When Jon bought me a brand new Monte Carlo in 1999 I was determined to drive it with care and to let my light shine. I immediately bought a fish symbol. I stood back from sticking it onto my shiny burgundy bumper and realized…my fish looked like it was swimming up-stream.

Not long ago, after going through a car wash, I notice my fish had a broken tail.

I could carefully remove the old symbol and get a new one. And, that one could swim with the current. I considered it. Maybe my fish tarnished my witness. It’s certainly a less than perfect fish.

Then looking at that broken and backwards fish I saw me.

While I bought the fish to declare to anyone behind me, “I believe in Jesus,” a broken fish represents me pretty good these days. The PTSD and depression still hound my days and nights. As I pray and do what I can to get better, it’s a hard swim…a lot of it up stream – against the flow of depression, fear, and anxiety.

I’m a broken believer with a broken fish.

I know there’s something wonderful in this. Somewhere. I’ll keep seeking and when the time is right…I’ll find it. In the meantime, I will trust. And keep my fish. And pray for healing. And wait. One day I’ll get my eagle’s wings. God said so.

I mean those words with all my heart but there’s another side to my heart and it’s very human. Some days I’m okay waiting. Some days I’m not. My seeking is even of the broken variety. It involves begging and at times pleading. I’m not into bargaining and neither is God but it’s crossed my mind. I want to promise “to be good” and have the hurt that feels like punishment (even though I know better!)  go away. On these days, I am no longer politely knocking on the door…I’m banging on it with both fists.

Then like a fish with a broken tail swimming in circles, I come back to Psalm 34 verse 18 (NIV).

The LORD is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.

It is to this truth that even in my PTSD/depression filled moments, my heart turns and then lingers gasping for breath…taking in God’s truth and embracing it – hugging it so hard I can feel it becoming part of me a little bit at a time as if infusing itself into my DNA.

I’m a bit tossed about these days but I am extremely glad I know the One who walked on the waves.

We sat around the table in Grandma’s kitchen. It was hot inside and out. I was passed a dish and in the days when I was a child, you took a little bit of everything offered. You also ate it even if you didn’t like it.

When I asked what was in the dish, my dad said, “Turtle soup.”

I took a small portion and an even smaller bite. It tasted suspiciously like tuna.

In all the years since then…40 some in all…Turtle Soup has been a favorite of mine. I tend to save it for summer lunches or suppers. Lots of people call it Macaroni Tuna Pea Salad.

My family will gather at our house this Sunday and among the salads, meats, olives, pickles, and cake will be a bowl that will make me smile. I’ll invite my dad to have a 2^nd helping of Turtle Soup and he’ll grin.

Here’s our version…

2 cans of albacore tuna in water, drained

1         small box of ring macaroni – cooked, drained, and cooled

1 cup of celery

½ package of frozen peas thawed by not cooked or 1 can of peas, drained

A pinch (or more) of salt

Mayonnaise or miracle whip – you pick the amount that makes it all the right consistency for you

Mix, chill, serve.

(I’ve been known to add diced green peppers and onions on occasion…but the original recipe the family used is the one above…I call this version Green Turtle Soup!)

I was about 5 years old when I tasted it. I didn’t expect it – in fact I was anticipating something far more wonderful like a hug.

Some big kids in our neighborhood taught me a few new words. I was told my mom would be so proud of me for using these simple to repeat and remember phrases. I could hardly wait to bask in her happiness.

Not wanting to keep the good stuff to myself I shared some of the words with my younger brother who was about 3 at the time. We stood together in the upstairs hallway. I enthusiastically told my mother where to go and my brother called her a name.

Suddenly we were in the bathroom with slivers (although they felt like boulders!) of gold Dial soap melting on our tongues. In a little while we were brushing our teeth and tongues and spitting with as much power as we could muster.

I should have known better I guess. I’d heard those same words used by other people (usually adults) and they didn’t seem to mean good things. I told the big kids that. In tender innocence I believed them when they told me I’d misunderstood what the words meant – that they were very good words instead.

I don’t know if my little brother was angry at me or not. I’ve always been very sorry I got him in trouble. I remember vividly standing in that bathroom with soap laden spit running down our quivering chins. We were partners in crime and punishment.

Memory of that day brings back a lingering sadness. The kids I wanted to trust lied to me – intentionally. I believed that lie and passed it on to my even more innocent brother. In my desire to be accepted by kids I thought were so cool, I ignored my instincts.

You know…I tried those words and others out again in the coming years. They never “fit” – even before I came to Jesus. I also continued my efforts to please people when it was in no one’s best interest. Even now, with all my warning bells clanging and my red flags flying a full-mast I sometimes choose to ignore the internal Voice of the Holy Spirit and listen to people over Him.

Maybe a bit of that soap embedded itself in my DNA. Putting the pleasure of people before God is similar to cursing for me. In the moment between confession and forgiveness I’m sure I can still feel those bubbles on my tongue.

When I was little a “do” was directly related to hair or a reprimand, “Joy, what did you do?”

The only thing a person didn’t “do” was windows.

Now we “do” and don’t “do” a list of things based on our personal preferences.

I used to think only people with lives full of wealth and influence said, “Let’s do lunch.”

Imagine my surprise when I heard myself say it. The words were foreign slipping off my tongue. They also surprised me a bit – I thought I sounded so…well you know…so.  So not me.

This experience reminded me of the way it feels when I try on a pair of shoes that are the wrong size and aren’t my style. Shoes like that are uncomfortable and a bad investment. They also say something false about me. (I guess there are certain shoes I don’t “do!”)

I was immediately aware of the flippant way I sounded. I meant the words – I really did want to meet my friend for a long, leisurely lunch full of authentic talk and delicious food.  Instead of sending a cozy message the invitation sounded very surface – like a hard veneer.

I don’t remember intending to use the phrase. These popular words left my lips with my breath behind them and I heard a different version of me…the one trying way too hard to sound sophisticated.

In hind sight, I realize that when I offer words of encouragement, comfort, knowledge, or Scripture in a popular way (popular = saying the words and/or phrases I’ve heard over and over) I distance myself from people seeking hope, consolation, and truth.  I also create a barrier between my heart and their pain. It’s like saying, “I don’t do your pain.” I offer up some words I think should help and retreat. In a way (a very sad way) I become a spiritual snob.

That’s not who I am.

Flippant little phrases that sound normal coming from some people sound artificial and stilted when they escape my mouth.

Growing up in the 70s I could say the word “cool” and sounded okay while the words “groovy” and “far out” sounded weird in my voice and “dig” sounded even worse. There were kids in my school who could pull off these hippy style words and even swearing and the words sounded like their natural language. I confess: I tried them all and none of them fit. Kids who knew me would raise their eyebrows and shake their heads and wait for the real Joy to return to her right mind.

You’d think in a new millennium I’d have conquered this verbal silliness. I guess there are times I sure wish I could “do” words better than I do…but I don’t.