January 2014. I for one am glad to see 2013 go. It was a painful uphill year for me, ending with a Christmas eve trip to the ER for stitches (warning: hand blenders are lethal weapons). As we awaited treatment, my husband remarked that Christmas in the ER seemed befitting of the rest of the year. I don't really think that with the passing of Dec. 31st things will all of sudden be different, but I am hopeful that the next twelve months may involve less pain and struggle.
Odd thing to hope for if you consider God's promise of trouble struggle and suffering. It seems like 2013 should be sufficient evidence that our family is living in the middle of his will. So in hoping for less of what he has promised am I also hoping for less of him? Less of his will accomplished and lived out in our lives? No...but then what am I hoping for? Just some ordinary days with sunshine on my face. Weeks where the everyday doesn't seem so hard to navigate. I'd like to sleep at night more peacefully because my heart is not plagued by fear. I'd like to cry less. I'd like to find his will this year involves more acts of serving those in need than humbly being served. I'd just plain like to hurt less, to not be worrying about something beyond my control with regards to my kids.
Maybe it is because it is a cold rainy day, or maybe it is because I am grieving for some friends whose lives have just been upturned by tragedy, but I am beginning to feel like my hope is ill-placed. I think what I truly am longing for sounds a whole lot more like heaven than earth. We get sweet tastes every once in a while, but the struggle will not end. My hope ultimately lies in Jesus, who has saved me from my sin and will one day save me from this place as well. Amen.
Thursday, January 2, 2014
Sunday, September 1, 2013
a thin vapor
I am frustrated by faint memories. I would like them to be more vivid. If we only use a partial amount of our brain's capacity, then why does my life feel so full of memories, that some of them have faded almost away? Anna is 17. I remember that at 17, my mom and I were very close. But nothing is vivid, just a vague sense of the gist of our relationship. Of course, there was conflict, too. (Hello...I was 17.) But why does the conflict seem to come back in clearer tones? I feel like so much of what was good and worth hanging on to between my mom and I is like a thin vapor. Why is that? Why can't I recall memory after memory that warms my heart; I know they are in my brain somewhere. Why does the good slip so easily away and the painful cling to us like barnacles?
I feel this way even about this summer. Six weeks ago when she died, I was awestruck by all the ways God answered my prayers. It seemed like every prayer for her had been check off by him. Done. Got it. Yep, that one too. But now, just six weeks later, that seems like a vapor I can't hold. In my grief, the years of unanswered prayers grip my soul. I'm struggling to believe, much less remember, the God who heals. I know the other memories are in there; they represent experiences that reveal his love for me and for her. But right now I feel stuck with a faith and a grief in a God who was silent and didn't answer when I begged. Like an elephant in the living room. I don't want my faith to be that small...or petty. Yet I don't know how to move on either.
This morning scripture that I have read many times seemed to take on new life. " Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus. Yet when he heard that Lazarus was sick, he stayed where he was two more days" (John 11:5-6). It is clear that he loves me and he loves her. The depth of his love for us does not correlate to his healing, at least not always. He loves deeply those he does not heal. He didn't heal my mom many times over, not from MS and often not from depression either. But he loves her...and he loves me.
I know it's true. I know much more; like that she is now healed for eternity in a way far superior to what he could have brought for while she lived on earth. I know that he was awaiting her this summer and ever close to her, bringing her the last part of the journey. And yet I feel stuck, not able to hold on to what I know. It's a thin vapor slipping between my fingers.
I feel this way even about this summer. Six weeks ago when she died, I was awestruck by all the ways God answered my prayers. It seemed like every prayer for her had been check off by him. Done. Got it. Yep, that one too. But now, just six weeks later, that seems like a vapor I can't hold. In my grief, the years of unanswered prayers grip my soul. I'm struggling to believe, much less remember, the God who heals. I know the other memories are in there; they represent experiences that reveal his love for me and for her. But right now I feel stuck with a faith and a grief in a God who was silent and didn't answer when I begged. Like an elephant in the living room. I don't want my faith to be that small...or petty. Yet I don't know how to move on either.
This morning scripture that I have read many times seemed to take on new life. " Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus. Yet when he heard that Lazarus was sick, he stayed where he was two more days" (John 11:5-6). It is clear that he loves me and he loves her. The depth of his love for us does not correlate to his healing, at least not always. He loves deeply those he does not heal. He didn't heal my mom many times over, not from MS and often not from depression either. But he loves her...and he loves me.
I know it's true. I know much more; like that she is now healed for eternity in a way far superior to what he could have brought for while she lived on earth. I know that he was awaiting her this summer and ever close to her, bringing her the last part of the journey. And yet I feel stuck, not able to hold on to what I know. It's a thin vapor slipping between my fingers.
Saturday, August 24, 2013
Jude McKay
While cleaning up this morning, I came across an odd assortment of papers on the floor in our closet: a ballet ticket to Romeo and Juliet, a receipt from my favorite jewelry store in Southpark Mall and an old bulletin from a church service. I was so struck I sat down on the floor. August 28, 2007. Had it really been 6 years? My mind retreated to memories that seemed way to fresh to be that old. I could not quit looking at the photo on the front of the bulletin. Dark curls and sweet dark eyes. He looked so sweet, just staring up at the camera. He would have been eight.
Jude came into my life with a torrent of emotion that August in 2007. I was at my parent's house and Chris was at home. He called me, relayed the news, and asked me to pray. A simple request took a grip of my heart in a way that was unusual for me. Jude's grandfather had found him in their swimming pool. He was unconscious when he was pulled from the water. Now at the hospital, in a comatose state, the request was simply for Jude to wake up.
And so I prayed for Jude to wake up. I prayed often and fervently. I wrote in my journal and scribbled a couple of poems about Jude, always pleading for Jude to wake up. I would go for a walk and pray...and pray and walk. It was often difficult because of other experiences I have had in praying fervently for healing, but I prayed just the same. It was difficult to have faith, to believe that Jude might wake up, but I prayed with all the faith I had and hoped that God would see the truth of my heart.
Jude never did wake up.
But Jude changed my life. At the time I could tell that his life and death had a profound impact on me. How could they not as I wrestled in prayer for him for day after day in August? But now, six years later, I can say that his impact on me was not just in the moment. His life and death is a factor that shapes me daily. I am different because of Jude, a two year old boy who drowned in his grandparent's pool.
I was 40 years old as I prayed for Jude. As I walked and prayed I would think also about how old forty is... and how young it is. If I lived to eighty, I'm halfway there. I began to see that life was more fleeting and precious than I had previously acknowledged. I began to realize that living from day to day and week to week was not how I wanted to live. I needed to have a deeper sense of purpose and drive. I began to hear this line over and over again in my subconscious: don't waste your life. It seems like a typical response to such a tragedy, but it was more than that for me. I read John Piper's book, Don't Waste Your Life. I listened to Lecrae rap out the line over and over again.
But it was not just emotion for me. It refined me. God used it to renew his calling on my life to disciple younger believers. I became convicted that I needed to steward my physical body better so that I can be here and be healthy for longer. I still think about it regularly now; what does God want me to do with my finite life? Lately it has been a season of care giving and preparation, and still discipling and mentoring. This spring Chris and I weathered a ten-day period when we thought I might have cancer. While it was incredibly stressful, I did not have regrets. No wishful thoughts about how I have chosen to spend my time. I felt affirmed that I'm not wasting my life; I'm living it as God desires and to his glory.
I never knew Jude in person. He was only two years old, but he changed my life. Isn't that just like the God we worship?
Jude came into my life with a torrent of emotion that August in 2007. I was at my parent's house and Chris was at home. He called me, relayed the news, and asked me to pray. A simple request took a grip of my heart in a way that was unusual for me. Jude's grandfather had found him in their swimming pool. He was unconscious when he was pulled from the water. Now at the hospital, in a comatose state, the request was simply for Jude to wake up.
And so I prayed for Jude to wake up. I prayed often and fervently. I wrote in my journal and scribbled a couple of poems about Jude, always pleading for Jude to wake up. I would go for a walk and pray...and pray and walk. It was often difficult because of other experiences I have had in praying fervently for healing, but I prayed just the same. It was difficult to have faith, to believe that Jude might wake up, but I prayed with all the faith I had and hoped that God would see the truth of my heart.
Jude never did wake up.
But Jude changed my life. At the time I could tell that his life and death had a profound impact on me. How could they not as I wrestled in prayer for him for day after day in August? But now, six years later, I can say that his impact on me was not just in the moment. His life and death is a factor that shapes me daily. I am different because of Jude, a two year old boy who drowned in his grandparent's pool.
I was 40 years old as I prayed for Jude. As I walked and prayed I would think also about how old forty is... and how young it is. If I lived to eighty, I'm halfway there. I began to see that life was more fleeting and precious than I had previously acknowledged. I began to realize that living from day to day and week to week was not how I wanted to live. I needed to have a deeper sense of purpose and drive. I began to hear this line over and over again in my subconscious: don't waste your life. It seems like a typical response to such a tragedy, but it was more than that for me. I read John Piper's book, Don't Waste Your Life. I listened to Lecrae rap out the line over and over again.
But it was not just emotion for me. It refined me. God used it to renew his calling on my life to disciple younger believers. I became convicted that I needed to steward my physical body better so that I can be here and be healthy for longer. I still think about it regularly now; what does God want me to do with my finite life? Lately it has been a season of care giving and preparation, and still discipling and mentoring. This spring Chris and I weathered a ten-day period when we thought I might have cancer. While it was incredibly stressful, I did not have regrets. No wishful thoughts about how I have chosen to spend my time. I felt affirmed that I'm not wasting my life; I'm living it as God desires and to his glory.
I never knew Jude in person. He was only two years old, but he changed my life. Isn't that just like the God we worship?
Friday, August 16, 2013
a profound sadness
Thirty eight days ago my sweet mama left this life for one that is far better. Life has been a whirlwind for me since then, putting over 3000 miles on my car as I have travel the Eastern US making the best of summer happen for my kids. Between meals on the run and living out of suitcase for about a month, I am ready for school to start and to stay in one place for a while. I think along the way I have mourned. I have cried a great deal. Not loud uncontrollable sobs. No regrets. Just a constant stream of sadness that is undercurrent all day long. Nothing seems all that different and yet nothing truly satisfies right now either.
After years of fighting disease and a body that refused to work any longer, there is a sense of relief and accomplishment. She finished the race. She endured. She battled and fought to the very end and has now won the reward of being with God forever more. What was broken and gnarled is no longer. What was a struggle is no longer. I'm awed anew at the example she has left for me about how to live and persevere through anything. I saw her 48 hours before she died and she told me she wasn't ready to give up yet. I suspect she was in many ways, but for me she did not want to leave. I have not longed for her to still be here with me. She weighed 70 pounds and every bite she ate was a struggle to get down and keep down. She could no longer see. She could not maintain her balance so as to sit up in a chair. And yet she persevered on. So no. I do not long for her to still be with me.
It was not surprised when the call came. I had been awaiting it most of the summer. Weeks prior I had bought a black dress and a tie for Huck so that we would be ready. In fact watching her live since early spring had been painful. I hurt for my dad who watched his bride shrink to just skin and bones and wondered how he had the strength to continue on. But he did. Many people encouraged him to place her in a home where she could receive "the care she needed". My dad knew that what they both needed and desired was to live out what remained together in the house they had shared for most of their marriage. I'm very thankful that she could stay in her home and die there. She loved their home.
I have been grieving the loss of my mom for years if you want to know the truth. In many ways I have been losing her slowly for two decades. With each passing year the illness would take more and I would lose more of her. So many basic things lost that otherwise might have been taken for granted. Sharing a long phone call or lunch at a favorite diner. And yet I am shocked at the depth of the grief I now feel. I didn't expect the final goodbye to be so sad. I think it is the finality that makes it so. The recognition that I will not touch her face to mine or hear her voice for many more decades.
And it is also the recognition of how deep a part of me she is and always will be. I suspect that is the way it is with all good mothers. I understand better how someone could tattoo "mother" on their arm. It is a way of trying to express the depth she has touched and shaped her child. I am my mother's daughter. I have her temper and vengeful streak but also her fight and endurance. She has taught me to sew and to cook and to clean; sometimes I even do these things with the excellence she taught me to. I long to remember more of our time together and with a crispness that will not fade, to keep her alive to me. And yet even if and when my memory fades, she has left a deep enough imprint on me; I can rest knowing it will not fade.
I find myself wondering when I will stop crying. I am tired of crying. It hits me at unexpected times for the most bizarre or insignificant reason. I suspect Sound of Music to make me tear up; but peanut butter? Really? It seems like every time I slow down enough to let God see into my heart that my eyes well up. Sadness is the only emotion. I don't have regrets. I'm not angry. I think I walked a lot of that journey earlier. I'm just sad. Sad for the mother I have been missing for a lifetime, and sad that I can't just touch her anymore, can't tell her one more story about the kids. Sad that it will probably be a long time before we are reunited. Just profoundly sad in ways I can't articulate. And don't want to because it is too personal. I am keenly aware that many have lost a parent and walked this road before me with wisdom to share, but right now I'm not ready to ask just yet. I feel as if I know nothing about how to grieve and that I am just stumbling down this path in the dark. But I fear if I knew more of what to expect, that I would run too fast...trying to get to the next stop. Somehow stumbling in the dark, I think I am more likely to follow my heart as it heals.
I believe that eventually joy will return. The things I love will once again satisfy, and until then I will keep on keeping on. That is what she taught me to do.
After years of fighting disease and a body that refused to work any longer, there is a sense of relief and accomplishment. She finished the race. She endured. She battled and fought to the very end and has now won the reward of being with God forever more. What was broken and gnarled is no longer. What was a struggle is no longer. I'm awed anew at the example she has left for me about how to live and persevere through anything. I saw her 48 hours before she died and she told me she wasn't ready to give up yet. I suspect she was in many ways, but for me she did not want to leave. I have not longed for her to still be here with me. She weighed 70 pounds and every bite she ate was a struggle to get down and keep down. She could no longer see. She could not maintain her balance so as to sit up in a chair. And yet she persevered on. So no. I do not long for her to still be with me.
It was not surprised when the call came. I had been awaiting it most of the summer. Weeks prior I had bought a black dress and a tie for Huck so that we would be ready. In fact watching her live since early spring had been painful. I hurt for my dad who watched his bride shrink to just skin and bones and wondered how he had the strength to continue on. But he did. Many people encouraged him to place her in a home where she could receive "the care she needed". My dad knew that what they both needed and desired was to live out what remained together in the house they had shared for most of their marriage. I'm very thankful that she could stay in her home and die there. She loved their home.
I have been grieving the loss of my mom for years if you want to know the truth. In many ways I have been losing her slowly for two decades. With each passing year the illness would take more and I would lose more of her. So many basic things lost that otherwise might have been taken for granted. Sharing a long phone call or lunch at a favorite diner. And yet I am shocked at the depth of the grief I now feel. I didn't expect the final goodbye to be so sad. I think it is the finality that makes it so. The recognition that I will not touch her face to mine or hear her voice for many more decades.
And it is also the recognition of how deep a part of me she is and always will be. I suspect that is the way it is with all good mothers. I understand better how someone could tattoo "mother" on their arm. It is a way of trying to express the depth she has touched and shaped her child. I am my mother's daughter. I have her temper and vengeful streak but also her fight and endurance. She has taught me to sew and to cook and to clean; sometimes I even do these things with the excellence she taught me to. I long to remember more of our time together and with a crispness that will not fade, to keep her alive to me. And yet even if and when my memory fades, she has left a deep enough imprint on me; I can rest knowing it will not fade.
I find myself wondering when I will stop crying. I am tired of crying. It hits me at unexpected times for the most bizarre or insignificant reason. I suspect Sound of Music to make me tear up; but peanut butter? Really? It seems like every time I slow down enough to let God see into my heart that my eyes well up. Sadness is the only emotion. I don't have regrets. I'm not angry. I think I walked a lot of that journey earlier. I'm just sad. Sad for the mother I have been missing for a lifetime, and sad that I can't just touch her anymore, can't tell her one more story about the kids. Sad that it will probably be a long time before we are reunited. Just profoundly sad in ways I can't articulate. And don't want to because it is too personal. I am keenly aware that many have lost a parent and walked this road before me with wisdom to share, but right now I'm not ready to ask just yet. I feel as if I know nothing about how to grieve and that I am just stumbling down this path in the dark. But I fear if I knew more of what to expect, that I would run too fast...trying to get to the next stop. Somehow stumbling in the dark, I think I am more likely to follow my heart as it heals.
I believe that eventually joy will return. The things I love will once again satisfy, and until then I will keep on keeping on. That is what she taught me to do.
Tuesday, July 30, 2013
Summer Trailer: more to come
It has been a yucky, blah, do nothing and feel bad about it day. I saw Fruitvale Station last night. It was an excellent movie. It left me feeling depressed at the entrenched state of racism in our society. How ironic that the movie is released as the nation is still reeling from the Zimmerman trial. Two young black men did not need to die, and we are not talking about 1965.
And on top of that, the kids are gone ( yeah, I know, but I miss'em). And the cat is missing (well, he showed up and hour ago, like nothing was wrong). So I decided to make a list of things that make me happy....to try and upturn my mood.
1. Watching Anna swim: she loves it and she is good at it. There is nothing like the joy of seeing her drop time and get out of the pool all smiles. This was my delight over and over again this past weekend.
2. Hiking and biking with Chris: I love him and I love to be active outdoors. It is food for the soul. We hiked this weekend in Eno River State Park (NC) and we are biking later this week in Ohiopyle State Park (PA).
3. Big fresh tomatoes: room temperature with a little salt and pepper.
4. Knitting: anytime, anywhere. I love new yarn!
5. Sitting on the beach all afternoon: even better with a good book, a drink and a good friend.
6. Watching baseball: preferably the Braves, but any game will do.
7. Walking in Jetton Park: again, much better when with a friend
8. Wednesday morning Spin Class with Bear: bring it on!
9. Flowers in my yard
10. Working on a puzzle
See. It might not have been such a good day, but I am on a roll. Happy, Happy, Happy!
And on top of that, the kids are gone ( yeah, I know, but I miss'em). And the cat is missing (well, he showed up and hour ago, like nothing was wrong). So I decided to make a list of things that make me happy....to try and upturn my mood.
1. Watching Anna swim: she loves it and she is good at it. There is nothing like the joy of seeing her drop time and get out of the pool all smiles. This was my delight over and over again this past weekend.
2. Hiking and biking with Chris: I love him and I love to be active outdoors. It is food for the soul. We hiked this weekend in Eno River State Park (NC) and we are biking later this week in Ohiopyle State Park (PA).
3. Big fresh tomatoes: room temperature with a little salt and pepper.
4. Knitting: anytime, anywhere. I love new yarn!
5. Sitting on the beach all afternoon: even better with a good book, a drink and a good friend.
6. Watching baseball: preferably the Braves, but any game will do.
7. Walking in Jetton Park: again, much better when with a friend
8. Wednesday morning Spin Class with Bear: bring it on!
9. Flowers in my yard
10. Working on a puzzle
See. It might not have been such a good day, but I am on a roll. Happy, Happy, Happy!
Wednesday, April 24, 2013
suffering around the Christmas tree
NOTE: THIS WAS WRITTEN IN DECEMBER 2012.
I'm not sleeping well these days. I keep waking up from anxiety ridden dreams that make no sense. And during the waking hours my thoughts keep drifting to places of suffering. To Newtown. To the face of my mother, for who life is way too big of a struggle. To thoughts of the Bethlehem community that faced the massacre of its own babes all those years ago. It changes the feel of Christmas. But in some way, I think Christmas always seems to come with a mix of emotion.
There have been other years where I have had a heavy heart, like the year my sweet friend lost the baby girl she was carrying. For all the joy and excitement and love, there seems to be equal parts of brokenness and hardship and pain without end. It all makes me crawl up on the couch with my Bible. It makes me long for God. Not just the celebration of his birth, but of his return.
It drags me back to the question without answer... Where is God in our suffering? Why does he allow gunmen and disease to kill us and those we love? Why does he heal and protect some and not others? I don't see where God has ever answered this question (although some well-meaning
Christians have tried to speak for him...never a good idea to speak for God when he is silent). I don't have answers despite pondering the question and studying it for years.
Yesterday we said good-bye to my parents. We had had a wonderful celebration with them and my brother's family. Good fun, food, festivities. Lots of laughs. But it is not without pain. We don't talk about it because we are not sure how much the children actually notice. But their Grandma is becoming a shell of who she use to be. She has lost over 50 or so pounds since Easter. She can't see. She struggles to put her thoughts into words and to hold her head up. She's tired a lot. She is truly just a shell of the woman who raised me, and I seriously wonder whether she will be with us next year for Christmas. Part of me sincerely hopes she is not.
Part of me longs for her to be free from this body. From this fight to breathe and eat and think. I long to let her go into the hand of our heavenly Father. Odd to think that one who has all to gain by death lives and those in Newtown with all to live for, they died. Where is the justice in this? Where are you God?
As much as my heart asks the question, my heart also knows. God is here. He is with us. He is with me. He was in Sandy Hook Elementary school that awful Friday morning. He is with my mother every morning she awakes. We suffer but we are not alone.
I'm not sleeping well these days. I keep waking up from anxiety ridden dreams that make no sense. And during the waking hours my thoughts keep drifting to places of suffering. To Newtown. To the face of my mother, for who life is way too big of a struggle. To thoughts of the Bethlehem community that faced the massacre of its own babes all those years ago. It changes the feel of Christmas. But in some way, I think Christmas always seems to come with a mix of emotion.
There have been other years where I have had a heavy heart, like the year my sweet friend lost the baby girl she was carrying. For all the joy and excitement and love, there seems to be equal parts of brokenness and hardship and pain without end. It all makes me crawl up on the couch with my Bible. It makes me long for God. Not just the celebration of his birth, but of his return.
It drags me back to the question without answer... Where is God in our suffering? Why does he allow gunmen and disease to kill us and those we love? Why does he heal and protect some and not others? I don't see where God has ever answered this question (although some well-meaning
Christians have tried to speak for him...never a good idea to speak for God when he is silent). I don't have answers despite pondering the question and studying it for years.
Yesterday we said good-bye to my parents. We had had a wonderful celebration with them and my brother's family. Good fun, food, festivities. Lots of laughs. But it is not without pain. We don't talk about it because we are not sure how much the children actually notice. But their Grandma is becoming a shell of who she use to be. She has lost over 50 or so pounds since Easter. She can't see. She struggles to put her thoughts into words and to hold her head up. She's tired a lot. She is truly just a shell of the woman who raised me, and I seriously wonder whether she will be with us next year for Christmas. Part of me sincerely hopes she is not.
Part of me longs for her to be free from this body. From this fight to breathe and eat and think. I long to let her go into the hand of our heavenly Father. Odd to think that one who has all to gain by death lives and those in Newtown with all to live for, they died. Where is the justice in this? Where are you God?
As much as my heart asks the question, my heart also knows. God is here. He is with us. He is with me. He was in Sandy Hook Elementary school that awful Friday morning. He is with my mother every morning she awakes. We suffer but we are not alone.
praying for those who are D positive
Today my pastor and friend, Mike Moses, has posted my blog entry from yesterday on his blog. I gave him permission to do so because he has more followers than I do (not saying much, since I have about 5). I would like to think my journey in the key of D could benefit others in their journey through the same chord. So today I pray for those who struggle with depression.
Paul prayed this prayer for the Ephesians:
I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power, together with all the saints , to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge - that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God. (Ephesians 3:18-19).
In the tradition of Paul I pray:
For those of you who struggle with depression, that you would hold tight to truth, even when it seems so contrary to your emotions, and that you would trust that the Father loves you deeply, not as a despicable excuse for a human being, but as a chosen adopted child, the one He wanted and because He wanted He pursued. I pray that you would trust in the power of the Holy Spirit to sustain you even in the pit, to put your foot on sure footing and to hold you secure through both the fire and the flood no matter how long it lasts, assuring you that it will not overcome you. I pray that you would choose today to not listen to all the self-criticism and shame that wells up inside you against yourself, that instead you would choose to think some about how tenderly God is with the broken-hearted (which you are). I pray that something small would cause you to laugh and have hope. I pray that the Father would be your constant companion, not judging you but assuring you that you are not alone, forgotten or unseen. I pray at the close of the day you can sigh, satisfied with today because of God's love and hopeful for tomorrow because greater is He that is in you than he that is in the world. May you lay your head on your pillow and sleep peacefully under the eyes of the God who never slumbers or sleeps. Amen
Paul prayed this prayer for the Ephesians:
I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power, together with all the saints , to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge - that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God. (Ephesians 3:18-19).
In the tradition of Paul I pray:
For those of you who struggle with depression, that you would hold tight to truth, even when it seems so contrary to your emotions, and that you would trust that the Father loves you deeply, not as a despicable excuse for a human being, but as a chosen adopted child, the one He wanted and because He wanted He pursued. I pray that you would trust in the power of the Holy Spirit to sustain you even in the pit, to put your foot on sure footing and to hold you secure through both the fire and the flood no matter how long it lasts, assuring you that it will not overcome you. I pray that you would choose today to not listen to all the self-criticism and shame that wells up inside you against yourself, that instead you would choose to think some about how tenderly God is with the broken-hearted (which you are). I pray that something small would cause you to laugh and have hope. I pray that the Father would be your constant companion, not judging you but assuring you that you are not alone, forgotten or unseen. I pray at the close of the day you can sigh, satisfied with today because of God's love and hopeful for tomorrow because greater is He that is in you than he that is in the world. May you lay your head on your pillow and sleep peacefully under the eyes of the God who never slumbers or sleeps. Amen
Monday, April 22, 2013
My life in the Key of D
It is a typical spring in many ways around our house. Running kids to some type of practice and watching our kids play sports they love. We love it too. And, like everyone else in North Carolina we and all we own are covered with lime green pine pollen. Huck's eye are a constant shade of red and Chris is once again snoring every night. And I'm waiting. Because it hasn't arrived yet. Perhaps it won't come this year...I'll get a pass and skip directly to summer. That would be nice.
What am I awaiting? Sinus infection? No. Strep? Been there and done that two weeks ago. What I am awaiting is my fairly regular seasonal bout with depression. Most people who struggle with depression struggle more often when its gloomy and cold (read winter), but not me. Mine seems to bloom out on me just like the flowers in my yard: in spring.
Our church is doing a series currently about the blues and yesterday's sermon was on depression. For my money, Mike Flake hit the nail on the head. I have been struggling on and off with depression for at least 20 years and by far the greatest comfort and hope comes in knowing that God is always present with me. When I am in the pit and when I am not....I am never alone.
I especially like what he said about how we often see depression as weakness. One of the cruelest aspects of depression is the shame those that suffer with it feel. We always feel like we should be able to pull ourselves out of this. Get going. We should be grateful for all we have. We shouldn't be so indecisive or waste so much time doing absolutely nothing....we should...we should...we should... Perhaps the cruelest words we ever say to ourselves. And such an enormous lie.
"We should" is a lie that leads us to further despair and further from the arms of God. "We can't" is the weak, puny truth that brings life back. We can't do anything we should by ourselves; we can do only with God, and though God. And what little or great is done dependent on God is sufficient enough, amen. I am a strong woman. But when depression blows through my life it is sometimes all I can do to keep food in the house (I am not even saying I prepare it; and I can't do this and keep up with laundry).
On those days my life is reduced to the basics and my prayers become how to get through the day. Do A, then B, then C. Sometimes I can't even decide this on my own; at which point the woman who use to run a very successful branch of a small business calls her best friend. I tell him my dilemma and he tells me what to do with a kindness that doesn't besmirch my already tattered dignity. And I do A with God's help and do B with God's strength, and I try not to think about all the times I have done A and B and it was so easy that I never even thought to ask God to come along for the ride.
On these long days God's presence is EVERYTHING. It makes me feel known and not completely alone. It is like a shawl that I can wrap around me for comfort and to hide beneath...because the longing to hide and be invisible is great. He allows me to be proud to have brought home groceries even if I forgot the bread (which is why I went to the store in the frist place). I can feel proud because I walk with him doing the very little, puny, insignificant thing he calls me to and then strentghens me to do. Today it is all I can do. Yesterday I may have moved a mountain, but he reminds me that that was yesterday. He hasn't called me to move a moutain today; just to go to the store and don't give up. Tomorrow will be another day. Maybe it will be another mountain moving day, but maybe we will just go to the store. It won't matter because we will do it together, and this dependent obedience is all he asks of me anyway. It's all he asks of everyone of us.
There is so much more I could say about this profound journey I walk in the key of D. But if I could leave behind bread crumbs for those coming up behind me, it would be this. God's presence, the Immanuel, is EVERYTHING, and it is enough.
What am I awaiting? Sinus infection? No. Strep? Been there and done that two weeks ago. What I am awaiting is my fairly regular seasonal bout with depression. Most people who struggle with depression struggle more often when its gloomy and cold (read winter), but not me. Mine seems to bloom out on me just like the flowers in my yard: in spring.
Our church is doing a series currently about the blues and yesterday's sermon was on depression. For my money, Mike Flake hit the nail on the head. I have been struggling on and off with depression for at least 20 years and by far the greatest comfort and hope comes in knowing that God is always present with me. When I am in the pit and when I am not....I am never alone.
I especially like what he said about how we often see depression as weakness. One of the cruelest aspects of depression is the shame those that suffer with it feel. We always feel like we should be able to pull ourselves out of this. Get going. We should be grateful for all we have. We shouldn't be so indecisive or waste so much time doing absolutely nothing....we should...we should...we should... Perhaps the cruelest words we ever say to ourselves. And such an enormous lie.
"We should" is a lie that leads us to further despair and further from the arms of God. "We can't" is the weak, puny truth that brings life back. We can't do anything we should by ourselves; we can do only with God, and though God. And what little or great is done dependent on God is sufficient enough, amen. I am a strong woman. But when depression blows through my life it is sometimes all I can do to keep food in the house (I am not even saying I prepare it; and I can't do this and keep up with laundry).
On those days my life is reduced to the basics and my prayers become how to get through the day. Do A, then B, then C. Sometimes I can't even decide this on my own; at which point the woman who use to run a very successful branch of a small business calls her best friend. I tell him my dilemma and he tells me what to do with a kindness that doesn't besmirch my already tattered dignity. And I do A with God's help and do B with God's strength, and I try not to think about all the times I have done A and B and it was so easy that I never even thought to ask God to come along for the ride.
On these long days God's presence is EVERYTHING. It makes me feel known and not completely alone. It is like a shawl that I can wrap around me for comfort and to hide beneath...because the longing to hide and be invisible is great. He allows me to be proud to have brought home groceries even if I forgot the bread (which is why I went to the store in the frist place). I can feel proud because I walk with him doing the very little, puny, insignificant thing he calls me to and then strentghens me to do. Today it is all I can do. Yesterday I may have moved a mountain, but he reminds me that that was yesterday. He hasn't called me to move a moutain today; just to go to the store and don't give up. Tomorrow will be another day. Maybe it will be another mountain moving day, but maybe we will just go to the store. It won't matter because we will do it together, and this dependent obedience is all he asks of me anyway. It's all he asks of everyone of us.
There is so much more I could say about this profound journey I walk in the key of D. But if I could leave behind bread crumbs for those coming up behind me, it would be this. God's presence, the Immanuel, is EVERYTHING, and it is enough.
Wednesday, December 19, 2012
Shut up and sit shiva
Today is a busy day, so this will not begin to contain all I wish to say. But if I say nothing at all, I think I will burst. I do not know which I am more ashamed to be associated with today: Christians who are assuming a conection between Sandy Hook and the removal of prayer from school ( or even further seeing this as a consequence or punishment for a nation adrift spiritually) or Liberals who are shouting for gun control reform (do you really think we could come up with a law that would have prevented Adam from doing what he did? Really?)
Now is the time to sit shiva...as a nation. I am not jewish and my knowledge of shiva is extremely limited, so if I misspeak please forgive me and look beyond to the intent. Shiva is a jewish custom of mourning the death of a loved one by coming to the house of the deceased and simply, quietly sitting with the family and mourning with them. When Jesus arrived at Bethany after the death of Lazarus the friends and family of Mary and Martha were sitting shiva with them.
Do you see the picture? This is a time to mourn in a profound way. To weep with those who are broken-hearted and deeply in pain. What can you and I do to enter their pain? We can pray and mourn with them, even if we are no where near Connecticut. We can remember them all daily and the very hard road that lays before the whole community. We can be silent and enter their pain..much like Jesus did in entering our world all those years ago. We can be still and quiet on their behalf.
We can shut up. Now is not the time to talk about gun control. Now is not the time to talk about mental healthcare. And it's not time to bemoan how far our society has drifted from its once-held judeo-christian beliefs. Moving to these, in less than a week, is a dishonor to those who died and a disservice to those who remain. Shame on us. Shame on us as a nation.
What happened at Sandy Hook strikes fear and anger in all of us. We desperately want to jump to action to prevent it from ever happening again. But we will never be able to eradicate evil from our society, not completely. And that doesn't mean we shouldn't try. But not this week, not the rest of this month. There will be a time to honor those from Sandy Hook by changing our nation for the better, but this is not it.
But now is a time to shut up. Be still. Mourn. Pray for those who are decimated by this tragedy. It is a time to sit shiva...as a nation.
Now is the time to sit shiva...as a nation. I am not jewish and my knowledge of shiva is extremely limited, so if I misspeak please forgive me and look beyond to the intent. Shiva is a jewish custom of mourning the death of a loved one by coming to the house of the deceased and simply, quietly sitting with the family and mourning with them. When Jesus arrived at Bethany after the death of Lazarus the friends and family of Mary and Martha were sitting shiva with them.
Do you see the picture? This is a time to mourn in a profound way. To weep with those who are broken-hearted and deeply in pain. What can you and I do to enter their pain? We can pray and mourn with them, even if we are no where near Connecticut. We can remember them all daily and the very hard road that lays before the whole community. We can be silent and enter their pain..much like Jesus did in entering our world all those years ago. We can be still and quiet on their behalf.
We can shut up. Now is not the time to talk about gun control. Now is not the time to talk about mental healthcare. And it's not time to bemoan how far our society has drifted from its once-held judeo-christian beliefs. Moving to these, in less than a week, is a dishonor to those who died and a disservice to those who remain. Shame on us. Shame on us as a nation.
What happened at Sandy Hook strikes fear and anger in all of us. We desperately want to jump to action to prevent it from ever happening again. But we will never be able to eradicate evil from our society, not completely. And that doesn't mean we shouldn't try. But not this week, not the rest of this month. There will be a time to honor those from Sandy Hook by changing our nation for the better, but this is not it.
But now is a time to shut up. Be still. Mourn. Pray for those who are decimated by this tragedy. It is a time to sit shiva...as a nation.
Sunday, December 9, 2012
Bittersweets from Friday
It was an early morning for me. I was driving my daughter Ruth to Chic-fila (a family staple) to meet her sister Anna before school. It was dark, but warm and damp outside as we met by Anna's car. She gave me a hug, kissed her sister on the cheek and then they got in the car and drove off. I felt like I was watching the years drive by as they left. How did they manage to get out of car seats? Wasn't it time to get into the carpool line at Cornelius Elementary? It made me sad in a way that I usually don't experience. I have always loved the age my kids were, with all its unique ups and downs. But watching them drive off together made me realize that in a little while they won't live in my home and while I will daily talk to God about them, I may not daily talk to them. I didn't want to let them go. I spent the rest of the day as I ran errands in Lake Norman watching moms with little kids and kinda wishing for a chance to go back and do it all again with them. Bittersweet.
As I drove around town I was blasting Kyle Dillard et al.'s Christmas CD (yes, I still play cds). I love Christmas. It's my favorite holiday. This year has been particularly fun. Anyway, I was thinking about how exciting the birth of Jesus is for me. It is the moment in time and space when he entered our realm. He became "Emmanuel", which means "God with us". Sometimes God's presence with me is the most comforting thing about walking through life with him, My situation may be painful or difficult with no easy solutions in sight, but I can find hope in knowing I'm not in this mess alone. He is with me and understands my heart.
But as I thought about it, it struck me. I wonder about this event we celebrate, this birth that gives me such joy, hope and comfort. What did God himself feel? It seems to me that even though this was an apex in his plan to redeem his beloved, it had to feel bittersweet to let Jesus go. Jesus coming to our realm meant leaving his home. My minded flashed back to those beautiful girls driving away from Chic-fila. And the moment Jesus was born he was on a path to death, to being betrayed and totally separated from God. Like a countdown beginning, that prior to his birth was forever on the horizon.
So this season as I drive around singing my favorite holiday songs, as I decorate my tree, visit with friends and family, and bake cookies, I'm a little more thankful to God. I'm aware in a new way that what brings me joy brought him both joy and pain. It makes me all the more grateful to him for allowing him to come at all. It is bittersweet.
As I drove around town I was blasting Kyle Dillard et al.'s Christmas CD (yes, I still play cds). I love Christmas. It's my favorite holiday. This year has been particularly fun. Anyway, I was thinking about how exciting the birth of Jesus is for me. It is the moment in time and space when he entered our realm. He became "Emmanuel", which means "God with us". Sometimes God's presence with me is the most comforting thing about walking through life with him, My situation may be painful or difficult with no easy solutions in sight, but I can find hope in knowing I'm not in this mess alone. He is with me and understands my heart.
But as I thought about it, it struck me. I wonder about this event we celebrate, this birth that gives me such joy, hope and comfort. What did God himself feel? It seems to me that even though this was an apex in his plan to redeem his beloved, it had to feel bittersweet to let Jesus go. Jesus coming to our realm meant leaving his home. My minded flashed back to those beautiful girls driving away from Chic-fila. And the moment Jesus was born he was on a path to death, to being betrayed and totally separated from God. Like a countdown beginning, that prior to his birth was forever on the horizon.
So this season as I drive around singing my favorite holiday songs, as I decorate my tree, visit with friends and family, and bake cookies, I'm a little more thankful to God. I'm aware in a new way that what brings me joy brought him both joy and pain. It makes me all the more grateful to him for allowing him to come at all. It is bittersweet.
Thursday, November 22, 2012
what I'm thankful for
Just read my pastor's blog about thanksgiving, and it made me want to post my own list of what I'm thankful for. So here goes:
I'm thankful for my church home at a new location. Making the switch to LFC-D was not easy at first, but now it feels like home. I love the size and the feeling of knowing people. I love the amazing students I meet and hang out with that so enrich my life. I really like our new community group and the putting down of roots with new people. It feels like home.
I'm thankful for the way God has use physical adversity in those I love to challenge me, shake me, teach me and ultimately draw me closer to him. It has been a hard year watching Ruth suffer with post concussive syndrome (AKA wicked headaches) and my mom suffer with the advanced stages of multiple sclerosis. God is healing one slow and taking the other unto himself slowly. It is the "hard" from which he blesses me.
I'm thankful for emotional health, for the days and weeks when depression seems like a packed-up box shelved in the corner of the attic. But I would be remiss if I didn't admit I'm thankful for the depression as well because nothing drops me to my knees and leads me to rely on God like it. I'm very thankful for my comrades in arms, those who suffer alongside me and "get me"... for Karen Millin, who will always laugh and encourage me and lets me say anything. For my husband, who watches me like a hawk to make sure my head is above water, who steps in with "suggestions" when I'm indecisive and who never judges me.
I'm thankful for my friends. For Virginia, Jennifer, Angela & Julie. I love doing life with these guys. For the lunches and walks and bike rides and the countless calls and texts that make me feel known and loved.
I'm thankful to be a student again for the first time in over twenty years. It is a blessing to learn. And speaking of school, I'm thankful that my three babies are having such amazing years in school, both academically and socially. Unlike Mike, I'm thankful for swimming. I love the chance once a month to steal away with my daughter and watch her excel at something she deeply loves. And I'm thankful that this past year Huck and Ruth have both found a sport that they are passionate about. There are few greater joys than watching your child deeply enjoy a sport.
My family is my greatest source of thanksgiving. We love, laugh, fight, cry and just do life together. It is the biggest joy, the greatest ride, I have ever known this side of heaven. My children amaze me and humble me and make me glad every day for the privilege of being a Mom. My husband is by far the best gift God has ever given me, and I awake everyday and want to be with him and near him.
I'm thankful that in November 1985 God reached down and made himself known to me in such a deeply private and personal way that I could no longer denied that I needed him or that he loved me. He has changed me; thankfully, for me and for those around me, I am not the same. I wonder sometimes what life would be like if he hadn't touched me; I feel certain I would by now have a trail of sorrow and broken relationships where joy and love now exists. So I'm thankful. So very, very thankful.
Monday, January 30, 2012
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.
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.
Friday, January 20, 2012
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.
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.
Friday, January 13, 2012
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.
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.
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
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.
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.
Sunday, April 17, 2011
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.
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.
Monday, December 13, 2010
3 browns
Picture Joy Christmas
Personalize the christmas season with Christmas photo cards.
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Friday, September 24, 2010
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.
- 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.
Saturday, September 4, 2010
Who you calling a dog?
this entry was written July 27, 2010 but for some reason I didn't post it....
Well I started this blog months ago with a post about a passage of scripture I didn’t like, so to speak. Now this one is about a passage I don’t get, or maybe I don’t want to get it. Oddly enough, it is in the same book as the earlier passage..the book of Mark. (7:24-32?).
In Mark 7 a Greek woman comes to Jesus desperately seeking the healing of her daughter….sounds a lot like the first Mark passage, too, doesn’t it? (That one was about a father seeking healing for his son.) Now wouldn’t you expect Jesus to heal her daughter? Me too….and he does. But what gets me irritated is what he says before he heals her. He tells the woman that the children must eat before the dogs. Say what? Is Jesus really calling this distraught woman a dog to her face? Yeah….at least I think so.
Any way I look at this response by Jesus, it makes me uncomfortable. It doesn’t jive with my ideas of a compassionate and patient God. Now I probably do not understand all the cultural nuances here, but a dog is a dog. The Jews were God’s chosen people, but Jesus came to open up salvation to all. I mean this comment is something I would have expected from the Pharisees or stupid Christians today, but not the Almighty God.
I just find it so hard to believe he is putting her off because of her ethnicity. Before and after this passage, Mark records Jesus healing others who are Gentiles (non-Jews). Why would he single her out because of her race? Well,, I’m looking for answers here, so help me out and post your thoughts.
I do have an idea that I’m wondering about. Perhaps Jesus is healing both Mother and daughter…and both by his words. The daughter is healed as he says she is. But what about the mother? What is the ache of her soul? I wonder if she felt unworthy of God because she wasn’t a Jew? Perhaps Jesus spoke to her, her deepest fear and by doing so gets her to speak forth what she longs for…to be worthy of his love even though she is not part of the chosen tribe. Her response to Jesus is that even dogs eat the leftovers. Is that her plea to belong…to be worthy of his love, his attention, his healing touch? What do you think?
Sunday, August 8, 2010
I want a peaceful, easy feeling and I know you won’t let me down….
Today, I thought the sermon was just for me in an odd sort of way. You see, I had this startling experience yesterday while reading the book of Mark, and today Mike made me feel a little bit less odd about what I felt yesterday. After reading the story of the rich young ruler in Mark 10,l sat the Bible down and thought, “Jesus, I don’t like you very much.”
I have been reading through the book of Mark, wanting to see his deep love for me and not just when am good. It has not been going so well. What I have found is a Jesus who I don’t get and sometimes don’t like. Kinda scary to even say it out loud. I find myself irritated or offended by what he says…not his actions...I see love in them, but still….he gets under my skin with what he says.
When Mike said today that Jesus was unconventional, the light bulb went on. That is exactly what I am rubbing up against so hard. No one gets a free pass from Jesus in this book. Every time he speaks he is challenging someone, causing them to rethink what they believe. He makes the Gentile woman seeking healing for her daughter voice her fear that Jesus is only for the Jews. He picks grain on the Sabbath. He doesn’t even give the rich young ruler any kudos for what he has done to serve God. One challenge is met the next day with an additional one.
Jesus is turning Israel on its ear. Gigantic crowds are following him, constantly pressing in to be healed. He is teaching to thousands at a time. There is no escape. There is no privacy; finding some quiet in which to be alone with God or just to be alone with the disciples to teach them is becoming increasingly tricky. And everyday he does something new that is off the rocker unconventional.
After 10 chapters, yesterday I felt like giving up and walking away…it was just too much. I want a Jesus on a quiet mountainside to whisper sweet words of affirmation to me. What does that say about me? Do I just want Jesus to make me feel good about who I am? Do I follow him because he makes life easier? If I had been a contemporary of Mark, would I have given up, and walked away back to the synagogue whispering my criticisms of the Lord of my faith?
This time reading through the gospel of Mark what I see is a land and a people in conflict and turmoil. It is hard times. Things were not as they seemed in the Sunday School flannel board stories of my youth. Hanging with Jesus was hard and scary. It took a lot of courage and faith. If my faith is going to be authentic, I need to stop striving for the “peaceful, easy living” and man up and enter into the fray…that alone would be an unconventional step in this day and age. And that is where I need to start.
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