Strippers & Strangelove, indeed

An invitation to a birthday party fourty eight hours ago has inspired every single conclusion that has been drawn and explained in this post.  Why?  Because I work on Saturday nights.  Always.  I can't not work on a Saturday night in my business.  But change is afoot and dynamics are beginning to shift.

 You see, today I sat on the grounds of Prestonwood, by the pond, staring at the church, in tears, in  the heat and didn't care.  I was fragile and all kinds of vulnerable, not knowing what to do as my eyes were opened fully to something the Lord has pointed to the last several years -- and I've only been a Christian for a year. Crying out to God, I made my pleas that he would continue to guide me and provide me with wisdom, and a peace not even I would be able to understand and the strength to carry out the message he gave me today. Crying out also for the provision surrounding every need in regard to the word he gave me in the direction I am to go and, more importantly, what I am to leave behind. I then thanked him for already providing the faith needed to even consider leaving my strippers behind.

Yes, you read that correctly.  Dancers.  Exotic ones.  In a strip club, sometimes referred to as a Gentlemen's Club (though not one gentleman has ever entered their doors.)  Three different clubs, with hundreds of girls I've had the pleasure to interact with, to build up, and be a light for in a very dark place.

A year ago I came out of the Christian closet.  Today I am coming out entirely, something that even my girls will understand. Right now as I'm sure some of my girls will read, I offer assurance I will not reveal who you are.  I am no dancer. I am their makeup artist, and we share closets, because many of them hide in there too.


Almost one year ago I was faced with some tough decisions, that all began the moment I came to know the Lord on July 14,2011. Nine days after Christ literally invaded a hardened heart only he could've transformed, I rolled my car on George Bush Freeway three, possibly five times on my way to work.  By all counts, I had at least three opportunities to die in that car accident.  But I didn't.

He had a purpose for me and the ten thousand dollars worth of makeup that was all over the highway, that was by his grace, accounted for and usable, the very makeup was recovered by a complete stranger whom I randomly ran into six months later in a totally different city.   That purpose was to use this same makeup this past year to show a club full of hurting, lost, abused and broken women, that would swear up and down they are anything but hurting, lost, abused and broken, what giving up everything to walk in the light means and what it looks like because I too am hurting, abused and broken.  However, I am no longer lost.  This agnostic skeptic has been found.  He saved me. 



Let me tell you -- they are curious, they are drawn, just like I was to Diane before I would even entertain the idea of Jesus, and I've known her since 2001.  But for these girls, I have been used in a way, in each one of these lives, each and every one who ever sat in my makeup chair to a degree I will never know, but am honored to be a part of.

So to these women, these same women who have seen the change the Lord has made in me, I dedicate this post to you, to your pasts and to your futures and the hope and promise that lies in giving up all control to the very one Jesus who allowed you to entertain the slightest inkling that led  you to believe  you could possibly control anything in the first place.

 I also say to you, that as you search for someone to love and care for you, to pay attention to you in that oppressive loneliness in which you live, that at first was seemingly luxurious on center stage and was later lined in sharp-dollar lies that have pinned you down in the plastic trenches of guilt and shame, I say that despite being surrounded constantly in that loneliness by people, money, designer bags and shoes to fill the hole and get the attention you so desire, you might  read this blog and see how much, how often, and how intricately this same Jesus is interested in, loves, and orchestrates every single aspect of the life you have, the life you live, and the future only he can make, free from every hurt, and full of something much weightier and worthwhile than any of the happiness you seek : something simply called joy.






To my girls, I offer safety in that I will never reveal your name.  To my general reader I ask that if you know the Lord, you pray for these women, for the men that drive this business and their hearts as they read this post.

Pray for others like them, that do not know this Jesus, and who, in every fiber of their being, despite themselves, seek his face, his radiance, his love and peace in all the gadgets, toys, and distractions this world offers them.

This announcement is an of itself is enough for an entire book.  The point here is to press into what the Lord revealed earnestly to me today:  working in the clubs is also my cage.  I am just as trapped and imprisoned as my girls are, and those shackles must be broken. 







Shortly after my conversion, I picked up Ed Welch's book, When People are Big and God is Small.  This was the first book I absolutely devoured, and while reading it one day, I was standing up, and tears began cloud the page.  I then dropped the book and fell on my knees and sobbed.  It was made very clear to me on that day why my life had unfolded the way it has, the why behind not being able to get into graduate school - the one thing I wanted more than anything else before I ever finished my bachelor's degree.

The Lord allowed life to get in the way the last two years of college, and it went by so fast, I was completely unaware I slid from a 3.66 GPA to a 2.39.  My senior year I was a single parent of a one year old, commuting to college, traveling over a hundred miles a day in order to use a free babysitter, working twenty hours per week at Starbucks for nine dollars an hour, with gas at three dollars a gallon and having to learn  the law to fight and ultimately win a custody battle in addition to every other aspect of my life as a mom and student.  Most of the time, I had no idea which end was up I was so tired or where my next gallon of milk was coming from.

Looking back, if you don't believe anything I just described as the Lord having the audacity to meddle into my affairs, how about this -- would you believe that even if my GPA had remained at a 3.66 grad school was still out of the question because there was not one Renaissance scholar in this giant state of Texas?  Not one.  Full of Medievalists, but not one Renaissance scholar, much less one focused on Italy.

That was a roadblock.  It was aggravating and frustrating to be sure, but his design is perfect.  In this decade I have begun to shed the self deserving skin that angrily despised the fact there was no one to serve my needs.  He kept me from studying the wrong thing.

And all of this is being redeemed in a way I would have never imagined.  You see, it was also imparted to me in Welch's book, makeup was a means to an end and nothing more.  This book was the catalyst that revealed I would go to seminary.  A day or so later I knew the Lord would call me back to Italy.  I also knew I would be called to vocational ministry and that I would, at some point, be speaking to large groups of people. All of this blew me away.

 About a week after that, Debbie Stuart of Prestonwood's Women's Ministry asked me to speak at an event.  I had never held a microphone.  But in the very moment I went on that stage, I literally saw all the hundreds of people who have told me my entire life I should be in theater.  I hate theater.  I cant help it, but I do. It was as if a wind came up behind me, and with complete ease and not one shred of nervousness, my mouth opened and I spoke.  In three days I had the opportunity to speak to about seven hundred women. The Holy Spirit enabled me to do that without reservation. HE also allowed me to understand the heart behind why I was told by so manyI should be in theater, and why I have the personality I do that allows me to be so transparent.  God wired me that way for a reason.


 It hit me that my time as a makeup artist was the season the Lord gave me to prepare my heart for him, for ministry, to hone my teaching skills, to listen and to meet others where they are. Even in a strip club.  And the clock is ticking.

I'll tell you-- I saw alot of hurts on the faces of the girls I have worked with the last four years.  Around Christmas I saw this video, and that's when I was first convicted for my work, and the struggle to sift through calling and purpose began.


Jacob's Story from Unearthed on Vimeo.


Many opportunities have come since this time, but only one fits the vision that was first given when I opened Ed Welch's book.  Italy was placed on the table, eagerly accepted the opportunity but instead I was told to wait.  I wasn't told No!! I was told not yet, and I was overwhelmingly surprised how not angry I was.  I have also been in this season of depending on the Lord for everything, and I mean absolutely everything.

But you see, therein lies the beauty in how much he loves me.  He wants me to succeed, and one cannot do that without Christ.  I spent twenty plus years thinking I could, and as I celebrated my first birthday in Christ, I cannot believe how far the Lord has carried me, what I am being delivered from, where I am being sent to, and the purpose and plan that was laid before God even considered (think about that) the very fist star or even where to put it.

 See, when he considered where to put that star, he already knew I would live through a childhood I don't remember, be a suicidal teen, a codependent lover, and a single mother, who would, at thirty two become a saved and ransomed woman that would one year later be sent to something called Re:train.


The music of Depeche Mode comprises the soundtrack to my life. Today, God used even this while I splurged and went to a sandwich shop for lunch.  Even as I pulled into Jersey Mikes, I wondered why I was going there.  I thought to myself, "They don't even have Coke. Oh well, I'll have water."  As I ate my turkey sammich, I sat considering the choices that need to be made before I even go to Re:Train, and as I got up to leave, I heard this song.  And then I knew why I went there in the first place. For now I will simply tell you this:  What a Strangelove, indeed.  The love freely given of this caliber and awe inspiring magnitude is absolutely the strangest love I have ever known. Yes, he does make my heart smile, and I can return the pain quite simply because I wasn't meant to carry it. I heard this song, from my favorite Depeche album, a song I've heard a million times over, like it was the first time.  I heard it with completely different ears... all I heard was this...     But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us. Romans 5     And I left that store in tears. But I will explain why later.

Timing and the Memory of Memorial

 My elementary school, ironically named Memorial Elementary, was torn down a few weeks ago. The timing of that is by no means an accident, as I come to understand, accept, and even grieve my lack of memory.

My father died when I was in the first grade, and I cannot tell you if ever he walked me up those steps pictured here.  I don't really remember my father. However, I do have a handful of my own memories that aren't influenced by photographs.

 For some reason, though, these are the years that are hanging over me.  I thought not remembering any of these years from earlier childhood to 5th grade and even later was due to my father's death. But it's these years -- these are years after his death -- I am finding that by talking with other people, I should remember them.  It absolutely boggles my mind that it's even possible someone can remember being six, seven, eight, nine, ten, even eleven and twelve.

That's right, I had this record...and the sweatshirt.

I had to laugh because even the fashions of 1986-1989 have returned.  Go figure. Having the opportunity to take my daughter to Justice, I nearly fainted when I walked in.  Hello! Ruffled skirts, neon anything, abstract patterns... shoot, talk about timing -- my family and I took a vacation across the country while Yellowstone was ablaze in 1988, and right now, everywhere you look?  What is everyone praying for on Facebook? Rain!  Why? Forest fires.  What is the purpose in the destruction of a forest fire?  To allow new growth.  It is a sweet irony that just reinforces to me the old adage, 'there is no time like the present.'  God has thrown it all together for such a time as this, so creatively, in fact, that if you have the eyes to see, little Godwinks like these are everywhere. 

 When I took this picture, so close originally to the front doors of the school, there  was air seeping between them, and I noticed the entry to my old school smells the same, and in that long whiff of sentimental debris, came a covering of something vaguely familiar. Smell is like that for me.  I can't explain it, but there is a smell in the air on the first day of school, every year, that I smell even in my own child's experience, that is distantly familiar.  Then, in an instant search for something familiar, I look to the grass. Because of a bright August sun, the grass glints in the morning dew and I remember the day Daddy died. He died January 6, 1986.  It's weird, but that is my thought process every first day of school.

And I am still that girl on the outside, looking in. Think about the dream I had. I saw that dream here, standing right there as I took that photo. That dream and this moment connected.  There is more to that dream I have not revealed, but those are details I feel can be left out for now.  But this, this too is a long hallway, and although different, it is in a state of destruction and chaos, just as my life has been the past year.  And then it hit me:     

 

The child that walked those halls still has walls built up around memories she doesn't have and are themselves being torn down.  As I stared into the belly of a school I don't really remember being in with the half of it already torn down — literally there was a light at the end of that tunnel. My own daughter is the same age, right now, as the girl I don't remember that walked those hallways.  

I've had to guard my heart while the walls that protect it begin to crumble. These are the images that can illustrate my life and everything in it thus far - even my relationship to my own child, because I cannot tell you how difficult it is to relate to a little girl that is the spitting image of you and you realize you do not know what you did, how you felt, where or what you played, the friends you had, your birthday parties, your friend's birthday parties, everyday goings on,  or even how you got to school or what you did when you went home.  

This class picture was either in front of or on the stage pictured below.  When someone on Facebook first tagged this, I thought someone had posted a picture of Amelie, that's how much we look alike.  In writing this, I saw the dates, 1985-1986 and teary eyed, I looked at myself and honestly cannot tell you if this picture is before of after daddy died.  Looking at this picture too, I do not remember being that girl at all.  She is a complete and total stranger to me.




 I can remember some names.  The little boy with the stripes I had a crush on, but I don't have an actual memory of him other than his name was Mitch.  The girl next to him is Carrie and she dressed like the Material Girl for Halloween one year, perhaps the fifth grade, complete with pearls and a black lace glove.  The girl with with the purple pants is Becky, although I do not remember playing with her until my 13th birthday party when she gave me earrings and someone else gave me a beautiful poster of Johnny Depp from 21 Jumpstreet (yes, be jealous!).  The girl on the very end stole one of my pencils in fifth grade.

Oh, but enter God's absolutely amazing grace!  He gave me a little girl for a reason.  She is also fatherless. We are both seeing how great the love of the Father is. If you have a crummy dad, no dad, or even the best dad on his best day -- is but a shadow of the Dad. The dream comes to mind again, illustrating that I must walk this hallway to remember so that I may be the mother He has called me to be... I can trust Him to hold me up when my knees are weak and when I'm overwrought with an invasive, terribly real, inexplicable and paralyzing fear when even a hint of a knowing, a connection  begins to show itself.

These are deep and dark waters, but Christ is in them, and He will show Himself and will be the only force driving me when and if a memory actually surfaces. You see, the only explanation I can give is that He took my memory for a reason.  God is that big.  He can do just that.  He can also restore them as He knows I can handle them. For the moment, that is all I know, and that is ok. I knew I was going to be shown what a Father's love is all about, but never in my life, did I think it would be this way.  How awesome is it that God let me know how much he loves me first, before ever making any connection to my lack of memory? What a display of Fatherly love and affection!  Whatever else I know two things: first, that He loves me. second, that I am safe. I am safe. I am safe.

 I went back the next day without Amelie.  Something told me to go inside what remained of the building.  There was even an open door that went into the cafeteria, and immediately I sank into something dimly familiar.

This is the cafeteria.  I sang on that stage.  I don't remember that, but I've seen pictures. The music teacher's name was Mrs. Schram. She had very curly hair. We played Oliver Twist. These pictures are what the few memories I have are like.  I took the second photo because I remembered that beneath that window is where the ice cream was sold. The last picture just had me, as I exited the cafeteria and entered the hallway.I was faced with the writing on the wall: Once a bobcat, always a bobcat. Confirmation to me memories are there, they are in my brain.  These memories have shaped me, because they left my heart damaged, and the heart drives all behavior, both the good and the bad.

I began to feel unsettled, but then I saw the paw print, that reminded me of a hand print.  A gal I met at the Village immediately came to mind when she said to me about six months ago, "I don't know you. I've only met you these handful of times, but I can see God's thumbprints all over you, every week."  That word picture has thankfully stayed with me and reminded me in this moment He has always been there.  When I was a toddler, a child of six who saw her father, dead on the floor, as a teen when I cut myself out of utter disgust of my very person, and the time in between. He was there in Italy, and even and most importantly, He is here, with me, in this thing called motherhood.

 As I continued through the hallways of what was left, I noted that though the interior of this building looked nothing like it did when I was there with the exception of that stage and the front steps. My sister, who is eight years my senior, described it to me.  She recalled the large pebbled floor that was so popular in the 70's, a floor she said many a  kid skinned their knees.  It had a high shine and there was lots of brown. There were also two trees, inside the main hallway, near second and fifth grade -- the middle and the end of the building.  All of the school save kindergarten thru second grade had been demolished.  As I walked one hallway, I remembered the school counselor, Mrs. Bennett.  I remembered her office.  After daddy died, I would go there.  She had a blonde baby doll with a pink brush, and how I would sit on her couch, brush that baby's hair and just cry.  As I went deeper into the hallways, keeping in mind there is destruction, debris, and dirt everywhere, a deep sense of 'you can't go here' came over me and I literally ran out of the school I was so overwhelmed. 

 I went outside and walked through the playground.  The modern day wood chip filler had been scooped up to reveal the rocks that were on the playground of my day.  As I held them in my hand, I remembered the white rocks. I used to draw on the sidewalk with them.  There was a swing set to the right, and I remembered someone told me the itty bitty curly brown  piles in the dirt were piles of worm poop.

Seeing that fresh slab of  concrete for what will surely be a space for basketball, I was also moved by how easily what is unwanted can be covered up.  What you see in that sidewalk is what was the parameter of our playground.   Funny how my greatest struggle as a parent is to simply be playful.       


   The thought of being playful has actually paralyzed me with fear.  The fear is a result of a wound that is buried, and so that fear has consumed my heart, and it is that fear that led me to choose the impish and childish boys I have historically dated. They were overly playful while I maintained both control and superiority of mind, you see. It  has also kept my child from having the mother God intended me to be.  I am coming to understand I was and have been for years self protecting, and the failure of that is slowly being exposed. He has been so sweet to me, to uplift me, to open and expose these wounds, and even to expose them to you, Reader, for whatever reason I cannot even pretend to know, because I would really like to keep these things to myself.  But then I realized, the progress made, and the fruit of that labor is not mine to keep.

 He has changed and loved me like no other, so how can I not lean into Him even further and rest in that I may not understand or even know what being a child is like, but He does urging me forward in childlike faith even in this.  He is, after all, the one who said, "Let the children come to me." The best part about that picture is the very fact that we are all His children. To those of you who deny that simple truth, you have no idea on what you are missing, and He will pursue you.  I'll bet He already is.  I mean, you are reading this blog, right?  

Although going here and allowing myself to sift through the wreckage of Memorial, just being obedient in that, I was able to leave that place, and I actually played with my daughter.  It looks like sidewalk chalk, but it was so much more.

 See, if God hadn't absolutely wrecked my life, I would have easily been too distracted to see any of  this, including Jesus.  See, the Lord took my relationship.  He took my business. What threadbare bits of my business I've lived on this past year are disappearing.  He  is closing the door entirely. Even my computer.  I have been thrown into a poverty I have never before experienced, but I will say I have never been more secure despite the fact I have absolutely nothing. I am in complete and total life transition. And it's exciting. He has a plan.



I have come to learn I have essentially struggled to survive my whole life, and now I am getting ready to really live, and the best part of that is I know like I know I'm going to have the opportunity to serve Jesus' church in a capacity I don't even yet understand, but will be revealed to me as I walk in accordance to his purpose and plan.  I walked on my own as an agnostic for thirty two years, and it all has led to knowing, loving, growing in and serving the one who put it all in it's place, and has loved me enough to work these details out even when I hated him most.  I am in a period of waiting.  How can I not trust him? He's got something up his sleeve, and I can't wait to find out what it is.


And then, six days after listening the the voice that told  me to go just sit and be still at Memorial, that the opportunity to prime the memory pump was about to be gone forever, the tug that told me I needed to go to my halfway demolished school, God orchestrated something absolutely amazing.  She came back, and it was as if she never left.