numb....

I was numb.... but numb is a feeling right? It's that ongoing ever so annoying, kinda tingly kinda almost burning at times painful can't quite pin point but I just wanna shake you until you go away, feeling. ...numb.
I was numb.
I was numb about my urges for sex at such an early age.
Or was it sex? Or the longing for "sexy"
 I just wanted something. Anything would do. I was tall and some what manly, I think? No one ever directly told me anything like that but I just felt it.
I guess, my mom would sometimes tell me I was big or too big to wear that. She was always so slim and beautiful.
Or maybe it was the fact that I looked so much like my dad and his side of the family. Big and broad and BOLD.
I just knew I wanted to feel pretty. And feminine. and dainty. I had never felt dainty?!?!
My voice was loud and it carried and it was deep. I didn't care for make up and girl stuff. I had no correlation to those things. My brothers were all I had to relate to peer wise.
I was lost. I was surely losing any and all esteem that had been instilled from those kiddie I love yous and the your more precious than golds,  Those princesses were slipping off me as fast as my clothes would be soon, and just to hear a reup of confidence.
Confidence from a false prophet, or 2.... hell maybe a few!
those praises had come and gone in the wind some what like bathing, and motivation. They needed a refresher, yet No one was there to refresh me???
I began to pour myself into the world, just hoping to find that essence of pretty or that simple smile, of almost unworthiness, but knowing it's sincerity letting it crack through.
I just wanted to feel whole again.
I just wanted to feel loved.
I was lying on my bed in my grandparents house, he promised me the world. The world... The whole world, as he got up and refreshed himself, Im sure the needle there on the sink waiting, from the freshing up my dad just had. As I heard the connecting door close from the other side of the bathroom... right after he had made all his worries go away, he returned to kiss on my no more than 13 year old face and explain how when I'm of age we can run off and get married.
Yeah this was the dream a 27 year old bull rider that shared my father's hobbies was selling me as he made me feel like a princess.
See Idk why I was ok with those things. I had no idea. I know now that I was just desperate and so alone, I'd do just about anything to figure out why I felt so empty. My dad didn't know that cowboy and I kissed sometimes, had he known he would have killed him.
...But, had he cared wouldn't he have known?
 I was such a confused little girl. I didn't know what love looked like. Or even felt like I just knew I wanted it. I wanted it soo bad.
I remember the look on their faces when that needle went into their arm, I always knew I would NEVER do that. But I also knew, that look on their faces, that utter desperation to tie off that arm, and then that look...
I wanted that look!!!! I wanted it sooooo bad!!!!
I searched high and low for that fix.
That fix of nothing else in the world mattered, special, loved, important,  whole, affirmed, beautiful, wanted, and it, Never.... came!
I'm, still as desperately as those junkies tieing off, searching. And it also is sabotaging me!!! It's killing me inside and and controlling my life just as those drugs in their veins did theirs. Addiction does not discriminate, nor does drug of choice have anything to do with choice!
 My search has continually hurt people who love me. I'm Un lovable. I'm absolutely un lovable and unable to be pleased this way!
I hate Satan for this. I hate him for what he's done to my parents and their parents. To my mother that makes it impossible for to have been the loving and open mother a little girl needed. I hate him for stealing my daddy; my first prince charming! I hate him for lurking and preying upon our hearts!
We as women in our weakest states can do the most destruction to ourselves.
God is our only hope in winning these battles and I have faith in this statement.
He does redeem!
In those darkest hours though I don't know what that looks like. As a 29 year old women I still crawl upon the floor and scratch toward those affirmations, I still pry for that attention.
I just want to be beautiful, I just want to be loved.
I feel as if at any moment Im going to drop from the ceiling screaming out, I came in like a wrecking ball.
My self esteem and self worth truly on days can be a wretched wreck!!!! ...And sadly those days aren't predictable. You'd think after all these years I'd see the pattern and sometimes I do. ...then I just go in, I start searching and seeking and it's never enough.
I never feel pretty enough!
I never feel wanted, enough.
I never feel smart enough.
Or sexy enough or sought after enough.
I don't ever feel full... full enough.
It's never, never, enough.
Then it hits me. It will never be, enough.
Not making excuses. Or covering things up, yes my childhood left me scarred! I will forever wear those wounds in some form, but they do not have to define me and I know this.
I know God is my refinery and I know He is working on me, because I am desperate!!!!
...but why don't I feel Him? I don't know. And that's the part that hurts. My faith says no doubt He's with me and He's working all things for my good. But I'm still, still just crying,
and wanting,
and longing,
and searching,
and prodding,
and hoping,
and begging,
and pleading,
and dying inside. I just want to FEEL, enough...........

Intro

As I sat in my journey and thought…. I have to read and explore, learn and memorize the, word. Otherwise, no one will take me serious. No one will be receptive to my ministry capabilities or my heart for God. I will have no leverage. The more I listened to myself talk I realized more and more… it was never the word that saved me! I NEVER had the word yall… I repeat in never had the word. Yeah I went to church as I was growing up and yes I had a few revelation moments. Hear me out moments… I felt the Lord. But as I sit here and reminisce I don’t remember one sermon. One message of the word, that came later like now in my adult life. God didn’t speak to me threw the bible. Some of you reading this may cringe, you may turmoil thinking oh my did she just say that. Did she say the bible isn’t important? No… I did not nor do I feel that way. I’m am simply resonating with myself in saying God spoke to me in ways I’ll never be able to comprehend or even maybe some ways I will never want to share. God whispered to me in my struggles. God always hugged me after an overwhelming experience in my life or said this will not be the end of you after I gave in to all I knew  in that moment. God used the streets and the struggles and the drugs. He used the smiling struggling I love life folks that just sang their songs and danced their dances, however they may have looked.

I remember sitting on my grandparent’s porch of their rock house on the east side just taking in life. I remember I would steal her cigarettes and sneak phone calls I couldn’t make at my home. I remember sitting and gazing upon my father’s free spirited heart one knee propped up with his guitar on it playing my sweet Nichole and singing to me. Or sitting alone out there waiting to catch a glimpse of the “singing nigger” I don’t know who called him that, but they did that was his label. I remember his tall dark frame in his Michael Jackson leather jacket and his Walkman, I remember seeing him just dance about in the road so freely not caring what others thought. I remember the days I would creep out to the curb just to get a little closer, until finally my dad said go ahead young lady, ask his name. He was much older than I but my daddy gave me the go, let me know he was ok with it. I had always, been ok with it. He told me his name and then he began to snap and turn and move on about his way…

These are the moment that I knew god was real. God whispered to my dad to let me be free. To let me explore the people he had created and mostly for me to be able to witness life’s dance.

Reading the bible was never a part of my daily life or any routine in my life for neither that matter nor anyone else’s in my life as I was growing up. Now I know my parents had read the bible and attended church and I had gone with my grandma a few times. That’s just not how God spoke to this free spirit stubborn as rock rebel girl. Why would he, I didn’t “listen” I didn’t listen to anyone or anything really. The way they tell it I was a handful and mighty stubborn. My grandfather used to tell me, “your tough you’re a Morgan” I’m not sure if he told me that to affirm he knew I was stubborn and tough or if he told me that to make me that way, because he knew the world was and would be a cruel cruel world for me. My grandpa Morgan wasn’t with me for a long period, but he gave me many lasting thoughts to ponder on later in life. Little did I know I would ponder them later… I had no clue then.

God was my sweet romancer in my adult and teenage years but in my younger years he was a true protector in ways I am still discovering. See there are several parts of my childhood God is slowly spoon feeding to me now as I emotionally mature. God has constantly embraced my pain for me. To some this would be a detrimental reality maybe to me I’m realizing, just as I said I don’t listen. My god, the God of all has patiently waited for me to get ears to hear and eyes to see. He didn’t force his grace and mercy upon me. I know how those amazing gifts could be forced. They are daily though aren’t they…?

Read your bible learn his word. Get closer to God do it this way do it that way… It makes me feel like I’m not whole as a Christian like I couldn’t possibly be able to be a righteous woman of God or to be able to minister to the lost right. I mean I only know the Lord’s Prayer and a few scriptures that I have paraphrased because they resonate with my broken, tattered and guarded sinner’s heart. I couldn’t possibly bring glory to the kingdom of the highest God? I feel this is an attack from satan why would he want you to believe you can trust yourself? Why would he want you to believe that your many experiences with the holy spirit, or the times you felt God dancing with you or the man in the street that the fact that you weren’t raised in the church means that was all a figment of your imagination or a desperate excuse for you to cover up the fact that you needed more God in your life.

More God? Wasn’t I made in his image? How could I need more of Him? Or how could reading his words and devotions to me, give me more of him? I read my grandfather’s letters to me when I was a young girl it doesn’t make me more Morgan. It does in turn remind me that my grandfather adored me and still does as he looks down on me from Gods sweet arms.

It just seems so exhausting and all most saddening when I think to myself that I may have to study Gods word by modern day Christianity’s standards in order to be Godly or to any standard to help the lost find their way. All most so exhausting that I’ve given up.

I enjoy reading the bible sometimes or referring to it as a reference book and again some of you may cringe, but to me that is what is is a reference book a go to guide to tell me I am a sinner and so was (reference known sinners in the word)

It’s a book to tell me Nichole its ok God loved them to. He loved them after all their shortcomings and sins upon sin.

I remember being in a bible study group a few years ago and thinking yes… I got this I’m learning the bible and its promising and I’m memorizing verses and I’m surrounding myself with humble Godly women and I’ll be pretty and put together and organized and soft spoken in no time. Yeah well these few years later I feel, hear me out I feel… something I didn’t do back then, like more of a loser than I did then. How you ask… because I hit my knees in tears upon tears hours after hours asking God why??? Why God haven’t you fixed me yet. I’ve done more God stuff in these past 3 years than I’ve done ever in my life or for that matter that I’ve ever witnessed in my life. I have cried that plea more times than I’ve cried my whole life of 29 years before I was Godly by the book. I cried that plea again last night as I was reading and it just hit me. I’m no longer broken, I never was. I was simply and Godly being constructed to hear him. I hear him threw others. I hear him in my father’s voice that I shut out every chance I get. I hear him in my grandfather’s letters and my grandmother’s birthday cards she gave me all my life. I hear him in my sweet and had to early children’s hearts and eyes. I hear him in the sunset and in secular music saying I’m here in the midst of this… I hear him in my every breath I take. Because I have conquered and I’m still conquering.

I could sit down and open the bible and read and read and read… or I could go, go and seek life. Seek every moment he has given unto me and relish in my disaster.

Feelings of abandonment and being unloved haunt me. They are with me in every step I take. I don’t love because it hurts too much. I don’t marry because nothing is forever. I cry at night because my daughters tell me I don’t appreciate them or praise them enough. Will the bible teach me how to do these things? I know my anger and abandonment I have pushed upon god at times. I know in my heart I’m saying forgive me God but you haven’t fixed me yet. Why would I read these words they have no direct effect on my sorrow or my struggles. So I’m not doing it. I refuse to fall victim to the idea that reading this book will make me more Godly. 

I have always known God. I have always known God to be the truth and the light. The only light I had in some very dark moments as a lost and scared girl. God has always been real to me and I have always known his sweet and amazing son my brother who came and died for me. Just for me. I have always felt him in the sunset and in the trees and bushes. I have always heard his voice in the struggles of others and his cheering me on in the moments of guts or glory… I have always felt...