Category: Spiritual

Spiritual

Moral Failing or Disease? Substance Abuse and the People we Love

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Jana Greene's avatarMusings of a Gypsy Soul

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By: Jana Greene

Hello, dear Readers.

Earlier today, a friend whom I respect very much asked if I believed addiction was really 100% a legitimate disease.

I do.

In much the same way that the medical establishment used to consider homosexuality a mental disorder and have learned otherwise, I think we will come to understand substance abuse a disease, rather than a moral failure. The science is there.

Today, I hope to write about this subject, which can bring up volatile reactions. I hope to open a respectful dialogue between the addicts AND the people who love them.

Before you read on, I encourage you to visit YouTube and watch this little video. It is simple and profound, and might help us all to understand the nature of addiction a little better:

CLICK HERE TO WATCH VIDEO

In addition to being an alcoholic myself, I do battle with several other…

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Family · Spiritual

Letter to my Sister – I love you forever

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sister
KK, you drew this for me when you were four years old, and titled it “Big Sister, Little Sister.” You explained that we were playing ball together. It still hangs in my house to this day. It means the world to me.

By: Jana Greene

Good day, Readers.

I know I am smack-dab in the middle of writing about the Beatitudes, and taking my sweet time about contrary to what I promised because I’ve had a procedure in my head, neck, and shoulders in which 200 ccs (14 very necessary injections) had to be placed in the muscles and over the skull to prevent my migraines, and while seemingly barbaric, it helps my headaches immensely. I’ve been in a lot of pain; pain that is not conducive to creativity. That is why I have not continued the Beatitude Series (I am still working on #4 – the sense of justice – but I had this dream last night and when I woke, I knew I had to write it. So I interrupt this Beatitude Series to write about the dream I just had. It may cause a family shit-storm (if any of my estranged family reads my work), and I sincerely hope not. That is not my intent.

My intent is to tell my sister, who was born when I was 16, that I love her.

KK,

I had a dream about you last night. It isn’t the first that I’ve had about you, but it was by all means the most vivid, I need to share it with you because I felt your actual spirit while in my dream-state.

I’m going to start by telling you the beginning of the dream, because that is the natural set-up to the last scene is the normal way to write it. But we’ve never been normal, and why start now? Besides, the last scene was the one I woke up crying to.

I snuck in the house because my name is officially mud forever and ever amen to that side of the family, for telling the truth.

But you took a risk, although you were angry about it. You’d been crying and I could tell you were equal parts happy to see me and supremely pissed, I could tell because your eyes become particularly green when you are in this state, and the contrast to your gorgeous red hair becomes even more striking.

There was an urgency for me to tell you what I came to say, because other family members were on their way to kick me out, so I took that beautiful face of yours that I’ve been in love with since you were a baby and held it in my hands.

I told you I still love you and think of you every day, even after six or seven years. I told you I was SO proud of the successes you’ve achieved – which are extraordinary by anyone’s estimation. I told you I’m sorry that you don’t like to be hugged anymore and I hope that’s not because of our split – you had graduated from high school, and you loved hugs until then. I explained that I was just trying to stay sober and help other people stay sober by writing honest, not cause a rift. But rifts are sometimes a by-product of honesty.

I told you I’m sorry that my honesty splintered the family, but mostly because the splintering from you and your brother broke my heart anew every day I wake up.

Before that scene, the dream was a mix of Clockwork Orange surrealism and Freudian saturation, as usual.

It ended with our mom saying you got a tattoo, and it was my fault. It was a portrait of someone I didn’t know, and the person in the tattoo had a third eye, the all-seeing eye. She made you have a cover up of that third eye, because it somehow threatened your safety.  She was very upset about it.

And I was very upset by her presence because I know my own mother pretty much deplores me, and I didn’t want to make thing harder on you. I never meant to make things harder on you.

She chased me away and said to never come back. That I was upsetting everyone in the household.

But I got to hold your face in my hand even though you disliked being touch, so it was all worth it.

Earlier in the dream, you avoided me and I followed you room to room. The rooms were all a mess full of naked mannequins and old cell phones (take THAT, Dr. Frued) and I couldn’t find my phone but I kept trying. I needed to tell Bob where I was.

My sister, my first baby,

I know you think that some secrets are better left unsaid. It left you in an unenviable position to choose loyalty between your father and I. After my story came out, I remember you posting that some secrets should remain unsaid. Then you unfriended me, and I couldn’t really blame you. Although in your line of work, I was surprised to hear you give voice to that sentiment, but I understand it was primal.  You don’t get any more primal than that.

And for that, I’m very sorry. But I’m not sorry for writing true (and, truth be told, the extreme sanitized version of events.) I’m only sorry for hurting you and losing you in the process.

But my truth is my truth, and my childhood is part of what made me who I am – anxiety-ridden, feeling responsible for the adults in the house, worrying that my issues were swept under the rug in the name of keeping things nice-nice. I grew up feeling like a mistake that everyone was just trying to make the best of, and I’ve got scars, too. You were a much-wanted baby, I don’t expect you to understand.

Because you were my first baby, my girl, another truth be told.

When you were born, mom went through a hard time, and I hoisted you up on my hip and took you every where I went with my new-found driver’s license. There were rumors that you were mine, and I didn’t discourage them, because to my mind, you were the love of my life and every single thing you did was cause celeb. I simply could not get enough of you, dear one. I’d never known love like that before. So….

I’d love to hold your face in my hands one more time and tell you I’m sorry how all of this has effected you and your brother. I don’t feel that I can safely do that because others would insert themselves in the process and that would be more damaging than healing – on both our parts.

I would tell you I was sorry. I would tell you that I love you, and never stopped, and that I’m so freaking proud of you, but not just for your career accomplishments….for your strength, too.

I love you, always.

Beatitudes · Spiritual

Blessed are the Meek (Part III of The Beatitude Series)

Jana Greene2 Comments
Mystic
The truth will set you free. But first it’s going to be pretty uncomfortable.

By: Jana Greene

Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth. Most everyone knows this beatitude; what with the promise of inheriting the earth and all. I love the way The Message translation breaks it down:

“You’re blessed when you’re content with just who you are — no more, no less. That’s the moment you find yourselves proud owners of everything that can’t be bought.” (MSG)

Who else has felt like they are never enough? I don’t mean the self-depreciation that comes with not meeting individual expectations. I mean,  who else struggles with core low self-esteem? Just feeling less-than?

At times, I feel I can do no right. I wish I were more organized, more punctual. More reliable. Steadier. It’s easy to get swept up in self loathing as a vehicle for ‘meekness,’ at least for me. Once the spiral gets going, it’s easy to believe all of your own negative press. Our self-esteem can ride on our hormonal fluctuations, our bruised egos, our moods.

Before I got sober, I was a very guarded person. I had few friends and because I was operating out of a place of near-complete fear, I reasoned that I wouldn’t say boo to a goose because I was ‘meek.’

I watched every word I said (sometimes that was good) for fear I might incriminate myself. I watched every thought because I just knew that God was displeased with my carnal nature. It was a stifling existence, fighting my voice in order to please everyone else, especially the Almighty.

It wasn’t a lifetime of meekness. It was a lifetime of being afraid. God isn’t afraid of my thoughts – He know them all already. Oh how I wish I had known that the Almighty was already okay with the real me!

Meekness is defined as (trigger warning) “submissiveness.” Why is being submissive considered such a societal ill? Because we are defining submission in terms of how humans treat each other, not how God treats His creation. If someone always has your best interest at heart and never fails at sweeping you off your feet, being submissive is easy. Most of the time.

It isn’t a watering-down, but a building-up!

Four years into sobriety, I met my husband. In an instant I fell in love and took the great risk of being myself with him. Through step work, I started loving people and letting them in, and in return, received a great deal of love. And I was amazed – I am STILL amazed 12 years later – that he actually encourages my quirkiness.

Had I not met him, I doubt very much that I would be writing this blog – or anything else – because I would be too afraid of what you (the reader) are thinking right now.

Sometimes we just need someone to give us permission to see ourselves in a positive light.

God is giving you permission! Blessedness is not a mood, but a state of being. Praise be for THAT!

It took a little longer for me to trust that God encourages our quirkiness, but I’m here to tell you, He does. He really does get tickled by the things that make us US.

It’s okay to have a voice.

In researching the subject of meekness, I came across a wonderful quote (and one that is, as far as I can tell, anonymous): “Meekness is not weakness, just strength under control.”

Meekness is not low self-esteem. To be meek is to know who you are, and not try to be more than that or less than that. But being who God says we are is so much better than who we could paint ourselves to be.
Just BE.

Human being < human doing.

And it is in the ‘being’ that we become content with who we are and find ourselves the proud owners of everything that can’t be bought…

Love among one another.

Strength under control – God’s control.

Intimacy with the Living God. If we are bestowed that, we have gained the whole world.

 

 

 

Spiritual

Blessed are Those who Mourn (Part II of The Beatitude Series)

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Blessed are those who Mourn pic.jpg

By: Jana Greene

Blessed are those who mourn. Hmmm. Grieving sure doesn’t feel like a blessing!

Mourning and grieving seem nothing like the trappings we equate with blessings. It looks nothing like lightheartedness, or joy pressed down and overflowing, It looks and feels like pain.

Here is the verse in The Message translation:  “You’re blessed when you feel you’ve lost what is most dear to you. Only then can you be embraced by the One most dear to you.”

Blessed are they who mourn – for they shall be comforted – is what the scriptures say.

Psalm 56:8 puts it this way:

“You’ve kept track of my every toss and turn
    through the sleepless nights,
Each tear entered in your ledger,
    each ache written in your book.”

When I was a teenager (and a bit of a self-righteous holy roller) my daily prayer was always exactly the same. I would write it down in my journal, so as not to forget praying for one single person. It became a bit of a chant – a laundry list of ‘pleases’ and ‘thank yous.’ The top priority was always this little nugget, always prayed with the same inflection and tone of desperate begging:

“Please, Father, keep all of my loved ones safe and healthy. Build a hedge of protection around them. Please, God, please. Don’t let anything happen to my mom, siblings, extended family…..”

My fear of death for the people I loved most was an absolute obsession of mine. At the heart of it – beneath the words in my journal – was this imploring prayer:

“God, I will not survive it if you take anyone I love, or if anyone I love gets sick. You know it. I know it.  Please let each member of my family live long, happy, healthy lives. Amen.”

As long as I prayed the very same thing fervently and (here, God, let me remind you, in case you forgot yesterday) almost chant-like, I felt covered. Insured I’d payed my premium.

I never anticipated that things would turn out the way they did. The estrangements form those I’d loved most and prayed for OCD-style. It never occurred to me that I would one day have to mourn the living. For the sake of my sobriety, I had to erect boundaries, some that require virtual estrangement.  I never added the prayer, “Please God let us all get along for the rest of our days,” because there was no way I could have foreseen what would happen in the future. Indeed, those loved ones are still living. I hope they are happy and healthy, too. I still pray for them every day.

If you’ve ever had to mourn a living person, you know it is a slow, laborious process that rips your heart out cell by cell, sinew by sinew, over the course of years. It never gets easier. The betrayal you may feel numbs not one minute of the soul surgery.

Nothing about it seems ‘blessed.’ A person in mourning  (for the living or dead) might seem the last you’d imagine as ‘blessed.’

But that person might just be leaning into God in such a way that she melts into his love and provision. That has been my comfort. The melting into God.

And having a father you can melt into like that embodies the very being of the blessing state.

“You’re blessed when you feel you’ve lost what is most dear to you. Only then can you tangibly feel the embrace of the One most dear to you.

I’m starting to see a pattern here in the Beatitudes. The emotion of happiness  is nothing like the state of blessedness. Not only on the surface, where we are all so used to looking for it. But in the supernatural comfort in the midst of some really shitty circumstances.

Blessedness > pain. It just has to.

See, there’s this thing I cannot live without. – one thing I would not survivt. It trumps loss and grief, because it wraps itself around me and fills me.  The One thing that I can never lose or grieve.  That thing is Holy Spirit.

So remember, you are not lost, no matter how much loss you’ve had to endure. Papa hasn’t forgotten that you need provision. He cries with us when we mourn.

You will survive. I will survive. It just doesn’t always feel like we will.

Blessed are every toss and turn. Blessed are the sleepless nights.

Blessed be the One who remembers every tear we shed, and records them in our books.

Blessed are those who mourn, for the Father weeps with them.

Blessed are they who trust God through the grief.

And God bless us, every one.

 


Spiritual

Blessed are the Poor in Spirit (Part 1 – Beatitude Series)

Jana Greene4 Comments

 

 

 

By:  Jana Greene

Finally, I’m beginning the series about the Beatitudes, and exploring the differences between experiencing happiness and living in the state of Blessedness.

One is what you feel, the other is a state in which you live.

I’d like to share with you what God has revealed to me through the Beatitudes – one single item at a time.

For the next 8 days, it’s my goal to post a piece every night at 6:30 p.m. Texts will be taken from The Message translation of the Bible, unless otherwise noted. The Beatitudes can be found in Matthew 5.

Today’s Beatitude is “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.” (NIV)

I’m no expert on this subject – no theologian. I only know what each of the Beatitudes has looked like in real time, as it ever-reveals itself to me. And now – hopefully for you.

Are you in a place where the Biblical Beatitudes seem like shallow platitudes?

Are you flummoxed by some of the language used by Jesus, as He explains who qualifies as “blessed.”

Does it seem like He is speaking in riddles all throughout the Beatitudes? At times, even His own followers implored him to use simple words!

It sometimes seemed like that to me, too. But as I go slowly, (oh. So. Slowly.) Through Seminary and personal study, I am learning that many of the original texts were written in Greek – a language with so many more nuances than King James ever dreamed of. Much is lost in translation.

“When Jesus saw his ministry drawing huge crowds, he climbed a hillside. Those who were apprenticed to him, the committed, climbed with him.  Arriving at a quiet place, he sat down and taught his climbing companions. This is what he said: – Matthew 5:1

“You’re blessed when you’re at the end of your rope. With less of you there is more of God and his rule.”

When I read this passage, I am not thinking joy. I am not thinking shallow happiness.

I am not thinking, ‘Hooboy! I wish I were at the very end of my rope so I could feel BLESSED!’

It sounds counter-intuitive to everything we’ve learned about the way life works, because it is the complete opposite of this world’s workings.

Nobody ever wishes to be hanging on by a thread,  because it’s so uncomfortable to our Spirits to be in that place. People who thank God in the midst of trouble FOR the trouble must be higher evolved spiritually than myself, because truthfully, I don’t really want anything to do with that ‘rope’ at all.

Especially the ‘end’ of it.

If I’m honest, I also really don’t want to identify as ‘poor.’

You see, in the study of the NIV translation, “poor in spirit” is the term used to assure you that you are blessed. “Are you in Spiritual poverty?” Jesus asks. “Well, come on down! Come sit by me and be Blessed.”

Not blessed later.

Blessed in the midst of Spiritual Poverty.

What does that mean anyway, spiritual poverty? For me, it means staying a desperate beggar for more of God. It means knowing you are not in charge, and being thankful that you aren’t.

Yes, we are children of the Most High God, and yes, He lives IN us. Holy Spirit is already here with and in us. I know that there are rabid opinions about this issue (are we Royals and should operate as such, and that we are beggars no more) but truthfully, I am okay with being a beggar.

I never want to lose that primal desperation to have a deeper relationship with Christ. I never want to lose that worshipful desperation. And I’m not going to apologize for that.

Every single day, I can come to God and ask for His help in maintaining my strong-but-occasionally-rusty, 17-year old recovery, for example. Even though I know He is ‘in da house’ – the Kingdom of God is within us – I invite Him deeper, and his love acts as a salve for my mind.

My heart knows “It is Finished” and He already lives in me. But sometimes my mind gets awfully forgetful.

There I meet my inner Beggar – sometimes at the end of her rope – desperate as always for the comfort of Jesus. And in doing so, become poor in spirit – in need of ever more intimate relationship with the One who Blesses.

It’s the place where you tell Jesus “Hey, I got NUTHIN’ here, Brother.”

It’s the place where you cannot see any possible way out.

It’s the place where Jesus shows up – invited or not – hallelujah!

When you are at the end of your rope, and feeling like your Spirit is impoverished, there is no self-promotion. There is no energy to fix and do and manipulate. On the contrary. The “I decrease so that you increase, God” modus operandi comes into play so fully that the Father is bound by duty to rescue us.

Who else among my readers has been at the end of their proverbial rope? Are you there now? Are you poor of Spirit, feeling like you have no well to draw from and nothing to pull from to bless others?

You are BLESSED, Kiddo! Right here. Right now.

Rope can be used to hang us. But it can also be used to lift us up out of our poverty of mind and soul. And even though the end of a rope sounds pretty ominous, what will you meet if your hands get tired and slip off of the lifeline? Trust that your feet are only inches from the palm of the father’s hand. He will catch you, guaranteed.

We get blessed when we decrease, and He increases.

We get blessed when, having nothing at all to give in spiritual poverty, He gives all, pouring it into us to overflowing.

Tomorrow, I will be writing about the second Beatitude, and it’s a DOOZY. Bring tissues!

Here is the verse:  “You’re blessed when you feel you’ve lost what is most dear to you. Only then can you be embraced by the One most dear to you.”

Thank you for your readership, friends. I’ll post the next segment tomorrow.

God bless us, every one.

Spiritual

A Thanksgiving Treatise (or Turkey Day with the Grown-Up Kids)

Jana Greene4 Comments
(*This piece is satire* No offspring were hurt or egos bruised in the making of this post.)
turkey2
By: Jana Greene
Happy Thanksgiving, All!
There are certain things my adult daughters and I have agreed to disagree on, and thus; avoid conversing about altogether on Thanksgiving.
We get along SO MUCH BETTER when certain topics are off the table. It ain’t denial – we all know where the other stands – lets call it relationship maintenance. These things have been hashed out MULTIPLE times, and are only really good for raising blood pressure and driving a wedge between us.
Your typical Thanksgiving table talk is rife with strife, amirite?! So as in years past, I have issued a brief and snarky outline of acceptable Thanksgiving dinner topics for my lovely but liberal daughters and their paramours, because nobody really wants to see Old Mom stroke out at the table during the festivities. It makes it much harder to pass the gravy.
Let’s all try to get along on on this Thanksgiving Day, the year of our Lord, 2017:
1. The Kardashians. Oh Law, how are they still making the list? Why do they keep replicating? No, we will never be anything like the Kardashians. Why? We are not rich. We are not (quite as) bitchy to one another. Our bootys are not as high as Kardashian bootys, nor as round or firm and NEVER WILL BE. Do I really need to go any further? As such, I don’t care what Khloe or Kim or….(I only know two, sorry) are doing these days.
2. The presidency of the United States. Yes, everything sucks, politically. All of it. We have differing reasons WHY we think it sucks but I’ve been an American a long time, and I can assure you that someone will always be elected to office who SUCKS. Trump, Obama, Biden, Michelle, Pence, (fill in the blank with your favorite Libertarian) – all suck mightily. Lets not waste time stating the obvious. Last year, multiple people at this very table threatened to move to Canada is things did not go their way. Those things did not, yet here you are, right here at my table. So hush.
3. Giving us the rundown on the ‘gender identity’ or ‘fluid sexuality” lifestyles that the kids you went to high school with have adopted. I don’t want to fixate on it, but not for the reason you think.  I made those kids oatmeal raisin cookies when they were little, and took them to pumpkin patches and watched them grow up. I love them, and not one iota more or less because they’ve changed. I get it that this issue is a VERY big and legitimate thing, but I don’t want to hear about the sex lives or choices of my heterosexual friends, thankyouverymuch. Being tran / pan / bi  / sexual, queer or gender fluid? You just do YOU! Evaporating every part of a human being except for their sexuality is tragic, because they are so much more than just that one identity. We get it. It isn’t’ ‘just a phase.” It’s long ago lost it’s shock value. Please pass the cranberry sauce.
4.  Refugees, Syrian or otherwise (although I’d love to chat about The Fugees – the R & B group that features Lauryn Hill. Anyone know what they’re up to these days?)
5.  If you feel strongly enough about the backstory of Thanksgiving, remember that not one single person alive today ever had a hand in decimating a population. I wholeheartedly agree that what was done to the native population was HORRIBLE, and is one of the very reasons I TRUST NO GOVERNMENT. Rather than guilt-tripping everyone at the table, feel free to boycott the turkey and sides and pie, and take a box of lucky charms up to your room and eat dry cereal all by yourself, you anti-Colonialist. We’ll save you some plain water. Really, we’ are all fine with that.
In conclusion…..the list also encompasses avoidance of:
6….. Terrorism talk, twerking, why being a vegan is preferable to being a barbarian, what you did when you got drunk last week, Global Warming, and  (if applicable) why you don’t shave your legs anymore,  why I will not get matching tattoos with you (keep this one on the back burner, though, kids. I’m intrigued,)  Any and all ‘shaming’ –  Body, lifestyle,  turkey. Also, I’d really rather not have a rundown of all the genetic material that I’ve passed your way that is sub-par. Sorry about all of that. Thems the breaks, kids.
7. I know you have “cramps” (and have every Thanksgiving since your menses) but you CAN help clean up after the meal. Its a very good way to display camaraderie with your family, and participation is a VERY feminist thing to do. Thank you.
Lets try to be cognizant of how very BLESSED (yep, I SAID it!) we are to be family, because we are an AWESOME family. We put the “fun” in dysfunction, and do so brilliantly.
We’re not ‘lucky,’ because everything wonderful that makes up our relationships did not come about all willy-nilly, but has been formed over years and years of fierce love, fierce opinions, fierce loyalty.
I am so blessed to be your mama.
No – actually WE are BLESSED. All of this straining and lurching forward and falling back – again and again choosing each other – that’s a supernatural bond. We laugh all the time, we love unconditionally, even when that looks really messy. We each have the other’s back EVERY day, no matter how much we disagree.
Lets nomnomnom out on Thanksgiving dinner, eat too much pie. Loosen our belts. And go back for seconds. Lets laugh and hug and have seconds. And thank God for allowing us the privilege to do so.
And after dinner, if you’re really lucky, we’ll break out Cards Against Humanity and play a round of wildly inappropriate cards with your own mother, and you’ll try to tell me what certain things mean, and I will block my ears and say NO DON”T TELL ME!  and we will laugh to the point of choking / and-or peeing.
I love you all to the moon and back.
Happy Thanksgiving, ya’ll!
Spiritual

Giving Gratitude the First Word

Jana GreeneLeave a comment

Happy Thanksgiving Week, all. In this Thanksgiving season, I’ll be sharing some pieces about gratitude from the archives.
The Beatitude Series will return next week. Thanks you for your readership! God bless you all.

Jana Greene's avatarMusings of a Gypsy Soul

bird Not today, worries. You don’t to rent space in my head in this season of gratitude.

Dear Standard Issue Worries,
Yeah, I heard you when I woke up this morning. I normally hear you before I even open my eyes to start the day. You’re pretty obnoxious and hard to ignore.
But you know what?
NOT TODAY.
Today is not your day, and tomorrow might not be either.
Do you know why?
Today I let Gratitude have the first word, and it drowned out your useless clamor.
Awash in the fount of every blessing, I realized that Worry is a victim’s game.
But Gratitude? It is interactive! It encourages me to look around at the overwhelming blessings Abba has given me, name them, and realize each one is a result of God’s strong hand.
As a matter of fact, when a sneaky worry creeps into my mind today, I…

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Christianity · Spiritual

The Beatitude Series – Blessed vs. Happy, an Introduction

Jana Greene3 Comments

blessed

By: Jana Greene

Hi, friends. This week and the next, I will be writing with a focus on the biblical Beatitudes. I’ll try to convey my heart on the subject and – as always – welcome YOUR take on each post. Blessed be, dear readers.

Many of you know that I am involved in a Christ centered 12 Step program. At tonight’s meeting, the leader made an amazing point about being blessed, and I can’t sleep until I share it with you. It was an AHA! moment; an epiphany, if you will. So simple, yet so profound.

We were discussing the Beatitudes – those biblical ‘blessed be’s. I’ve read them a thousand times. I’ve delved into studying them. I thought I understood them. But one single sentence he shared struck a chord, and I am thinking of it still.

You see, My Beloved and I recently returned from a trip to the mountains. We stayed in a tiny cabin and read books all day, and listened to the birdsong on the porch swing, and Van Morrison in the evenings, and went fishing in a little stocked pond multiple times. It was super EASY being happy there.

Alas, the realities back home were waiting for us upon our return. It wasn’t that I was unhappy to be back in real life; it’s just that comparatively, I’d rather sit in a cabin in the woods and read all day every day. Evidently that’s a lot to ask for.

But I’m richly blessed to the point of overflow. And not because of things or lack of things.

Happiness and blessedness are not the same thing.

Happiness is circumstantial. I can be full of mirth one moment, and in another moment become sad or angry. Oh how we love to chase the Happy!

Happiness is what we worship, isn’t it? I just want to be happy.

If I had all of my bills paid, I’d be happy. If my children were serving God, I’d be happy. If I lose 30 pounds, I’ll be happy. When I get that dream job / house / recognition / improved health … THEN  I’ll be happy. And then eventually I won’t, because LIFE keeps happening.

We catch it sometimes in celebration and laughter (which, according to my favorite author Anne Lamott, is ‘carbonated holiness.’ It’s an awful lot of chasing for something so fickle.

Blessed is a state. It is your natural state of being, because of whose you are. Even if you don’t know or believe, you are bestowed with the blessing of being invited to partake in the divine dance of the Trinity. Blessedness surpasses time or emotion or circumstance.

To live in a state of blessing awareness is to live the transcendent life. It’s a lot harder than it sounds! I’m preaching to myself here, too, because I am emotionally driven and get high on the Happy. There is no reality crash on blessedness.

There is only one qualifier to living the blessed life – if you know who you are and who you were created to be, you reap the benefits from the One who loves you.

So that’s what I’ll be writing about in this series; taking each beatitude one by one and hashing it out a bit. I’ll be referencing The Message translation of scripture.

Tomorrow the subject will be “Blessed are the poor in spirit” Please come along for the ride!

And note that my opinions are just that – my take on this very hard thing called Life. I’d love to hear your perspective as well.

Blessed be, friends.

The Beatitudes:

When Jesus saw his ministry drawing huge crowds, he climbed a hillside. Those who were apprenticed to him, the committed, climbed with him. Arriving at a quiet place, he sat down and taught his climbing companions. This is what he said:

 “You’re blessed when you’re at the end of your rope. With less of you there is more of God and his rule.

 “You’re blessed when you feel you’ve lost what is most dear to you. Only then can you be embraced by the One most dear to you.

 “You’re blessed when you’re content with just who you are—no more, no less. That’s the moment you find yourselves proud owners of everything that can’t be bought.

“You’re blessed when you’ve worked up a good appetite for God. He’s food and drink in the best meal you’ll ever eat.

“You’re blessed when you care. At the moment of being ‘care-full,’ you find yourselves cared for.

 “You’re blessed when you get your inside world—your mind and heart—put right. Then you can see God in the outside world.

 “You’re blessed when you can show people how to cooperate instead of compete or fight. That’s when you discover who you really are, and your place in God’s family.

“You’re blessed when your commitment to God provokes persecution. The persecution drives you even deeper into God’s kingdom.

“Not only that—count yourselves blessed every time people put you down or throw you out or speak lies about you to discredit me. What it means is that the truth is too close for comfort and they are uncomfortable. You can be glad when that happens—give a cheer, even!—for though they don’t like it, I do! And all heaven applauds. And know that you are in good company. My prophets and witnesses have always gotten into this kind of trouble. – Matthew 5:1-12 (MSG)

 

Spiritual · Spirituality

The DMV, God and Me (When Waiting Sucks)

Jana Greene4 Comments

keep going

By: Jana Greene

But those who wait upon God get fresh strength.
    They spread their wings and soar like eagles,
They run and don’t get tired,
    they walk and don’t lag behind. – Isaiah 40:29 (MSG)

If my life had an allegorical venue right now, it would be the DMV office.

Nobody there seemed to care about rules. The last time I went, there were children running all over, people playing games on their cellphones with the volume up, others having boisterous telephone conversations (mostly about making gravy,) and – I swear this is true – eating the Kentucky Fried Chicken they’d brought in.

It’s chaos in the lobby.  And not even the controlled kind. Much like the circumstances in my life right now.

When I go to pick my cattle-tag “next in line” numbered ticket, the printer is jammed. I go ask a worker about it, but she tells me to sit down and wait for my ticket to be called.

“But….”

“Go sit DOWN please.”

There are four DMV agents on duty and about 40 people waiting. Some of them are moving so slowly, I think they might be walking backwards. One of them finally comes to my aid and tinkers with the machine. When I go up to accept the ticket she pulled, I can feel the eyeballs of the other people waiting bore through my skull. I know what they’re thinking, because I’m thinking it too.

CAN’T WE JUST GET THIS SHOW ON THE ROAD ALREADY?

License renewal is such a PAIN.

See, I know how to drive a car, but the state thinks it’s a good idea to make me come back every 10 years or so and prove that I still remember.

But then I pick up the leaflet about road signs that I am about to be quizzed on, my confidence deflates. They’ve come up with some new ones, folks! We didn’t have those when I learned to drive, back is the Jurassic period. New directional signs, because the dozens we already had weren’t enough to heed.

When my number got called, I hopped up like Charlie when he found the Golden Ticket to the Chocolate Factory, and hustled up to the agent available.

And there I stood with nary an acknowledgement from her that I was there.

A good three minutes I stood there, then six more minutes. Finally she looks up and asked me with cold, dead eyes how I can be helped.

Now at this point I’m feeling super awkward and cannot remember what to do with my face. Smile? Furrow the brow?

Then she rushes  (dawdles) through the tests and I’m seated for the dreaded license photo that inevitably makes me look akin to Winston Churchill.

And then it was done…..my license was renewed.

I’d only been at the DMV for 2 1/2 hours, though it seemed so much longer. It always seems so much longer when you are going through something.

It was not the Department of Motor Vehicles fantasy experience I’d hoped for (haha) But it made me think about waiting in a new way.

I know this is a strange analogy. But in this season of my life, I do feel like I’m at the spiritual Department of Motor Vehicles.

I wrangle with outside forces just to find my place in line.

(Do I belong in this line or that?  What am I supposed to be doing, God?)

Wait.

In life, struggling minutes become hours, and while there is activity all around me, none of it is about solving my problem.  It’s just noise.

(Lord, I feel like maybe I can be still and know, well…YOU are YOU, if I were in a little less chaotic atmosphere….)

Wait again.

I’ve studied the  roadside pamphlet of life, and realized that I don’t know everything. Or even many things. So I try to cram as much of the apparent hieroglyphs into my sad, tired brain.

(Delve into the Bible, eeny-meeny-miny-mo style. Lord I know you are trying to tell me something! I’ll just flip through your Word until a page gets stuck on my hangnail, and that will be the magical verse that gets me through this season in life.)

Wait some more.

A renewal can mean being called in to prove that I  still know what I’ve known all my life. God is never content with His children just eeking by.  He loves me too much for that. He loves you too much for that. He knows our potential and wants great things for us.

(Why am I feeling like I’m being taken back to the basics in my faith?)

Just wait a bit longer, He says.

I’m too tired to learn new things Lord. I thought we had a pretty good thing going already. What’s up with all this drama? It’s like eerything is happening right now, and NOTHING is happening right now.

(I need to know you are with me in the midst of all of this.)

Wait upon me, child.

But this WAITING, oh Lord. Oy vey, the WAITING! I’ve discovered that what I hate most about waiting is that it gives me too much time to run through a thousand scenarios in my mind, nearly all of which are doomsday in nature. I suppose that’s where ‘lean not on your understanding’ becomes applicable.

God’s timing is perfect – the machine is not jammed. (Sometimes I shake it and yell at it just to be sure…)

Spirit renewal can be a little painful on occasion, but we always have the full attention of Jesus.

And you don’t have even have to wait for that ❤

Prayer

Father God, Make me more aware of your directional signs and give me the guidance to follow them. I’m so fidgety right now. As you  know, waiting is not my strong suit. You know how badly I just want to get this SHOW ON THE ROAD already, but I trust that your plans are exceedingly and abundantly superior to mine. Please just sit in the lobby with me, holding my hand. I do so love you, Jesus.

 

Spiritual

The Truthspeaker’s Daughters

Jana Greene2 Comments

This one is for my Sisterfriends. Love you all.

Jana Greene's avatarMusings of a Gypsy Soul

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By: Jana Greene

Hey, you.

Yeah, YOU.

The woman trying to fake happy, always busy being the nurturer.

You could use a little nurturing yourself.

Am I right?

And you – the one worrying late into the night for her adult children who seem to running from the God you made sure they were exposed to in church as youngsters.

You, the lady who feels like writing the bills requires her to channel Jesus Himself to pull a “loaves and fishes” miracle to have enough.

You, the one whose marriage has lost its luster.

Or suffering loneliness.

The woman who looks in the mirror and sees only wrinkles and fat and lost youth; the one who is saddened about the texture settling into her face as age sets in.

The one fed so many lies, by the media, societal expectations, and worse – ourselves.

What we need is a Truthspeaker…

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Spiritual · Spirituality

A Tiny Little Cabin and a Lot of Thinking

Jana Greene6 Comments

IMG_2327

By: Jana Greene

I love camping.

And by ‘camping,’ I mean staying in an air-conditioned cabin in the woods that has gas logs in the fireplace, and a hot tub on the back porch that faces a little creek.

It is My Beloved and I’s 10th wedding anniversary, so we decided to retreat to one of our favorite places in the world – a tiny little cabin in the woods with lots of creature comforts.

There are creature comforts at home, of course. We also have a ton of standard-fare life issues at home. We all do. We have bills, home and car repairs, kids, grandkids, doctor appointments, three high maintenance cats, and routines.

Routines can harken comfort. They can also become a distraction.

This week with my husband is a re-boot from all the distraction. We can be us, and focus on who we are to each other. We can be reminded that not everything is falling, as so often seems the case these days.

The new normal seems to be trying to keep up with the new normal. Things change and morph and so do we.

In these North Carolina mountains, Autumn is amping up before our eyes. I swear the leaves have gone plum technicolor in the mere two days we have been here so far. It’s exciting to watch the reds and yellows. The purples and oranges. It looks like the whole world is on fire with vibrancy, getting ready for the big crescendo! But even as the trees explode in living color, other leaves are falling, littering the wet ground with dull, brown peat.

It has to happen when winter comes. The trees must become bare, lest there be no spring buds gestating in the seemingly frozen branches. Things must fall so that things can spring up anew. And things must spring up anew so that the trees can be full again and, in turn, become technicolor with the reds and yellows, the purples and oranges.

What could have me feeling so cornball about this crazy life, and waxing poetic about autumn leaves?

Nature. Nature does it to me every time.

For a girl who loves her a/c and hot tubs, I do so adore nature.

My beloved and I needed badly to get away to the smoky, rolling hills of North Carolina and reflect on the best – and most challenging – 10 years of our lives. There were times when we weren’t sure we’d come out alive – blending a family of three teenage girls, dealing with debilitating health issues, living out “for richer or for poorer.”

But we come out alive and even manage to thrive, because the same Creator who orchestrates the seasons also orchestrates our marriage. We insisted that He did so, right out of the gate.

So, I’m writing this blog post from a little cabin in the woods. There are still issues waiting for us when we go back home, but right now, the gas logs in the fireplace are roaring, I am sipping sparkly apple cider, and My Beloved sits next to me leisurely reading a James Patterson novel. We are an old married couple now.

I LOVE it.

I love disconnecting from the routines, even if for a few days.

I love this man whom with I am celebrating ten years of wedded bliss. I love that we are so predictable that we finish each other’s sentences.

Nature reminds me that everything about God’s creation has a purpose and an inevitable rebirth. Nature has a way of  refreshing the weary spirit.

It reminds me why people name their children after flowers.

As I listen to the ripple of the creek down below, I am reminded why there are hymns written about deer panting after water.

It reminds me that paying bills can be usurped by paying attention to the glory of an Autumn forest.

It reminds me that earth has a smell and that leaf litter is preferable to kitty litter.

It reminds me that the drudgery of life can be put in its proper place with a strategic plan for a second honeymoon away from it all.

It reminds me that things fall, but there is purpose in the falling.

And as my husband absently reaches for my hand as we sit on the front porch swing together saying nothing but communicating everything, I’m so grateful.

God bless us, every one.

 

 

Anxiety · Spiritual

Assurances at 4 a.m. (It’s a Psalms Thing)

Jana Greene3 Comments
lavender
Photo credit: Jana Greene (“Lavender Moon-rise”)

By: Jana Greene

It’s been a long night.

I fell asleep easy enough, but a few hours later I woke up to pee (we keep it real here, right?) like I do every other night at least three times, and was assaulted by hip pain when I stood up. Soon after, when I crawled back into bed, I felt the familiar dull headache begin stirring behind my eyes.

Terrific.

I tried to go back to sleep. I really did. But although I was desperately tired, I hurt. Hurting in the middle of the night is a lonely endeavor. Whereas I normally might complain to my long-suffering but incredibly supportive husband, he was fast asleep.

Soon, my mind got in on the action.

Suddenly – at 4 a.m. – I had this primal wave of worry wash over me. As if pain was tag-teaming anxiety. I tossed and turned, and asked God for a little help here, please. We are going through such a weird and wild season right now.

At 4 a.m., I wanted assurances.

I wanted to call my adult child and make sure she was okay. And then I wanted her to make promises to do what I cannot even manage myself – to get my sh*t together. I wanted God to guarantee her safety.  To guarantee all of us safety.

Then, the spiraled from there….

I wanted to log into my email and find five job offers in my in-box. Even though I’m really not healthy enough to work right now.

I wanted to will myself well and get on with life already.

I wanted to lift all of my husband’s worries off of his sleeping chest, so that when he wakes in the morning, his burdens are lifted.

I wanted to know that the world is not imploding, contrary to the evidence all around us.

I wanted to fast-track my therapy to purge my closet of skeletons in one fail swoop.

I wanted to stop feeling so crappy about myself.

I wanted a magic pill to calm my nerves so I could sleep.

I wanted – no, I NEEDED to tangibly feel God’s presence RIGHT NOW. Isn’t that the real craving? Without it, no amount of ‘fixed’ satisfies.

Instead, the more I panicked, the more it felt as though my prayers were bouncing off the ceiling.

A little voice in my spirit tapped me gently on the shoulder as if to say, “Excuse me….I hate to interrupt your anxiety attack and throbbing headache, but – um…..Pslams.”

I took a deep breath.

In another lifetime (fifteen years to be exact) I was a single mother of two pre-teen daughters. I was juggling four jobs after having been a stay at home mom all their lives. I became estranged from unhealthy relationships to safeguard my recovery.  My health problems kicked in, aided by the stress. My car window didn’t roll up – a hefty bag and duct tape was all that kept me dry.  We lived in a bad neighborhood. It felt like loss, loss, loss.

Since the separation from my girls’ father, it had just been one thing after another after another – big life issues – the kind of things that threatened by then-newish (four years) sobriety. That I survived that season in life sober is a walking-on-water caliber miracle.

All on my own and responsible for the lives of two beautiful girls, I’d never felt so alone. I lived on coffee, Diet Coke and cigarettes, and the only other reliable staple I had was my Bible and prayer life.

I made it a habit each morning to rise before my children, grab my Virginia Slim menthols and a cup of coffee, and sit outside on my porch with my Bible, looking for answers. Looking for assurances between drags on cigarettes.

Psalms are assurances. If you read them aloud, they are even promises.

There is no magic pill for me.  I’m an alcoholic. I am wise enough to not trust myself to substances.

But there are Psalms.

So this morning, I’m sharing this little love letter that God led me to just now. The words were written by a man who just couldn’t get his sh*t together either – the biblical David. I love David because he is desperate and wildly in love with God, all at once.

I hope these verses speak to you, too. God pretty much drug me out of bed to come write this post. Maybe somebody out there somewhere can feel a little less alone.

Read the Psalms aloud – they are meant for those whose worlds are imploding. Savor every word.

At 4 a.m., I wanted assurances. Thanks Papa God for showing up. You always do.

(I would also love to know what your favorite Psalms are, too.)

Need a Psalm? Take a Psalm.

Have a Psalm? Leave a Psalm.

And God bless us, every one.

“I run to you, God; I run for dear life.
    Don’t let me down!
    Take me seriously this time!
Get down on my level and listen,
    and please—no procrastination!

Your granite cave a hiding place,
    your high cliff aerie a place of safety.

 You’re my cave to hide in,
    my cliff to climb.

Be my safe leader,
    be my true mountain guide.
Free me from hidden traps;
    I want to hide in you.

I’ve put my life in your hands.
    You won’t drop me,
    you’ll never let me down.

 I hate all this silly religion,
    but you, God, I trust.

I’m leaping and singing in the circle of your love;
    you saw my pain,
    you disarmed my tormentors,

You didn’t leave me in their clutches
    but gave me room to breathe.
Be kind to me, God—
    I’m in deep, deep trouble again.

I’ve cried my eyes out;
    I feel hollow inside.
My life leaks away, groan by groan;
    my years fade out in sighs.

My troubles have worn me out,
    turned my bones to powder.
To my enemies I’m a monster;
    I’m ridiculed by the neighbors….

Desperate, I throw myself on you:
    you are my God!
Hour by hour I place my days in your hand,
    safe from the hands out to get me.

 

Warm me, your servant, with a smile;
    save me because you love me.
Don’t embarrass me by not showing up;
    I’ve given you plenty of notice…..

What a stack of blessing you have piled up
    for those who worship you,
Ready and waiting for all who run to you
    to escape an unkind world.

You hide them safely away
    from the opposition.
As you slam the door on those oily, mocking faces,
    you silence the poisonous gossip.

Blessed God!
    His love is the wonder of the world.
Trapped by a siege, I panicked.
    “Out of sight, out of mind,” I said.
But you heard me say it,
    you heard and listened.

 

Love God, all you saints;
    God takes care of all who stay close to him,
But he pays back in full
    those arrogant enough to go it alone.

 Be brave. Be strong. Don’t give up.
    Expect God to get here soon.” – Psalms 31 (MSG)

Depression · Spiritual

Occupation: Depression – Thoughts on Faith and Mental Illness

Jana Greene2 Comments
foresale
Photo credit: Denver Post

I’d like to dedicate today’s piece to all of the doctors and health care workers who take the time to treat the WHOLE patient. Not all heroes wear capes. You know who you are ❤

 

By: Jana Greene

Here’s what today’s blog post is not going to be about: Snapping Out of It.

Snapping Out of It is the ugly cousin of Just Get Over It, who is a third cousin twice removed to This Too Shall Pass. There would be no point in snapping out of or getting over something that isn’t going to pass. Know what I mean?

I am not only a recipient of these sentiments, I have – at various times – been the advisor. I never meant to be curt with anyone, but from where I was sitting in my own woe-is-me-pod, some other depressed people had it pretty cushy, honestly.

You went to Disney World twice last year. You drive a car with working air conditioning. You are physically healthy. Your children are little full-ride scholarship, carved-out-of-cream-cheese, ministry workers who worship our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Oh my God, what more do you WANT!? Why are so SAD!? STOP IT. JUST STOP BEING SAD.

Except that depression is the very definition of subjective-ness. (I once was the lady who went to Disney World twice every year, and eventually nearly drank myself to death anyway.)

Here’s what this blog piece IS about: What depression feels like. I am SO hoping that many of you respond with how it effects YOUR life so that we can interact. It’s such an important subject.

You are already whole in Christ! 

Yes. But I feel like a whole lot of hurt. And that’s just the truth. Maybe if I had normal brain chemistry, I would grasp this wholeness in a more useful and fulfilling way!

That I struggle doesn’t mean my faith is janky.  It might mean my chemicals keep me from realizing the beautiful truths that seem to come so easily to others.

I’ve recently become more proactive in improving my mental state. I am currently in therapy to try to slay old, fermented demons from childhood forward, because you cannot slay and deny the demons simultaneously. Oh, and it would be nice not to have nightmares nearly every night.

I’m doing self-care. It’s a work in progress.

I know a perfectly lovely woman with cerebral palsy. To watch her worship is how I totally envision perfect praise. Her movements may be jerky, she may stumble at times, but I have NEVER seen more genuine worship than that by my friend.

Is she a child of a lesser god because she isn’t in perfect health? Oh COURSE NOT.

Mental illness is no different.

Depression can be *&%^$#@! organic and I have the lab results to prove it! I’m virtually out of stock with the serotonin. This is why God created geniuses in billowy, white lab coats (coincidence that they dress like angels? You decide) to whip up concoctions to help our bodies heal. Better living through chemistry. Yes, I would rather take some St. John’s Wort (although anything with ‘wort’ in it kind of turns me off) or slather on Snake (Essential) Oil) or chaw on some magical, organic hay that has been regurgitated by free range cows, but I don’t have time for that dangerous gamble.

I come from a long line of depressed people. And honey, I mean a LONG line. In the past four generations, many of us have started with the Gerber baby food of antidepressants (Prozac or equivalent) around 13, when hormones make us crazy. Deep despondency requires our brains get a little help.

We are almost ALL ridiculously creatively gifted. We are painters, and artists, and sculptors, and writers, and poets, musicians. (What’s the nice way to describe someone loony? Oh, “eccentric.”)

We fight hard, we love hard – there is no moderation.  If you are in my family and are not on at LEAST three medications to regulate your brain chemistry, thyroid, migraines, blood pressure, and cholesterol, step down, son. You can’t even play in the majors.

You see, we also have this quirk in which our brains do not manufacture dopamine and serotonin sufficiently. It’s hard to call it a curse, as it is directly correlated to our creativity. But it’s impossible to call it a blessing.

Depression feels dark. I’ve been sitting here trying to visualize what depression would look like if it were a person, and an image came to mind. Depression would be a coal miner. A hard-working, hard-scrabble, soot-covered man with the weight of the world (or its resources) on his shoulders.

He is in danger every single day, never sure if this will be the day a shaft collapses or any of 1,000 other mishaps might take his life. That’s the anxiety component.

He wears a helmet like some kind of gag gift – as if it could stop boulders and shaft supports from crushing him. On the helmet is a head light, but it, too, is covered in so much soot. It’s glow is minimal.

You see, there is soot everywhere. Blackness. All of his workday (and much of his life outside) he is blackened head to toe. When he goes to eat his wax-papered lunch sandwich, there are remnants of coal in his lunchbox. When he takes every breath, coal wisps into his lungs. By day’s end, only the whites of his eyes are not blackened by thick, powdery coal.

Had he any other choice, he would have a different occupation, but like so many families dealing with chemical genetic depression, it seems a simple given.

Like fighting depressive feelings, he gives his all every single day. It exhausts him, but he will get up and do it again the next day.

Cavernous darkness and a sinking feeling. That’s what it feels like to me. Depression manifests with thoughts of certain doom, ridiculously high anxiety, and in losing complete interest in anything that has ever brought me joy.  Heavy-hearted, short on hope. Praying to be delivered from the mine, and getting really pissed off at God for not rescuing me. So I cry. I do a lot of crying, but that only makes the soot sticky.

But there are those times in the hole, the black, black vortex, that I sense a miner just like me. His presence is the Comfort. That’s where faith comes in. For what I lack in serotonin, I more than make up for in camaraderie. Eventually I will take hold of the hand – also covered in soot – and allow myself to be lifted up and out. I can try to pull up others with my own sooty hands.

It isn’t that we are truly out of hope, it’s just that it’s hard to find in the darkness.

Please feel free to share your own experience with spirituality in regards to depression.

And God bless us, every one.

 

Poetry · Spiritual

Love Takes Home the Prize (a little poetry slam attempt)

Jana Greene5 Comments
jacob's well
Jacob’s Well in Texas

Hello, dear readers. I pray everyone is safe in the aftermath of the recent hurricanes, earthquakes, and fires.

Oy vey, this world.  What is the DEAL with it?

As I fight my own battle with depression, I’m learning that fighting it is exhausting, like trying to climb out of a deep well where the walls are slick and there are no footholds. I’m learning to be still, let Jesus shimmy down the well to where I am, hold and comfort me, and then lift me to safety. I know He will because He always does. As surely as death or taxes.

I have recently become addicted to watching poetry slams on YouTube. I love the wordcrafting and tempo, the emotion and power that go into the slamming. I would love to write poetry for a gathering of slam fans, but I don’t really have the guts to do it in front of actual people, so I’ll just do so from my little corner of the world here at The Beggar’s Bakery, where I don’t have to stutter or worry about what to do with my face or hands in front of people.

Here is my slam of the day.  It’s my first in this style of writing. Chalk it up to a mid-life crisis.  It almost has to be read aloud, and gives little credence to punctuation and grammar and all that jazz.

It may be pure awful. Something I look back on publishing and cringe.  Trying new things is hard. But hey – that’s always a risk when starting anything new. Right?

 

By: Jana Greene

There is no love apart from God

That being who embodies us

And shines like glass inside of us

Reflecting who He is.

Not given straight-up, tidy, neat

This thing we make about ourselves

This thing that wracks and wrecks ourselves

Spills over, out, and through.

We look at life through half-blind eyes

Despairing at the poverty

Body, mind soul  poverty

that chokes and breaks our hearts.

How can you say that God is Love?

I’ve heard asked in angry tones

Broken, acrid, angry tones

Where is He in the hurt?

Has Love gone void in this dark place

Where pain crushes the human race

This fickle, tender human race

And leaves it there to die?

But I say ‘no’; do not give in

To throwing in the towel, my friend,

The towel so soaked with blood and tears

Wring it and be free.

Chin up, all creation!

Rise up, all you nations!

And then crouch down with fellow men

And make yourselves Jesus to them,

For he is inhabiting you.

It’s not by spell of your own power

But by His Spirit enmeshed in you

The Friend he left to dwell in you

Manifesting Love for you.

Like liquid gold, let it flow

Out from the vessel and into the mold

The empty, barren, starving mold

In your brother’s heart.

We see here through half-blind eyes

Through the glass darkly in side of us

But even in spite of the dark in us,

Love takes home the prize.

 

 

Spiritual

Harvey, Irma, and the One True “Act of God”

Jana GreeneLeave a comment
HurricaneIsabel-660x383
Photo Credit: National Geographic

 

I wrote this and posted it a few days ago, but took it down. I had not really made the point that I had intended, so I’m doing a little clarification edit and sending it back out to you, dear readers.

Stay safe out there!

By: Jana Greene

Remember when insurance companies and other risk management professionals referred to natural disasters as “Acts of God?” I do. What a terrifying picture such terminology paints of our God! At best, He would have to be an uncaring and vindictive deity. At worst, a sadistic almighty force who delights in doling out punishment.

(“I told you not to eat that entire box of Oreos, you hedonistic glutton. Here…have a category 5 hurricane!)

Last week, a friend posted to Facebook, “I just pray it doesn’t hit here. As long as Irma doesn’t come here, I don’t care where it goes…..”

I struggle with saying prayers like “Jesus, please don’t let us have hurricane landfall here. Direct it away from us.” I care very much where it goes and wish all hurricanes back out to sea.

To me, praying it will hit somewhere else it’s a little like praying that your sports team will win. Guess what? The OTHER side is praying for a win, too.

And at this juncture, I am tired of reading Facebook posts that infer (or downright state) that these natural disasters are the result of one REALLY pissed off deity. It is the wrath of God, they say. We are getting what we all deserve as a fallen society. God is angry with us and punishing us, and causing us to suffer!

Um, not MY God. I feel really bad that yours is so hateful and vengeful, though.

For those of you who take every word of the Bible literally and out of context, it’s there in black and white for you, too.

” Jesus answered them, “Do you finally believe? In fact, you’re about to make a run for it—saving your own skins and abandoning me. But I’m not abandoned. The Father is with me. I’ve told you all this so that trusting me, you will be unshakable and assured, deeply at peace. In this godless world you will continue to experience difficulties. But take heart! I’ve conquered the world.” – John 16:33 (MSG)

 

The word that keeps coming to mind is “Emmanuel”.  It means ‘God with us.” And no matter where landfall hits or what/who is effected, God is with us. I cannot find Bible  verses that promise we get spared all the storms. But I do find scripture in numerous places that say ‘fear not,’ and “I will never leave or forsake you.

Yes, we bring our petitions to God but he is sovereign and works all to the good. All things. Even the seemingly awful things. He doesn’t cause the storms, but He also doesn’t always stop them. Our puny human minds find that a tough pill to swallow.

My good friend Elaine Q. Potts said it much more eloquently than I:

“While Jesus spoke to one storm, He didn’t speak to every storm. Prayer is about His presence through all of life, about hearing His direction for a given situation. To think that God casts his love/mercy away because we choose the wrong wording or statement style is not true. At no are a point in the Christian walk is it about performance–our having control. Pray, prepare, and  learn to look for his presence that never forsakes.”

So make preparations, dear readers. With the hurricane models for Irma showing so many different possible tracks, this thing could go anywhere. One of the maps looks like someone plopped a giant cat hairball on a map of the United States. Another looks like my 2-year old granddaughter predicted its landfalls. With ALL of our vast knowledge and science and technology, nobody knows for certain.

But don’t for a minute, even as it is barreling down, entertain the thought that it is retribution from the Almighty.

He is Himself Love.

I do not have the credentials to explain what’s happening in super storm-dom. I do not have the answers why God does allows suffering to occur. Life ain’t fair; that’s for sure. And there is ample suffering for us all.

And, hey – a wise friend of mine posted about suffering:

“We are always looking for a way to NOT have to suffer, when the Bible teaches the opposite…to rejoice,” noted my friend Alexandra. “Suffering is not a popular message…but it is truly where the rubber meets the road. There is just something so sacred about suffering. It’s where it’s at. I hate it, but it’s where it’s at. It’s really a gift. I for sure will try to outrun this hurricane, but if it hits us like it hit Texas, we will get the opportunity to suffer along with them. Pray it doesn’t, prepare like it will.”

I have the most insightful friends, I’m telling you.

But I do have the faith to lean into Him when chaos seems to reign supreme.

Remember, you are not abandoned. The Father is with you. I’ve told you all this so that trusting me, you will be unshakable and assured, deeply at peace. In this godless world you will continue to experience difficulties. But take heart! I’ve conquered the world.

Signed, Jesus.

His love has been made manifest this past couple of weeks in the wake of Hurricane Harvey. So many, many hurting and homeless; and so many people flooding the city with every kind of help imaginable…some putting their own lives at risk. Human helping human. Strangers helping strangers. People of all colors and creeds loving on one another.

God IS responsible for THAT.

Love is not destructive. Love isn’t trying to trip you up.

Love is an “Act of God.”

At no are a point in the Christian walk is it about performance–our having control. Pray, prepare, and learn to look for his presence that never forsakes.

Amen, my sister. Amen.

Praying each of you readers is kept safe in the storms, and that each of you suffering under the weight of Harvey are given an extra measure of comfort today. I, myself, am a little scared, to be honest. I live one mile from the Atlantic Ocean as the crow flies. My town sticks out like a big toe and has been a magnet for hurricanes – some of them severe.

But…..Emmanuel.

God bless us, every one.

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Spiritual · Spirituality

Cruelty – the Worst Disability of All

Jana GreeneLeave a comment

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By: Jana Greene

Hi, Readers.

I was all set out to write a pithy little piece in tribute to the Great Shel Silverstein, if for no other reason that he taught me to love words and even sometimes love the WORLD, janky as it may be. It was a little ‘wherever you go, there you are’ piece, except my keyboard jammed, taking me to a magical, mystery land of four-letter words and sucked the whimsicalness right out of me visa my aft end, and then -right that minute – I got a brrrrrring notice from my iPhone alerting me that someone very special to my life was possibly having an existential crisis right that very moment, so heads-up. In her text was a lovely family reunion picture, my friend’s hand rested on her little baby bunp (the child they’d prayed and hoped for and long awaited. My dear friend has survived a LOT of bullshit in her young life and has come out with faith intact (miraculously) and I am so stinking proud of her. She has battled and overcome Anorexia and a host of other chronic, debilitating maladies – things that would make a lesser woman (me) not even want to get out of bed in the morning. AND she takes awesome care of her hubby and service dog, and loves on EVERYONE, working hard for those facing even more difficulties than her own. She is my hero.

So after I enjoyed the lovely picture for a minute or two, I scrolled down to read what someone had posted in response to the picture. Presumably someone else in the picture.

It said, “Well, stop faking your fake disability and keep your fingers out of your throat.”

And then I stopped to read it again because SURELY NOT.

Surely there are not people who are Lex Luthor/ Bob Cratchet/Lucifer/Any and all evil parts in movies played by Jack Nicholson/Wicked Witch of the West/Scarface/Hannibal Lechter  HYBRID of villains.

But there it was, for God and all creation to see.

“Well, stop faking your fake disability and keep your fingers out of your throat.”

More hurtful words I cannot imagine coming out of the mouth of a demon. I know God loves this nasty person and loves her dearly. I, on the other hand, think she’s a real asshole. Hey, I’m working on it, but I ain’t yet arrived, as we say in the South.

And to my sweet, brave, amazing, mama-to-be friend? You have always always brought to mind the song by “Nice & Wild” – Diamond Girl. It was written long (long, long) before you were born, but you’ve always made me think of it.  Youtube it, or download it, or do whatever you young people do these days to listen to music, but just take a listen.

Shine on, Diamond girl. You sure do shine. Kick off them haters – don’t pay them no mind.

(That last line is compliments of yours truly, but I think Shel Silverstein would approve.)

I love you.

 

 

 

Spiritual · trust

Playing the Fool (or When Trust Goes Terribly Wrong)

Jana Greene8 Comments

fool

By: Jana Greene

Well hello, dear Readers.

Today I’d like to talk about something that happened to me several months ago. I’m hoping writing about it will help clear my head, because its been a good while now and it still smarts. Sometimes, putting an issue out into the universe by means of keystrokes helps me process and deal with things.

File this blog post under “no good deed goes unpunished.”

The gist of it is that I had a friend who was also in recovery. After a stay in rehab, she was released back into her natural habitat with all intentions of staying sober. Or so I believed.

We had mutual friends at the time, and someone suggested she reach out to me because maybe I can hook her up with some meeting resources, and just generally be her friend. As a result of her past choices, she relied on others to get her around town, and I was all too happy to be her recovery buddy and take her to meetings with me.

And become her friend, I did.

Not only did she confide in me, but I in her; and regularly. Looking back now, I cringe at the uber-vulnerability I felt comfortable engaging in with her. I wasn’t her sponsor, but I was her friend, and I have a propensity for letting it all hang out anyway.

She had close ties with people who used to be an intimate part of my life – family even – but I trusted her (mostly.) She seemed to trust me, too.

What I should have caught on to, but missed by a mile was that her wildly elaborate and passionate stories about recovery. How could I not have seen them as overkill? I have had teenage daughters before – I should KNOW that when someone clearly sells past the close with oversharing.

Sample conversation with (insert name of teen daughter…)

Me: “Where do go last night?”

Teenager: “Emily needed help with her homework, so I went over because we are learning the square root of infinity and she doesn’t really get it, but I’m good at math and….”

Me: “And you did this by sneaking out at 2 a.m.?”

Teenager: “Well, her dog had passed out, so I went over to show Emily how to give it CPR, and then a group of bandits broke in to her house and held us hostage, so I couldn’t come home, and when I finally did, a clown driving an ice cream truck followed me and I freaked out, and then Britney called and…..”

Ok, I exaggerate. But not terribly.

On our rides together,  she was super animated and would often even quote from my own blog to me. I would sometimes think, ‘okay…THAT was weird,’ but most of my friends – and certainly me – are weird. Some of the personal stories she told suspended belief!

Eventually, this friend needed witnesses who ‘knew’  her pretty well, and as her meeting buddy, I felt confident about testifying for her.  “You’ve worked so hard on your recovery,” I said. “I would be honored to help.”

The funny thing is that while all of this meeting hopping was going on, I mentioned to My Beloved, “Hey, wouldn’t it suck if  ****  was just a mole placed strategically to report back to my estranged family about how I feel about them?” We had a good laugh. That was  PREPOSTEROUS.

What wasn’t so preposterous was that I came to later find out that the whole shebang – including the two years of her sobriety – was an elaborate ruse designed to soften my heart toward this person. It worked.

I don’t know if she was ever a mole and I really don’t care – but she was definitely a user. A user who is still drinking and – as all evidence now proves – likely may have been all along, and I’m a SUCKER. I staked my name and reputation in the recovery community on my belief that she had been truthful.

The Oscar for Best Actress goes to ….

This gal.

After I was a character witness for her, I never saw or heard from her again. She fell off the face of the Earth. It’s hard for me to imagine that degree of deception, and over the course of a YEAR, no less.

I kind of pride myself on this mission statement: I don’t have relationships with people I don’t trust. That assumes I know untrustworthy people and can tell when they are lying. I thought I had decent discernment. Maybe that pride needs to go the way of ALL pridefulness. In the sh*tter, where it belongs.

The question I keep posing to myself is thus – HOW could I be so stupid and gullible? I honest to God just didn’t see it.

Deception. So much deception. Looking back, I’m not sure ANY of what she had tearfully told me was true. Like I said, I am a SUCKER. I lost a friend who I prayed  and hugged and laughed with.

There’s no way to wrap up this post all clean and tidy, because life is just so messy. I don’t think I’ll hear from her again; she got what she had befriended me for. I’m angry and hurt and feel like a complete idiot.

What I experienced ain’t terribly original. Active addicts lie. It’s kind of what they do. They deceive, minimize, maximize, lie, cheat, steal, and all to protect their best friend – the drug of choice. I myself used to strategically hide BOXES of wine all over the house (although I’m not sure why, as those in my life at the time didn’t seem to mind if I drank myself to death.) But once I got into a program, I learned to call myself out on these behaviors and stop lying to myself.  Because calling yourself out keeps you sober, frankly. “Rigorous honesty.”

Yeah, that old chestnut.

As with most things about recovery, I’ve learned tons about myself during this time. Had I to do it again, what would I change? Even if I knew she was using me and lying about her addiction?

I would still offer to take her to meetings with me. I would still give her a safe place to vent. I probably wouldn’t have shared as much of my personal life with her, and I surely wouldn’t have vouched for her. Like I said, it sometimes seems that no good deed goes unpunished.

Although the deception happened TO me, it is not ABOUT me. It’s not about me in the least. But it stings all the same –  I’m just being honest about how this whole debacle made me feel.

Still, God calls me to be grace-full, and I’m trying. He never called me to be a sucker.  I have forgiven this lady (although she never asked for it) after wasting precious hours and hours on trying to figure out what clues I missed.

But forgiving someone doesn’t mean you want to break bread with them. You can forgive, walk away, and be wiser for the trouble.

I still pray for my friend.  I hope she gets honest with herself and gets well. I hope she is safe and that others are safe around her. I ask God to give me discernment, but at the end of the day, I’m going to try to love people anyway. That’s the messy part.

The rest is on her.

Spiritual

Triage for the Spirit – Loving a hurting world

Jana GreeneLeave a comment

Hi, Readers. I pray each of you is having a wonderful week. It’s about a thousand degrees here in North Carolina, so I’m hermit-ing at the house, doing lots of writing/reading. I am just popping in to share this piece with ya’ll. As always, thank you for taking the time to read my blog. God bless ❤

Jana Greene's avatarMusings of a Gypsy Soul

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By: Jana Greene

“Jesus, overhearing, shot back, “Who needs a doctor: the healthy or the sick? I’m here inviting the sin-sick, not the spiritually-fit.”– Mark 2:17 (MSG)

Last night I had a curious thought. I was considering our roles as Christ followers and the very varied and controversial methods of spreading the gospel we employ.

How important is it chastise others who are not towing the proverbial line according to biblical standards, vs. how important it is to leave the confrontation of one’s behavior to God, if and when he so chooses, and just love the bejeebers out of people who don’t look / act / believe like us.

Pick your righteous anger pet peeve purveyor:

Drunks.

Presidents (incoming and outgoing).

Adulterers.

Junkies.

Atheists.

People who don’t use turn signals.

Flag burners.

The LGBT community.

Democrats. Or Republicans.

Sex addicts.

The maddeningly militant youths of today.

Twerkers  (sorry…

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Spiritual · The Beggar's Bakery

The Beggar’s Bakery and Big, Fat Changes

Jana Greene2 Comments

By: Jana Greene

Big, fat changes are on the horizon. I can just feel it. Do you ever sense that change is afoot, yet have no earthly or Heavenly idea what that change may be? It’s 20% exciting and 80% frightening.

When I really trust God, those stats blessedly flip.

Hey, Papa? Help me to trust you ever more.

One of those things is this: I think it may be time to change the name of this blog / ministry from “The Beggar’s Bakery” to something else….I’m not sure what just yet.

The blog has been my ‘home’ for five years now; it’s my ‘baby.’ But it may be time to change the baby’s name.

The Grace Gospel has got me thinking (and un-thinking about religiosity both.) It’s ruined me, really. In the best possible way.

I no longer relate to the beggar I was the hour I first I believed. I don’t have to beg for God to love me – Jesus sealed the deal and it is finished.

I’m learning to operate in the finished work of the cross. It’s a journey, admittedly. It just seems too good to be true!

But it IS good.

It IS true.

As I prayerfully consider what to re-name it (the content will stay the same, unless / until God tells me different) I welcome suggestions and ideas from you Readers. Even keywords might prove helpful.

Big, fat changes can be scary, but they can also be the catalyst for some really awesome things. I just have to trust.

Thanks, friends.

Spiritual

Great Faith and the Bigger Picture

Jana Greene2 Comments

Every July, as we celebrate our great nation’s birthday, My Beloved and I feel a little bit of sadness because we miss a very good friend who passed away. He was born on the 4th of July and absolutely loved the holiday. He battled cancer for 22 years valiantly, and when he succumbed five years ago, the world lost a great man. He is alive in Heaven, and the cancer is dead. Miss you, Clint. This one’s for you.

Jana Greene's avatarMusings of a Gypsy Soul

By:  Jana Greene

“And so here I am, preaching and writing about things that are way over my head, the inexhaustible riches and generosity of Christ.  My task is to bring out in the open and make plain what God, who created all this in the first place, has been doing in secret and behind the scenes all along.  Through followers of Jesus like yourselves gathered in churches, this extraordinary plan of God is becoming known and talked about even among the angels!” –  Saint Paul, Ephesians 3:9-10

I am inspired by The Greats.  Saint Paul was definitely a great man.

As was  C.S. Lewis, the Oxford-educated Novelist who penned The Chronicles of Narnia, among other works.  He himself had been a staunch atheist before his conversion to Christianity, explaining that in his youth, he had been “very angry with God for not existing”.   I have read everything I can…

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