February 21, 2010. The war begins

Attacked.
Since then I felt attacked, first I blamed myself, then Colt, then the USMC, then well even got to Bass Pro and them selling that gun. Lately, I've come to realize it's Satan to blame for any guilt I have or any "need" to point a finger. As soon as I realized that, the has come into my mind, taunting me and sending me into a whirlwind. A daily battle to not let evil take over my mind and effect how God wants me to live this life.



......... That morning I was upstairs with Cheyenne, doing my hair. I wanted to be pretty, things were going well with Colton and I and we had a wonderful family day planned at the Zoo with some friends. I kept thinking to myself, we could still make it to church if I went and got Makenna from her high chair, I debated calling colt to bring her up. Then decided I liked the slow pace of the morning, that we should enjoy it. I watched Chey looking at me as I curled my hair. Then heard it, I ran to the stairwell and called for Colt..once...twice...three times.  "NOOOOOO" I heard, I flew down the stairs, heard those words, and that right then is when God took me from my self and covered me with him love and grace in his one arm, and escorted my Makadoo to Heaven.
God's been there ever, I've drifted. Satan and his evil influences have changed my thinking and takes this event to fill me with anxiety, fear, and hate. Today for example, my Mom leaves with Chey to a store that is literally two blocks away. As soon as she pulls out of the driveway I feel like I should of gone. That I need to be with Chey, just in case. That "just in case" escalates to; my brain creating an elaborate scenario so intense, I end up pacing the house, vomiting, and crying uncontrollably. They scenario? Chey and my Mom die in a fiery car crash. It gets so vivid I can picture them burning, in various stages. I envision what I will wear to the funerals, and compose what I'll say to the police officers when they bring me the news...even how I would continue to hold my family together - to hide my hurt from them. How I would wear that cape and continue to be perceived as brave, inspiring, and strong as I am told so often in the wake of Makenna's death. Today, was the first time it was so intense, but nightly the devil influences my thoughts into thinking the worst will happen when I decide to ignore anything I think. I did it once, and my daughter was shot and killed one floor beneath me...could it happen again?
The scary answer. Absolutely.
So where do I put my trust? How do I do that? With faith the size of a mustard seed you can move mountains, and with a prayer the devil can be demolished. But death can't. Death hasn't been defeated on our earth. It happens. Yes there is eternal life in heaven with a God so good who loves us all. But the pain here is REAL. It's a real peace I experience knowing she is in perfect care, that seconds are eternity, and eternity are seconds and if she longs for her Mama, she won't feel the ache I do here to be with her. But while she is up there, half my heart is walking out here. She's running away from me in stores, in my back seat on the 91 freeway, free to eat hard candy and grapes, and living in a world where children die from bee stings to terrible cancers. The Devil reminds me of that. He whispers , "your God didn't love you enough to let you keep Makenna, why would he let you keep Chey" or "Your faith is too weak, you doubt to much how do you call upon such an awesome God to protect her?" and mostly - "You don't deserve this happiness, you are broken." I forget to pray, I forget where to put my trust and I believe it. I believe that I'm not important enough for miracles and perhaps God doesn't exist. So how do I end up back here? Believing that God does love me, has a plan, and cries tears with me? I DON'T KNOW.
It's in my guts. It's the feeling deep inside my heart that knows he is good and what the bible says is true. It's the prayers I know are out there for me, and the ones I whisper when I remember the feeling of being in the light. It's the grace and salvation that God promised me when he allowed Jesus to be massacred upon a cross so many years ago. What brings me back here, is KNOWING it wasn't me that picked myself up off a hospital floor in Virginia, walked to a car, and returned home to my daughter here on earth to continue to be her mother.
But, I refuse to be a shell. I refuse to merely survive. To wake up in the morning and thinking I have to put on a show.  I refuse to let the devil whisper non truths into my ears and coerce me into living in anxiety instead of abundance and happiness like God will provide. So today, I'm seeking counseling and help. Prayers from my friends and loved ones. I'm retiring the cape and getting on my knees. Accepting help and pouring into the word. I think it's time to grieve. It's scary. I feel like my toes are on the edge of the plane and I'm ready to jump. Trusting my parachute will open...that there is a bigger plan that I just need to have faith in.
Anyone want to join me?
Life is great. God is good.