The Eye of God

The Eye of God

I write for my sanity.

You thought I wrote just because I loved you.

I do.

I really do.

But writing also helps keep me sane.

You see, by writing I have a built in excuse to go to a coffee shop every week and write.

My husband is a business guy, I call him the Human Calculator, because, we’ll he is.  It is freaky how well he can calculate numbers and percentages in his head when it comes to money. And because he’s a bottom line kinda of guy, in his mind – paying for coffee every week is a business expense -which means I can get away with it.  (Take notes ladies, this is how it’s done.)

So that’s part one of my self induced therapy plan – self-medicate, ie, drink coffee.

But the other part is to write about how I feel and how I’m processing the world, because . . . lean in. . .  I’m a stuffer.


Yeah, you heard me.  I stuff my emotions.

Which is why blogging is a such a great outlet.

At the heart of blogging is connection.

It’s all about letting another person into your world, the way you think and what you feel.

Because of this, bloggers are awesome people.


But right now I hate blogging.

And I kind of hate being a blogger.

And I definitely don’t feel awesome.


Because it means that I’m one of those people who processes her world by writing about it.



I’m a stuffer who writes about the stuff I don’t really want to write about because I figure if I put my stuff out there, I won’t be as much of a stuffer anymore. – Say that 10 times fast.

Here’s what my stuffy side doesn’t want to say tonight.


God’s not done healing me.


I actually thought he was.

I thought I had finally moved past all of my childhood issues and was on the cusp of something big. . . like the promised land of adulthood.

But I don’t think he got my memo.


Actually it’s the opposite.

It’s like he saved one of the biggest bombshells for last.


And here it is: Because of growing up in a home with a schizophrenic mother and living in a constant state of childhood trauma – I have  ummm — cough — tendencies.




I said, I have — cough — tendencies.


Alright, fine.



There, I said it.


Maybe not a shocker for you, but it is for me.


And now I’m going from a season where I thought I was finished with all of this inner healing stuff to my-dreams-are-feeling-a-bit-like-sand-slipping-through-my-fingers-all-because-I don’t-know-how-to-not-be-overly-responsible-and-just-trust-God-when-it-comes-to-other-people’s-emotions.

Grrrrr me.


Here’s the crazy part, I knew he was up to something.

I was playing the piano one afternoon and just spending time with him, when God shows me this picture of a giant eye.  It reminded me of the nebula in the photo above.  Not intimidating or scary, but I was very aware that my heart was being searched.

And since then, I haven’t heard God say anything about it.

But I’m pretty sure that this discovery of codependent tendencies is tied to that day.


God means what he says. What he says goes. His powerful Word is sharp as a surgeon’s scalpel, cutting through everything, whether doubt or defense, laying us open to listen and obey. Nothing and no one is impervious to God’s Word. We can’t get away from it—no matter what.

Hebrews 4:12-13 (The Message)


Okay seriously, I didn’t even know I had codependency issues until like 2 months ago.  And it’s not like I want to keep them or anything but man, I wish that God would snap his fingers and make it just go away.

Open a can of miracle, right here, right now.

Because I am one bewildered girl right now.  Lez just be honest.  I did not realize I was as messed up as he is showing me I am.


My friends and family, however, are not as shocked.


To make matters worse, this has not been a fast moving kind of revelation.  This is more like a slow as molasses revelation.  As in, every day I’m going to show you what is going on and how it is affecting you and the people you love.



This really sucks.


But I don’t want to stay this way.

I really do want to change.


Repentance at its core is being willing to go through the process of being changed.


Now that we know what we have—Jesus, this great High Priest with ready access to God—let’s not let it slip through our fingers. We don’t have a priest who is out of touch with our reality. He’s been through weakness and testing, experienced it all—all but the sin. So let’s walk right up to him and get what he is so ready to give. Take the mercy, accept the help.

Hebrews 4:14-16 (The Message)


Okay, Jesus, so healing is what you’re offering me in this season.

I’ll take that mercy.

I’ll accept that help.


Photo Credit: “Helix Nebula” by WikiImages, permissions through C.C. by 2.0

My story


Thought I’d share my story tonight.

I’m not sure why, except that our stories are important.

They help others to know they are not alone.

They can inspire.

They can give hope.

But most of all, they show the brush strokes of a God who puts all the pieces together of our brokenness into something beautiful.

I grew up with a deaf, schizophrenic mother.

And because of my mother’s mental condition, my dad and I suffered, for a lot of years.

My mother had times when she would do really well, but I remember more of the times that she wasn’t.

She was suicidal at times.

Homicidal at other times.

You were never sure, what to expect.

And most of it, I’d be happy to forget.

But because she wasn’t well and was hospitalized for so much of my childhood, I began living with other families.

I lost a lot of my identity.

Because that’s what a stable family gives a kid, a healthy identity.

And mine was well, shattered.

And here is a really good place to interject that if any kid needed a good healthy identity, it was me.

I was the kid with buck teeth and huge, I mean, HUGE glasses.

I had aviators before they were cool.

And as if that weren’t enough, I had the stereotypical Asian bob haircut. . . and I’m Asian.

It’s just wrong. Wrong, I tell you.

And no, I’m not going to post pictures.

My parents later divorced despite so much effort from my dad to keep the marriage together.

My mother moved back to South Korea and I learned to bottle up everything I was feeling.

Because that’s really what growing up is all about, learning the art of stuffing your emotions somewhere dark and deep.

I grew up well with that mindset, until the year that my mother was murdered.

She was murdered, beaten to death by a pastor.

She had confronted him about money that had been embezzled from the orphanage where she worked.

Her body was left in a ditch.

And believe me, I know this sounds crazy.

People don’t really have lives like this, unless it’s on t.v.

And even then, they get paid lots of money to have terrible things happen to their character.

Me, not so much.

But this is how my life unfolded and I’m telling you now, how it happened to me.

Fast-forward through about 10 years of guilt, fear, and general floundering through life and I found myself in a strange place.

I couldn’t bottle up my pain anymore.

It was leaking out through all sorts of really unhealthy ways.

I had a wall, a moat, and a man-eating crocodile around my heart.

No one was getting in.

But all my pain was leaking out.

You know, like some gross puss filled scab.

A puss-filled scab with a wall, a moat and a man-eating crocodile around it.

And I found my saved, Christian-self in dire need of a new type of salvation.

An emotional salvation.

I needed Jesus in a whole new way.

And I found out that it was not as painful to trust him with healing the darkest places of my childhood as it was for me to bottle it up.

Now, I gotta tell you. I had had some emotional healing in the past.

God had done some pretty amazing things even.

But this was different.

Things that had interwoven themselves with who I thought I was, were being unwoven.

So, and some of you know this part, I felt like I was supposed to start writing.

To start writing down everything I could remember from my childhood.

And I did.

And things began to make sense.

And I stopped stuffing.

And I started leaking from my eyes instead.

I cried.

And I cried.

And I cried some more.

I cried a lot.

Which makes me sound like I’m a big pansy.

Maybe I am.

But I’m an emotionally healthy pansy now.

So there, ha ha!

And I kept writing, you know, when I wasn’t crying.

When I got to a place that I couldn’t think of anything else to write, I thought to myself.


And my self said, “What?”

I said, “Self, don’t interrupt. You should write a letter to Korea. You know, to the orphanage where your mom was and ask if they have any belongings of hers or any details from her life.  Because well, closure is good.”

And after a lot of hemming and hawwing and more donkey-like behaviors from me.  I was finally convinced by friends and family to send the letter.

Weeks passed and I got a letter back.

I opened the envelope and 2 pictures of my mother fell out along with a letter saying that my mother was still alive.

Whoever had been murdered 10 years ago, was not her.

Mistaken identity.

I felt like I was on the Truman Show.

Another 8 years have passed since that letter.

And a lot of letters and packages have gone from our house to Korea.  And from Korea to our house.

And while things are not perfect, I am amazed.

Amazed at how God can take everything.  Even the parts of our stories that we thought were over and redeem them.

I guess that’s why we call Jesus, Redeemer.

My favorite story in the whole Bible is about Joseph.

He was sold into slavery by his brothers, taken to a foreign country, accused of sleeping around with his boss’s wife, and thrown into prison.

That’s poopy.
I don’t care who you are.
It’s poopy.

But after everything, he becomes the Prime Minister of the most powerful country in the world.
And when his brother’s come to his country to seek aid, this is his response.

Joseph replied, “Don’t be afraid. Do I act for God? Don’t you see, you planned evil against me but God used those same plans for my good, as you see all around you right now – life for many people. Easy now, you have nothing to fear; I’ll take care of you and your children.” He reassured them, speaking with them heart-to-heart.

Genesis 50:19-21 (The Message)

God takes poopy and somehow makes it into a story worth telling.

He’s good at this kind of thing.

So, I’m not really sure why I’m sharing all of this with you tonight, except maybe just to say. . .

Your story isn’t over.

Jesus is still redeeming stories, all the over the world.

All throughout history.

For all types of people.

You and me included.


Photo Credit: “Typewriter” by tsg1, permissions through C.C. by 2.0