One Stitch at a Time – A Veteran Parent looks at Hanging Tight

August 25, 2015August 25, 2015 Jana Greene4 Comments

By:Jana Greene

I wrote this after posting a synopsis my daughter’s birthday events on my personal Facebook wall. After reading my own post, I thought about all of my friends whose children are going through the lurch-and-soar adolescent and young adult years…

The parents who tense up every time their sullen child walks through the room. The parents whose baby birds are royally screwing the nest up but not quite flying yet. The ones who cannot possibly foresee their kids losing the attitude and sass. The ones whose hearts are breaking. The ones up all night praying that their babies will ‘come back around.’

It occurred to me that one single Facebook post about a blissful evening with one’s grown-up children over-simplifies the experience, waters it down. It was kind of nauseating, really, without any back-story. So I am writing this for the battle-weary parents out there who thought it couldn’t get any worse than the terrible twos (it can, and it does, I’m sorry to tell you. Each year of your child’s life you have less and less control.)

But…

Take heart! One day you will really genuinely LIKE your kids and look forward to having them all in one room! Crazy, right? But you will!

What a difference a couple of years can make. Just wrapped up the family birthday party for my precious Firstborn, turning 23. She came over early so we had some one-on-one time before the party. I love spending time with my daughters.

“Mom, will you teach me how to cross stitch?” she says, out of the clear blue sky.

So I do, and we talk and stitch, catching up on things. I tell her that cross stitching is not complicated. It is just making little x’s. And then continuing to make little x’s until you see the bigger picture.

“If you veer off the pattern, improvise,” I told her. “Get creative and make something beautifully original from it.”

Watching my wild and zany offspring – the one who only a couple of years ago required some painful (for both of us) Tough Love – the one whose Edgar Allen Poe “Nevermore” tattoo is still healing on her arm – navigate a sewing hoop with a needle and floss? It was darling, I tell you. She is adorable, and I’m not just saying that because I am her mother.

We’ve been through some tough times in our relationship. We are so similar it can be annoying to both of us. And where we are different, we are SO different. My children and I still disagree on TONS of things. So many things that it could easily cause a rift, if we allowed it. I refuse to allow it.

Kids go through all kinds of phases, but here is the big secret: So do we, as parents.

My younger daughter arrived to the party, and we all get louder and more animated, as has always been the case. We aren’t a quiet, staid family. By the time the boyfriend of the birthday girl arrives, my husband is home, and I serve a roast and mashed potatoes – very June Cleaver of me, even if they were Bob Evans frozen mashed potatoes and cheesecake from Costco.

The evening continued as a dinner for grown up people who love each other … not like a tense and drama-laden mandatory occasion to get together and sing happy birthday because that’s the thing to DO on one of our birthdays. Honestly, when the girls were all teens, I dreaded birthdays, because someone always had her knickers in a knot for every family occasion. Somebody was PMSing ALL the time, myself included.

It occurs to me how VERY much I like my kids (I love them of COURSE)….but I just really like them as human beings, too. These beautiful, interesting, hilarious, passionate, and loving people I got to give birth to because God somehow determined in his Mysterious Ways that I was up to the challenge. And challenging it has been, but so, so precious is that honor.

Peace. No fights. Just love, and inside jokes and warmth. And cheesecake, of course!

We sang a haphazard version of “Happy Birthday” and she opened presents. The wrapping on the gifts had been chewed on my two very naughty kitty cats who shall remain unnamed. Also, one of the gift bags was old. It’s probably been in circulation since 1997. But no matter.

Parenting is like cross stitching. You just make one ‘x’ at a time. Some of them are messy stitches, but if you never saw the back of the fabric, you would never know. To the casual observer, it might appear to have been easy work, raising kids.

Everyone has messy needle-work on the side that doesn’t face the world. That family down the street in the big house, the family that participates in activities together every night of the week and whose kids go on mission trips? The “perfect” mom you see at preschool whose very presence makes you feel disheveled and less-than?

They have knots and tangles, too.

And you know what? God LOVES that side. He loves us, messy stitches and all.

One of my dear friends has a daughter approaching “Magical Seven.” The age of seven is – in my humble opinion – the pinnacle of parenting because at that age kids are still sweet and think you hung the moon. They are just delightful. After I posted about my Firstborn’s wonderful birthday evening at the house, she asked me if I had any advice on weathering the adolescent years. Is there anything you can do to prepare?

My kids are 20 and 23, and 23 (I’m blessed extra by having a Bonus Daughter), and I will not even PRETEND to have the actual useful answers. But I HAVE learned this:

Hang tight. Love hard. Don’t be afraid to make a hard bottom line and stick to it. Don’t be afraid to say ‘I’m sorry.” Pray lots. Laugh tons. Find common ground, it’s always there. Never give up hope! Remember that she is not an extension of you…a part of you, yes; but not an extension. Her mistakes will be her own, and she will make them. But she WILL BE OKAY and so will you. And before you know it, she is calling you out of the clear blue sky to ask you to meet her for sushi or to see a movie. And while you are lunching with this young woman, you will be astonished that there was a time that she was so sassy and downright mean to you. She may even say, “Hey mom? I’m sorry I was such an asshole.” And you will say “I’m sorry I was an asshole sometimes, too. I made a lot of mistakes.”

Because that sort of thing can totally happen, and did to me.

I’m so grateful for all we have to do as mothers is keep making little x’s to the best of our ability until we see the bigger picture. Sometimes the finished product doesn’t look at all like the pattern but is even more beautiful. We make it complicated, but It isn’t our masterpiece to make.

And if you, as a parent, veer too far from the pattern? Improvise. God will make something beautifully original from it.

Faith

Little Humans, Big Faith

August 23, 2015August 23, 2015 Jana Greene4 Comments

By: Jana Greene

One of the simplest arguments for believing in a Supreme Being is this:

If you – an atheist – are correct that there is no God and I – being a Christian – am wrong about it….I have lost nothing by believing.

But if you are wrong and I am right? You have lost everything, eternally.

Recently, I have noticed advertisements on the Internet geared toward dissuading children from believing in God. With catchy dot-com names and colorful logos, these sites implore kids to wonder, “Aren’t you getting a little old to believe in imaginary friends?”

Again…if you as the humanist are leading a child to this conclusion correctly – it seems harmless enough.

But if you are wrong, your pursuit in sharing the un-gospel with little ones is downright diabolical. Rather than nurturing that child’s natural belief in having been created for a purpose, you are attempting to cauterize his or her spiritual DNA. Jesus makes no bones about the seriousness of leading children away from him.

Children have a natural proclivity to believe in what we adults forget how to know. Not because the supernatural ceases to be true as we get older, but because we become jaded and self-important. We’ve been lied to and what we know to be true, we have all figured out. Telling a child not to believe in God to appease adults who think they know better…adults who have forgotten that believing is so much better than simply knowing.

I wouldn’t want to believe in a God small enough for human science to explain. That’s the bottom line.

To the purveyors of atheism (junior edition) I ask: would you ask a child to ponder outgrowing love or forgiveness? Of course not. The manifestations of those forces keep mankind from imploding – so destructive are our impulses at the opposite end of the spectrum.

Rather than trying to convince the children to be closed-minded adults, let them do what comes naturally to them – believe with simple faith. Child-like faith.

You might even want to try it on for size.

^“…For an answer Jesus called over a child, whom he stood in the middle of the room, and said, “I’m telling you, once and for all, that unless you return to square one and start over like children, you’re not even going to get a look at the kingdom, let alone get in. Whoever becomes simple and elemental again, like this child, will rank high in God’s kingdom. What’s more, when you receive the childlike on my account, it’s the same as receiving me.” Matthew 18:25 (MSG)

internet · Love · Spiritual

Love in a Strident Age

August 20, 2015June 4, 2018 Jana Greene4 Comments

By: Jana Greene
If you have a computer, watch the news on TV, hold casual conversations around the water cooler at work, or simply do not live under a rock, you may be noticing the obtrusive, piercing, and jarring way people interact with one another nowadays.

Everybody seems so strident, so harsh and self-righteous and RIGHT about everything, all the time. Worse, from causal conversation to message boards online to Facebook posts and letters to the editor, those same folks lord their views over the rest of us peons who may believe differently. Where does that come from?

If it is not coming from a place of love and compassion, it isn’t of God.

I think the stridency has something to do with the determination that neither God nor devil exists. We make our own rules, and in doing so, have no rules about how to treat one another. The current vernacular seems to be “And in the off chance they do exist (and not just the Almighty Science), they are not the boss of me!”

But as Bob Dylan reminded us in a song released during another strident age, “You may serve the devil, and you may serve the Lord, but you’re gonna have to serve somebody.” When you are your own Higher Power, you are not accountable for hurting others.

If I give everything I own to the poor and even go to the stake to be burned as a martyr, but I don’t love, I’ve gotten nowhere. So, no matter what I say, what I believe, and what I do, I’m bankrupt without love.

We were all born with natures that desperately wish to be right about everything. Never before have people been so keen on using their own personal opinions to belittle those of others. The explosion of the internet age seems to have renewed our license to do so 100-fold.

Is it wrong to be a man who feels trapped in a woman’s body?

Speaking of a woman’s body, should the life in her womb be considered part and parcel of her alone, or a soul developing separate from her own?

Are you a bigot if you believe in equality for all, rather than special privileges for some?

What about race riots? Am I unsympathetic to consider rioting a crime in itself?

And is it unrealistic to expect that taking guns from a law-abiding people will result in those non-law abiding throwing theirs to the ground?

We all have opinions on all of these issues, some of us very strong ones. You can probably tell how I feel from the way the sentences were worded.

But remember the old adage, “It’s not what you say, it’s how you say it?” It was a ‘thing’ back before folks found offense in absolutely everything EXCEPT offending one another by means of disrespecting them. Disrespect is ALWAYS offensive.

In asserting our oh-so-surely-right opinions about every conceivable subject, we spew vitriol at even people we purport to love. That’s when we lose everything. That’s when it doesn’t even matter if you are right or wrong. You are bankrupt.

In an internet age, it is helpful to refer to an antiquated (but still living) document that gives advice for how not to leave this world in worse shape than when you entered it. In such a strident age – where everything seems topsy turvy – checking the list can be a helpful way to determine who is influencing you when you engage with others.

(I have to check it myself in order not to wreck myself frequently.)

Love never gives up.
This doesn’t mean fight about it until you are right! This means always remain hopeful for resolution and hope.

Love cares more for others than for self.
Holy moly, this is a biggie. We are only on number two on the checklist and already, I’m squirmy. If I love you more than myself, the nature of my need to be right all the time becomes much less jarring.

Love doesn’t want what it doesn’t have.
In this case, “what it doesn’t have” is the illusion of being right all of the time. I’ve been guilty of ignoring this one in my quest to best the opinion of one I deemed wrong.

Love doesn’t strut.
“Strutting” proudly in Facebook comments or in real actual life is not an act of love. The enemy loves to see you strut.

Doesn’t have a swelled head.
Our heads are just so crammed with ‘knowledge’ in this explosion of information, we forget to leave room for plain old love.

Doesn’t force itself on others.
OUCH.
I’ll venture to bet that in the entire history of the interwebs, nobody has ever said, ‘gee…..I DID see it this way, but now that you’ve forced it down my throat, I now see it THAT way.”

Isn’t always “Me First”.
This is where it gets the stickiest. Because we are born with ‘me first’ natures and then conditioned to groom that ‘me first’ attitude in all of our affairs. The fastest train to true unhappiness is the Me First Express.

Doesn’t fly off the handle.
Flying off the handle includes putting hurtful thoughts directed toward others to keyboard and on a computer screen.

Doesn’t keep score of the sins of others.
Another tricky one because, by damn….we LOVE to keep score, don’t we? We are really good at it! If you have determined that I am a terrible human being because of something I believe, you will be sure to keep a scorecard every time I screw up so that you can prove to yourself I am that terrible human being.
Doesn’t revel when others grovel.
If someone offends you and disrespects you, and apologizes, you should especially throw that scorecard away. Keeping no record of wrongs means forgiving.

Takes pleasure in the flowering of truth.
We all do reap what we sow, of that there is no doubt. Think about that the next time you are tempted to engage with a person who you perceive as ‘goading’ you. Your response will plant a seed. You can plant a seed of your truth without pulling up their whole garden. You can say what you need to say in love. It is a lost art, that.

Puts up with anything.
Short of abuse, of course. If you love someone and their opinions differ from yours (no matter HOW wrong they are!) be patient with them. Love is patient and kind. Not a doormat, but a welcome mat.

Trusts God always.
Choose this day whom you will serve. Because (and this will come as a shock to some of you….) you are not the Highest Power in the universe. If you choose not to serve God, who IS Himself LOVE, you are still making a choice. Serving and trusting go hand-in-hand. He is trustworthy, I promise.

Always looks for the best.
Looking for the worst in people is the path of least resistance, and it is SO easy. But Jesus rolled out the red carpet for the worst sinners, He saw them for who they truly were to His father – royalty. He saw beyond their ideologies and wrong-thinking.

Never looks back.
“There are far, far better things ahead than any we leave behind.” C.S. Lewis knew it. I know it, too.

But keeps going to the end.
It’s a process, to be sure. But until I breathe my last, I will keep striving to be less strident and more full of Love. To be rich in it, you know? Not bankrupt of respect for others. Because we all have to live on this big blue marble together by God’s design.

Love never dies.
And at the end…..what end?

The thing about love is that you take it with you. Every kindness, every positive word you give others in place of disrespect, every encouragement – it all lasts forever. It is the only thing that lasts forever. Harsh words sting and rot the flesh until death. But words said in love? They flower and you carry the scent into heaven with you.

When you manifest hatred toward someone because of their beliefs, you too are a bigot. When you manifest disrespect toward another human being, you are bankrupt. You have nothing to draw from to prove yourself either wrong or right – your account is already empty.

Whom are you serving? The obtrusive, piercing, and jarring way people interact with one another nowadays comes from somewhere. God is not at its source.

Now, see….if God is Love itself, there is hope. This is what I love about Jesus. While we were still sinners – obnoxious, self-righteous, strident and rude sinners – (who perhaps denied his very existence) he died for us. He manifested love. He simply IS LOVE.

Inspired speech will be over some day; praying in tongues will end; understanding will reach its limit. We know only a portion of the truth, and what we say about God is always incomplete. But when the Complete arrives, our incompletes will be canceled….

And this absolute truth –

We don’t yet see things clearly. We’re squinting in a fog, peering through a mist. But it won’t be long before the weather clears and the sun shines bright! We’ll see it all then, see it all as clearly as God sees us, knowing him directly just as he knows us!

So, how to conduct ourselves until we see clearly? It starts with recognizing that loving others is more important that “being right” about everything. That includes loving the ones who simply don’t care that they are not acting in love toward others.

But for right now, until that completeness, we have three things to do to lead us toward that consummation: Trust steadily in God, hope unswervingly, love extravagantly.

And the best of the three is love.

*Scripture referenced found in 1 Corinthians 13:3-13 (The Message)

Spiritual

Broken Beauty

August 18, 2015 Jana GreeneLeave a comment

Musings of a Gypsy Soul

By: Jana Greene

“Look what I found!” my oldest daughter exclaimed, cupping something in her small hands. Beach sand flew up behind her feet as she ran toward me.

When she opened them, I saw the perfect oval of bleach glass, as big as a silver dollar and the same color as her sea-foam green eyes. I congratulated her on the find.

“You can buy sea glass at any old gift shop,” she stated proudly. “But the best ones are never man-made.”

We walked together toward the water’s edge, where her little sister was playing sea-tag. At eight years old, she still enjoyed the game – teasing the waves with her toes and shrieking with glee as she out-raced them every time.

My oldest girl, holding the glass and rubbing the smooth edges with her thumb, asked, “How did it get to be so smooth? Glass is mostly sharp!”

I…

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Anxiety · Beach Life · Spiritual · Spirituality

Getting Past the Breakers

August 16, 2015August 16, 2015 Jana GreeneLeave a comment

11904022_10204792590566969_5504121508774011898_n — The Happiest Place on Earth

By: Jana Greene

As some of you know, I’ve recently had major surgery. Before my post-op appointment with the surgeon, I formulated a list of questions to ask him. At the top of that list was when I was cleared to visit the beach and swim in the ocean. To my delight, he advised me that it would be just fine to do so now, just as long as I am careful not to get hit in the chest with a full-on wave. I went to the beach the very next day.

The waters are calm, except for the roll of waves near the shore passing over an underwater sand bar. Those waves, known as ‘breakers’ for breaking over sand, can be quite high and strong, even as they form in otherwise calm waters. Still, my need to be suspended in the ocean is great.

It’s been that way since I got sober nearly 15 years ago. The ocean was my church in some of the more difficult early times of recovery. My daughters and I lived in a tiny garage apartment across the street from the beach for some of that time. In periods of great stress, I would venture to the waters and swim until I exhausted myself and my means of anxiety. In times of pain – physical and emotional – swimming became therapy. I’d swim out so far that the houses on the shore appeared like tiny, colorful boxes instead of million-dollar homes. My problems shrunk much the same way. It gave me perspective. Seawater had an almost tranquilizing effect on my spirit. And that I could commune with God on a whole other uncomplicated level out there in the water. A passer-by walking on the beach may have just seen a little head bobbing around out in deep water, a crazy person talking to herself. But God always meets me there in the water. Sometimes the crazy person talking to herself is just pouring her heart out to The Father in prayer.

When my children would suffer a scraped knee or a bout with eczema, my answer was the same. “You just need to get salt water on it.”

Salt water heals everything.

But today – in order to reach that place of suspension – I have to get through the rough breakers without disobeying doctor’s orders. I have to get to the good place by going through the bad place (where oh where have I experienced this phenomenon before?)

Donning my standard-issue, middle-age woman black one-piece bathing suit, I approach the edge of the sea. At the edge, the water is ebbing and flowing in calm and clear. My toes rejoice at the familiar chill and I cannot wait to go deeper. Ankle-deep now I stand, watching the sand gently sucked out around my feet at each tidal recession. It is a warm day, and the coolness of the water is beyond refreshing. At knee-depth, the waves start to get a little rougher, I am only several feet from the sand bar that is causing their swelling. I reconsider this foray into the ocean, shrinking back a bit from the prospect of the breakers and their impact on my still-tender surgical wounds.

But I can see the waters on the other side, and they are resplendently lake-like! They are smooth and perfect. I wish I could just jump over the harsh breakers like a dolphin, skip over the rough and powerful waves. Or walk through them careless of the consequences, all que sera sera-like. I try to will them to calm, angry that they might send me home without my satisfying swim before I ever get the chance to have it.

I just need to get salt water on it, on my spirit. (Oh, and my surgical wounds too, salt water heals everything.)

Nirvana is just past this sand bar!

I cannot see the sand bar under the waves that is causing the ocean commotion, but I know it is there because of what I see manifest. High waves, churning waters. I’m afraid to move forward in case a wave slams me and afraid to go back and miss a great thing.

Eventually, the desire to move past the crashing breakers is greater than the desire to be afraid to go through them. I turn my back to the ocean to take the waves to the least painful part of my body, but I press on, walking backwards. I can hear them forming behind me, a great sizzling – the sound of water stacking more of itself on high.

Slam!

Up against my backside. I feel the bar of sand rise as the water gets shallower. Move faster now, I tell myself. The longer you hang out on the bar, the more opportunities the waves have to knock you down. I keep walking backward.

SLAM!

More water, nearly knocking me over. I balance myself the best I can, and keep going. The last wave over the breakers is powerful, nearly taking me with it toward shore, losing all that ground. But then, one more step backward and I float back into complete calm. It is as if I had fallen into a brand new fluid venue. The breakers are still breaking, but they are none of my concern now! Every muscle in my body un-kinks and oxygen fills my lungs. Ah, I just needed to get salt water on it.

I lie back and float, enjoying the weightlessness of both my body and soul. The only sound I hear is the a gentle water moving over my body. Like a band of angels playing the triangles. This is the only place for me that quiets my mind long enough to hear angels play triangles. My mind hardly ever shuts up.

On this day, I’m not able to swim like I am accustomed to yet – making great arcs with my arms and wide kicks with my legs, and actually getting from one spot to another. My body is still healing, so I make only little motions. A head bobbing about awkwardly in the Atlantic Ocean, making little velociraptor-like arm movements and talking to herself. No matter. The healing is the same.

And right on schedule, God meets me there. He had been with me in the breakers, too. Otherwise I wouldn’t have ever made it to the other side! He is ALWAYS in the breakers with me. But in this place of having come through, I could feel His presence fully.

The beach is my big, messy prayer closet. I can try to talk to God in my living room, and I often do, with mixed results (thanks, ADD.) But covered in sand and swimming in the sea? I can tune into the frequency of The Creator. My noisy spirit communing with God on a whole other uncomplicated level out there in the water. Truth be told, it is one place where I am not finding fault with myself. I’m weightless, floating in an amniotic sac of what feels like pure love. The sun is warming my face, kissing new freckles to the surface. I am not finding fault with myself, I am too busy loving God.

There are a million breakers we all must somehow overcome. Addiction, divorce, abuse, depression. Perhaps you cannot see your own private “sand bar” under the waves that is causing the instability, the commotion. You only know it there because of what it manifests in your spirit.

Looking at the shore from my new Heavenly vantage point – the colorful boxes – I am considering the importance of occasionally distancing oneself from the usual. I think about The Breakers in life, the rolling and smashing seasons that every single one of us has to move through. Try as we might, we cannot casually leap over them, or barreled through them on our own terms and come out in one piece. These times when we feel we are getting sucked under and smashed? Giving up and turning back isn’t always an option, nor should it be.

Do you feel that pull on your spirit? The desire to move past the crashing breakers steadily getting stronger than the fear of going through them? Guard your most painful parts, but press on. You may get knocked down. Get back up. God is not just waiting for you in the calm waters but accompanying you in those crazy, awful waves that take you from one place to another. He doesn’t expect you to do it all by yourself.

Can see the other side. Isn’t it resplendent?

For each of the million waves trying to knock you down, there is a place that your spirit lets down it’s guard. It’s where your body un-kinks and oxygen fills your lungs. You will know you are there when you are too busy loving God to find fault in yourself.

It is the place or activity that brings you peace! You will only know where that space is by going through the breakers.

Perhaps gardening in soft, warm dirt, if that’s your thing. Or working with animal rescues, or in creating needlework. Or perhaps while wearing hiking boots, or picking up pen and paper. Find that sweet spot and go there every chance you get. GOD DELIGHTS IN YOU.

Spiritual

Before His Miracle Arrived: Robin Williams and the specter depression

August 12, 2015 Jana GreeneLeave a comment

Musings of a Gypsy Soul

These days, I feel I could re-wire my entire blog to write about celebrities ensnared in deadly addiction and depression (after writing about Phillip Seymour Hoffman in “Skewer the Stigma” in February…) and that makes me really sad.

For every well-known person who takes his or her life – or dies from an overdose – there are mothers, fathers, siblings, and friends of “real” people who lose the battle every single day. And that makes me more sad. They are your Hollywood icons and musical geniuses – yes…but they are also your family, community, coworkers and clergy.

God bless the brokenhearted, and let the awareness spread.

It could save a life.

The news of Robin Williams passing hit me hard. I was checking my texts while walking out of a 12-step meeting when my daughter messaged me. The tears were immediate.

It was only weeks ago that I offhandedly posted…

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Spiritual

More than Many Sparrows – My very own daughter and the audacity of ink

August 10, 2015 Jana GreeneLeave a comment

Musings of a Gypsy Soul

In working on a series of “Seven Little Action Words,” I was kind of at a loss on ‘Trusting.’ Honestly, I think it is because we are very nearly empty nesters now and I am learning to trust God with my grown daughters. This may seem easy if your child is still in diapers or is navigating the waters of Kindergarten; not so easy in the tween and teen years they seem bent on making the stupidest choices possible in any given circumstance. In the epiphany that I was never in control of my girls’ lives in the first place (illusion, my friends…it was all an illusion) God is giving me a single question: “Do you trust me with these girls who you love so much? I love them even more than you do, you know.” I know, Abba. Thank you. Sometimes I need reminding. I trust you. Your eye…

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Depression

The Rainy Season – Depression

August 3, 2015 Jana Greene2 Comments

10404139_10204079583702243_8609471330863845398_n — This is the view from under my umbrella during a recent visit to my home state of Texas. I took it because it was pretty consistently my view for periods of torrential downpours.

By: Jana Greene

I’ve been watching a lot of Anthony Bourdain shows during my recovery from surgery. For those of you unfamiliar with “No Reservations” (his finest show, in my opinion) Bourdain trots about the globe in search of both culinary and cultural discoveries. He often visits rural pockets of Asia, where people live in jungles that stay wet for months at a time.

He and his film crew will be chugging along in the bright sunshine of Pasay City in the Philippines, and BAM! Torrential rains come out of nowhere. It will rain for the duration of their entire shoot. And everyone who lives there, films there, and visits there concurs with Anthony Bourdain’s ironically dry narration that “It is now the Rainy Season here.”

That’s it. Queue The Rainy Season.

Everyone on film is totally resigned to the fact that it is now officially rainy season. It wasn’t five minutes ago, but now it is. So deal with it. It isn’t going away until The aptly-named Dry Season. Suck it up and learn to survive wet ankles.

Nobody tries to argue with The Rainy Season. It is what it is and there is no negotiating with it. It reminds me so much of depression. When the conditions are just right, it is sudden and debilitating.

I am an individual on mild antidepressants, and sometimes those antidepressants hold the tears at bay. Even times that I WANT to cry, I often cannot. But when I start? Torrential tears. I get the sadness everywhere, between my bones and cartilage. Between my toes.

There are perfectly legitimate reasons that I am feeling depressed.

My body is recovering from the dual surgical insult of general anesthesia and 500 stitches. Major surgery. I hurt, inside and out.

I stay tired.But there are things to be done all around me that I cannot do quite yet, and that’s frustrating.

And worse, someone I love very much hurt my feelings to such a degree that I it crushed the little corner of my spirit blanky where I first look for solace, the silkiest edge. Stomped on. It’s been a long time since someone has hurt me so much, and that’s not by accident. I will build a boundary quicker than you can say “Aw HELL no.” I’ve had to learn how to do that to survive. But this was someone with whom I have no natural defense and didn’t ever for-see having to build one against

But then there many, many other hope-stealing soul sucks that aren’t helping at all.

The world is a mess. I’m tired of hearing about aborted babies and their brokerage, tired of having everyone’s sexuality shoved down my throat (Ok, we GET it now, move on with your life, whatever that life looks like!) I’m tired of being made to feel less-than by women’s magazines. I’m tired of the Emperor’s New Clothes atmosphere surrounding this presidential administration. I’m tired of hearing about mothers leaving babies in hot cars. I’m tired of addicts and alcoholics being stigmatized and dying of their legitimate, treatable diseases. I’m tired of pretending that Christians don’t get depressed.

Yeah, I’m really tired of that one.

Oh, and menopause. ‘Nuff said on that one.

I’m just so tired. Overwhelmed.

I guess I should become resigned to the fact that it is now officially The Rainy Season. It wasn’t “five minutes ago” but now it is. So deal with it, Jana. It isn’t going away until The aptly-named Dry Season. Suck it up and learn to survive wet ankles.

I’m writing about this bout with The Rainy Season because I refuse to deny it’s fury. Giving voice to The Sad keeps it from taking over. I will not allow it to be a silent coup. Identify your enemy, profile the ever-loving shit out of it. You cannot fight an enemy you deny exists.

Talking about depression hastens the arrival of The Dry Season – a place of sun, and sane happiness, and making the best of things, and NOT crying 24/7, just a little earlier. Best of all, talking about my depression hastens the arrival of the spiritually nutrient-rich LAUGHTER sooner.

I also know that I’m not alone in experiencing this. Depression is a bitch, and not a ‘resting face’ bitch – a true vixen of vexing viciousness. Depression isn’t just kicking a dog when it’s down, it’s kicking a whole litter of dogs when they are down, and making sure they fall off a very steep cliff and into a briar patch. Or at last that is how fatalistic and hopeless my own personal depression bitch is.

I woke up a couple of times during the night last night to pee, and ended up crying. Couldn’t even get up to pee without crying! I cried waking up this morning, and decided that being awake was too sad and I needed more sleep.

Then I had bad dreams. More crying.

I love to laugh so very much. I absolutely love to laugh, even at the really frustrating things. I’m radically silly.

But I can’t seem to muster that right now.

Depression is SUCH the Drama Queen! It tells you that you will never muster laughter again. It’s all too hopeless. But that’s a lie. Call it OUT as a lie.

This season too shall pass and I will be the happy, silly, hope-filled person I am at my core. And I know that my God has not forsaken me, nor will He ever.

But He does allow my ankles to get pretty wet in The Rainy Season.

Which is, after all, still just a season. And seasons pass.

Until then, I will crawl up in God’s lap and cry already. Cry because I’m sad. And because it’s not FAIR! And because I’m so tired. There is no shame in crying to Daddy. He cares and He listens, and He soothes.

I’ll try to focus on all the things I am grateful for, which are more than I can count. Oh the loving people God has put directly on my path, how I adore them! I’m so blessed, I know. My sphere includes people with whom I can ‘be real’ and they just love me any way. Go figure. They are weird that way.

Oh, and I will re-read for the 100th time Allie Brosh’s “Hyperbole and a Half” – a colorful graphic novel that manages to address depression in the most colorful, poignant, honest and hopeful way possible. I highly recommend it. It is not a “Christian book” but a very, very funny and relate-able one.

(Here is one of the graphics, which I think I might blow up poster-sized and hang on my bathroom mirror…)