where the streets have no name.

There were a few months about 12 years ago now, that I spent most of my time watching a tree grow outside of my bedroom window. I could see the top of neighbor's house, and then I no longer could.

As my doctor put it, I had gone through a perfect storm that had broken me deep on several fronts. My brother who also was a best friend, in prison. Severed relationships, ones I valued. And living on caffeine, candy (mostly) and adrenaline for the better part of 7 years.

My body finally said. Nope. Not anymore.

Did you know when your brain freaks out it is actually trying to protect you?  It is saying, don't go down this road anymore. Turn around.

So for the next three years, I did turn around. Thoughts and actions had to be re-learned, and a faith that looked out from the bottom of the well had to be tested. Inch by inch I got closer to the light at the top.  Jesus. He never left.

During those first days, when I laid on my bed in fear and anxiety so strong, my dog Scout would crawl on top of me and lay on my stomach.  There he would stay, until I calmed down. 

It was a bitter cold winter. My doctor told me I needed to walk at least 45 minutes a day.  So Scout and I would bundle up (sometimes in several layers each) and head out to see the neighborhood, Matt Redman singing in my ears, my head down watching Scout's bobbing, prancing body in his Longhorn hoodie.

During those times I could count the real friends I had on two fingers.  Everyone else had looked away. 

I had two young boys who depended on me and a husband who every day was trying to help. I remember those first three months of sitting on my bed, trying to understand grace over and over.  For my brother, for me, for the people who had cut into my soul. 

One day it came. A tiny flame, like the top of the match about to light a candle. I guarded it.

I cannot tell you how many days passed with only a little flame to assure me God was there.  The better part of two years.

One morning I woke up and I knew I would be okay.  The flame had become a golden seal on my heart. And I have been okay for 12 years. 

This is what I have learned:

It's okay not to be okay.

Not everyone will understand.

Not everyone will like you.

We all betray one another at some point.

You heal from one thing, get wounded again, heal again.

There is hope.

There are people who do love unconditionally.

You can be one of those people.

Boundaries are healthy.

Weigh what is said to you, take it to God and throw out what isn't truth. 

It's okay and necessary to love yourself.

Forgiveness matters to God, quite a bit.

Family is forever.

And, a good dog is a gift from God.