Bethany G. Paget

Midwife of words


November 2013

The Day She Was Seen

The story of Jesus meeting the Samaritan woman at the well has always spoken depths to me.

Maybe it’s because He knew her, He SAW her and He LOVED her, just as she was.

I’m guest posting today over at a friends spot, someone I deeply admire and quite frankly I may have given up writing if it were not for her words.

Come join us….


Thank You!

Anyone who knows me, had read my blog or followed me on social media for the last 11 ½ months knows that 2013 has been a shitty year for myself and my daughter.  In fact, I cannot wait to kick her ass out the door come December 31.  I have written a lot about my different struggles and my journey as it progresses and I walk forward through the tangled web but now I want to do something different.

My friend Hännah has had a similar year and suggested a way to shift the focus a bit.  She’s hosting a thankfulness link up on her blog and I thought that really looking back over the year and thanking those that stood by, blessed, sat with and many other things.

All will remain anonymous.

  1. Thank you for paying my rent, for filling my truck with gas and buying us groceries when I couldn’t work because I was so sick.
  2. Thank you for sitting next to me in that hospital bed, rubbing my back as I tried to vomit.  Thank you for being there when I know you had other patients to attend to.  Thank you for showing me the love that I needed to see just THEN.
  3. Thank you for washing me.  I mean really WASHING me, my body, my hair, and really my soul when I could barely make it to the bathroom and then realized I could not even lift my arms to wash myself.  It was you who showed me Jesus with skin on those five days in the hospital.
  4. Thank you for coming that next day and staying, even while I slept.  Thank you for reminding me to set my alarm for every 8 minutes so I could hit my pain medicine button.  You could see the pain I was in, I couldn’t.  Thank you for repositioning my pillows, for making sure I was comfortable.  Thank you for going on a food hunt in the middle of the night, for staying with me when I know you were unable to sleep.  Thank you for cleaning me up, for holding me as a wept because the pain was something I could never have expected.
  5. Thank you being there when I came home.  For taking care of Abigail and I.  For loving us.
  6. Thank you for inviting me into this circle of women, for helping no rather showing me that I already had a voice I just needed help ripping off the tape.
  7. Thank you for being there as a wept, knowing I couldn’t pay rent again, and then sending me the money needed.  Thank you for the late night talks, the rants, the back and forth movie and show quoting text messages.
  8. Thank you for showing me that friendships built online are not false nor do they forsake you.  That they are more real and built upon words and vulnerability than some skin relationships.
  9. Thank you for reminding me that you’ll sit with me on my kitchen floor as a sob but that I’ll have to get up and that you’ll get up with me.  Thank you for sending my own words back to me in such a beautiful way.
  10. Thank you for the love you have shown my daughter.  The cards, the presents.  It means so much to her and she feels seen.  That makes my mama heart beat for her and with her as she feels something she has needed for so long.
  11. Thank you for the prayers as I went back through more testing this fall as it appeared as though the Chiari was resurfacing.  Thank you for the text messages, the cards and the love.
  12. Thank you for pouring out your love on my blog, on what on write, for critiquing and helping me grow.
  13. Thank you for pushing me and checking in on me hourly until I went to church.

All of you and so many more have helped this year not be so shitty.  As I look back from June on I can see the shift and I am thankful.

I am thankful for the soul’s that surround me that push me, that guide me, encourage me, and move me to be me.

I LOVE you all.

As Always,


The Stories and the Why

I have been all over the place lately.  My writing has taken an odd turn, a turn I am not comfortable with.  I don’t feel like I am writing for me anymore.  It seems as though I am putting out words for other people, to reach a goal that I don’t know if I wanted to attain in the first place.

I am known to put a ton of pressure on myself.  To set very high expectations for what I think I should be doing and what *I think* people expect of me.  When in reality the people that love and know me just want me to be me.  To do for me what soothes and makes me and my inner self feel cared for.

So I stepped back from those things that I felt I were pressuring me.  But then I started to get defiant about my writing.  It was a one day, hormone induced, mid life (well 32 year old) crisis.  I started to feel like everything I am doing with my words is shit.  Like “why AM I EVEN DOING THIS” is what I was screaming in my brain.

I started writing a post that is about a very important topic to me, one that I want to bring out and share my thoughts and feelings on my blog but is now the time I had to ask myself.

Or is now the time when I really focus on sharing my raw, vulnerable story.  The pieces of me that I have not yet shared; shared in part or have kept locked tight for fear of what people would say.

Sharing ones story is fearful in any atmosphere.  I believe when it comes to the blogosphere that fear becomes even bigger because of who may find that blog and take their own perspective to it and shoot the writer down.  I’ve had that happen only slightly and she never left a comment, kept saying she was going to but never did.

I have a story, a very colorful one as a like to tell people to make it seem funny or less painful.  There or so many pieces of me that I could write out here and share with you but how would you, as my readers, as my friends and as the people who I know love the me you see now; how would you react if I told you the ALL?

I wrote out my story once, for therapy.  This was when I first started seeing her, so roughly two years ago.  It was 21 typed pages long.  It took two, 1 hour session to read it.  My therapist cried and I felt nothing, from what I remember.  I still have the document saved, I don’t think I’d go back and read it because it’s not really my story.

It is, it’s the events but it’s not the emotions, it’s not the depth and the underbelly of what really happened that lead to those events.  There’s no emotion in writing out the whole thing from beginning to end.

I think that’s why here, in this space I call my own, my Truth Be Told that I have to tell it chunks so I can show you all the emotions, the darkness, the messiness; the digging in the dirt and the why as best I can.

I want to eventually share with you why I am pro-life, pro-choice and pro-woman.  I want to tell you my story of how I came out of being so totally anti-homosexuality to seeing and believing that everyone is a child of God regardless of who they love and marry.  Now I see that accept and loving ALL humans because we all have worth and value is the choice I have made.

After some deep soul searching yesterday……

Okay that’s a lie.  I had a fat Del Taco flat bread chicken taco and potato cheese poppers that I dipped in some delicious ranch dressing, talked with a couple of dear soul friends and finished my Anne Lamott book I realized that right now I need no WANT to keep with sharing my heart, wherever that leads.

I have a story I want to tell you however I am going to post it as a separate post, because of the emotion and depth involved.

I hope you’ll step in with me, to me, to who I am and all my messy pieces.

As Always,


Communion, Dishes and Wizards

I took communion last night.

With Wizards of Waverly Place in the background, dished piled high in the sink and three loads of laundry piled on my bedroom floor.

I know Jesus meets us, sits with us and digs with us in the messy and I needed His body and blood last night and it was the perfect setting.

Anyone who has been reading my blog or knows me personally knows that I have stepped out of church and even reading my bible for awhile.  It’s become an unhealthy, unfamiliar environment and I need time to heal and discover; from the mouth of God himself who He is.  However in not going to church I am missing this one sacrament.

It’s always been the one that meant the most to me, that’s struck me in bones.  The partaking in Jesus, in what He did as His last meal on earth.  Breaking bread with his brothers, with the men He spent the most time with, the ones He poured His very being into.

Everything has been rough lately.  I am in a head on, messy, digging in the dirt where “Walking on Holy Ground makes you shit your pants” (~Abby Norman~ ) kind of place.  It’s been ugly and part of it is grappling with the old molds of faith and finding footing in a new freedom of who God, Jesus and The Holy Spirit really are.

I admitted to my therapist last week that I really don’t know who God or Jesus are.  That the part of the trinity I feel the closest too right now is the Holy Spirit.  I have been pushing back against legalism and the evangelical culture that hurt me and her people that let me down.  I have been speaking with a few close friends who speak life and truth over me and I had a realization that all this push back was causing tension.  I know what I don’t want to be, what I don’t want to be and that places that I don’t want to go.  However the more I push back and the more I fight the more this tension inside my spirit grows.

I have felt like I am just floating through my faith for so long and those feelings were starting to scare me.  After this last weekend those old thoughts started creeping in of losing my salvation and God being angry at me; pounding His gavel down, screaming SINNER.

I know that’s not God.  I really do.

That’s why yesterday I knew I needed the body and the blood.  I needed to break bread with Jesus and drink grape juice.  Amidst the chaos and mess of my surroundings; my soul needed that closeness with Him, that grace that flowed when I prayed, ate and drank as a follower of Him and Him alone.

Peace flowed, joy entered.  The floating feeling is slowly easing and I am finding my center again.  I know that church right now is not for me, the bible is still hard but I am finding other ways to fill myself and my spirit with Him.

Taking communion with Wizards of Waverly Place in the background, dishes piled high and laundry all over my bedroom floor was probably the best thing I could have done at this point.

I broke the break and poured the juice.

I prayed; or rather spoke to Him in gentleness about where my heart was and where I wanted it to go.  How I wanted to know HIM for Him.

How I want Him in every SINGLE part of me. Not far, not floating, not pushing back but knowing that I am solid with what I believe but that I still need more of Him.

Jesus poured out, in my mess.

As Always,


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