23 July 2012

Wanting a Baby Instead of a Pregnancy!

 Well, here I am... all 30-lb belly of me... hopefully only days to go!

I feel waay older than I have before- I was pregnant the first time when I was 21. Now I am 12 years older, have 4 kids, a disabled husband, 4 dogs, 23 chickens, and 4000 square feet of home to care for. (And no car.)

My midwife says my uterus is stretchy and baggy (ok, not the words she said, just the words I heard). So on the plus side, the baby has plenty of room to move around and I can enjoy a million kicks (and hiccups) a day to sustain me later when I will never. be. pregnant. again.

Yeah, James said I've said that before. But this time I mean it.

So, because I've never really slowed down for pregnancy, I moved too fast a few times and thought I pulled a muscle, but each time I'd take a few days off and made my kids do more, and it would revert to a normal "sore from pregnancy" level of pain. All my weight is in my belly and I thought I strained some low support muscle below my baby belly. But when I really jacked it up the third time I was whining to my midwife and she said that, actually, I had probably messed up my pubic symphisis. It's the cartilage between the two wings of your pelvic bones in the front. WOW it is painful. I can't lift my legs or roll over. I'm using my pant legs to move my legs. It sucks.
What exactly is Symphysis Pubis Dysfunction? During pregnancy or birth, about one in 35 women will experience intense pelvic pain. This pain is a result of separation of the symphysis pubis which is a joint in the very front part of the pelvic bone structure. There is cartilage that fills the gap in the bones. Some women, however, have too much play in the pelvis causing a large gap between the bones. source
that grey part under the baby's head is where it hurts
The hormone progesterone, produced in pregnancy, causes softening of the joint cartilage and allows the bones to move. This movement causes pain, particularly when walking or stressing the joint. The symptoms can become so severe it can impair a woman's ability to walk. Some types of movement, such as lying on the back and turning to the side can worsen the pain. When she walks, her steps will get shorter until she is almost waddling. Walking up and down stairs is especially difficult. source
Each time I am pregnant I get more symptoms. With my first pregnancy, I had no syymptoms. Like, really, zilch. Just a big 'ol basketball under my shirt. I didn't even "go into labor." It was very disappointing to read "What to Expect When You're Expecting" and then get nada of what they described. (Like anyone wants morning sickness, I just felt left out.)

Then, in subsequent pregnancies, as I met more mothers and heard of their sufferings, and as my life began to fill with more and more responsibilities, I began to be thankful for my easy pregnancies- if they had been hard or if I had been physically limited, all the other things I just had to do would have suffered more than they did. But man, this one has been different. I've been exhausted, nauseous, had heartburn, irritable... now this symphysis thing.

But as I am the only attender to my personal pity party- hold on! Let's take a break!



Ok, now that I got that out of my system-

I'm so looking forward to meeting our little man instead of lugging this belly around. Ugh.


 I'm honored that you would read New Mercy and I would love to hear from you through comments! Teresa (Tracy) Dear

07 April 2012

I'm pregnant!

Wanted to let any interested readers know that we're expecting a little boy in the middle or end of July this year! Isn't he beautiful!



Psalm 139: 13-14

For you created my inmost being;

you knit me together in my mother’s womb.

I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;

your works are wonderful,

I know that full well.



I'm honored that you would read New Mercy and I would love to hear from you through comments! Teresa (Tracy) Dear

02 December 2011

Small Group, I Salute You


It was, until recently, too tiring for me to even attempt to join a new small group at my church. Let me give you a short history of the small groups I've been a part of.

1.  My boss at my job in the Air Force in 2001 was the first person to seem to be utterly delighted that a new tiny person was joining the human race when he heard I was pregnant. He  turned out to be a Christian and invited us to his church. We attended there for two years. We didn't go to a small group- it was a relatively small church- but I got to know some other stay-at-home moms and made playdates and went to a few Kay Arthur Bible studies on the military base with my bosses' wife.

2. At this time in Maryland James moved us to a great church full of seemingly perfect people. Perfect in the sense that they confessed sin, knew they were justified before God because of Christ, and from gratitude strove daily to sanctify their walk. We'd meet at someone's cute house and the men and women would separate to help facilitate honesty and trust. Then we'd meet together again for food and fellowship. We felt pretty inadequate and juvenile. These other young couples seemed to be doing it all right, and we were not even aware of half the stuff we were deficient in. We loved going though, although it was nearly an hour away, because of the beauty of grace and the strong pull of love shown to fellow sinners.

3. Fast Forward 7 years.... When James and I were separated I joined a church near the house with expositional teaching. It also was sort of small and didn't have small groups. I met many moms there and went to park days and attended Beth Moore Bible studies at a friend's house.

4. Again, James decided we should attend a different, better church and so we moved to a different local church. Although this new church was about the same size, and had just been planted, they had an emphasis on small groups. Then he stopped attending with me. So I was left to make new friends... I had been warmly welcomed by the pastor and his wife, and they hosted a small group at their house, so I went to it. Soon after I joined, they made the announcement that they were no longer having the group. Was it me?! So I tried a new group but it was hard to be the odd man out, the third wheel, the single person in a group of smiling married couples.

Later I got on the email list for a friends group. I got the emails for a long time but never went and finally I asked my friend to take me off the list. Then I went a long time not even thinking about looking for a new group. Then I was really tired and needed support and I got the info and directions to join a single ladies group- not single women but married women who went to church alone. Just the idea of going and explaining my situation to a room of kind interested and compassionate women made me exhausted. Again, I never went.

Then I heard that the same friend was facilitating a new group to be held at another mutual friend's house. THEN I learned that third mutual friend, who had just started attending my church, was considering going to this small group. So the deal was sealed and I began attending also. Now, of course, there are other couples who also come, and one single lady who was in a relationship that fell apart, so I didn't get a room full of people I knew. But I just made general prayer requests and (most) everyone understood, even with most of the details going unsaid!! These people already knew my kids, they weren't shocked or correction-shy and they, best of all, loved me already. So no one was appalled or pity-ful or anything, and it's been a joy to be in felloship again.

I'm honored that you would read New Mercy and I would love to hear from you through comments! Teresa (Tracy) Dear

28 November 2011

An open letter to my Sister-in-Laws

Dear SIL (any of y'all), newly married sister, friends with kids younger than mine, first-time moms, moms with kids in public school all day, moms I judged when I was a new mom, and other women I know:

Hello. You may remember me, I'm that homeschooling mother of four you see once in a while. I desperately want to get to know you better, and create a real relationship with you, but try as I might, I am not making much headway on that front. I feel bad putting you on my schedule (Tuesday, call SIL; Wednesday, call sister; Thursday, homeschool; Friday, clean house) but since we don't have a daily relationship, I feel that I must. I tried to send you a text or FB comment, but I'm not persistent. How do I create relationships so we each have more support?

I grew up in a family that was widespread geographically. Really, on the map we covered the eastern seaboard with sprinklings of aunts and uncles across the midwest. But physically, also, growing up my siblings  and I had our own rooms. Big deal, you say, but I seem to credit that with our distance. Is it true? I dunno, but I know we came and went and had our own friends and our own activities. My husband tells the story of how he came to the house to get me and found all five of my family members reading in five different rooms. At first, I took pride in this story- see, look, we didn't have the TV on! But later as my own kids got older I asked Why didn't we spend that time together, even if it was just reading in the same room?

Why didn't I try harder then to create impenetrable bonds between us? Because I was a self-absorbed teenager. Now, when my siblings and I are older, I am saddened that it is sometimes such an effort to talk to them. It's hard to get the conversation rolling when I don't know what's been going on lately!

We have to start somewhere. So, here you go. I will try to call more often. I will invite you to our house. I will try to set aside some ga$ money to come visit you. I will find out your kids' birthdays and send them/you a note, and maybe one day I'll know you and your philosophies well enough to know what to send. You could answer the phone when I call, text me back, or FB msg me yourself as well. Cause I really want to get to know you.

I'm not as scary as my husband seems to say I am.


(hee hee, that's really me! I love it.)

Ok, real story. My sister-in-law and step-mother-in-law came up to shop at an IKEA that's near us. I am having SIL anxiety- no one ever comes to my house. 

The plan is for them to come over with lunch and leave the toddler with me and take the baby (the one that bursts into tiny infant tears when I talk to her) to IKEA. I am frantically cleaning the house (calmly) because I remember being a young mother of a  toddler and an infant and thinking my friend's house was too messy (she had three kids under 4 at that time).  

My eight year old stops me as I jog up the steps with dirty dish towels to ask thoughtfully "Mom, why can't we say f**k?" Oooooh. After a quick chat ... crutch of the inarticulate.... my three-nearly-four year old flings open the sliding door and welcomes our guests with a gleeful "the house is cleeeeen!" as if that fact deserved such an announcement. 

What do any of these ramblings even mean? I don't know!! I know a few points I keep thinking of, and I keep poorly trying to draw connections between them. What are these elusive points? My husband says I can be intimidating. I didn't have a lot of examples to follow on how to make friends. I went to private school with the same 18 kids my whole childhood and never had to meet new people. I'll have to tell you the story of how I pinned down two women (figuratively, of course) and forced them to be friends with me a few years ago. Ack! I'm so awkward! I am scared that women I'm in faux relationship with think I'm judging them. I am just a sinner covered by grace who remembers her pride and mistakes and doesn't expect anything from anyone- I'm just willing to extend grace and I'm afraid that that grace won't be extended to me. I guess!


I'm honored that you would read New Mercy and I would love to hear from you through comments! Teresa (Tracy) Dear

24 October 2011

A study in Modesty

Here is a checklist for a girl or woman to run through when she gets dressed or goes shopping.

Women's Hedges: a worksheet to help define protective boundaries

The Modesty Survey: by the Harris brothers, authors of Do Hard Things: A Teenage Rebellion Against Low Expectations

Following is a radio interview of Nancy Leigh DeMoss.
Nancy: So 1 Timothy 2 tell us that we should adorn ourselves with apparel or clothing that is respectable, and then it says with modesty.

We’ve talked a lot about modesty on this program before. I had a lot of listeners thank us for going where angels fear to tread because this really is counter-cultural, but help us think through what that word modesty really means.

Mary: Well, the Greek word is usually translated modesty, but it contains elements of modesty and humility in there as well. There’s an associated word that is really dressing with eyes downcast. So it really is the opposite of being the loud and wayward, brazen, “look at me; look at my flesh,” kind of appearances. It’s a humility.

Nancy: The old King James has in this context the word shamefacedness, which is an old-fashioned word you’d never hear today, but it does have to do with this appropriate humility, downcast eyes. Not as in being downtrodden, but being clothed with humility.

Mary: Dressing in a way that is respectful towards the Lord, and, really, that shamefacedness, again, that has negative connotations when we say it nowadays. But it really was picking up on that aspect of modesty and humility, the humble aspect, to recognize that we are fallen creatures, that we stand guilty before God, and we need the blood of Jesus Christ, that covering, to cover us in order that we may present ourselves before Him, and so to bear testimony to that story with our clothing.

I think that’s what modesty is all about. We want to cover our nakedness adequately, in a humble way, saying, “Yes, this really honors the story of the gospel, that I am clothed in Christ. Christ covers my nakedness and my shame in the spiritual realm, and therefore, I am going to cover my nakedness appropriately in the physical realm.” (source)

Nancy Leigh DeMoss draws a connection to the King Hezekiah in 2 Kings 25, "Your feminine charms, your feminine beauty, your body are treasures. They’re the gift of God. When a woman or a girl displays her treasures to people who don’t have a right to partake of them, she runs the risk that someone who has an evil intent will take away what she has revealed." (source)


I'm honored that you would read New Mercy and I would love to hear from you through comments! Teresa (Tracy) Dear

06 August 2011

Recovery

It's been a hard year
But I'm climbing out of the rubble
These lessons are hard
Healing changes are subtle
But every day it's

Less like tearing, more like building
Less like captive, more like willing
Less like breakdown, more like surrender
Less like haunting, more like remember

Less like a prison, more like my room
It's less like a casket, more like a womb
Less like dying, more like transcending
Less like fear, less like an ending

And I feel you here
And you're picking up the pieces
Forever faithful
It seemed out of my hands, a bad situation
But you are able
And in your hands the pain and hurt
Look less like scars and more like
Character

By Sara Groves from the album All Right Here



I'm honored that you would read New Mercy and I would love to hear from you through comments! Teresa (Tracy) Dear

10 May 2011

the Weight of His Hammer

Sometimes I read my own old posts and I'm surprised how much I like them. Here's a repost from January of last year.




More from my Titus 2 Aunt: she read this recently in Spurgeon's

"God has a motive!
His thoughts are working to give you a future and a hope (Jer. 29:11)
All things are working together for good for those who are called according to his purposes (Rom. 8:28).

We see only the beginning. We spell the alphabet --alpha, beta, gamma... but from alpha to omega, God reads all at once. He knows every letter in the Book of providence. He sees not only what He is doing, but also the final results. God sees your present pain and grief. He also sees the future joys and usefulness that will come from this affliction. He observes not only the plow tearing the soil, but also a golden harvest clothing that soil.

He sees the consequences of affliction and knows that it will lead to much blessed happiness. Beloved, now are we the children of God; and it has not yet been revealed what we shall be (John 3:2). You will never see the Great Artist's masterpiece. You only see the rough marble and mark the chips that fall to the ground. You have felt the edge of his chisel; you know the weight of His hammer. If you could see the glorious image as it will be when He has put the finishing blows to it, you would better understand the chisel, the hammer, and the Artist."

I lose my breath in pain when I read those words:

plow tearing the soil, and oh,

felt the edge of his chisel, the weight of His hammer
Oh, I am tired. Tired of waiting. Look at this post. I am focusing on ME. I am focusing on the suffering. I am not focusing on the cross. What is this besides a momentary discomfort compared to the sufferings of Christ?

"...co-heirs with Christ, if indeed we share in his sufferings in order that we may also share in his glory. I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us." Romans 8:17-18

"Remember your word to your servant, for you have given me hope. My comfort in my suffering is this: Your promise preserves my life." Psalm 119:49-50

and my favorite: Romans 12:12,
"Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer."

That I could remember, just remember that this is just a moment. Argh, that God would move in my husband's heart!

I'm honored that you would read New Mercy and I would love to hear from you through comments!Teresa (Tracy) Dear

29 March 2011

A Letter I Never Wrote

This is another assignment from my memoir class. We had to write a letter describing our worst day. This is my first draft.

Hey honey,

When I backed out of the driveway nine weeks ago I was mad that you didn't walk us out. I had to wrestle with the car seats and the buckles by myself. I couldn't fit the kids' wooden blocks in the trunk with the playpen and the suitcase, so I put them on the front seat next to me. Although they stared pointedly at me the entire ride, I stuck my hand out to catch them every time I braked. I drove north on I-35 for over an hour, beside the grey winter fields with the barbed wire fences until I was passing downtown Austin. I pointed out the UT tower and the kids craned their necks to see the Capitol like they always do, as if it was a normal road trip. I had the radio on when I pulled over to nurse the baby- I can't believe it's been two months since she was in the NICU- and that song came on, the one with the thumping base and the guy's voice strains out "I praise the God who gives- and takes away" and it's all I could do to hold it together.

I let the Taurus coast down that long driveway my parents have- it stopped in front of the pump house and I told the kids to sit tight. I got out of the car- the stupid thing has always smelled like pee ever since my grandma gave it to us- and sucked the cold air into my lungs for strength. My dad's shop door was open, but he never hears the cars come up so I went on in. He was polishing something or another and was delighted to see me. I gave him the best smile I could muster, and he asked me where you were- why the surprise visit? I don't even remember what day it was. Did I leave on a Tuesday? I don't know. I just remember when his happy smile faltered because I said something about you not coming, and could the kids and I crash there while you and I figured stuff out? Of course he welcomed us in and put us all in the downstairs bedroom. The baby slept with me and the other two slept on pallets on the floor- it was just a few weeks anyway.

Well as the weeks have stretched into months and we haven't heard from you, we moved upstairs and spread out a little. I told the kids the blood in your brain is all messed up and that you miss them. I stand in the foyer and stare down the driveway like a beat dog. I called you finally, but it sounds like your phone has been cut off. Aren't you going to even call us? Don't you want to see the kids? The baby smiles some now and loves to peek out of the sling while the kids play at a park near here. I don't know anyone in Round Rock except Celena. Sometimes I put the kids to bed and go over and cry on her couch. She's nice, but I think she's just waiting for the next juicy tidbit that she can share at the watercooler. My father hugs me every morning in the kitchen when I go down for coffee and asks me in this nerdy voice "has anyone told you they love you yet today?" Usually I just answer "nope" but this morning I just lost it and started crying, saying "No! No, okay, no, no one has!" He looked totally miserable when he heard that and I felt bad. I don't know what to do about us. How can we work on stuff if you're down there and I'm up here? The bank started sending me letters about the house. What are we going to do?

wife still waiting,
Tracy


I'm honored that you would read New Mercy and I would love to hear from you through comments! Teresa (Tracy) Dear

27 March 2011

How a Grilled-Cheese Sandwich Gave Me Hope for my Marriage

This is another assignment from my memoir class. It happened 3 months before my husband and I began what would become our 18-month separation. I called it "Hope Renewed." The metaphor at the end there is a little sketchy at this point.



Darkness surrounded the little house and everyone was asleep. I leaned against the pillows that piled up in front of my bamboo headboard. Adjusting the round weight of eight months of unborn baby as best I could, I tried to suppress a sigh, surely my second or third. James' voice shot out from underneath his pillow.

"What."

"I'm just hungry."

"You want me to make something for you?"

Trying to contain my skepticism because of my hunger, I doubtfully replied "yeah?"

"You want a turkey sandwich?"
"No, I had one for lunch."

"Some of that Italian Wedding Meatball soup?"

"hmm," I knew that each rejection I gave was like throwing a pot of boiling water on the thin ice of our relationship. Soon he or I would crash through and be plunged into the frozen lake of our marriage.

Surely his last offer, he said "What about a grilled-cheese sandwich?"

I paused. "I like mine a certain way."
"I know how you like it."
"Really." my voice held no faith. "I don't want to eat one that's made wrong. I'm not too hungry, I'll just have some Triscuits and cheese."

"I know how you like grilled cheese," he was defensive, bored with me.

"Right. How do I like it?" I challenged, not expecting much in response.

"Mayo on the inside. A slice of cheese in the corner. Break up another slice and fill in the gaps. All symmetrical and even. A couple of shakes of cayenne, and then butter on the outside. Pretty crunchy but not burnt." He listed the steps in impatient order.

I let the tears well up but did not let them spill. He did know. How much did we know of each other, over these years, that stood as a sturdy dock, submerged and invisible after a long season of too much rain, an early winter? Maybe if the frozen lake did thaw, we would find ourselves on solid footing.


I'm honored that you would read New Mercy and I would love to hear from you through comments!Teresa (Tracy) Dear

26 March 2011

Let me put on my rubber suit...

This is a memoir I wrote for my writing class. It's about a trip to San Antonio my husband, my dad and I took a few years ago to a writing workshop weekend sponsored by the Screenwriters Guild East. Afterward, we were written up in the New York Times!!



Skeptical, he rode the 12-passenger bus south with me, distancing himself from the other writers by his silence. We were all veterans, but he had an unpleasant metallic taste in his mouth by the time he left the Air Force. I could see the judgement on his face as he listened to one vet's Alabama twang, her jangling earrings dancing and the tiny jewels on her fingernails glittering in the sunlight filtered through the tinted window. When we were delivered to the hotel, deposited on the curving driveway and ushered through the revolving door into a lobby far more ornate than the ones we have stayed at on our infrequent road trips, his eyebrows lowered a bit and his lips parted their iron gates.

Mirrored elevators are always awkward. A moment suspended between floors, waiting for your stomach to lurch, waiting for the doors to open. Nothing to look at but him and the face I once knew. Once I could look at it and know what was there behind the crinkles beside his eyes, the arrow on the side of his smile, his mighty tower of a neck when he threw his head back to laugh. Now it is a shield of stone, roughly hewn into a blunt representation of who he has become.

I don't realize the difference until Saturday evening. We spent a long day in writing workshops and discussions of writing technique, plotting goals for our projects. I winded my way through the after-hours library, down the escalator to the lobby to meet him and my father, another vet who came to this weekend away. Tense, I realized my father wanted our company for dinner. Instead of merely walking around the city, choosing a restaurant, I was waiting. Waiting for the tantrum. Waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for the muttered cursing, the glares demanding that I, who had no problem, solve it. It didn't come, and we sat at a small table. We ordered chunky guacamole and an order of steak fajitas to share. None of us was hungry but we didn't want the day to end yet.

I realized that he was neglecting his fajita to speak animatedly of his writing exercises and the feedback he received. After a full day spent soaking up the focused attention of talented screenwriters who fed his hungry ego, his face opened. The rocky lines had smoothed and his eyes were unfenced. I could see his energy, I could sense his excitement. Cautiously, I stared at his welcoming face, afraid that my intent gaze would alert him to the vulnerability he was showing. I tried to secretly bask in the openness and friendliness that I didn't realize I had missed so much.

When had he put on that mask of protection? When had he sealed up his emotions behind the solid jaw and the immovable, impassive flat dark lines that were his eyebrows? Did he stop shaving every day to enjoy life after the military, or was it to add that additional layer of prickles and pins between us? The callouses on his hands, softened from his tour at the Air Force's computer, had grown hard again in the Texas dirt and heat. His heart and his face hardened as well, a wall between us as the divide grew.

In the van headed north again on Sunday I could see the change come over him. With each exit passed, his laugh dissapated and his eyebrows grew stern. He began barking comments at the traffic and hissing his displeasure at me over the seat back. It was as if he was an actor pulling and tugging on a stiff rubber suit that didn't want to go on smoothly. I began to see again the now-familiar lines that protect him from the barbs and strikes of the world and I.

In the van with the beige seats and tinted windows, among the laughing vets and the northbound traffic, tears came to my eyes and I let them well, I didn't blink back their hotness in fear that they would spill down my cheeks and my hand, raised to wipe them quickly away, would draw his anger and their questions. I felt kinship with the wife of an Alzheimer's patient, who has enjoyed a few precious moments of clarity and shared memories only to see the life's partner slipping back into dementia again.



I'm honored that you would read New Mercy and I would love to hear from you through comments!Teresa (Tracy) Dear

24 March 2011

Why do I have to be angry all the time?


(a rant about my anger towards my husband)

This morning I thought thought those past two evenings were the best I could, literally, ever remember. Sitting on the couches with you and the kids, and last night when you read to them, were so beautiful. The way you changed accents in the middle of the story. The way she ran to get the next book. Watching you smile at their antics and one-liners made my heart hopeful. Then today it was back to normal, crazy roller coaster and ugly words. Accusations and generalities. Our same old dance.

I so hate looking at your horizontal sleeping form. I hate the way your feet stick out of the covers and the way I still listen to see if you're breathing. I hate the shapeless mass of blankets and the way you use all the pillows. I hate that the kids can be crying and screaming or silent and missing and you never get up to investigate or assist.

I am so angry. I am SO angry! I am SO ANGRY!

I am so angry at being angry. I am so TIRED of being angry. I am so ashamed of being so consistently angry. I am sad of seeing my anger displayed in the kids. I am exhausted of seeing the kids be ugly and angry and hearing their voices and knowing they learned it all from me. I am their example, and even if I am angry at you, or your absence, or your inactivity, or your sickness, I am still angry and still showing them that sin.

My sin. My anger. What is the stem of my anger? It's you; it's not you- it's my disappointment at how I am. How hard my little life is. How I am frozen in my own inactivity by your absence. I want to demand my rights, the proper treatment, I want to be queen of your world. I want to be up on a golden pedestal like I was over a dozen years ago. I want to be treated like a delicate transparent teacup passed down from generation to generation. I want you to be Christ to the church- offered up as a sacrifice for me. I want to see you struggling for me, for us, I want to see some damn effort. I am worth it- aren't I?!

I have been so faithful, so patient, and I am tired when I think that you're never going to get better. You're never going to be different- never confident, never a leader, never take a hit for the family. Your brain is broken? Your blood is unbalanced? Your heart is crushed? Your psyche is damaged? Can you ever be repaired?!

I know God is able. I know He is all powerful. I know He is healer. I know He wants none to be lost. I know, I know. But I also know He wants you to come to him. I know He wants you humbled. I know He wants you to know healing. But I also know He wants you to know holiness. I am a sinner and I am tired when I think of the next 50 years strapped to your side, dragged through the mud of a broken world because I am your life's partner and this is the road you're leading us down.

God save me from my sin!! God take my anger and crush it. How do I know my value and worth and still not demand my place and treatment in this relationship?! Where is the line between sickness and mistreatment? How do I gather the strength to be a shining light for Christ in this marriage and to the world when I am so tired and angry? How do I really get my sense of worth from Christ- from what God sees in me- so that my cup is filled with forgiveness and love and that is what spills over at the end of a long day?

God fill me up so there is no room for my anger.

I'm honored that you would read New Mercy and I would love to hear from you through comments! Teresa (Tracy) Dear

06 March 2011

Forgiveness

Seven times seventy times
I'll do what it takes to make it right
I thought the pain was here to stay
But forgiveness made a way
Seven times seventy times
There's healing in the air tonight
I'm reaching up to pull it down
Gonna wrap it all around....

I lost count of the ways you let me down
But no matter how many times you weren't around
I'm alright now… cause
God picked up my heart and helped me through
And shined light on the one thing left to do
And that's forgive you, I forgive you


Chris August




I'm honored that you would read New Mercy and I would love to hear from you through comments!Teresa (Tracy) Dear