Author: Jana Greene

I'm Jana and I write about the things that give me joy, help me cope, set me straight, and light my path. Recovery, relationships, spirituality, plant medicine, and assorted struggles and passions.
Chronic Ilness · Spiritual

Laments and Lessons – Chronic Illness and Self-Care

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By: JANA GREENE

I try to keep my content positive, but you know, sometimes we just need to bitch about reality, since life continues to be so real and at times, really hard.

And since I’m writing about life in general – the good, the bad, and the ugly, today’s topic is My Shitty Health. Consider it a little vent sesh about struggling with chronic illness. So, really fun content, I know. But perhaps you struggle with health issues too? You are not alone, friend.

Friday night was my pumpkin-turned-carriage moment as a person with chronic illness. My husband treated me to my favorite fancy restaurant for a delicious dinner.. I had the energy to go, and the ability to EAT and digest, even (which sounds like a given, but is not for me.)

Toward the end of dinner, I started feeling puny, and by Saturday lunchtime, I was sick as a dog. My carriage turned pumpkin before I even had time to lose my glass slipper. Dadgum it, here we go again.

Apparently, I picked up a sinus / respiratory bug, and it’s kicking my booty. Part of my plethora health-related genetic mutations is that my immune system sucks.

And ANYTIME I’m functionally sick, my body responds to it with an attack of major inflammation, which causes my systemic pain to skyrocket. So I’m stuffy and coughing, and the coughing subluxes my ribs. This is no fun at ALL.

Also, I’m sad and disappointed. You see, we missed the John Crist comedy show last night, and we’ve I’ve had the tickets for MONTHS. It’s my birthday week (the 24th) so we had all kinds of fun stuff planned this weekend and week, none of which is happening now. And

I’m trying to be a good sport. I am grateful for all the blessings I so richly enjoy in this life, and I take nothing for granted – not even digesting. I realize so many others are fighting so much worse with illness and injury. I get that.

Like anyone who battles chronic illness, I miss out on things. And by proxy, my husband misses out too. The worst occasion was the time I missed the wedding of a young lady you is like family to me. I just couldn’t rally, and it made me so sad.

So as I lay here, salty about being ill, I’m going to what my therapist recommends, which is baby myself. “You know to expect pain flares and ‘down’ days,” she advises. “So plan on taking a self-care day when that happens.”

In other words, don’t fight it on those days. Lean into it as you would in taking care of anyone else. Comfy blankets, streaming movies, and writing. (Always with the writing, because it’s the only way I can get out of my own head.)

So, I eat nourishing food, sleep extra, and for Lord’s sake, let go. Letting go of unrealistic expectations is half the battle, and anger at my own body doesn’t help – it is doing the best that it can. .

If you struggle too, this is your reminder to take care of yourself during the bad days as you would take care of the people you love. Because you and I are worth the effort, even as the pain of hard days cohabits with the gratitude for good days.

When your carriage turns into a pumpkin, well…make pumpkin pie, I guess.

Blessed be, friends. Be kind to yourself today.

Spiritual

Follow me to Words by Jana Greene <3

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Hello, Dear Readers.

Behold, I am starting a new thing!

Although I’ll still be posting here from time to time, I have fresh content at my new blog, “Words by Jana Greene.” I’d love to see you there! Thank you for all of your support over the years!

wordsbyjanagreene.com

Recovery · Spiritual

Still One Day at a Time – 23 Years and Counting

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By: JANA GREENE

Today I celebrate 23 years of continuous recovery from alcoholism. That’s 8,395 days. And I can finally look back on the woman I was with only compassion now. No bitterness or resentment. She was just trying to numb the pain and heal the trauma, she just picked an awful way to do it back then.

The whites of her eyes were yellowing.
Her body was starved for actual nutrients.
She thought drinking made her more “fun,” because it dulled her big personality and gave her false confidence.

Worst of all, She was not the mother she knew she could be. A less chaotic one. A clear-headed one.

She was terrified of a life without drinking.
So she did it afraid – quitting.
It was time.

I don’t know her so well anymore, but I love her still. She got me here, in spite of my own best efforts. She went to countless meetings, drank hundreds of cups of stale coffee, and got to know others just like herself. She found new coping mechanisms, built healthy relationships, and let her big personality out – all things that would be impossible in active addiction.

Twenty three years ago today, I didn’t pick up a drink. And the next day (when it rolled around and not a moment before,) I didn’t drink that day either. I only conquered one day at a time, and truthfully, that’s still how I do it.

Some days are a breeze to get through without drinking, and honestly, I rarely think of it anymore.

Other days, it tells me it’s my default setting. It tells me the physical pain is too hard to do sober, and who would blame me if I picked up?? (See? justifying…the oldest trick into book.) Half of a good recovery is calling yourself out on your own BS. The other half is learning to actually comfort, soothe, and cope without drinking.

But that’s the sneaky thing about addiction – the thing you think you need tells you you need MORE of it. I had to learn how to shush it without invalidating it – that voice.

Recovery has to be a way of life, otherwise it’s just NOT drinking. I had to unlearn a crap ton. Toxic behaviors and coping mechanisms don’t POOF! go away because I drink mocktails instead of cocktails. Nope. It’s work. I have to dig deep every day.

But I am so grateful for my recovery. It saved my life, made me whole, enabled authentic joy, and challenged me well beyond what I could handle.

Still only one day at a time, even though I’ve managed to string 8,395 of them together with faith, struggle; elation, and triumph.

And that’s a lot of corny words just to say I’m grateful as @&$%# to be alcohol-free.

I have been granted this amazing alternative life. It IS possible. We can and DO recover!

Jesus · Spirituality · Jesus is Love

To Hell with Hell (an Essay on Reconstructed Afterlife Beliefs)

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Photo by Brett Sayles on Pexels.com

By: JANA GREENE

I don’t believe in a literal Hell anymore, and that upsets a great many people. I’ve been wanting to write this piece for a while.

I have lost friends who I would have swore were like family to me, because I threw eternal torment out of my theology. I guess they don’t want to get too attached to me here, given, well….you know.

An alarming portion of the population freaks out if you take Hell off the table. We are very attached to it by a sense of justice (and a little schadenfreude, let’s admit it,) and the concept people getting what they have coming.

And yes, I have read it all the way through. Or at least I tried to. But I’m not really a horror fan, so I mostly spent 45 years ingesting, digesting, and becoming frustrated with texts about the all-loving god who is just itching to send your heathen ass into the fiery furnace. The Old Testament always stuck in my craw, on account of the violence and such. It just didn’t line up with my Jesus (or anyone’s Jesus.)

I mean, he doesn’t WANT to send you to Hell, obviously. That would be barbaric. But you’ve left him no choice. I know that when my adult kids test me and I tell them to straighten up and fly right, I keep the fires stoked. You know, out of LOVE, and just in case they are irredeemable.

Except they are never irredeemable. None of us are.

If this is holy parenting, why do we have an understanding of love at all? If we are not to trust our own hearts, and are taught since birth that the factory settings of our hearts are corrupt and “deceitful above all things.” If we are not to “lean on our understanding,” why are we imbued with understanding? Why are we downloaded with compassion, if we are not to trust it?

What if Hell is really just our egos running the show? I feel like I’ve already been there – used the FastPass and got the proverbial t-shirt. Hell’s address is Planet Earth for most of us at one point or another. Addiction, violence, genocide, loss, grief – the things that plague us here – all of it has an expiration date. But love? That is eternal.

God is love, so then love is God; having no ability (or inclination) to fit into the boxes we design to make him more manageable. He is not restrained by ancient texts. The Holy Spirit will not be legislated. She (yep, I consider the Spirit a feminine energy, nurturing and protective) is as intimate family, and as wide as the Cosmos.

“But you can’t let people get away with half-assing Christianity,” you say. And the former cherry-picker in me would certainly agree. But I don’t have the dualism in me anymore to make following scripture to the letter appealing – or frankly – effective.

Do I believe in Christ as redeemer? Yes, I do. I believe the Universe came down in human form to have intimate understanding of our plight, and that one day, we will all share in God consciousness (which is what the “Rapture” means to me now, but that’s a blog piece for another time.) That’s some woo-woo stuff to some folks. It used to be too woo-woo for me.

But you know what else is woo-woo? But believing Jonah was swallowed by a big fish without dissolving in stomach acid, and that Noah’s Ark was a literal seaworthy vessel? Maybe not so much. (I saw a meme recently that said “God is love!” over a cartoon photo of thousands of bloated bodies floating in a drowned world. That’s a hell of a sales pitch!)

Do I feel like not believing the literalness of Hell impedes my ability to do the #1 thing commanded by Jesus? No, I do not.

If anything, it has opened my soul up, which was taught to be a little stingy with grace. You know, just stingy enough to be righteous and “unyoked,” but not stingy enough to seem judgey. You can’t go spreading grace all willy-nilly everywhere! What about HELL?

To Hell with Hell.

Maybe we be less concerned about what other people have got “coming” to them in the hereafter, because maybe what they have coming is LOVE. Maybe that’s the real scandal of the Good News?

Peace be with you, friends.

Poetry · Spiritual

The Wounded Heart (poetry)

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By: JANA GREENE

When I find myself in too much pain,
and the world is caving in;
when my heart is truly shattered,
and I don’t think I’ll smile again,
I shake my fists at God a while,
have my ravings and my rants.
He listens to my agony,
my “I WON’T”s and “I CANT’S.”
I forget that Source knows firsthand
because He wrapped himself in skin,
and His heart was once a gaping wound
just like mine has been.
When I’m hemorrhaging emotion,
His heart is bleeding right along,
when I can hear only chaos,
His comfort soothes me like a song.
Oh Creator of this worn heart,
Source of all that’s pure true,
please let my pain have purpose.
Let it make me more like You.

Poetry · Spiritual

Love Bears the Only True Witness

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By: JANA GREENE

When people say 

you’re “fake”

because you practice 

loving all,

That’s just because 

living out

a love like that 

feels fake to them.

And it feels fake to them,

Because they

cannot find God

outside of the 

red and black words

of ancient texts,

or outside of the 

dogma of men,

(Or outside of themselves.)

An acceptance so broad,

so scandalous,

That’s what will change 

the world,

Just one authentic act

after another.

So live out that love,

Let them think what they will.

But pray they might also

find God one day,

Outside of texts 

(and dogma too.)

Maybe – just maybe –

One fine day, they will even

find God in YOU.

Parenting · Parenting adult children · Parenting teenagers · Spiritual

Modern Motherhood Can Seem Like a Fight, but Little Mamas? I Promise You’re Doing it RIGHT. ❤️

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Circa 1997.

By: JANA GREENE

I don’t know how young mothers today deal.
It’s sad that they feel constantly judged, but even sadder because it’s their mom peers who often instigate it. Then add about 500 of your closest friends from Facebook and let them weigh in on every single parenting decision you make or share, as part of a community and HOOBOY.
The insinuation of course is that you’re DOING IT WRONG, the MOTHERING.
Everybody is The Mommy Police, and if you’re lucky, you’ll just get by with a “ticket” to Guilt-Landia. It can feel crushing and paralyzing. As a general rule, we moms feel bad enough about ourselves and worry enough about our kids, and don’t NEED the extra “help” with guilt. Am I right?
Make peace with this fact: If you’re a mom, there will always, always be something you feel like you should feel guilty for. There will be fresh material every day. Here’s the thing: Bad moms don’t worry if they are bad moms. They don’t agonize over breast vs. bottle, whether to be a stay at home mom or a working mom. So if you CARE deeply about these (and a million others,) congrats! You’re not a bad mom!
In addition – as a grizzled, world-worn, veteran mom who is now a grandmother as well, I hold these truths that will become self-evident as your babies grow into little individual people:

  1. You are not the first generation to parent, and ergo, feel like you are failing at it. We got the T-shirts, and they are out of style, covered in dry spit-up, and not what we thought we ordered. Hey mama? It fits you PERFECTLY. You are rocking it.
  2. Remember that opinions are, well…like assholes. And assholes especially have opinions for DAYS. Depending on who volunteers information, you are DEFINITELY spoiling that kid to death / neglecting it / setting your child up to fail / ensuring that your child will succeed / depriving it / indulging it / making it neurotic (just like YOU!) / giving it too much candy / not enough gluten (or is it too much gluten?) The consensus of Online Parenting Experts is in, and your poor kid is suffering because you are doing SOMETHING wrong in their eyes.
    By the way, you will care less and less what people think and more and more about your actual child as they grow, thank God.
  3. In the days before the Internet (also known as the Jurassic Period,) we did what we felt was right for our kid and whenever someone criticized us for minor infractions / different parenting styles, it was considered RUDE. It should STILL be considered RUDE. People worry about everybody else’s business need to be staying in they own damn lane. Rude is SO DISAPPOINTINGLY ACCEPTED these days. Everybody has to get offended. You are responsible for your own emotions. Everybody else should’ve have to tip toe around you, but neither should they be disrespectful. It’s okay to say, “wow…that was really RUDE!” When it’s warranted.
  4. When my girls were born, I promised them – audibly and whist they were still covered in vernix (look it up…or maybe don’t…) that I would always be the BEST Mommy for them I could possibly be. And I meant it. But you see, it wasn’t really a fair promise because I wasn’t ALWAYS the best Mommy I could have been. I made a lot of mistakes. Some of them were doozies. If I could go back in time, I would have promised them that I would always love them like CRAZY! That’s about all the promise I can reasonably be expected to keep. Because no matter how we screw up, or how many teenage “You’re ruining my life!” screaming matches you have with that cherubic little wee one you cannot IMAGINE fussing with now, no matter how many times your kid poops up the back of their Onsie as you are strolling them down the long, post-church K & W Cafeteria line (true story…), no matter WHAT, that’s a promise your heart will hold in highest esteem. And really, it’s all that matters.
  5. Your kids will likely turn out NOTHING like you thought they would, no matter how many of the “right” choices you made for them. They will be different from you, as they are their own humans and not an extension of you. Don’t be surprised if they deplore every value you hold dear.
    Never, ever, say “Not MY child!” That shit
    WILL comeback to bite you in the ass every time. Don’t be surprised if they choose a lifestyle you don’t agree with (they might even grow up to be conservatives / liberals! It happens, folks!) You will love them anyway and be proud of who they are because after all….didn’t you raise them to be free-thinkers? You brought a human into the world who is on their own path – and God loves a seeker.
    And allll the advice / shaming / guilt-proddings from the masses will matter not one tiny bit. Here’s the secret: every mom falls short, verily I say unto thee even that one mom who seems to have it all together. I PROMISE you she doesn’t.
    God chose YOU for your particular child, and you’re KILLING it! (Killing PARENTING, obviously. Hahaha.)
    Hugs to all you mamas feeling like you don’t measure up. You’re doing swell. ❤️
Spiritual

The Soft Armor of a Loving God

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“The Prodigal Son Returns: The Art of Soichi Watanabe,”

By: JANA GREENE

If no weapon formed against me shall prosper, I can only infer that includes the ones we use against ourselves. Words can be weapons sure enough.

God, where I am bent on warring with myself, help me to remember that you are not the one calling the battle cry.

When the sword of truth is forged, let me remember not to use it as an implement of pain; but instead know it protects my peace.

When I want to throw self-righteous stones at wrongdoers, remind me that I live in a glass house myself.

When I turn the pistol of shame against my own heart, remind me that you have emptied the weapon’s chambers, and filled the chambers of my heart with your love.

When life cuts like a thousand knives, you are not the one holding the hilt, nor did you forge the iron.

Nor did you authorize pain, but gave us a tool with which we ourselves can use to cut out the cancers of hatred, bigotry, misogyny, and condemnation.

Words to ourselves can be jagged, and stunting; tormenting and choking. Believing the worst things about ourselves is not the humbleness God has in mind, but a misguided martyrdom to feel holy.

“Woe is me, I’m such a screwed up human. Who shall save me from ME?”

But God had says, “No woefulness required. You’re such a well-loved human. Lay down your weapons; love is a much better tactic. It’s time you realize your identity, oh anxious one. Go tell the others too.”

We are taught our minds are evil above all else, so we collect an arsenal to keep our egos in check. Words can be self-harm.

We are told we are lost and wretched, unworthy of love on our own merit. Why wouldn’t we arm ourselves or protect our own value with harsh words, heavy-handed self-righteousness, and “heavenly” battle preparedness?

Them’s fighting’ words!

But I myself have had enough war.

I’ve learned that the armor of God is soft and comfortable, a suit of protection, a covering of pure love.

It is not only worn, but woven into our very souls. It’s part of us.

It fits like peace, and is tailored for Truth. It isn’t heavy or uncomfortable; unwieldy, or confining. There may be chinks in our armor, but that’s okay.

I’m enough, chinks in my armor and all. And so are YOU.

Blessed be, friends.

Poetry · Spiritual

Ode to Social Media

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By: JANA GREENE

I crave connection.

Standing in the gas station,

getting me a tank-full.

I never met a stranger,

and for that I am so thankful.

At the grocery check out,

waiting in a line,

please tell me your life story

and I will tell you mine!

I’m grateful for the “socials,”

because they tend to shrink

this planet that we live on,

and oftentimes I think

what an absolute marvel

technology has become!

Together we grow,

together we rise,

together we come undone.

I crave human connection

because there’s One Love,

you see.

Divinity is our DNA,

it’s for freedom we are set free.

Spiritual

We are Tangible Manifestations of Supernatural LOVE

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By:JANA GREENE

My heart is heavy today. I wish I could fix so many things for so many people I love so deeply. Life is so hard at times. We got to lean into one another. The storm is coming. Can you feel it? How to best prepare?
When people are kind to you, they are literally expressing the God within them to you. The force of the entire universe is bending to reach you with every soft word or strong hug you’re given. We need so much tangible manifestations; otherwise it looks like roaring din of chaos is winning to a hurting and raw world.
We ARE the tangible manifestation.
I pray we can remember that through all the nasty pettiness in the world right now. To withhold kindness is to be stingy with the love of God. Your political opinion upending God’s message to love is just clanging symbols. A lot of noise that demands to know “ BUT WHAT ABOUT MEEEE? What about MY rights? MY piece of the pie?” Imagine the loaves and the dishes were pie, then. Would he have multiplied it so exponentially if he were deciding who actually DESERVED pie? Matter of fact, I’m pretty sure he would expect us to feed ALL, without regard to who we personally feel is worthy?
Listen, I was a conservative Christian nationalist for most of my life. I get it.
It took getting SHOOK for me to understand another point of view. We are taught to WAR against powers of darkness, but either “it is finished,” as Jesus said, or it is NOT finished. If it’s not, war your little heart away. As for me and my house? I don’t have fighting in me anymore (and Jesus was a promoter of peace himself, dang hippy!) It takes too much energy for my body to exist; I ain’t trying to expend it on national panic. Too much hate. Period.
PS: I am preaching to MYSELF too. Because I believe this with ALL my heart, but I’ll still probably yell “asshole!” In my car to people who cut me off in traffic or drive slow in the passing lane. I am pretty good at expounding LOVE, while still hollering, “Nice turn signal, %#@&$-face!”
It’s a process y’all, and we aren’t perfect at it. We will never be perfect at it. But now is not he time to give up trying.
ANYWHOO….just some thoughts this morning.

Poetry · Spiritual

Sit With This Moment (poetry)

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Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

By: JANA GREENE

Settle in with the guest named “This Moment,”

and put your feet up for awhile.

Denying it’s message will do no good,

and giving up just just isn’t your style.

Tell the uninvited feeling of ick,

“I see you’ve come again,.

I can’t avoid you altogether,

but learn from you I CAN.”

Sit with This Moment now my friend,

(I promise you’ll survive!)

and This Moment

will hold the door open

for Peace when it arrives.

Poetry · Spiritual

Love is the Main Thing (poetry jam)

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By: JANA GREENE

When I pass on,

I don’t want them to say,

“To know her was to love her.”

I’d rather they say,

“To know her was to be loved by her.”

I hope I make you feel seen,

I hope I make you feel heard.

I hope you can feel the love coming

for miles away.

God,

make me an instrument of your peace,

in a warring world.

Your will front and center,

above my ego and anxiety,

dogma and theology,

legalism and judgement.

Help me love others

so that they can feel accepted

right where they are.

Worthy in total,

wholly complete.

If I err on the side of love,

I can stand before the throne

unfettered by all else,

Because Love?

Yeah, that’s the main thing.

God,

when I pass on,

I don’t need to them to say

she was loved by all,

I just need to do the loving,

In order that they will feel loved

by you.

News · Spiritual

Fasting the News to Slow Down Anxiety

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By: JANA GREENE

Gather ‘round, kiddies. I’ll spin you a yarn about a time when need reporters didn’t posit they’re own opinions in reporting the news.
Even 20 years ago, you were much more likely to get “just the facts.” They presented those facts, and nobody had any idea the reporter’s political affiliation is. Because we thought for OURSELVES. And we expected others to do their thinking for themselves, too.
It is year 4 of avoiding the news – almost entirely. If something big happens, it will come across the feed of a social network, and so can decide if I want to know more about it, and seek it out. I get the whole ‘MURICA phenomenon, it kept me glued to the tube too years ago. I watched/read/ate/ slept religiously watching the news was after 9/11. That’s where the obsession with current events became neurotic.
But the 24 hour news cycle is just a train wreck on its way to a Doom City, always. We just weren’t made to absorb so much negative information constantly. No positivity. And you are powerless against the vast (and I mean VAST) majority of situations in the news. There’s nothing you can do, except grow your own paranoia and anxiety over it. So no thanks.
Letting things flow (that you can’t change anyway) is the rawest form of trusting in God, I think. Plus, I don’t want to be continually grumpy for however much time I have left earth-side. and I assure you that if I became a news junkie, I would take the grouch cake.
There ARE things we can do to better our mental health, like not nibbling on the fruits of the media. Fruits of the Spirit are tastier!
The government ain’t telling us anything anyway, and the little bit they DO let out is probably May as well be happy, and protect your peace. P.S. Your quest for peace is always worth protecting.

Spiritual

We Women of a Certain Age

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By: JANA GREENE

Ladies over 50, since time immemorial, we have been told that our attractiveneess and worth have expiration dates.

Be thin, but not TOO thin. When you lose too much weight, the fat can’t fill out your wrinkles.

But don’t gain weight either, even though metabolism will fight you every step of the way.

Have invisible pores – nobody wants to see your actual human skin.

Thin lips? Ew. You need filler. If you don’t look like a whole-ass bee stung you square in the mouth, you’re doing it wrong.

Paint the barn door, for crying out loud. You need makeup.

Women aren’t supposed to be hairy. Are you trying to look like a caveman?

Natural eyebrows? Where are your forehead caterpillars? They are all the rage now.

Your eyelashes are too sparse. If you aren’t gluing them on, what are you even doing?

Yoga pants are a privilege, not a right. (Ugh.)

The wrinkles you got for laughing? You probably shouldn’t have found so much joy in life.

Speckled chest from sun damage? You should have worn more sunscreen religiously, lady.

Fat upper arms? They keep waving when you have stopped.

Stretch marks? *GASP*

Cellulite? There’s a $1000 cream for that.

Smile lines? That’s what you get for having the audacity to be happy for 50 years.

Face showing “character?” That only applies to men, silly.

We have “fupas” now, so you better get a tummy tuck. Never mind that your body grew and housed and birthed entire human beings.

And natural boobs? Ghastly. way past their prime. Again, never mind that they fed your babies for 4 1/2 years of your life, for their intended purpose. Stuff those puppies in a push-up bra.

Touch up those grays. Your roots are showing. And while we are on “hair,” older women should never grow their hair long.

Hey, what’s with the turkey neck? Good GOD, that’s unattractive! Lift that jawline.

Get your saggy butt lifted. You’ll never be a Kardashian at this rate.

Don’t wear anything sexy. People will tsk-tsk at you and say you’re not acting “your age.”

Bleach / wax / lift/fix / fill / Botox / work out. Be “more” and try harder.

Otherwise, you might as well be an old lady that nobody sees.

Ah, but I see you.

You are beautiful in your aged-ness.

You’re not “old” like the world wants you to think you are.

You are not old like Tweety Bird’s frail grandmother, tottering around in small, arthritic steps, made grouchy by that damn cat and life in general. (Although, is it any wonder we’re grouchy?)

No.

You are “old” like “The Oracle” in The Matrix.

Soft.

Strong.

Wise.

Regal.

And like her character in the Matrix, you represent the prophesies and victories – not over machines – but over the expectations of a shallow world.

You provide assistance to the freed, when you can free your mind.

And by being free to be yourself, you will be the pied piper of the Sisterhood.

And when the world insists or insinuates you have somehow lost value?

Screw ‘em.

Be glorious, ladies of “a certain age.” Do not go quietly into the most liberating era of your life. Do not let them tell you that your value hasn’t appreciated. Because OH, how it has!

You are beautiful.

We are beautiful.

Blessed May we be.

Poetry · Spiritual

Ladybug and Ant: a little poetry jam

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You matter. You’re a very big deal. You bring strength and beauty to this world; thanks for that. May we lean into each other and look out for one another. Blessed be.

By: JANA GREENE

“I want to be big,”

said Ladybug,

And Ant said,

“Why, you already are!

you’re covered in dots –

you’ve the most beautiful spots!

And you’re bigger than me by far.”

“Well you are strong,”

said Ladybug,

“You lift such heavy grains.

And you’ve so many friends,

your hill’s full of them!

You’ve enough

to form a whole chain!”

“I’ve one more now,”

Ant said to her,

“You’re just the right size

for a friend.”

So they bugged out together,

(no need for fair weather,)

side by side

through the leaves and the stems.

Poetry · Spiritual

Speak Your Truth – a little poetry jam

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Your own heart is trustworthy ❤️

By: JANA GREENE

Your truth is just as valid

as theirs,

Dear One.

Even when

you’ve come undone.

Even if you’ve been shushed,

(perhaps especially then!)

Even though you were rushed

to grow up and validate them.

Trust in yourself,

Dear One,

Because your voice is true.

So stop worrying about the haters,

those rude commentators,

and be authentically YOU,

Poetry · Spiritual

Speak Your Truth – a little poetry jam

Featured Jana GreeneLeave a comment
Your own heart is trustworthy ❤️

By: JANA GREENE

Your truth is just as valid

as theirs,

Dear One.

Even when

you’ve come undone.

Even if you’ve been shushed,

(perhaps especially then!)

Even though you were rushed

to grow up and validate them.

Trust in yourself,

Dear One,

Because your voice is true.

So stop worrying about the haters,

those rude commentators,

and be authentically YOU,

disability · Spiritual

The Church, Disability, and Loving People Where They Are

Featured Jana Greene2 Comments
Photo by Marcus Aurelius on Pexels.com

By: JANA GREENE

When people ask me what was the catalyst to reconstructing my faith, my genetic conditions top the list. There is nothing like “casting demons” out of a person who was born with a disability. It really adds insult to (literal) injury. You must be spiritually lacking, if you’re not getting well! You’re “under attack.” You’re oppressed by the enemy.” If you just prayed harder, believed harder! Surrender more!

And I didn’t get physically better. At all.

So it’s obviously a problem with my faith! I’ve been told the metal in my ankle had literally turned in to bone, and that I had already “gotten my healing,” it’s just not “manifesting” yet because there is some COSMIC LESSON in it for me that I’m not quite getting, so God is giving me the business. In a LOVING way, of course, but it just feels like pain to me, so what’s up with THAT kind of love? His ways aren’t our ways, to which I say: Why did he imbed the ability to love or be loved in us? We know what feels loving, and what feels cruel. Its love that makes the (fallen, broken) world go round.

People with disabilities maybe don’t need your judgey insistence that they are sick spiritually defective people, demons inhabit them. Powers of darkness aren’t making me sick; I was born making faulty, mutated collagen that my body cannot effectively use, and a host of other 100% genetic conditions that no amount of speaking in tongues, laying on hands, and fervent prayers will fix.

And here’s the thing: That’s okay.

I’m okay with that. I am NOT okay with perpetuating this mindset to the disabled community. It’s one thing to pray for healing (I pray all the time,) it’s another to perform a sort of exorcism on a person who is just simply born in a sick body.

But I have been healed in other ways.

All the years of being told I’m healed by Jesus’ “stripes,” I truly believe I was receiving another kind of healing, just as profound. My identity as a broken person has been fixed, in that I’m not begging God 24/7 to make me whole. Maybe I’m already whole and wasn’t defective in the first place. My sense of surrender has been healed. My acceptance of my humanity – and my differently-abled body? I’m getting that shit down.

Maybe the church (and world) are being called to love disabled people where they’re at. Maybe ask what help they need, instead of making their already difficult lives become about their eternal souls. We already feel like shit. We don’t need the layers of shame, guilt, pity, and fear that comes with this kind of religion. And for God’s sake, leave demons out of it altogether, holy cow!

Love people where they’re at, just as you love and accept the able-bodied. We can do better. We must do better.

Spiritual

When a Man Steps Up, the “Step” Falls Away

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Daughters are the most amazing, challenging, blessed events of our lives.

By: JANA GREENE

What kind of man volunteers

To raise another man’s child?

Takes them to their dentist visits.

Goes to parent-teacher conferences.

Feeds and clothes them until they are grown (and even after that.)

Not just for the responsibilities,

But also to experience the joys.

The milestones.

What kind of man actually shows up a each and every time?

To be a listening ear.

To give advice.

To put his needs after the needs

Of his wife and kids?

And to not look for one iota of glory for himself in doing so?

A man who would take on

Parenting two more children,

In the tenuous teenage years at that?

When the gauntlet was raised,

And the pedal hit the metal,

And the shit hit the fan,

And the stakes couldn’t be higher,

My husband was that man.

My husband is that man.

And I could not have chosen

A better “step”father for my girls,

But also

A better husband, life partner, friend.

Happy Father’s Day, My Beloved.

I know it was difficult,

But we raised three good human beings,

And like everything else,

We did it

Together.

There is no “step” about it, Baby.

And we all love you so.

Poetry · Spiritual

The Great Opening – a spiritual poem

Featured Jana Greene2 Comments
Photo by Susanne Jutzeler, suju-foto on Pexels.com

Byh: JANA GREENE

They say I’ve changed,

and they don’’t like it.

Isn’t it a shame, they say.

She used to be a “good” Christian.

And I was, because I was

striving to DO, instead of BE.

“You’ve changed”

is said in negative observation,

as if circumstances don’t change,

as if life stands still.

As if pretending ten thousand things

didn’t happen to me

between the ages of 34 and 54

(or heck, even between 53 and 54!)

But they don’t know

that it is raw and permeating love

that tripped me up in the first place.

Acceptance for ALL?

Heretic! they say.

But either God is love

or He’s not,

and the truth is,

when I tripped over the concept

of unconditional love,

I fell into a vat of it,

rich, and thick, and endless.

I found my tribe in that vat,

and we synchronize- swim

together in that great,

copious pool of love,

free and unfettered.

We landed in the arms

of a loving God, you see,

faith in what matters intact.

In my heart of hearts now,

I know

that on the deepest level,

there is no such thing

as separation.

Not one from another,

and certainly not from

and the Father,

or the Son.

or the Holy Spirit.

So I try to see others

through the lens of that

unseparateness.

And sometimes I fail.

But at the end of the day,

I would rather be

a heretical lover of people

than a bitter

but self-righteous believer.

The confounding dualism

that most of Christendom lives by

kept me spiritually stagnant

for too long,

and prevented me from being

my most authentic self;

a version of me

I’ve never known.

Somehow by proxy

it made me unknowingly

inauthentic with God, too,

who was good with me

in the first place.

So…

When others read the sacred texts

from thousands of years ago

to support their narrative

of exclusion,

they do so from a lofty cherry-picker,

proud and righteous.

That used to be my narrative too.

But I’m not too good at

picking cherries.

I tried for years,

dizzy from the heights,

hands stained with the juice,

that I considered somehow

also the blood of Jesus.

I prefer the fruits of the Spirit, you see,

to forbidden apples and

unreachable cherries.

Yes… I’ve changed.

That’s the truth.

But perhaps we are meant to.

Maybe there is a Great Opening

in the realms we cannot see

that will be the catalyst

to understanding

the world we can see.

Love opens your whole soul up!

And I think I’d rather

have an open spirit –

a great and gaping

cavernous heart

that’s big enough for everyone –

than be a “good Christian”

by the standards of this world,

which – by the way – God so loves.

He so loves YOU, too.

Blessed be.