Sophia Sunshine Vilceus's Blog: In His Will, page 2
April 15, 2019
30 Things I Learned in my Twenties
1. Jesus saves. From grief, depression, anxiety, car-accidents, sin, mistakes, bad-breakups, financial woes, insecurities. All of it. Jesus saves. He saved me everyday. It’s only by grace that I made it to #SosoThirty. I’m still making it. God has taken care of me. I have a responsibility to take care of His people too.
2. Family doesn’t necessarily make you friends. Friends have the aptitude to become family. Nourished relationships are life-giving.
Pruning is necessary. In gardens and in relationships. Sometimes I will be the one being pruned. That’s okay.
3. Distance doesn’t break genuine bonds, so move. As much as you need to, to find yourself. There is nothing like turning the key to your own home.
4. I don’t have to do life alone. I wish I learned this in my early twenties, rather than my late twenties. But I’m grateful I learned it anyway. Whether in a pit of depression or financial turmoil--tell someone trusted. You don’t have to do it alone. Community is a non-negotiable.
5. Therapy is God-sent. Thank heavens for Dr. Morris. She showed me, me.
6. Vacations matter deeply. Beach, sun, a good massage, escape, good food recalibrate me. Recalibration with people are amazing. Recalibration alone is vital. Recalibrate as much as you can.
7. #SelfCare isn’t a spontaneous treat. It’s an intentional, curated way of life.
8. Unresolved trauma breeds more heaviness. Anxiety and hypertension sometimes aren’t rooted in poor diet and exercise but sometimes they are rooted in grief, and unspoken pain. Mom got sick. It doesn’t mean I will too.
9. I wanna be a teacher. I am an educator. This is the career path for me. I was meant to do this. I am good at it.
10. Sometimes sleeping with my phone on Do Not Disturb is an act of trust and faith. It reminds me that I cannot save any of my loved ones from calamity in the middle of the night or ever. Only Jesus can. Rest, fully. It’s okay to turn your phone off to recharge.
11. There is no reason to be insecure about saving myself for marriage. Any person that judges me for that choice, is not committed to understanding me well. Sexuality can be complicated as a single (Christian). If I don’t address certain things, it will come spilling out of me in inappropriate ways.
12. Taking myself on a day-date is nice. Buy flowers. Buy candles. Sit alone at a restaurant. It’s necessary. I’ve gotta like me, if I expect others to love me. Sitting in a coffee shop makes me really, really happy. So keep doing that.
13. Drink water. Lots of it. My bladder doesn’t thank me, but every other part of me, especially my skin.
14. Small-talk is brutal for an introvert. But deep conversations and relationships are sometimes birthed from trivial ones. So talk to folks, even if uncomfortable.
15. Celebrate yourself often. Don’t minimize birthdays or milestones. People will celebrate you as much or as little as you opt to celebrate yourself. Make a big deal of yourself. You’re a big deal.
16. I’ve got control issues. That’s why I hate flying.
17. I can still honor my father, even if he didn’t live up to my expectations of what he should have been to me, as a child and as an adult.
18. I carry tension in my body, namely my back and shoulders. Doing yoga and stretching is beneficial--but be careful with all that other occult mess. The enemy is real, even if I can’t see him.
19. Soul ties are real. I can be madly in love with the absolute wrong person. Dating apps ain’t for me. Keep hoping feverishly in love. It’ll come. I will be married. And happily. With many kids. I’m holding to God’s promise.
20. Grief changes but it doesn’t evaporate. I miss my mother. No matter how old I get, there will always be a 14 year old girl in me that needs tending to. Be tender with her.
Forgive my family for, in many ways, allowing me to grieve alone. In dismissing their hard grieve, it didn’t give me the space to grieve alongside them. It doesn't mean they didn't love my mom.
21. Every dog is a therapy dog. Dog-parks make me happy. Bizoux makes me happy, even though I am allergic to him. He’s worth every Zyrtec. He just is.
22. My friends with financial literacy. Talk to them often about it. I can’t manage my money well, no matter how intentional I am, unless I have the right information and resources.
23. Writing heals the over-thinker in me.
24. My body is changing yo. My teeth are sensitive to the cold. I need stronger deodorant. I developed allergies and hives. How sway? Pay attention to your body: especially the changes.
25. I am strong, resilient, filled with grace. There is no need to diminish that to make someone else comfortable with their own self. We are masters at projecting our own stuff onto other people. People will project their stuff onto me. It is my responsible to discern who I let in. It’s not my responsibility to handle everyone’s stuff.
26. Stay humble. Stay close to my humility no matter what position I have, how many books I publish. It’s all God anyway. Humility is beautiful. Elitism is wack.
27. Forgiveness is an ongoing process. Do not throw people away. People are not things to be discarded. Discernment, compassion, intentionality & understanding are necessary when deciding when to work on a relationship that has changed & left you reeling, & when to love from afar. Never stop loving though--never.
28. God loves meme more than I do. There is never a need to worry incessantly about my loved ones. God loves them more I do. Period. Be easy.
29. I don’t like it when people disagree with me.
30. Do my own taxes for as long as I can. I trust myself. There are frauds out here that cost me. I will also learn more when I actually do them myself.
2. Family doesn’t necessarily make you friends. Friends have the aptitude to become family. Nourished relationships are life-giving.
Pruning is necessary. In gardens and in relationships. Sometimes I will be the one being pruned. That’s okay.
3. Distance doesn’t break genuine bonds, so move. As much as you need to, to find yourself. There is nothing like turning the key to your own home.
4. I don’t have to do life alone. I wish I learned this in my early twenties, rather than my late twenties. But I’m grateful I learned it anyway. Whether in a pit of depression or financial turmoil--tell someone trusted. You don’t have to do it alone. Community is a non-negotiable.
5. Therapy is God-sent. Thank heavens for Dr. Morris. She showed me, me.
6. Vacations matter deeply. Beach, sun, a good massage, escape, good food recalibrate me. Recalibration with people are amazing. Recalibration alone is vital. Recalibrate as much as you can.
7. #SelfCare isn’t a spontaneous treat. It’s an intentional, curated way of life.
8. Unresolved trauma breeds more heaviness. Anxiety and hypertension sometimes aren’t rooted in poor diet and exercise but sometimes they are rooted in grief, and unspoken pain. Mom got sick. It doesn’t mean I will too.
9. I wanna be a teacher. I am an educator. This is the career path for me. I was meant to do this. I am good at it.
10. Sometimes sleeping with my phone on Do Not Disturb is an act of trust and faith. It reminds me that I cannot save any of my loved ones from calamity in the middle of the night or ever. Only Jesus can. Rest, fully. It’s okay to turn your phone off to recharge.
11. There is no reason to be insecure about saving myself for marriage. Any person that judges me for that choice, is not committed to understanding me well. Sexuality can be complicated as a single (Christian). If I don’t address certain things, it will come spilling out of me in inappropriate ways.
12. Taking myself on a day-date is nice. Buy flowers. Buy candles. Sit alone at a restaurant. It’s necessary. I’ve gotta like me, if I expect others to love me. Sitting in a coffee shop makes me really, really happy. So keep doing that.
13. Drink water. Lots of it. My bladder doesn’t thank me, but every other part of me, especially my skin.
14. Small-talk is brutal for an introvert. But deep conversations and relationships are sometimes birthed from trivial ones. So talk to folks, even if uncomfortable.
15. Celebrate yourself often. Don’t minimize birthdays or milestones. People will celebrate you as much or as little as you opt to celebrate yourself. Make a big deal of yourself. You’re a big deal.
16. I’ve got control issues. That’s why I hate flying.
17. I can still honor my father, even if he didn’t live up to my expectations of what he should have been to me, as a child and as an adult.
18. I carry tension in my body, namely my back and shoulders. Doing yoga and stretching is beneficial--but be careful with all that other occult mess. The enemy is real, even if I can’t see him.
19. Soul ties are real. I can be madly in love with the absolute wrong person. Dating apps ain’t for me. Keep hoping feverishly in love. It’ll come. I will be married. And happily. With many kids. I’m holding to God’s promise.
20. Grief changes but it doesn’t evaporate. I miss my mother. No matter how old I get, there will always be a 14 year old girl in me that needs tending to. Be tender with her.
Forgive my family for, in many ways, allowing me to grieve alone. In dismissing their hard grieve, it didn’t give me the space to grieve alongside them. It doesn't mean they didn't love my mom.
21. Every dog is a therapy dog. Dog-parks make me happy. Bizoux makes me happy, even though I am allergic to him. He’s worth every Zyrtec. He just is.
22. My friends with financial literacy. Talk to them often about it. I can’t manage my money well, no matter how intentional I am, unless I have the right information and resources.
23. Writing heals the over-thinker in me.
24. My body is changing yo. My teeth are sensitive to the cold. I need stronger deodorant. I developed allergies and hives. How sway? Pay attention to your body: especially the changes.
25. I am strong, resilient, filled with grace. There is no need to diminish that to make someone else comfortable with their own self. We are masters at projecting our own stuff onto other people. People will project their stuff onto me. It is my responsible to discern who I let in. It’s not my responsibility to handle everyone’s stuff.
26. Stay humble. Stay close to my humility no matter what position I have, how many books I publish. It’s all God anyway. Humility is beautiful. Elitism is wack.
27. Forgiveness is an ongoing process. Do not throw people away. People are not things to be discarded. Discernment, compassion, intentionality & understanding are necessary when deciding when to work on a relationship that has changed & left you reeling, & when to love from afar. Never stop loving though--never.
28. God loves meme more than I do. There is never a need to worry incessantly about my loved ones. God loves them more I do. Period. Be easy.
29. I don’t like it when people disagree with me.
30. Do my own taxes for as long as I can. I trust myself. There are frauds out here that cost me. I will also learn more when I actually do them myself.
March 7, 2019
Remembering Petro, Twelve Years Later
Petro was my high-school basketball coach and my guidance counselor. I always sat at the tail end of the bench during our basketball games. But that night, the night he passed away--February 27th, 2007, I opted to sit right next to him. No rhyme or reason. I just wanted to be near him.
This week, marked the 12th year of his passing. I forced myself to not think about it. I usually write about him on the anniversary-- this year, I didn’t. I purposely preoccupied myself with other things to fill up my mental space. For one reason or the other, I was afraid to go there this year.
On my way home from work today, Shakira’s “Hips Don’t Lie” came on the radio.“Hips Don’t Lie” was one of Petro’s favorite songs before he passed away. I smiled deeply because vivid memories of him awkwardly dancing to that song at Tanisha Celest's birthday party brought me contentment.
But then a wave of sadness washed over me too. Then, really, really hard memories played out in my head, like a horrific movie that I never wanted to be a part of in the first place. In the car, my stomach knotted up as I recalled how I got up from the bench that night and frantically screamed into the crowd that “something is wrong with Petro!” I remember locking eyes with Kirsten Jeter's dad, in the midst of the crowd, as he tried desperately to calm me down through the chaos.
Today in the car, I was brought back to the moments before Petro collapsed. Kirsten was doing her thing in the game (as per usual), but her leg brace was falling off, so she eagerly asked for a sub, but Petro was slow to respond. It was not like him. And we knew something was wrong.
Then I remembered going home, hoping he was recovering at the hospital, and watching Breaking News flash across my television screen, as I learned on News 12 that Petro had transitioned on. That scream. It was horrific. I pray I never have another one like it in my life.
Then I remembered, how many of us gathered at Sodna Leonard Cadet's home till the wee hours of the morning. Exchanging sweet stories of Petro and wrestling with our emotions, until we had to go to school the next day to the makeshift memorial. Some of my friends would find out he passed away only once they got to school. So hard.
All of that bombarded me today, simply because Shakira’s “Hips Don’t Lie” came on. I was fascinated that after 12 years, that a song could bring me back to all of that complicated history.
It was my reminder that grief and trauma must be acknowledged and grappled with no matter how much time has elapsed. It’s inescapable. Because it will show up someway, somehow.
Petro, you’d be so proud of your girls. Your two gorgeous, biological daughters. Along with all the rest of us of your bonus-daughters. I’d love to have another conversation with you. But I’m so grateful to have been afforded a moment today: to think of you, mourn you, laugh at you, and reminisce of the magic that was you. So grateful to have known you. I love you.
Rest in peace, my friend.
This week, marked the 12th year of his passing. I forced myself to not think about it. I usually write about him on the anniversary-- this year, I didn’t. I purposely preoccupied myself with other things to fill up my mental space. For one reason or the other, I was afraid to go there this year.
On my way home from work today, Shakira’s “Hips Don’t Lie” came on the radio.“Hips Don’t Lie” was one of Petro’s favorite songs before he passed away. I smiled deeply because vivid memories of him awkwardly dancing to that song at Tanisha Celest's birthday party brought me contentment.
But then a wave of sadness washed over me too. Then, really, really hard memories played out in my head, like a horrific movie that I never wanted to be a part of in the first place. In the car, my stomach knotted up as I recalled how I got up from the bench that night and frantically screamed into the crowd that “something is wrong with Petro!” I remember locking eyes with Kirsten Jeter's dad, in the midst of the crowd, as he tried desperately to calm me down through the chaos.
Today in the car, I was brought back to the moments before Petro collapsed. Kirsten was doing her thing in the game (as per usual), but her leg brace was falling off, so she eagerly asked for a sub, but Petro was slow to respond. It was not like him. And we knew something was wrong.
Then I remembered going home, hoping he was recovering at the hospital, and watching Breaking News flash across my television screen, as I learned on News 12 that Petro had transitioned on. That scream. It was horrific. I pray I never have another one like it in my life.
Then I remembered, how many of us gathered at Sodna Leonard Cadet's home till the wee hours of the morning. Exchanging sweet stories of Petro and wrestling with our emotions, until we had to go to school the next day to the makeshift memorial. Some of my friends would find out he passed away only once they got to school. So hard.
All of that bombarded me today, simply because Shakira’s “Hips Don’t Lie” came on. I was fascinated that after 12 years, that a song could bring me back to all of that complicated history.
It was my reminder that grief and trauma must be acknowledged and grappled with no matter how much time has elapsed. It’s inescapable. Because it will show up someway, somehow.
Petro, you’d be so proud of your girls. Your two gorgeous, biological daughters. Along with all the rest of us of your bonus-daughters. I’d love to have another conversation with you. But I’m so grateful to have been afforded a moment today: to think of you, mourn you, laugh at you, and reminisce of the magic that was you. So grateful to have known you. I love you.
Rest in peace, my friend.
February 11, 2019
Dog Doo-Doo
Walking my dog, at times for me, is relief. Other times--really, really frustrating. Especially in the cold, when he takes forever to poop. Often, I can tell Bizoux needs to doo-doo really bad! But refuses to relieve himself until he finds *the* perfect spot. I mean, I literally watch him go in circles. Which really means, I walk in circles...just waiting until he finds THE spot to dump. In my head, I’m like: bruh: don’t you know this is ALL grass? All of it is dirt. It’s all good. Just find a spot and be content with it.
I am so like that. So often.
Looking for the next, perfect place in my life to settle into. That rationale leads to discontentment.
So, I’m reminding myself: it’s all grass, soph. It’s all good. Just pick a spot. Do your thing. Relieve yourself of the unnecessary venture of constantly looking. You’ve already found it. All that you need, all that your heart desires.
I am so like that. So often.
Looking for the next, perfect place in my life to settle into. That rationale leads to discontentment.
So, I’m reminding myself: it’s all grass, soph. It’s all good. Just pick a spot. Do your thing. Relieve yourself of the unnecessary venture of constantly looking. You’ve already found it. All that you need, all that your heart desires.
January 11, 2019
Hives & Hurt
For the last week, I have broken out in hives in all different parts of my body. Because I have never experienced this before, I had no idea these outbreaks were in fact hives until I went to my PCP, days after the initial outbreak. When I got there, the nurse practitioner who tended to me was dismissive, aloof, and simply unhelpful.
She prescribed me a topical ointment for the itch and told me to get over-the-counter Claritin. When I asked for some blood-work, she refused. Instead she said, “if it happens again, just come back.” I left frustrated and with the same issue that I came in with, and absolutely no answers. Over the course of the week, as my hives did not subside, I called the doctor’s office every single day, trying to get blood-work, to no avail. The only thing I got was a referral to see an allergist...that could not see me for another two weeks.
I was itchy and my skin was not the only thing irritated.
In one last attempt, I made an emergency appointment and made sure to not get the same nurse practitioner. The Physician’s Assistant that tended to me was caring, diligent, and thorough and had wonderful bedside manner. He paid attention to things that the other nurse didn’t even think of asking.
Then he left...for about 30 min to speak to the Doctor on next steps.
For half an hour, waiting in a doctor’s office alone...my mind began to go to worst-case scenarios.
Why was he taking so long?
What were they preparing to tell me?
My mind continued to go and go until it landed on my mama. Aha! That explained why my BP had been over the roof, and my pulse increasingly fast as they took my vitals. That explained my utter frustration with this situation. This wasn’t simply about some hives. This reaction is because I know the consequences of having a PCP dismiss and dismiss the legitimate concerns of a patient…
He did that to my mother until her cancer had spread too far and too wide, in spite of her incessant cries for help in the form of excessive doctor visits.
I carry that heaviness, that trauma, that reality with me somewhere in the depths of myself. And it shows up every single time I see someone in a white coat.
And so I acknowledged that in quiet prayer in that doctor’s office today and reminded myself again and again that I will not have the same fate as my mamma. I tapped into her strength and advocated for myself until my PCP agreed to do some lab work and a different course of treatment…
MY BP went back to normal. And I continue to call on Jehova Rapha until these hives and these hurts vanish.
She prescribed me a topical ointment for the itch and told me to get over-the-counter Claritin. When I asked for some blood-work, she refused. Instead she said, “if it happens again, just come back.” I left frustrated and with the same issue that I came in with, and absolutely no answers. Over the course of the week, as my hives did not subside, I called the doctor’s office every single day, trying to get blood-work, to no avail. The only thing I got was a referral to see an allergist...that could not see me for another two weeks.
I was itchy and my skin was not the only thing irritated.
In one last attempt, I made an emergency appointment and made sure to not get the same nurse practitioner. The Physician’s Assistant that tended to me was caring, diligent, and thorough and had wonderful bedside manner. He paid attention to things that the other nurse didn’t even think of asking.
Then he left...for about 30 min to speak to the Doctor on next steps.
For half an hour, waiting in a doctor’s office alone...my mind began to go to worst-case scenarios.
Why was he taking so long?
What were they preparing to tell me?
My mind continued to go and go until it landed on my mama. Aha! That explained why my BP had been over the roof, and my pulse increasingly fast as they took my vitals. That explained my utter frustration with this situation. This wasn’t simply about some hives. This reaction is because I know the consequences of having a PCP dismiss and dismiss the legitimate concerns of a patient…
He did that to my mother until her cancer had spread too far and too wide, in spite of her incessant cries for help in the form of excessive doctor visits.
I carry that heaviness, that trauma, that reality with me somewhere in the depths of myself. And it shows up every single time I see someone in a white coat.
And so I acknowledged that in quiet prayer in that doctor’s office today and reminded myself again and again that I will not have the same fate as my mamma. I tapped into her strength and advocated for myself until my PCP agreed to do some lab work and a different course of treatment…
MY BP went back to normal. And I continue to call on Jehova Rapha until these hives and these hurts vanish.
December 29, 2018
Christmas 2018
It’s no secret that Christmas has undeniably been the hardest time of the year for me since my mother has passed. It was her favorite holiday. She had everyone’s gifts purchased, wrapped underneath her tree, behind the nativity scene, by Thanksgiving--that’s who she was: thoughtful, prepared, meticulous, early.
I have so many memories of us putting together our elaborate, artificial tree up together. Putting up the outdoor lights, freezing together. And making fresh potpourri for the bathrooms, as we changed the hand-towels to Christmas-inspired ones, together.
Every year, I’ve had to do something slightly nuanced for Christmas to survive, to cope. But this year was different--I was no longer in survival mode. There was an unexplainable peace that was genuine and not forced. It’s a peace that only God could give. A peace that is produced from reflection, growth, and acceptance.
I got a real tree for the first time ever. In many ways, it was representative of the space that I inhabit now. I decorated my home. I stopped waiting for when I have a husband or children to create the memories that matter. I just did everything that I hope to do then, now: made a lavish breakfast and dinner. Put up stockings. Had a wonderful Bible study with my brother in our matching pj’s. Was present. Cuddled with my dog. Placed my mom’s Gold Leaf Refresher all on my potpourri in every room. Talked to my best friend for hours until nightfall came.
Christmas wasn’t hard because I changed my expectations of what it ought to be. I zeroed in on Jesus more than my grief. That was a game changer.
I am thankful.
I have so many memories of us putting together our elaborate, artificial tree up together. Putting up the outdoor lights, freezing together. And making fresh potpourri for the bathrooms, as we changed the hand-towels to Christmas-inspired ones, together.
Every year, I’ve had to do something slightly nuanced for Christmas to survive, to cope. But this year was different--I was no longer in survival mode. There was an unexplainable peace that was genuine and not forced. It’s a peace that only God could give. A peace that is produced from reflection, growth, and acceptance.
I got a real tree for the first time ever. In many ways, it was representative of the space that I inhabit now. I decorated my home. I stopped waiting for when I have a husband or children to create the memories that matter. I just did everything that I hope to do then, now: made a lavish breakfast and dinner. Put up stockings. Had a wonderful Bible study with my brother in our matching pj’s. Was present. Cuddled with my dog. Placed my mom’s Gold Leaf Refresher all on my potpourri in every room. Talked to my best friend for hours until nightfall came.
Christmas wasn’t hard because I changed my expectations of what it ought to be. I zeroed in on Jesus more than my grief. That was a game changer.
I am thankful.
December 16, 2018
Beatrix, Grief, & Losing Mammas
This weekend, we said goodbye to my sweet friend, Beatrix. I was so moved by how her life was one that has been characterized by simple, lavish, consistent, thorough, constant, unconditional, pure love. What a life.
My hope is that my life would be characterized like that. Not only when I pass away. But as I live.
Of course, being present for her wake, funeral, and burial naturally had me thinking about my own mother. As I drove back home in the calm of a rainy, dark night last night, I gave myself permission to fully meditate about all the things that I had been intentional about not thinking too excessively about at Bebe’s homegoing (in order for me not to spiral): the holidays...grief...the meaning of life, the sting of death, sweet friendship, among other things…
As I thought of Bebe’s three children who have lost their mother, I imagined how I would answer them if they asked me, “how does it feel to be a motherless child?” My answer would reflect a beautiful and Holy encounter I had with one of my best sister-friends this weekend...
My two best friends, I love for a million and one reasons. But one of those million and one reasons is that they and their family love me like I am their family. There is a refreshing level of comfort and familiarity that they bring to me, simply because they’ve been a part of my life since I was 12.
I stayed the weekend with my friend in her childhood home. Seeing portraits of her family, such a unit, on the walls, that I have seen since I was a teenager was special. Her ability to sleep in her childhood room, and have her parents pray over her, after slipping her a little gas money before she hit the road was so beautiful to me. Sacred even. Seeing how her parents kept hoping that she would stay just a tad little longer was sweet. Perhaps a typical experience for many. But a foreign one for me.
My friend and I spoke about how I haven’t slept in my childhood home, for roughly 8 years...Losing a mom is something like that. It’s knowing you come from someone, belong to someone, and that you belong somewhere...but no longer having a concrete place of reference about where home is: where your covering is. Losing a mother makes the world exponentially bigger, as you at times feel exponentially smaller. It’s scary, it’s lonely at times, it’s complicated, it’s sad.
God has given me a tremendous amount of peace this season… He has given me the assurance that He will gift me a husband who loves his daughter and wife so much that he will have the fortitude and love so pure that he will pray for them and over them.
He has given me the sweet reminder that my friends are also my home...that a Godly family has the aptitude to bless not only the kids that they’ve raised, but the kids from the neighborhood that still look to them.
God also reminded me that: no, I haven’t had it easy. And a lot of my close friends’ experience with family have not been mine. And there is no reason to feel sorry for myself because I have made it. And still am making it, despite of...
God reminded me that He has provided for me, covered me, loved me, reared me, parented me, mothered me, fathered me, prayed for me in the physical absence of my mother and the many absences of my father.
God is good even when the circumstances are horrible. His grace is the biggest marking of my life. That brings me to such grateful tears.
So, dear friends-- those of who you who are freshly mourning, or reminded of old wounds in this Holy but sometimes tough season...even if your feelings are at war with it, keep your faith. And when that gets hard, keep those around you that have some.
Stay well & be encouraged. Xo
Soph
Matthew 5:4
Psalms 34:18
Psalms 118:14
My hope is that my life would be characterized like that. Not only when I pass away. But as I live.
Of course, being present for her wake, funeral, and burial naturally had me thinking about my own mother. As I drove back home in the calm of a rainy, dark night last night, I gave myself permission to fully meditate about all the things that I had been intentional about not thinking too excessively about at Bebe’s homegoing (in order for me not to spiral): the holidays...grief...the meaning of life, the sting of death, sweet friendship, among other things…
As I thought of Bebe’s three children who have lost their mother, I imagined how I would answer them if they asked me, “how does it feel to be a motherless child?” My answer would reflect a beautiful and Holy encounter I had with one of my best sister-friends this weekend...
My two best friends, I love for a million and one reasons. But one of those million and one reasons is that they and their family love me like I am their family. There is a refreshing level of comfort and familiarity that they bring to me, simply because they’ve been a part of my life since I was 12.
I stayed the weekend with my friend in her childhood home. Seeing portraits of her family, such a unit, on the walls, that I have seen since I was a teenager was special. Her ability to sleep in her childhood room, and have her parents pray over her, after slipping her a little gas money before she hit the road was so beautiful to me. Sacred even. Seeing how her parents kept hoping that she would stay just a tad little longer was sweet. Perhaps a typical experience for many. But a foreign one for me.
My friend and I spoke about how I haven’t slept in my childhood home, for roughly 8 years...Losing a mom is something like that. It’s knowing you come from someone, belong to someone, and that you belong somewhere...but no longer having a concrete place of reference about where home is: where your covering is. Losing a mother makes the world exponentially bigger, as you at times feel exponentially smaller. It’s scary, it’s lonely at times, it’s complicated, it’s sad.
God has given me a tremendous amount of peace this season… He has given me the assurance that He will gift me a husband who loves his daughter and wife so much that he will have the fortitude and love so pure that he will pray for them and over them.
He has given me the sweet reminder that my friends are also my home...that a Godly family has the aptitude to bless not only the kids that they’ve raised, but the kids from the neighborhood that still look to them.
God also reminded me that: no, I haven’t had it easy. And a lot of my close friends’ experience with family have not been mine. And there is no reason to feel sorry for myself because I have made it. And still am making it, despite of...
God reminded me that He has provided for me, covered me, loved me, reared me, parented me, mothered me, fathered me, prayed for me in the physical absence of my mother and the many absences of my father.
God is good even when the circumstances are horrible. His grace is the biggest marking of my life. That brings me to such grateful tears.
So, dear friends-- those of who you who are freshly mourning, or reminded of old wounds in this Holy but sometimes tough season...even if your feelings are at war with it, keep your faith. And when that gets hard, keep those around you that have some.
Stay well & be encouraged. Xo
Soph
Matthew 5:4
Psalms 34:18
Psalms 118:14
November 6, 2018
Lazarus
I’ve been sour all day. First, I attributed my mood to the gloomy weather, or the lady who hung up the phone on me when I was trying to make a dental appointment for my grandmother, or because my students bombard me with emails, asking me questions, I know I have patiently addressed a trillion times, or because I started my day off with lesson planning in my head, instead of sweet, quiet devotional time.
Yes, all these things contributed to me being a little grumpy and not like myself… but I know what’s at the root of all these feelings…
This morning, when I finally did get my act together and carved out time for my devotional...God led me to the book of John...the story of Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead, after he had been in his tomb for four days...I’ve read this story so many times, but today I really felt for Mary and Martha--Lazarus’ sisters… Their frustration about Jesus not coming soon enough, according to their watch, really resonated with me.
And then it happened. I was triggered to remember an ongoing dream that I’ve had so often. So regularly, for years. I haven’t had it recently. But it’s a dream of my mother. In the dream, she’s always either dead or in the hospital. But it’s always a mistake. And we literally, dig her out of the grave, and she’s alive. Or we speak to someone in the hospital, and tell them they’ve got her confused with some other patient. And then she goes home. Totally healthy. And totally whole.
Reading that scripture today for me, reminded me of the wondrous power of Jesus. Then, I got angry: wondering why He didn’t do for my mother, what He did for Lazarus.
Grief is heavy and weird sometimes.
Yes, all these things contributed to me being a little grumpy and not like myself… but I know what’s at the root of all these feelings…
This morning, when I finally did get my act together and carved out time for my devotional...God led me to the book of John...the story of Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead, after he had been in his tomb for four days...I’ve read this story so many times, but today I really felt for Mary and Martha--Lazarus’ sisters… Their frustration about Jesus not coming soon enough, according to their watch, really resonated with me.
And then it happened. I was triggered to remember an ongoing dream that I’ve had so often. So regularly, for years. I haven’t had it recently. But it’s a dream of my mother. In the dream, she’s always either dead or in the hospital. But it’s always a mistake. And we literally, dig her out of the grave, and she’s alive. Or we speak to someone in the hospital, and tell them they’ve got her confused with some other patient. And then she goes home. Totally healthy. And totally whole.
Reading that scripture today for me, reminded me of the wondrous power of Jesus. Then, I got angry: wondering why He didn’t do for my mother, what He did for Lazarus.
Grief is heavy and weird sometimes.
October 6, 2018
You Can Sit With Us
It's been a tough couple of weeks for me. While I was maneuvering through my rut, I just didn't have the energy or will-power to pick up phone calls: always a tell-tale sign I am not functioning at my best.
But as the clouds began to lift, though I wasn't feeling a 100%, I pushed myself to return a phone call of a loved one--glad I did. She was hurting. She was going through it, herself. Big time.
I sat on the other end of the line, mostly silent as she proceeded to ask some really tough questions. She cried. She was angry at herself. Her circumstances and her emotions had gotten heavier than what she could bare.
I didn't have eloquent words to say. I knew that it would do a disservice to her and our moment if I tried...so the Holy Spirit just urged me to sit with her, and let her weep. (A lesson I've gleaned from unpacking the Book of Job recently.)
As I climbed into her mess and her hurt with her...I had a clear picture of what God was doing for me through my own depressive episode... He just sat there. With me. For me.
And I am immensely thankful for that. Sometimes God doesn't seem like He's speaking or doing. But He is always, willing to climb into my mess with me...giving me Grace to eventually be pulled out.
Thankful for clarity. Thankful for the clouds that have lifted. Grateful that God always desires to sit with me.
But as the clouds began to lift, though I wasn't feeling a 100%, I pushed myself to return a phone call of a loved one--glad I did. She was hurting. She was going through it, herself. Big time.
I sat on the other end of the line, mostly silent as she proceeded to ask some really tough questions. She cried. She was angry at herself. Her circumstances and her emotions had gotten heavier than what she could bare.
I didn't have eloquent words to say. I knew that it would do a disservice to her and our moment if I tried...so the Holy Spirit just urged me to sit with her, and let her weep. (A lesson I've gleaned from unpacking the Book of Job recently.)
As I climbed into her mess and her hurt with her...I had a clear picture of what God was doing for me through my own depressive episode... He just sat there. With me. For me.
And I am immensely thankful for that. Sometimes God doesn't seem like He's speaking or doing. But He is always, willing to climb into my mess with me...giving me Grace to eventually be pulled out.
Thankful for clarity. Thankful for the clouds that have lifted. Grateful that God always desires to sit with me.
September 21, 2018
Swimming Week 2: Let Go
Week two has been all about letting go. There is so much knowledge and awareness that I have about swimming now...I now know that we are more buoyant when our heads are under water. Our bodies naturally float in deeper water...It's all about how you move your legs...
I know more stuff now. But I couldn't do more stuff until I let go. Cuz I can be intellectual as much as I want, but if I don't allow myself to let go of the wall, of the flotation device or of my inhibitions, I just will not swim.
So after my first lesson, I went back to the pool alone and worked up the courage to let go...It felt so good to kick my feet up and just go for it.
This week, I learned how to free float. I can move in the water now.
I am not able to do a back float yet, but I could do more than I was willing and able to do last week. And that feels damn good,
I know more stuff now. But I couldn't do more stuff until I let go. Cuz I can be intellectual as much as I want, but if I don't allow myself to let go of the wall, of the flotation device or of my inhibitions, I just will not swim.
So after my first lesson, I went back to the pool alone and worked up the courage to let go...It felt so good to kick my feet up and just go for it.
This week, I learned how to free float. I can move in the water now.
I am not able to do a back float yet, but I could do more than I was willing and able to do last week. And that feels damn good,
September 12, 2018
Swimming Week 1: Surrender
I've committed to working towards some personal goals within the next 7 months, as I enthusiastically approach 30. I am approaching these goals not in a "girl, you better get your life before 30!" condescending kind of way...but more like a gentle "gosh, you have become so much in your twenties...this is the perfect opportunity to do the things you've put off."
With that said, I've decided to learn how to swim, at 29. I wished my parents had put me in swimming-classes when I was a toddler--things would be easier now. But they didn't, so the onus is on me and I take responsibility for that.
Last night was my very first lesson. And I was a little anxious about it before getting there, if I'm honest. I don't have a fear of the water, per se. Actually, I love the water. Its more so that I have a fear of being out of control. I have a fear of having my feet not be on solid ground. The idea of floating in water is just scary to me, just like the idea of taking off in a plane is because I am not in control! Pre-lesson #1: I never really am in control. So I need to stop fronting like I am.
Learning how to swim is not just something to check off my bucket list, but I think it's a conquering of something deeper. It's me conquering the feelings of fear, inadequacy, doubt and even shame... It's me understanding that it's okay for me to feel "out of control" in the elements...
So every week, after my lesson, I will be sharing what I learned and what challenged me.
I did well for my first lesson. I really felt that. And my instructor also reinforced that for me. But what I struggled with? Back floating. Yea, I know! Who does back-floating on their first lesson, yo! I wasn't ready for that. Interestingly enough, I was decent with floating with my face in the water (with something to hold on to in near sight)...but floating on my back was just a challenge. I wasn't able to do it (yet).
I could react in two ways....the way I usually do and internally beat myself up and say something like this: I knew you wouldn't be able to do it...OR... I could be gentle and forgiving of myself...so I whispered to myself: you are doing great, Soph...you will get it...The fact that you're here is brave enough.
My inability to get the back-float just encouraged me to want to practice and practice and practice. It lit a fire in me. I want to get this!
One thing my instructor kept saying to me was: you know what to do intellectually but you're tensing up. Whoa! What a word! Every time I had to let my body surrender to the water, I tensed up to "protect myself" because as my instructor shared with me, "I just don't trust the water yet."
Nothing happens until I surrender. But surrender is so hard when you don't fully trust...So I am working on trusting the water and trusting myself...and I'm excited to see how that will manifest into me trusting in other areas of my life.
So...I am not there yet. But I am making moves to get there. I cannot wait for the day where I am back-floating in the sea, humming "I Surrender All..." #Surrender
With that said, I've decided to learn how to swim, at 29. I wished my parents had put me in swimming-classes when I was a toddler--things would be easier now. But they didn't, so the onus is on me and I take responsibility for that.
Last night was my very first lesson. And I was a little anxious about it before getting there, if I'm honest. I don't have a fear of the water, per se. Actually, I love the water. Its more so that I have a fear of being out of control. I have a fear of having my feet not be on solid ground. The idea of floating in water is just scary to me, just like the idea of taking off in a plane is because I am not in control! Pre-lesson #1: I never really am in control. So I need to stop fronting like I am.
Learning how to swim is not just something to check off my bucket list, but I think it's a conquering of something deeper. It's me conquering the feelings of fear, inadequacy, doubt and even shame... It's me understanding that it's okay for me to feel "out of control" in the elements...
So every week, after my lesson, I will be sharing what I learned and what challenged me.
I did well for my first lesson. I really felt that. And my instructor also reinforced that for me. But what I struggled with? Back floating. Yea, I know! Who does back-floating on their first lesson, yo! I wasn't ready for that. Interestingly enough, I was decent with floating with my face in the water (with something to hold on to in near sight)...but floating on my back was just a challenge. I wasn't able to do it (yet).
I could react in two ways....the way I usually do and internally beat myself up and say something like this: I knew you wouldn't be able to do it...OR... I could be gentle and forgiving of myself...so I whispered to myself: you are doing great, Soph...you will get it...The fact that you're here is brave enough.
My inability to get the back-float just encouraged me to want to practice and practice and practice. It lit a fire in me. I want to get this!
One thing my instructor kept saying to me was: you know what to do intellectually but you're tensing up. Whoa! What a word! Every time I had to let my body surrender to the water, I tensed up to "protect myself" because as my instructor shared with me, "I just don't trust the water yet."
Nothing happens until I surrender. But surrender is so hard when you don't fully trust...So I am working on trusting the water and trusting myself...and I'm excited to see how that will manifest into me trusting in other areas of my life.
So...I am not there yet. But I am making moves to get there. I cannot wait for the day where I am back-floating in the sea, humming "I Surrender All..." #Surrender
