a bear hug. Not, frantically trying to escape the grasps of a loving embrace, because I feel trapped. The list of normals and not normals, goes on and on. To say I am embarrassed of some of my new lifestyles is an understatement. I mean, what 21 year old reads "Madeline" before going to bed every night? It's not just at home, but with everything. I feel disconnected from old friends. It's as we're no longer on the same level as before. I'm more mature about the realness of life, and that creates a barrier between us. I feel disconnected from God. A disconnection that comes down to not feeling challenged or being fed the Word. I struggle with my routines. I mean, it's been a year, I should be able to sleep without fear grab at my throat. I don't find joy in the things that I use to. Some activities and friendships just feel meaningless to me. Altogether, I have recognized the barrier that my accident has created between the old, "normal" me, and the person I am today. Up until this point I have viciously hated that barrier with a passion.<br />
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Then Justin put his two cents in, and it drastically changed my perspective. He quoted Ecclesiastes 3 and said that, "it's just time for a new season." I mulled this over for quite a few days, and then it just kinda hit me. The same way the smell of soap after a hot shower feels refreshing, I felt revitalized when I realized that he's right. There really is a time for everything. And the Word supports that. I need to accept that God has a lot of "new" things going on in my life. Why should I be so upset about it? So what, I read a children's book before bed. Anyone who truly knows me, will remind me to read my books when they tell me goodnight. And it's comforting. It makes me feel connected and less alone. They know what I am struggling with, and they are supportive no matter how childish it may seem. So what, that I don't hang out with all the people I use to. I've met and now work with some of the most amazing women I have ever met. To those ladies at Chambers County Library System, yall are the best! So I feel disconnected from God. Obviously, I recognize what I'm doing wrong in my faith walk, and can change the things I need to, so that I am growing in my Faith. New bible studies or more quiet time really digging into the Word. There's lots of different ways I can become more comfortable with the new me, and the first thing to do is accept that God has a new season starting.<br />
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It's rehabilitating to recognize and accept the changes that God is working in my life. I want to encourage you to embrace whatever God may be doing in your life. You never know what He's up to when He puts up that barrier, but it's for the best. Same as always, I've just got to trust in the Lord with all my heart, and not lean on my own understanding. --Shrimpergirl<br />
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Ecclesiastes 3; Proverbs 3:5Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11596739403209366944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4170534384645648992.post-58338148435412122732015-07-02T15:04:00.003-07:002015-07-02T15:05:41.622-07:00SubmissionsHi everyone! I know it's been awhile since I wrote, but the Holy Spirit has totally and irrevocably moved my heart, and I know I have to share it with everyone. This is a long one, but I beg you. Please, read all the way to the end. Please.<br />
I need to give you guys a little bit of background on what my hearts been like the last 11 months. When the accident happened I really just wanted to spread God's love. I wanted everyone who knew me to realize that I was alive for one reason, and one reason only: God. If you look at the accident from a humanistic standpoint, I wouldn't be alive. But from the spiritual level, which is the only way I wanted people to look at, I was alive for a purpose, and that purpose being God has something planned. So fast-forward a few months, I just wanted to forget about the accident. I wanted it to be something of the past. Then at the beginning of February, I started dating my current boyfriend, Justin, and FYI, he's delightfully fantastic and brings so much happiness to my life. But even though my life seemed to be coming back together, I still struggled with anxiety, my nightmares, and my fears. And when I say struggle, I mean they got worse. I couldn't go into a dark room alone. I was afraid of sleeping some nights. I would purposefully cancel plans with friends just so that I wouldn't have to be in crowds and be uneasy.<br />
Skip forward to June 1 when I started at ORBC. Goodness, my life was in <i>my</i> total order. I knew exactly what was happening for the next eleven weeks. I even color-coded my agenda, so that everything was totally perfect. I was in total control. Or so I thought. I was no longer "the girl who got stuck in the boat" or "the girl whose dad died." I had even abandoned the nickname "shrimpergirl," which I had come to earnestly love. I was over what had happened. I was tired of being identified as part of this tragic accident. I wanted to just be me...the small town, country girl with a thick accent, that loved the Lord.<br />
So one day Cody, my youth pastor and my boss, informed me that I was giving the message the next Wednesday night. It was going to be about "Desperately Seeking the Lord." Excitedly, I prayed a lot and wrote my message, skipping over the accident completely. When I brought him my typed paper, he was a little confused by the casual way I made the accident seem like nothing important. Pouring my heart out to him, I tried to convince him that it wasn't significant anymore. It wasn't who I was. It was the first time I had truly denied the accident out loud. I had just put the largest blessing of my entire life on the bottom shelf, and acted as if it didn't exist. Even now, I'm shocked by my actions. But as I was speaking that night, I felt like David crying out to the Lord was the same way I cried out to the Lord when I was stuck in the boat, and I just had to share it. But I told myself, that's the last time you mention the accident.<br />
Then the fourth and fifth week of my internship arrived, and I was going to be a leader at church camp. I was thrilled! I was never raised in church, so camp was a totally new experience for me. I was ready to take on camp the same way I had taken control of my life: orderly, efficient, allowing nothing unexpected to happen. God sure put me and my "high and mighty", "everything's perfect when done my way" butt in its place. Zach, the other youth intern, and I were to be leaders of a family group during the first week which was high school camp. Glancing at the list, I realized that this would be so much fun. Just ten young people talking and learning about God together. Boy did I have the wrong idea... The second day we had three boys fall asleep, and I mean hardcore sleeping too, snores and all. One girl didn't even speak, one girl was extremely talkative about anything except Christ, and no one else said a word. I didn't know what to do. It was like they had no interest in what we had to say. So the next day, Zach said he would be assertive and get things done...and that later evolved into two boys falling asleep, two girls talking and everyone else silent. We didn't know what to do, we both were struggling so much with getting these students to connect with each other and us.<br />
That night, the entire camp came together in a large atrium to have a quiet worship called Vespers. Nothing but darkness with a large glowing cross, a guy with a guitar, and 640 students lifting up their praises to God. Without surprise, I started to freak out. I was fighting myself, I was fighting God. I wanted so desperately to be a part of such a pure, beautiful worship, but my fears were controlling me. I felt as if I was drowning. I started to sob, and I couldn't breath and then it hit me. I could feel the Spirit telling me that I trust God with everything in my life, but not my fears? Really? Of everything that I should be giving to God, I should be letting him know what I am afraid of and asking for His help. It was emotional, raw, heart wrenching. I felt so strange. I knew that God was trying to tell me something about my fears, but I didn't know what. So the next day, it was my turn to lead out the lesson in family group. Before we started though, I was asking what they thought of Vespers, and automatically one of the girls indignantly states, "I'm not going to that again, I had an anxiety attack last time. I do not want to do that again. I started crying so no, I'm not going back." I was so surprised. She literally just said my exact feelings. Then the other girl chimed in and said, " I have anxiety really bad as well and sometimes I start to cry then pass out when I have an attack." And I just felt compelled to chime in too. So I briefly, and I mean <i>briefly</i>, gave the 3 second version of my accident and told them I had anxiety as well. Then turned to the rest of the group and wanted to quickly move forward with the lesson. And all of a sudden, everything was perfect. Everything had come together. I realized that the lesson I was giving was over spiritual disciplines and how to incorporate them into our lives. According to the lesson, I was suppose to share my spiritual disciplines in my life, and the only reason I started these disciplines in my life is because they help with my anxiety (they now have become a strong part of my spiritual life). So I just was torn. Do I tell them about the accident and deal with their sympathetic looks? Or do I just skip over it? So I met myself in the middle, I gave the three second version and started to move on and realized they were asking questions and wanted to know more. So I just gave it to them, the whole shebang. Everything that had happened from the start, to the next day of finding my dad, to months that have passed. Then I go on to how I decided to change my anxiety and on January 19th started incorporating my Jesus time into my life. So I speak about prayer and all of a sudden, one of the girls raised her hand and says, "Can I ask a personal question? How do you go through everyday knowing what happened to you? Knowing what you went through?" I was NOT expecting that question. Fumbling for words, I struggled.<br />
All of a sudden, it hit me. I realized that the same way my dad died trying to save my brother and I's lives, is the same way Jesus died to save me from eternal hell. So I said that, and she started bawling. Like crying her eyes out. Everyone is wide awake and on the edge of their seats and I'm just totally in awe. I've finally connected with these students and it is was through hardships. So I keep going through the lesson and she keeps bawling and I try to see what she wants me to do, but she's in her own little world. Then one of the guy's gets up and just leaves. Literally <i>leaves </i>the entire building. Then the crying girl gets up to go to the bathroom, another girl follows her and I'm just lost. I look to Zach to see what I need to do, and he's in shock too. I look at our depleted group and felt like the only thing I could do was continue the lesson (probably the teacher in me!). Then it's like everyone just came back at the same time, the boy and the two girls. And I just keep going, talking about the importance of scripture, prayer, worship, and stillness in our everyday lives. Then the boy who hasn't spoken a single word all week starts to talk about how he just started going to church, and everyone just starts sharing their personal walks with the Lord. And I couldn't do anything but listen and thank God for His amazingness. It was such a beautiful thing.<br />
Later that night as I was sharing the event with Justin, I began to cry because all of sudden everything made sense. I had viciously denied the accident as part of who I was, but without it, my group wouldn't have necessarily connected in the way that it did. God took something so tragic, something that has changed my life entirely and used it to impact that group of students. I was in awe. And for the first time I was grateful that I had the accident as part of my story. It was the only way I could connect with those students. I'm not happy that my dad died, I'm not happy that my brother and I both have struggles we still have to overcome, and I'm not happy about some of the brokenness that has been created in my home. But I'm happy that I could bring those students together in a way that I couldn't have before the accident.<br />
So lessons learned in the past two weeks, I can't deny that the accident is part of who I am now. I can't deny that the Lord has placed it on my heart to share it with others (how I'm suppose to share it, I don't know yet). I can't deny the faithfulness and amazing love that God gives. I can't deny that God not only saves, loves, and protects, but He also comforts us and guides us through our fears. I'm proud to say that I have slept with almost no lights on for the past five days and last night I slept in total darkness. I felt no fear and had no nightmares. It leaves me in awestruck wonder when I think about how far I've come emotionally and spiritually in the last two weeks. I have found so much healing in my heart. Overall, I just want everyone to know that Shrimpergirl is back, and she's got a lot on her heart that she's ready to share for the Glory of God. Praise The Lord for His plan, His love, and His unending grace!<br />
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"May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit." Romans 15:13Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11596739403209366944noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4170534384645648992.post-71340551232560004832015-04-27T10:36:00.002-07:002015-04-27T17:58:20.943-07:00Unfailing Love<br />
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">"Many a man claims to have unfailing love, but a faithful man
who can find?" Proverbs 20:6<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">During my bible reading the other day, I
came upon this verse and it really hasn't left my mind. I keep thinking
about this unfailing love. I try to imagine what it really, really means to
possess unfailing love. For someone to never stop loving you no matter what
decision, action, or situation you could be in. I don't know how God does it.
Like no matter how badly I screw up, He still loves me unconditionally. I think
about how right this verse is. It is extremely difficult to find someone that
stays faithful to unfailing love. I myself can't say that I have demonstrated
unfailing love through everything. I racked my brain for days trying to find
someone that proved this. I continued to come back to the only logical answer
that I could find. The only person in my life who has stayed completely true to
having unfailing love for me. And that's my rock, my comforter, my number one
confidant, my Snokums, my Rabbit, my mommacita, my beautiful mom, Jessica Jean
Galloway. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">It's been a really crazy twenty years being
my mom's daughter. If you know her, you know she's pretty hardheaded and
incredibly fearless. And more often than not it is extremely difficult to keep
up with her. She excels in everything that she puts her mind to. (Except golf,
just kidding Momma, you're ten times better than me and have progressed
tremendously.) I think back to the first time I went hunting with my tomboy of
a mother. I was four or five. Laying a warm blanket on the ground, she told me to sit quietly and
read while she looked over the Bulverde landscape. Softly she told me to cover
my ears as I watched the spike walk into the open pasture, and then mom took
the shot. Sure enough, the deer disappeared into the tall grass, and I
impatiently waited for mom to calm down from her buck fever so we could go see
it. Tromping through grass that was about as tall as I was, I joyfully
yelled that I had found a rabbit. Mom kept telling me that those were the
deer's ears above the grass, and I insisted she was wrong and that I would
catch that rabbit. Without surprise, I was incorrect. And so begins all the
times my mother was right, and I was wrong. Which by now, is too many to
count. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Her love for me has made her someone that
supports me like no one else. She has come to all my major events through my
life. And she has come with her screaming voice ready to go. I remember how she
coached my eighth grade softball team with my dad. At times, I hated being the
coaches daughter, but other times it was the coolest thing ever. Seeing my mom
in action has to be the best motivator ever. I don't know how she does what she
does, but she handles a position of leadership excellently.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">She's been my go-to since I was young.
Through every best friend breakup, every boyfriend issue, and every major
setback I have ever faced, she has heard about it first. My mom is the greatest
problem-solver I know. She handles crazy situations with ease and confidence.
It is so admirable. I knew that if I told her I needed help with something, she
would fix it. She always did, and if she couldn't fix it right then, by
goodness she was wiping my tears and telling me she was going to. That was
something I could depend on. That was my rock through every wrong decision or
action that I made. And believe me, there's been some two a.m. phone calls that
only my mom could have gotten me through. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">She's also been my strength. Losing my dad
is incredibly difficult, but I know that I would not be the person I am after
all of this if it was not for my mom and her strength. She was the first person
I could see, although incredibly blurred, when I was pulled out of the
ambulance the day of the accident. She crawled in my hospital bed with me, and
sang to me until I could drift off to some sort of sleep. She was the first
person I saw when I woke up the next morning, and she was the only person who
could reassure me that even if daddy didn't make it, everything was still going
to be okay. She has calmed me down from nightmares and anxiety attacks
like no one else can. She tells me that I am her strength and her pillar
through the craziness that we call life in the past eight months and nine days,
but that is wrong. She makes me strong. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">It amazes me that even after the terrible
wrongs that I have done, my mom still loves me. It has never been a different
kind of love either. If anything I feel like her love for me is stronger and
more connected than ever after I mess up. I don't know how she can do it. It is
so difficult to possess unfailing love, but I am so grateful that she does. No
matter how hard I fall, how badly I mess up, how mean or hurtful I am to my
mom, her love never fails. If my mom can love me like this, I can't imagine how
much it is that God loves me. I don't understand how he can love us
unconditionally and unfailingly, but I am grateful. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Thank you for showing me how to be a great
mother. Thank you for teaching me to be strong, determined, and confidant.
Thank you for wiping my tears, singing me to sleep, and playing with my hair.
Thank you for teaching me to do my makeup, walk in heels, and whip up a meal
out of the oddest ingredients. Thank you for showing me how a wife should
handle unexpected situations, how to love her husband, and how to follow her
faith. Thank you, Momma, for unfailingly loving me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11596739403209366944noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4170534384645648992.post-28389873855137176942015-03-30T21:51:00.001-07:002015-03-30T21:51:08.936-07:00Two walks/Two hearts: One God/One Sisterhood<div>
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"Therefore confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed. The prayer of a righteous person is powerful and effective." James 5: 16. I first read this when I was in the ninth grade. I remember looking at it and thinking why in the world would I want to tell people about the terrible sins I have committed. Why would I want to drag anyone else into what I had done. And why would confessing to each other, rather than to God alone, be something I needed to do. I probably thought about this for ten-fifteen seconds and moved on. I have never been so wrong in my life.</div>
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Just two months ago, my life was changed again. Except this was in an exceedingly positive way. I acquired an accountability partner that has stuck by my side since the day we started holding each other accountable on January 19th. I had never really thought about having an accountability partner before the opportunity presented itself. The idea had crossed my mind, but it was certainly never something that had stuck. Yet, I've never been more thankful that it finally did.<br />
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One evening in the middle of January, I was enjoying a sleepover with one of my dear friends, and I became incredibly emotional. As I started to sob my eyes out, I distinctly remember crying out for her help. I felt as if I couldn't live anymore. I hadn't given up on God or my faith but it was becoming exceedingly difficult to cope with the boat accident. My flashbacks were increasing, my nightmares were back, and I missed my daddy's guidance and heartfelt hugs more than ever before. I had tried to find distractions, but they were sinful and not aligning with my faith. I was dealing with survivor's guilt which made me angry at myself for living; even more so, I was angry that I was having difficulties. I loved God and wanted to follow Him, but I didn't feel like I could anymore. My thoughts and actions had transformed me into damaged goods and the feelings of unworthiness were too much for me to handle. I confessed that I didn't know how I was going to start over this semester, I didn't know how to get through another six months without him. I certainly had no idea how I was going to do it as a broken, undeserving sinner. Without interrupting she listened to me pour out my heart and suggested a lifestyle change. She told me about something she had learned over the Christmas break, about "quiet time", how she wanted to incorporate it into her life this spring semester, and how she needed an accountability partner with it. She still doesn't realize that it was not her who needed someone to hold her accountable, it was, in fact, I who needed someone to hold me accountable.<br />
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Interestingly enough, my accountability partner and I grew up on different continents. Literally. We grew up 6,080 miles apart. One in Old River, Texas the other in Abidjan, the capital of a small country in Africa called Cote d'Ivoire. I say this, because I truly realize there is absolutely no handle on God. If He wants something to happen, by goodness, He will make it happen. This was the first amazing thing I realized when I decided to incorporate "quiet time" into my life.<br />
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The second awesome thing I realized about having an accountability partner is the fact that it's NOT someone you report to like a parole officer or someone you tattle to like a small child. It's someone you share your heart with. It's someone you turn to and say, "This is what my heart is feeling. This is what I think I need help on. What do you think? What does the bible say about this?" And as she picks up her bible she says, "Let 's find out together." Having an accountability partner is about growing spiritually with the Lord, about confessing your woes, your troubles, your struggles, your fears, your questions, your sins, and together finding a solution within God's Word. It's not an agenda you have to fulfill each day. It's not a checklist of making sure we are upholding a Christian appearance. It's a lifestyle of pursuing the Lord's Will.<br />
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The third uplifting aspect of having an accountability partner is the way in which we have changed our everyday lives to create actions that would be edifying to God. We call it "quiet time" or "Jesus time." It's the time we devote to reading our bible, learning something from God's word, and sharing it with one another every morning. I look forward to sending and receiving these messages every single morning. It's an encouragement that I can count on. I have learned more in the past two months than I think I did in the last year of my own bible readings. I will admit that during the hustle and bustle of life I have often put my bible reading on the back burner. But that's the positive of having my accountability partner, it is something that I am dedicated to. I want to have these talks and discussions about what we each have learned. I find joy in the mornings as I sip my coffee, break open my bible, learn the teachings of my Faith, then share them with my lovely friend.<br />
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The fourth beauty I have come to realize of having my accountability partner is how much it reminds me of my dad. There was a daily routine that occurred every evening at the Galloway Household. Dad would come to each of our rooms to say goodnight. In high school, I studied a lot and many times I would be surrounded my tons of schools books, papers, and complete chaos when dad would come to say goodnight. He'd ask me about my classes, tell me he loved me, then he would remind me to say my prayers. Sometimes he would even ask if I'd read my bible that day. Nothing condemning or accusatory. Just a subtle reminder of where my focus should be. I often feel like my dad was my accountability partner growing up. I would share with him things I had learned in my bible readings. I definitely asked a ton of questions, and Dad would always turn to the bible to answer them. It's the same way in my current partnership.<br />
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Honestly, it makes me feel normal again to have these moments with my accountability partner. It brings feelings of security, affirmation, and love to share my thoughts, concerns, fears, and joys with someone who also wants to pursue the Lord. Having an accountability partner reminds me that if I am damaged goods, then we all are, because we are all unworthy of God's love and mercy. We are all struggling. None of us deserve Him, yet He still wants us. When we actively pursue Him, He illuminates our paths and leads us towards His goodness. God doesn't want us to be confused and lost. He gave us a Light and His name is Jesus. My accountability partner reminds me of this daily.<br />
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As you can tell, I'm very grateful for my accountability partner. I've only touched on a few of the major positives of having this sort of relationship, even though there are a million different, uplifting aspects of it. I'm not telling anyone that they have to have an accountability partner to be a Christian or that this is the only way to actively pursue your faith. I am just sharing a positive influence and lifestyle change in my life that has transformed my approach to bible study, quiet time, and dedicating my life to the Lord.<br />
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My accountability partner and I often call our relationship our "soul sisterhood" and I mean what else could you call it? When you grow up on separate continents, live two totally different lifestyles, have two totally dissimilar walks to Christ, yet come together because you are both Jesus-loving college students, you know that God had a plan. I'm thankful to my soul sister for showing me Christ-like love, giving me heartfelt biblical truths, and for always listening to my heart without judgment.<br />
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"As iron sharpens iron, so one person sharpens another." Proverbs 27:17</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11596739403209366944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4170534384645648992.post-64956413386641384832015-02-27T13:21:00.002-08:002015-02-27T13:27:00.517-08:00Survivors Guilt: Taking and Receiving<div style="font-size: 13px;">
<span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I visited my dad today. Except instead of going to the shrimp boat, I actually went to the cemetery. It's weird that I have to go somewhere besides home to see him.<br />The past seven months haven't been easy to say the least. There's been a lot of bad things happen, some not preventable, others self-inflicted. It's been hard to write, because I just keep hearing the same thing over and over in my head. And I think I can finally get it out. I'm sitting graveside as I type this, because I don't feel like there's anywhere else I could write this.<br />Two Decembers ago, I was still at that angry and confused stage. We were all piled up in the suburban headed to my grandparents ranch. All four of us kids were just cutting a rug, like normal. We got close to downtown Houston, and I remember looking at the skyline as dad started talking. He had saw a distant friend at the processing plant that day when he was hauling in his shrimp. They were talking about nothing major, and I can't remember how the conversation turned, but Dad said they began to visit about his friend's daughter who had passed on. 21 years before on that day, his 19 year old daughter was in an automobile accident where her car was flipped into a canal and she drowned. Dad started crying at this point, and I did too. I was 19, and I couldn't imagine dying. Dad went on to say how his friend told him how angry he was at God for so long after his daughter passed. He said he was hurt that God could take the most important person, his only daughter, out of his life. And then he said one day he met this preacher who changed his life. The preacher knew he was angry and listened to his logic and backstory on why he was made at God, then he said, "God didn't take your daughter away, he received your daughter." I lost it and so did everyone else in the car. I just sobbed as I watched my dad try to gain enough composure to continue. He looked at me and said, "Brina, I just thought all day of you and how angry you are that God took your friends away, but baby girl, God didn't take them away. he received them. I don't want you to be angry anymore." As I continued to cry, I told Dad how much I loved him and watched as momma wiped dads tears away. Comforting him as she always did. I hear my dad telling me that every day. I hear his voice in my mind, reminding me not to become angry. I can't even be sad for him, because I know Jesus was standing there waiting to receive him. I'm not mad at God. But I'll be the first to say that I'm mad at myself. I have struggled with survivors guilt since day 1. A day doesn't go by that I don't see the accident, hear his voice telling us to come to the door, and then losing sight of him. I think back to how hard I tried to get everyone out of the boat. I have come to the reality that I did everything that I could. It's hard to live each day with the happy heart I had before when I feel this little nudge of, "you should have died too. You weren't suppose to make it." It's hard to listen to that voice and smile at your friends jokes. It's hard to go to class and listen to oh-so-boring geology lecture and think, "I'm not suppose to be in this class anyways. I should be in the cemetery next to my dad." But I've fought that dark, little voice of Satan. Because with every single part of my heart, I know I am alive for a reason. I've yet to figure out the why, and quite honestly I'm done trying to. I am going to live everyday with the assurance that God received my dad and that it just wasn't my time yet. Something's weren't meant to be understood. And that boat accident was one of them. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">"Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding." Proverbs 3:5</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11596739403209366944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4170534384645648992.post-83002043935634657912015-01-19T14:09:00.002-08:002015-01-19T14:09:28.533-08:00Love<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">There has been a lot of
ideas running around my mind lately. Considering Valentine’s Day is just around
the corner, some of them have been about love. I remember last year’s Valentine’s
Day. I was going to the Christian Conference for college students called
Passion. I was excited, because I knew I was not in a good place with my walk
with Jesus. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">I will be the first to admit
that God and I haven’t always been on the same page. After the deaths of four hometown
friends, I felt myself develop an anger that I didn’t know how to control. I
loved God. I wanted to live my life for Him. I wanted to spread His word and be
a light for Him. But I was mad. How could He just keep taking all of my
friends? How could He continue to allow all of these friends and families to go
through such terrible pain? Why? Why? Why? I can say that I have never felt a
gut-wrenching, never-ending anger like that before. From August 2013 until
February of the following year I was a mess. Thankfully, the words of Beth
Moore at Passion brought me to reality. God gave this life to me. It was the
first thing He ever blessed me with. It also is the only thing I have to spread
God’s word to others with. I needed to stop questioning why He did the things
He did, and just focus on spreading His love. I would get my answers one day,
but right now was the time for me to focus on Him. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Totally amazing message that
Valentines Day; I was truly in awe. And then I checked my phone and I had a
voicemail from my mom. “Hey Brina, just calling to tell you I love you! (Dad’s
voice in the background—Daddy loves you too!) yes, Daddy loves you too. I hope
you have a fantastic, amazing, phenomenal experience and know Mommy and Daddy
love you baby, bye pumpkin!” I’ve listened to this voicemail four or five times
just today. Mom and Dad must have been on their way to Valentines dinner and
called just to tell me they love me. Wow, what an amazing love they have for
me. I don’t know how to describe it, considering I have never been a parent. But
neither one of my parents went crazy when the November before I had admitted to
them how much anger I had, how depressed I felt, nor how potentially suicidal I
was. Neither one of them doubted that God would lead me and I would find my way
again, so they just continued to pour out their love to me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">As I contemplate this love
between a parent and child, I think of all the other types of love. The love
between friends who have been ‘besties’ for years, the love between new found
friends, the love between siblings, the love between a husband and wife, God’s
love for us, Jesus’s love for us, our love for our Lord and Savior. Each love
different, but still strong, stable, and capable of withstanding any kind of
battle. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">I feel like anyone who hears
Valentines Day and the word love thinks of romantic love. I agree, I do too.
But I’ve been thinking about this a lot on my trip to West Texas. And I have
this new idea about love. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">I have always been taught
that God is love. That used to be my favorite verse. 1 John 4:7-8</span><strong><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; line-height: 107%;">
“</span></strong><em><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; line-height: 107%;">Beloved, let us love one another, for love is from
God, and whoever loves has been born of God and knows God. Anyone who does
not love does not know God because God is love.” It’s a verse that is often
taught during youth ministires, small groups, and in devotional books. However,
if you skip just a few verses down it says “Beloved, since God so loved us, we
also ought to love one another. No one has ever seen God; but if we love one another,
God lives in us and his love is made complete in us,” 1 John 4:11-12. <o:p></o:p></span></em></div>
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<em><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; line-height: 107%;">When people ask why I am so nice, so sweet
to everyone, so kind, I literally think of this verse and think of the love God
gives us and wants us to give to others. As Christians we should have love for
everyone. It’s hard to do, believe me, I know. But if God loves us so much, why
can’t we love others the way that he loves? Unconditionally. <o:p></o:p></span></em></div>
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<em><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; line-height: 107%;">Valentine’s Day is a great day to celebrate
the love within your romantic relationship. But it is even cooler if you can
recognize the love within all of your relationships and remember God’s great
love for us that can be seen in His son’s sacrifice. Don’t forget that we are
all sinners, but God loves us anyway. Nothing we can do, can change God’s love
for His children. So love everyone with the most edifying for Him, Christ-like
way. </span></em><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<em><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; line-height: 107%;">“Beloved, let us love one another, for love
is from God, and whoever loves has been born of God and knows God. Anyone
who does not love does not know God, because God is love.” </span></em><strong><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal; line-height: 107%;">1
John 4:7-8</span></strong><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background: white; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span><span style="background: white; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span></span><em><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p></span></em></div>
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<em><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; line-height: 107%;">“Beloved, since God so loved us, we also
ought to love one another. No one has ever seen God; but if we love one another,
God lives in us and his love is made complete in us.” 1 John 4:11-12 </span></em><i><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11596739403209366944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4170534384645648992.post-47421826557637372292015-01-06T20:17:00.001-08:002015-01-06T20:17:57.777-08:00Sleeping With One Eye Open<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Dolphins have always
been a large part of my life. They were my favorite animal growing up; I mean
literally, at birthdays and Christmas everyone always gave me dolphin themed
memorabilia. I had the notepads, stickers, miniature desk see-saw with dolphins
as the seats, posters, wall canvas’s, you name it, I probably had it. When I
was really young, I can remember being out on the shrimp boat begging Dad to
tell me when the dolphins came up to breathe so I could see them. I would sit
on the bunk and just stare at the waves, hoping, wanting, yearning to just see
one dorsal fin breakthrough the surface. I had never seen them before, just
heard the fantastic stories at dinner. Of dolphins jumping the front waves of
the colossal red tankers, of them swimming up to the boat when Dad was bringing
in the net, of them soaring out of the water as they swam and played.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Interestingly enough, dolphins
are the reason we found out that I needed glasses, that I really, really needed
glasses! Dad and I were out on the boat, I was probably seven or eight. Dad got
really excited, jumped up from his chair, and told me to watch the dolphins as
he attempted to point them out for me. Standing inside the cabin, I </span><span style="line-height: 17.1200008392334px;">couldn't</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> make them out. So we walked out on the deck, and he tried pointing them out
again. I struggled to see what he was talking about. Everywhere he pointed, I
just saw water, nothing at all specific. He knelt down next to me and told me
to look down his arm and right over his finger, right at the dolphins. Placing
a hand over my forehead, I leaned forward, squinted really hard, and still saw
nothing but water. Within a few short weeks, the school did their annual
hearing and vision tests… low and behold I definitely needed glasses. Dad
always stated that it was because of not being able to see the dolphins that he
knew I needed glasses. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">My parents always
supported my love for dolphins. They even took all of us kids to the Natural
Museum of Science, and we watched the IMAX documentary on dolphins. I was thrilled.
It was the coolest thing I had ever watched. It was during this film that I
learned that dolphins sleep with one eye open. They shut down one hemisphere of
their brain and close the opposite eye. This enables them to watch out for
predators that could harm their calves or themselves. Me being the infatuated
child that I was (let us be real… I think I was like twelve at this time) tried
for weeks to sleep with one eye open. Finally, I admitted failure and decided I
would be the worst dolphin to every swim the face of the earth. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Just the other day, I
was driving over the Fred Hartman bridge watching the Houston Ship Channel like
the time I was watching for dolphins. I was instantly thrown back to those moments
of trying so hard to sleep with one eye open. I thought about how I live my
life now. How I feel like I am sleeping with one eye open. Waiting for the
absolute unthinkable to happen again. To have my life ripped away from me in
the most traumatic way. Or rather, not have my life taken, but to live again
with the </span><span style="line-height: 17.1200008392334px;">haunting</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> of a casual day gone haywire. In that moment, I realized how
faithless I was being. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">We </span><span style="line-height: 17.1200008392334px;">shouldn't</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> live our
lives with one eye open, waiting for the improbable to occur. God says we will
have trouble but to take heart for He has overcome the world. This life is so
fleeting, therefore we should live it with the idea that everything comes and
goes at some point. Happiness and sorrow. Joy and frustration. Love and hurt. Peace
and turmoil. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">As the New Year ensues,
I encourage you to re-evaluate how you are living your life. How positive is
your mindset? How uplifting to others and to yourself are you? Determine where
the negativity is in your life, and eliminate it. Life is too short to focus on
or wait for the bad things to occur, find the joy in every moment and remember
to thank God for it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">“I have told you these
things, so that in my you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble.
But take heart! I have overcome the world.” John 16:33<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11596739403209366944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4170534384645648992.post-4437820321326462962014-12-01T22:01:00.001-08:002014-12-02T10:40:43.878-08:00Strongholds, Spaghetti, and a Savior<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">One white Christmas tree. That's all it takes for everything to hit in full force. It's been nearly 17 years since I had a white Christmas tree. The last one will forever hold a special place in my heart.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I was three years old and we had arrived home with our real tree (everyone is normally using artificial trees these days, including ours. Such a shame really). I was so excited, I loved our Christmas tree. Dad got it all set up: stand, skirt, water, all the fixings. Then he pulled these cans out of this white bag and asked if I like snow. It gets a little cloudy, but the next memory I have is of being really high up. Dad is holding me and I'm sitting almost on his shoulder. There is white snow everywhere, and our tree is beginning to be more white than green. My laughter and his laughter mixing is what I remember more than anything. His rich, boisterous laugh that would make anyone else laugh too. The head-rearing, beautiful laughter that only comes from true joy. That's all I remember from my man-made snow night. Love and laughter. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Flash-forward to November 30, 2014. I am home with my little people, Lauren, Alexis, and Cody, my siblings. Mom's out visiting a friend. Its a Sunday night and everything is cozy and just feels like home. I'm in the kitchen making turkey spaghetti, Cody's sitting on the counter visiting with me about his weekend, the girls are cackling like two hens in the living room. It suddenly dawns on me. I remember the white Christmas tree that Mom and Dad had bought on clearance after last Christmas. I leave Cody to stirring the sauce, and I hustle my way outside to get the tree from the shed. Lugging it into the living room, I call for all my siblings to come help me. Before I know it, we are all trying to get this artificial, snow covered tree situated in our living room. I hurry to the kitchen to stir my sauce, and I hear it. That care-free, loving, happy laughter that only comes from total happiness. And it's coming straight from my three siblings. Lu, Lex, and Codyman are everything that Dad was. I hear the tone of his voice, the teasing jests, the love. I'm overwhelmed with the beauty of the moment. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I won't lie to you. I miss my dad more than a simple blog post
could ever describe. I miss the way the gold flecks in his eyes would dance when he was happy. I miss the casual way he would wink at me when I was getting a lecture form mom. I miss every single on of his, at-the-time, repetitive lectures. I miss the way we use to play phone-tag. I miss calling him about classes. I miss his loud boisterous laugh that made me feel like I actually could say something funny. I miss him telling me that my brown eyes were beautiful...with a tad bit of mascara. I miss the way he would hug me so tight that my jaw would pop. I miss how he would cover me up with a blanket when I feel asleep reading a novel. I miss him making me watch those tear-jerking classics. I miss him crying with me in them. I miss him telling me goodnight, every single night. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">There are countless things, situations, hugs that I miss, but in that one moment with my siblings I realized that there is a part of him in each one of us. Although he is physically gone, there is something about each one of his kids that will always be him. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I know the holidays are going to be difficult for a lot of different people in a variety of ways. Thanksgiving was its own unusual day, and Christmas will be like that this year too. All of the firsts will be difficult, and that is okay. As Matthew West (singer, songwriter) says, "I'm not strong enough to be everything that I'm supposed to be, I give up. I'm not strong enough, hands of mercy won't you cover me. Lord right now, I'm asking you to be strong enough, strong enough, for both of us." And the beautiful part of that, is that God is completely and totally strong enough for everything. If we give our lives, our bodies, our minds, then we armed with everything that we need in Him. He'll bring us through to a better day. He'll bring light to the darkness. He'll bring love in the midst of anger. He'll bring faith in a day of doubt. I encourage everyone to give their moments of hardships, sadness, difficulties, and doubts to our Great Creator and let Him be strong enough for both of you.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">The Lord is my rock, my fortress, and my deliverer; my God is my rock, in whom I take refuge, my shield and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold. Psalm 18:2. </span><br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11596739403209366944noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4170534384645648992.post-71479472567944597352014-09-17T09:51:00.000-07:002014-09-17T09:51:28.519-07:00Looking AroundHi everyone! It's been a little difficult to write the next part of my story. Lets be honest, it has been a lot difficult considering I can't remember it very well. I can't remember the details of the three hour conversation that Steve and I had. I can't even remember the first words he said to me. I can't remember all of the different things the other men were saying. I can't remember what all they tried to do to get me out. <div>
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But I can remember the feeling of safety. I can remember and to this day still feel the safety in Steve's voice. The safety I knew I was going to get to. I can remember the darkness.The darkness of the walls. The darkness of the water. The oil seeping into my skin, my hair, my lungs. I can remember the feelings. The hope. The tangible assurance in Steve's voice that God had provided a way of surviving. Of being rescued from my dark, watery compartment. I remember the cautionary way he warned me of all the noise once help had arrived. I can remember the screeching of the metal being cut. The tattoo on the left elbow of one of the fireman, the pendant on the others necklace. I can remember being lifted up, and breathing fresh air. <div>
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So many hands holding me secure. Someone taking and saying they would hold onto my little piece of metal. With my legs pulled up to my chest, my eyes remained forward and I looked at our shrimp boat. As the men continued to talk and make whatever kind of transportation arrangements they needed, I watched the water lap over the white letters "Mr. Anthony." Looking up, I recognized the red, white, and blue colors of my grandfather's shrimp boat. Making out three silhouettes, I remember pointing and calling out, "Thats my pawpaw. There he is!" Then it hit me. </div>
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The white clouds were gone. The rain had cleared. A deep, blue, the sky was a clear looking glass. The water was absolutely calm. Silently still. A lingering yellowy, orange light told me it was getting to be that perfect time of the day. My favorite time of the day. The moments of the day when the heat had dissipated and it had finally cooled off enough to go throw the softball around, or work on my swing in the backyard. The kind of summer weather where my hair didn't explode into a curly, frizzy mass--well not too badly anyway haha :)</div>
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My favorite memories with my dad happened during this perfect early evening stage of the the day. My first deer I shot was during an evening hunt. My first softball practice, game, tournament. Daddy was always one of my favorite and least favorite coach. He'd push me so hard, that I would end up beyond annoyed and ready to just swing my bat at him instead of the softball. Yet, even later when he wasn't coaching me, he was my biggest supporter. Sometimes he was the only parent in the stands, and my teammates loved him all the more for it. Anyways, back to looking around.</div>
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From the moment they put me on the next boat and strapped me into the protective seat, I can remember every single person's name. Steve said that my senses were extremely enhanced due to the accident, but even a month later, I feel like they still are. People say near-death experiences make you appreciate life more. Sure, that's true. But what those people really don't understand is what it means to look around more. To notice the things you never thought as relevant before. On the boat ride to the dock where the ambulance was waiting, I remember watching a lone seagull glide through the sky. Just a casual seagull. No big deal. Not like I hadn't seen THOUSANDS of seagulls before in my life. However, this was different. I noticed the way it turned its head from side to side as it was choosing a landing spot. As it settled itself down with poise on a tall piling. I will never forget that sight. </div>
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And in the days since the accident. Walking on campus, driving around town, eating dinner with friends, watching the kids get ready for school in the mornings, laughing with my mom. All of the normal, everyday activities that I have done for years, all seem different now, I notice so much more. Details. My mind is often unfocused as it skims from one little detail to the next. Its as if all of my "spidey" senses are completely on point 24/7. I get lost in the scene of things. And I love it. I love thanking God for the little specific things. I love recognizing and giving God those little "I see what you did there, and I love it" moments. </div>
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Yes, I appreciate life more. I am more than grateful for what I have been given. But I don't see it as just an appreciation that I have for the gift of life. I see it as a recognition of the life I have been given. Maybe its the fact that I was in almost total darkness for nearly four hours, that now my eyes have become so enraptured with the colors of the world we live in. Maybe its just my way of "appreciating." Maybe its just that I have always noticed nature, and I am more than grateful that I can continue to experience it. Maybe its a combination of these things. But even now, as I look around at the quiet study hall I am sitting in, I believe that the biggest thing I have learned from the accident, is that we should all look around more. Truly observe the world we live in. Recognize the life we have been give. And find your joy in it. Find a joy in everything. Find the joy that God meant for you to experience in this breathtaking world He has created. </div>
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May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit. Romans 15;13</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11596739403209366944noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4170534384645648992.post-29537762374508984752014-08-31T01:21:00.001-07:002014-08-31T01:21:31.759-07:00Light as Seen Through a Bilge Pump<div>Screams ripped through my abdomen. Water rushed through the hole I just came through. Where was I? I could hear the rain echoing off the side of the boat. It was so dark. Smelly. So much oil. I could feel it seeping into my clothes. Wait, my shirt was gone. It must have hung on a nail when the boat flipped and I tried to get to the surface. I whipped my body round and round. Looking for light. Looking for a hole. Looking for the hatch. I took the side of my hand and swung my best swing. The kind that sucked in your chest and made your breath go whoosh though your lungs. I continued to bang on all four walls. Kicking my feet, I noticed a throb starting in my left shin. A deep ache that made my toes tingle. </div><div><br></div><div>"Dadddddyyyyy, SAAAAVVVEE MEEE!" I still hear my own screams in my sleep. When I'm in a quiet room. When I'm alone for more than four or five minutes. Showers are hard; I hear the water falling against the walls and the curtains and am reminded of the rain I could hear falling from inside the hull. I just recently was able to shower with the curtain closed. Towels used to cover the floor as I relished being able to see light and an escape route while water touched my body. Touched my memories. My screams will be something I live with for years to come. I will never forget them. I don't want to. </div><div><br></div><div>I remember the pain I felt in my throat as I realized fumes burned my lungs. I didn't care. I continued to scream. Over and over again. My cries overpowered the sound of water rushing into the boat and the rain. I continued to bang. I thought of the drumline of the band as they used to walk down the hall signaling a pep rally with the heavy banging of their drums. It was a deep bong, bong, bong that continued to reverberate through me.</div><div><br></div><div>I touched every inch of the walls around me. With my back to the hole I came through ( being the floor of the cabin), I faced unknowingly the starboard side of the bottom of daddy's boat. My eyes began to adjust. My left contact was gone and I could feel it swelling. Small cut directly on the crease. I didn't think twice about it. I started to do an assessment of my injuries. Eye swollen, lip busted and swollen, leg sore, and hands bruising from banging. I suddenly realized that there was glitter. Sprinkling around me. Reflecting over the pieces of metal the bobbed in the small space. </div><div><br></div><div>Light! There was light! I looked up and saw a 4-5 inch long, 1.5 inches wide plastic tube. Opaque in color, the tube had a small glow of light. It was made of heavy plastic. The end was clamped with a cloth-like piece. I wrapped my hands around and pulled. Twisted. Pushed. Hit. Bent. Yanked. Wrenched. Tore. Heaved. Jerked. I put every inch of my muscles into moving that tubing to get to the light. And it didn't even budge. I was frantic. My strength wasn't enough. I was frustrated.</div><div><br></div><div>I yelled at God to save me. To please save me. To help me think. Help me get out of here. In between cries to God, I yelled for my daddy. I kept pushing my self down into the water and debris to find a hatch. To find an opening to the surface. Items began to float up and fill my space. I got distracted by the little reflection of the pipe light glittering off of metal. I reached out numerous times thinking that it was an opening to the surface, but my hand always connected with metal. I felt like Merida from the Disney cartoon movie, Brave, following the will-o-wisps. Except mine weren't leading me to safety, but to more darkness. Despair. </div><div><br></div><div>To my left was wall one. Directly in front was wall two. To my right, wall three, and behind me, the entrance to the cabin floor was wall four. Wall number one had particle board covering it. I wrenched the boards away looking for a hole. Tore fingernails and skin. I would have broken bones to find a hole behind those boards. </div><div><br></div><div>I stopped and told myself to think. Sabrina you know this boat like the back of your hand. Your daddy's taught you a lot about this boat. Think about where you could be. The front boat has a hatch to the surface. There is a connecting opening between the cabin entrance to the engine room and the opening in the front of the if boat. </div><div><br></div><div>I suddenly registered that Cody was screaming my name. CODDDDYYYYY. My cries changed instantly. I began beating on the boat again. Screeching his name. He was closer. He was right there. I could hear him walking on the boat; his footsteps echoing lightly. Watching the light, waiting for him to just pull whatever the tube was out and devise a plan on how to get to me free. Abruptly all of the light vanished. My heart stopped. My stomach twisted. My chest seized. Shrieking I told him not to block the light, I'm right here, don't take away the light. Instantly the light was back and Cody was speaking to me. "Sabrina the boat is filling up with water, you have to get out. You have to swim to the hatch in the front of the boat. You have to get there. The boat is filling up with water." I frantically cried to him that I didn't know which way the front of the boat was. </div><div><br></div><div>Back to the walls, wall number 3 was solid until about the middle of my thigh and towards my hips. Then there was an opening that I could put the end of my legs in. I kept kicking my legs inside feeling to see if I could find a hatch. To find the opening. Cody kept telling me to swim to his voice. I yelled that I was in a compartment, there wasn't any way out but the way I came in. ( Plus, if you, the reader, don't already know this, I'm partially deaf in my right ear. Locating noises is not one of my strong points. At all.) I yelled this to cody over and over again. So he told me to follow the sound of him hitting the boat. "BANG BANG BANG" the noise reverberated through my compartment. The boat is thirty-six tons of metal, all Cody's banging did was echo through my head and body. </div><div><br></div><div>He was so calm, and I was so frantic. I kept asking him where Dad was. Where he came out at. Cody kept saying "I don't know Sabrina, I don't see him yet. You have to get out. You have to swim to the hatch. The boat is filling up with water." The peace in his voice was so calming. He was so calm. How was he so calm. How could he be? I pushed myself down to the opening in wall number three and went as far as my feet could go and felt nothing. I began to push myself up when I felt the rope maliciously wrap around my throat. I couldn't get it loose. I wanted to scream but was still holding my breath. I thought "Okay God, I think I'm coming to see you. I gave this life a good try but at least I know where I'm going." I continued to struggle and felt the last bits of my lungs giving way. Arms flopping around for something to pull me up-feet kicking to find something to push off of. Nothing was working. Then suddenly there was air. I was spitting diesel, oil, and muck from my mouth and my lungs, but I was breathing air. I did not know how. I didn't know how I got back up. </div><div><br></div><div>The rain had quieted down. I called to Cody, " Codyman, I love you so much. I don't think I'm getting out of here okay? But I love you so so much." "Sabrina I love you too, but you are getting out of this boat. Now hush and swim to the hatch. Now." He was still so calm. I pulled my hands up to grab the plastic tube again. Except my wrists were wrapped in sewing twine for the net. Burning and cutting into my flesh, I looked at the two pieces of green twine wrapping my wrists. </div><div><br></div><div>Which one was loudest? What if I cut my wrist and bled out instead of screamed for air as Cody listened? What would be the easiest death for him to hear/witness? It took about 3 seconds for me to say, "but what if Daddy and Cody get to me and I'm already dead. There's still a chance. I am not doing this." </div><div><br></div><div>I tore the twine off of my wrists and began talking to God. I don't know if many of you know but since last August I have struggled with depression. A deeply rooted, twisted depression that tries to steal the joy from the life I love. The pain of losing two friends to suicide, one in March and one in August, was so profound that I struggled with my anger at God. Then another friend passed away in October. I finally broke down in November of 2013 and admitted to my parents that I was struggling. I had found a good outlet to help me, volunteering as a mentor to high school students. It was during a volunteering event that I knew, I needed help. I loved God and I wanted to live for Him, but I was angry. I was mad. I was frustrated. All feelings that I had never possessed towards God before. </div><div><br></div><div>In the bottom of that boat, I broke the last piece of my anger away and told Him how sorry I was. How much I loved Him. That my life is Yours. Do what you want. At peace with my decision, I tried to swim back into the cabin to see if I could find an opening. It was then that I felt something solid, but soft push against my left arm and left leg. I reached for it, thinking it was a person, maybe they were trying to pull me out. But as I reached, the thing floated out of my reach and I pulled myself back into my compartment. I blocked the idea that it was daddy out of my mind and focused on Cody's voice and getting out. I scoured the walls, looking for an opening. Crying out to God for the hatch. I broke away all the particle board and placed my hand on every inch of the walls. No openings except the way I came in. </div><div><br></div><div>Cody's voice was always there, talking to me, comforting me, but still commanding me to go towards the hatch and the front of the boat. All at once, I couldn't make out Cody's words anymore and it sounded like he was going away from me. Thinking the wind, water, current (and/or sharks, because lets be real, we all watch shark week, and the thought crossed my mind) was sweeping him away, I went bezerk for him to hear me, to swim towards my voice. His stern voice interrupted my cries, "Sabrina there's a boat, I'm yelling for them, be quiet." When a 13 year old little brother, tells you to be quiet when you are trapped inside the hull of your families shrimp boat so that he can flag down a boat, then you be quiet and wait for your next instructions. </div><div><br></div><div>Within seconds, I met Steve. Another Saving Grace. Another light as seen through a bilge pump. </div><div><br></div><div>This has been difficult to write. And I hope that my fears show you, that I am not just naturally strong or putting on a front. My strength comes from The Lord. I relied on Him through the darkness in the hull and in the twelve days since then. By no means, could I do this alone. I am ashamed that suicide even crossed my mind. In the moment, it was justified. I was going to save Cody the anguish of hearing my death. But I realized now that this is how suicide works. It takes a small thought and manipulates it into an idea and then transforms it into a plan of action and then eases your conscience so that there is justification. But that justification is only a manifestation of your own weakness. We all struggle. I think we are meant to. If we did not have struggles, then when would we have a chance to lean on God's Grace? On Jesus's love? </div><div><br></div><div>This blog sums up the first 45 minutes of being trapped. The next three hours were rough, but I had an amazing lifeline who talked me through the whole time. I will write about that next. Thank you for reading, and again, if you have any questions please feel free to ask. </div><div><br></div><div>But I will sing of your strength, in the morning I will sing of your love; for you are my fortress, my refuge in times of trouble. Psalm 59:16</div><div><br></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11596739403209366944noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4170534384645648992.post-48153159751730140942014-08-28T22:44:00.002-07:002014-08-28T22:45:34.529-07:00A Deceiving MomentI'm sure you have heard the story by now. May it be from a friend, a family member, an article, and soon, channel 13 news story. And if you haven't, you are reading this to find out the story. Well here it goes.<br />
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Ten days ago, I was floating with my salvation. I know it sounds a little quirky. And probably a little too into context. But on Monday, August 18, 2014, I was floating in the bottom of a 36 ton shrimp boat, with nothing but my God, His son, and my own salvation.<br />
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Weather is a normal earthly occurrence. Something most people who are on land a lot, usually don't give second thought to. Well on the water, it is a different situation. There are no trees, no large buildings, no barriers to slow the wind, slow the onslaught of rain, slow the brute amount of force. Daddy, Cody, Manuel (our other deckhand), and I had been watching the weather roll in from the La Porte/Bayport area. I didn't think twice because Daddy always took care of us. The wind was strong though, it started to cool off the hot, muggy air that had plagued us that day. My hair began to whip around my face as Cody and I cleaned the back deck of fish and crabs, and then we dipped shrimp from the tanks into baskets to unload at the dock.<br />
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Daddy called to us from the cabin doorway that he was going to do a few circles at the hole (which is where the Houston Ship Channel branches into Cedar Bayou), wait for the weather to pass. "It's a bad blow, I want that to get out of the way before we head in." He casually grabbed a water and went back to his tall, captain's chair, and settled in.<br />
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Laughing, I put my arms up like the classic Titanic pose as the wind pushed hard against my face. I told Cody, "Put your arms up! It's just like Titanic!" Cody immediately hollered, "Sabrina! No! That boat sank!" I laughed harder, thinking of the absurdity of our boat sinking. Gave Cody a big, I-love-you-for-saying-something-so-silly hug and finished up unloading the shrimp. Just as the rain began to release, all three deckhands walked into the cabin and dad steered the boat into Cedar Bayou.<br />
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Lightening flashed up ahead. It was so beautiful. Purple and just.. breathtaking. I felt a twinge of fear but remembered that Daddy always took care of us. The weather wasn't something to be feared. Dad stood at the helm and was watching the beacons, his line up, his depth meter. Everything was normal. Lightening struck ahead of us. "You should take a picture, Brina. It's really pretty." And just like that, I grabbed my phone from my purse on the bunk and turned back to Dad's side. My spot. Always my spot. That little corner where the dash nestled into the starboard window. Right next to the wheel. I swiped my screen to unlock it just as the clock changed to 2:12 p.m. "I sure wish we were already at that next beacon. It would make me feel better with all this wind," and just like that Dad was on his feet, spinning the wheel deftly to the right. I looked over my left shoulder to the back left of the cabin out the door. The boat was laying over to the left and the water was at the bulwarks. The white box (large tank that holds 700 pounds of shrimp) slid to the edge and was going over. I cried out that the box was going over as dad yelled to grab a window. Pushing me against the corner, Dad wrapped his strong arms around me as we both clung to the window sill. Just like that, my hands were the only thing touching the cabin as the boat capsized.<br />
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Water rushed in, rising to my neck. I began screaming to God. It didn't seem real. It didn't seem possible. This doesn't happen in real life. If you don't already know, I have night terrors. These have happened long before the accident. I wake up in a screaming/crying mess, reliving the terrible images of a dream gone wrong. Screaming to God to save me was the only way I could awake from them. Daddy always said I read to many Nancy Drew books when I was younger, but who knows the real reasons. They are always extremely vivid and real. I thought this was just another vivid night terror haunting my sleep. But as the water swirled around my face, the light inside the cabin began to dim as the boat filled with water, and I knew it was not.<br />
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I immediately kicked my boots off. Just like my daddy taught me. Swimming to the surface, I felt disorientated. I was at the front of the cabin, Manuel in front of me, Cody next, then Daddy had some how ended up on at the back of the cabin. He came rushing out of the water with a big gulp of air. Thrashing his head around, he cleared the water from his brow, his necklace whirled around his neck. The gold crucifix anchor spinning and catching what little light was left in the small space. "I found the door! Come to the door!" And with that my head fell under the water as the boat rolled over.<br />
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Spluttering for air, I found myself near Cody and Manuel. "Break a window!! Break a window!!" Cody continued to scream, as Manuel moaned and clamored for something to hold onto. the water reaching our necks again. I screamed for Dad. Ceaselessly. "I broke the window, we have to climb out. I broke a window!" Cody had broken a window. Suddenly Manuel accidentally pushed Cody underneath me. I could feel his head beneath my socked feet. With knife-cutting screams, I wrenched Cody from the water below me and shoved him through a broken window. Grabbing Manuel by the back of his shirt collar, I yelled, "Your next! Go! Now! Out the window!" I forced him through the small space, and tried to come out too. One arm, my head, and part of my chest were through when I felt something hit me in the mouth. I tasted blood. Falling back into a completely submerged cabin, my left hand found an open space. Reaching inside I felt air. Thinking I had found the door, I pulled myself into the open space and upto much needed air. Opening my eyes, I expected to see the whiteness of clouds, the glow of the sun, my brother, my daddy, the world I loved.Yet all I saw was blackness.<br />
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A simple moment of pure beauty changed to tragedy with just one simple second of time. A simple deceiving moment.<br />
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I need to gather my thoughts before I talk about what happened for the next four hours while my life was shrouded in darkness with just a small glow from a three inch bilge pump pipe. Thank you for reading. Feel free to ask questions about what has happened up until this point in the story. I want to say now though, that my faith in God is stronger than it has ever been. It is not even because I feel like I owe God my life since He spared me. But because I was content with dying and was at peace with whatever He wanted of me. That peace was from the knowledge that I loved my Savior and knew I was going to be with Him for forever.<br />
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Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and lean not on your own understand. Proverbs 3:5Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11596739403209366944noreply@blogger.com7