presently swimming in seaweed

I like the beach. And when it's really hot I enjoy going for a dip in the ocean. But sometimes I don't like the ocean at all. Have you ever been in the ocean on a day when the wind has blown in a bunch of seaweed? I mean a day when you can hardly move without being touched by the slimy branches of green gunk. I hate it when everytime I move I'm sloshing up against the stuff.

After listening to Don Miller this weekend, I have decided that life is like swimming in a seeweed infested ocean. There is still good and enjoyment to be had, but it sure is mixed up with a whole bunch of gunk. And I hate gunk. There so much of the stuff, that we even think of mildly infested waters as being enjoyable....but they really aren't.

My best life is not here and it is not now. I want to train myself to stop being surprised by struggle...and pain...and tragedy...and injustice. I don't want to become numb to all that is horribly sad but I do want to see it as more of the norm of life. I want to be blissfully surprised when the ocean is pristine, but I don't want to be alarmed when its not. After all, the stuff is SEA weed.

And if I'm going to expect for life to be infested with pain and sorrow and other similar gunk, I need to also retrain myself of where my hope lies. It doesn't lie in overcoming obstacles, or being pain free, not suffering with depression , or watching my children live victoriously successful lives. No hope for me lies in two places: I have a home awaiting me at death that far supasses what this life has to offer. AND I have a savior that wades through the seeweed infested waters with me. As my friend Laura says, he is closer than my fingernails.

So...this week as I watch Ruth struggle with week 14 of a concussion and I feel that worry eating me up. Seeweed. We didn't do anything wrong. We aren't being punished. It's life...normal life. And I'll hold his hand (and hers) and keep asking him to heal her and look forward to a day in the near future when the wind changes, and the seeweed abates and she is better....and a day that will come when only God knows when she and I will barely remember what a seaweed infested ocean feels like.

my idol, my app

In our culture today, idolatry is such a squirmy thing. I mean we rarely use the word unless referring to would-be famous vocalists. We only refer to sports figures as idols when they disappoint us. We don't keep carved statues in our houses and if we do we don't burn incense to them or pray to them.

But idolatry is surely a part of our lives just as it has been for every generation. Why? Because we were built to worship, to give our allegiance; without this we are incomplete. And sometimes even with it we are still incomplete. We might be good at pointing out someone else's idol, but seem incredulously blind to our own. Or at least blind to the depth that idolatry rules and ruins our lives.

I thought I'd share with you my week with a particular idol. Maybe writing about it will help me to let it go. And maybe reading about it will help you to recognize your own idols.

It started at 8 am on Tuesday morning. I was already exhausted from a long weekend of swimming. My child swam and I sat on a bleacher for more hours than you would believe. I had a plan. Take my son to school, then spend some good leisurely time with God before heading off to a meeting at 10am. A chance email and a small conversation with the teacher sent me reeling. I felt frustrated, angry, hurt, sad and ashamed. How is it possible to have all of that swarm over you in a matter of minutes?

I returned to the car ripe for a conversation with God. I needed to bear my heart to Him...to lay all this mess of emotion at His feet and find some way to trust Him with it all. So it was good that my plan included him next.

Except it didn't. I sat in the car and caught my breath. Instead of opening my Bible, I picked up my iphone and downloaded an app. then I sat there for two hours and played the app. Never once talking to God.

I went to my meeting, and then played my app. Helped my son with his homework and played my app. Didn't fold laundry because....I was playing my app. Put the kids to bed and played my app. Kissed my husband goodnight, promising I'd be to bed in a second and played my app. Two and a half hours later I deleted the app and went to bed ashamed and angry at myself for making such a dumb choice to stay up so late. (I mean, I was already way exhausted).

Now intrinsically, apps are not idols. But clearly on Tuesday, this one was an idol to me. It kept me separated from God. It robbed me of precious time with those I love and who count of me. I was fixated and attached and it held my attention much longer than I had ever planned. And at the end of the day it left me feeling ashamed, stupid, small and unworthy. I felt so bad...I might as well play the stupid app again.

But that was Tuesday. I had to pay the consequences for little sleep on Wednesday, but the app was gone. Well...it was...until...I re-installed it. Now I didn't play it as much. I patted myself on the back that I was in control this time. What a crock! What a stupid deception. So on Wednesday, instead of turning the corner, I stayed in the emotional hate myself pit, didn't do the things I should of (at least not all of them, or as well as I should have), and played that app for hours. But I was having fun, right? I was enjoying it, right? I just needed a break to relax, right? Yeah, right. Clearly this idol has helped to make the last 48 hours a complete mess.

And today, well today is Saturday. And I have uninstalled and re-installed the app at least once more. And I'm still playing the stupid thing. Having fun. Enjoying it. Relaxing. I am a true and utter idiot. But that's the way idols work in our lives. They take over and we deceive ourselves into believing they are actually good for us.

When I am honest, I must admit what my personal history (and Jesus) have taught me about idols. They have to go. Completely. Cold Turkey. Get the thing off my phone and stop reinstalling it. I will not be able to abide with even a little of this app in my life. At least not right now. Maybe never. But if I want to be free...if I want to really live...really have fun...enjoy myself...relax, I have to let it go. I have to return to worshiping Jesus and only Him. After all, who exactly do you think made me, designed me to worship?

Okay so...next time you see me. Ask to see my phone. Check in on me and see...what am I worshipping today.

early morning bubbles and an aha moment

In the event that anyone is actually out there reading things I write, sorry for the long hiatus. I hope to be more regular as time moves forward. But back to the bubbles and the aha.

So it happened today on Statesville Rd. as I was driving Huck to school and trying to keep the dog from drooling all over me as I ate my Chicfila biscuit. (He, the dog not Huck, had already devoured his and was now hoping that his persistence would pay off as it usually does...and it did). I was thinking about fear (my most prevelant emotion at present)and my lack of faith ...when this verse popped into my hear.

"...continue to work out your salvation with fear and trembling..." Phil 2:12

What? I've read this verse and meditated on it many times,but this time the word FEAR jumped out at me....because it is my most prevelant emotion this week. Work it out with fear and trembling?

It was the poetic illustration of me this morning in the bathtub. I couldn't sleep and my legs were sore from exercising yesterday so I hauled my body into the bath, ran a tub of steaming hot water with bubbles and slid in. It was not one of those luxurious relaxing baths. It was one of those, OMG how am I going to pull myself through this day soaks. And it ended with me sobbing out my fear and lack of faith to God.

I got out feeling defeated and still crying ( but my legs felt better)and started rousing the family because it was time. I felt so defeated by my fear, and lost. I felt like twenty five years of faith had just evaporated and I was back to be 18, scared and alone and trying my damnedest to solve all my own problems.

So when the Holy Spirit sprung this verse on me this morning, I nearly leaped out of the car. You mean, God, that part of walking this journey is just that: working out with fear and trembling...taking the things that scare me shitless and bringing the whole big mess back to you...like a three year old with a broken toy, certain that you can fix it.

It gave me hope...I'm not struggling to get back on the path of faith; I'm on it. The struggle is the path; the mess is the road. I'm in the right place, doing the right thing....even if it doesn't feel so great...I'm not lost and I'm not alone. But I am still afraid. I still lack faith. But somehow knowing that I'm on the right road makes the struggle seem more managable. I'm still having to work it out...I suppose to some degree I will spend this lifetime doing just that. Thanks for the moment this morning.

he loves me

This morning it was undeniable. It encouraged me. Gave me hope for today, a day when at 8:30am I was already feeling blah. I sat down and in the course of 10 minutes picked up 3 random daily devotional books and read todays selection. They all three spoke to my very emotional, critical, irritated and despairing heart. They all three connected ideas..one from another. God was seeking me, reaching out for me in my most half-hearted reach for him. I mean I was in the bathroom...with very little to occupy my mind. He loves me... even when I ignore him and seek out foolish idols that don't satisfy. He loves me...even when I act like he is not important to me. He loves me...when I'm avoiding him along with things in my life I don't want to face up to. He loves me...

He loves me. He loves me.
I can't imagine why.
Because many days I don't love me...
or even like me.

But today, he broke through to me and I know.
He loves me, misses me and is waiting for me to come back and sit with him and talk with him, pour out my ugly, selfish heart to him. He loves me.

And I love him, too.

Easter, the POW and the Korean War

Last week someone sent me a book online, which I devoured. I've been pondering it off and on all week. It is the story of a young Army officer, a West Point Grad, who became a POW during the first weeks of the Korean War (the last week of July 1950). He quickly realized that this would not be an internment like any he had heard of from the World Wars. This yound man, named Tom, was the ranking officer in this group of POWs, that later became a roving camp.

Tom quickly took leadership of the situation, organizing the other officers under him and getting the men to look out for one another. He constantly advocated for better treatment, more food and medical care for his men. Almost all were wounded. And soon they would all be fighting the affects of starvation and dysentary. The POWs were inhumanely treated, often beaten and even killed by their captors.

In September of 1950 the UN Forces turned the tide and the North Korean Army began its retreat. In an effort to stay in North Korean territory, the guards began to march these POWs from Seoul to Pyongyang over 30 days. It was a death march, as many died from their wounds, starvation and dehydration, or were shot by their captors when they fell behind. Tom made sure that his officers were always in the front, middle and back of the group of some 370 POWs. They encouraged the stragglers to keep on, often carrying the men and, when in front, they worked hard to slow the pace of the march.

I was so struck that in such an inhumane circumstance how caring this group of American soldiers was of one another. Whenever possible, the POWs would bury and say words over each man who died. They were careful to bury them with a record of their name, hometown, and date of death stuck in a bottle. And Tom kept a record of each man who passed. Under his leadership, these men resisted despair and banned together as brothers in the worst of circumstances. What made him feel such a sense of devotion to them?

Of the 370 some men, only 33 survived. Many escaped, but not Tom. Although he had opportunity to do so, he refused to leave "his men". This is their story of their beloved leader, who they called "the Major". Tom was massacred along with the majority of these POWs at the Sunchon Tunnel on October 20, 1950. All 33 claimed they would never have lived had it not been for the Major. The Major was in captivity for a mere 86 hellacious days, yet he changed these men's lives forever. One of his men, when he died at the age of 81, requested to be buried as close to the Major as possible at Arlington.

I also have pondered the loss of Tom to those who loved him. For although I never met Tom, I have "known" him since my childhood. He is my great uncle, the baby brother of my grandmother, Virginia. I have played with his grandchildren and grew up under the distant, but ever watchful and loving eye of his son, John. For his family, it has been a great loss, indeed.

And as I have pondered this story, the details fleshed out of my own familial oral history, I can't help but find my thoughts drifting to the cross. After all, it is Lent. Tom's story of love, sacrifice and death have fleshed out Jesus for me yet again. Sometimes between running kids all over the Lake and doing what must be done, the story of the resurrection seems faint, stale and devoid of emotion. But as I have felt my heart broken for Tom and his men, I have found my heart broken again for my God and his disciples.

He lived an unspeakable death for me. He chose it. He endured it. For me. I hope I never get over it. I hope there will always be things that bring me back to the truth when it begins to pale. There is no greater love story than the Cross of Christ.

3 browns

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Christian crap about Depression

So this morning in the moments between preparing child #2 and child #3 to catch the bus, I picked up a book on the side table and read a chapter.  I’m not sure where this book came from.  We have had about a half dozen or less young women come trough our house over the summer months; someone must have left it behind.

About 6 or 7 pages in I wanted to throw the book in the trash.   That is what I thought of what this woman had to say….It’s trash…simplisitic Christian crap that the church has been throwing around and espousing for years.  The kind of crap that makes me want to take a machine gun to something.

I am SO  sick of Christian books and teachers that act like anti-depressant medication is concocted in a meth lab or is laced with cocaine….or that doctors are handing them out like candy on Halloween to any patient that is sad.  It is arrogant and makes a mockery of the medical profession and all those who truly have depression.

So hear is my view from the other side of the street.  God fearing Christians who love Jesus die every year at their own hand.  Yeah, you got it…they commit suicide while the church stands by and keeps shouting about the evils of prozac.

And an even larger number suffer in silence, either not going to church or not sharing their struggle with other believers because they have been told that they just need to repent or have more faith.  Shame on us.

It’s time for the church to stand up, confess how it has failed these Children of God and start advocating for them.  We need not just clergy who can offer them hope and a place to struggle well, but lay people as well.  “I’ll pray for you” just isn’t going to get it.

First, we need to acknowledge that depression and sadness or grief are not the same things.   For those suffering with true clinical depression, sadness may be a minor part of it.  Check out what are commonly accepted as symptoms of depression. 

Major depression is when a person has five or more symptoms of depression for at least 2 weeks. These symptoms include feeling sad, hopeless, worthless, or pessimistic. In addition, people with major depression often have behavior changes, such as new eating and sleeping patterns.

Symptoms

• Agitation, restlessness, and irritability
• Dramatic change in appetite, often with weight gain or loss
• Extreme difficulty concentrating
• Fatigue and lack of energy
• Feelings of hopelessness and helplessness
• Feelings of worthlessness, self-hate, and inappropriate guilt
• Inactivity and withdrawal from usual activities, a loss of interest or pleasure  in activities that were once enjoyed (such as sex) 
• Thoughts of death or suicide
• Trouble sleeping or excessive sleeping

Second, we need to stop acting like we know what we don’t.  Many people who have depression need to be under the care of a doctor and/or counselor.  A good, loving, godly friend may mean well but they shouldn’t be a substitute for medical care. 

And let’s share  a little bit of information about anti-depressant/anti-anxiety meds.  Like all meds they come with side effects, and people tolerate and respond to each Most of these meds must be built up in your system before they work fully or properly.  That means 4-6 weeks.  During the build up time the drugs can have side effects that may subside once the build up period is over.  Or they may persist.  There is no way to tell except to take the medication for 6+ weeks.

The first drug the doc tries may not work for the patient;  but it will still take about a month or more to determine this.  If the drug does not work well for the patient, it must then be weaned out of their system over 4-6 weeks.  Although some drugs can be started before drug one is completely out of the system, some can not.  Some that are”kin” to each other allow you to jump from one to the other.

I say all this so you will know that, finding the right medication can and often is a lengthy process.  Once the right drug is found, it can be an immense help, but rarely would I consider medication the “quick-fix” that it is often taunted to be.

In fact, many people taking these type of meds live with side effects just in order to receive the benefit of the medication.  Added weight gain and loss of sex drive are just the two most talked about effects.  Many are not nearly so “pleasant” as a few extra pounds.

Third, the church needs to stop treating the depressed person as the problem.  We need to allow people to share their own stories of depression in order to encourage and educate others.  To that end, here is a little bit of why this issue is such a personal one to me.

My Story

In my early twenties, I spent a year in counseling (awesome Christian counselor) thanks to my boss ( who was not a believer, BTW) who knew I was depressed and insisted that I get help.  Counseling was immensely helpful.  I worked through many painful things from my pasts as well as destructive behaviors I had developed  (nothing salacious).  My depression lessened and became more episodic. I began to see depression as a result of how I dealt with experiences, and found as I took them fully to God the depression would lessen or go away.

That worked well for me until I started having babies.  My pregnancies were long and I was depressed throughout regardless of how I felt, how much time I spent with God, or  my circumstances.  With the help of my doctors (once I finally broke down and told them what was going on), I began to see that I was experiencing clinical depression, a depression that had more to do with what was going on physically in my body and not just emotionally and spiritually.  They determined that when pregnant, the hormonal changes I underwent caused me to chemically imbalance.  I needed anti-depressant medication during the pregnancy to rectify this.  Once I delivered and my hormones reverted to their previous state, the depression would subside. 

This was the first time I could see for myself that my depression wasn’t directly correlated to my own sin.  It was also my first experience taking anti-depressant medication.  I began to educate myself about  depression.  From counseling I had learned what some of my triggers were and how to spiritually and emotionally combat depression.  Now I learn more about what was and was not depression.  I began to be able to recognize depression as it began to grab a hold on my life, as opposed to being blind until the depression was in full swing.

During these years I began to experience an unusual seasonal depression.  I went through about 5-7 years  of this, starting each spring and lasting hrough most of the summer.  This was the most frightening depressive experience that I have been through.  I was a stay at home mom with two toddlers/baby/preschoolers.  There were many days that I awoke fearful that I couldn’t be a good Mom to them that day, but I knew there was no alternative.  It was not an unrealistic fear.

Thankfully, again my doctors helped me.  They began to see that I see-sawed way too much in and out of depression, and began to treat my depression as chronic, putting me on a daily dose of anti-depressant.  As they explained it to me, they felt between my family history and my experiences over the last 5 or so years, that it was likely that my body was always deplete of serotonin.  They recommended that I begin to see anti-depressant medication as something that I would take daily for the rest of my life, much like a diabetic takes insulin on a daily basis.

That was probably 10 years ago.  I take a daily dose of Effexor.  It makes me a “well” person.  No amount of prayer or faith can compensate for the lack of serotonin I have in my body.  It helps me to be able to be all that God intends for me to be….Mother…wife…friend..co-worker.  I still have bouts with depression, some small some larger and deeper.  In fact I went through one of those this spring.  My doctors changed my meds a little and that has help it not to be so severe. 

The medication doesn’t make me “happy”or “joyful”.  Only Jesus can do that.  It does help me not to struggle with deep rage over “nothing”, debilitating indecision, and crippling self-contempt.  I am thankful for depression and the way it has helped me to draw ever closer to God, but it still scares the hell out of me everytime I feel it coming.  I never know how long or how deep the bout will be.  But this I do know:  God will be with me everyday of it AND I am going to take that anti-depressant medication everyday of it too.