Jesus sitting on a rock, looking wistfully into the atmosphere. Sandal-ed feet and in robe and sash. You remember him, right?
His portraits hung in your Sunday School and Vacation Bible School rooms. Dirty blonde hair, blue eyes. Perfectly serene expression.
I remember him, too. He is lovely and pure and holy, but He doesn’t appear to be radical, and I’m pretty sure Jesus was a radical guy.
Two weeks immersed in classes, and am experiencing all of those terms that I make fun of hipsters for using:
Wrecked.
De-fragmented
Disenfranchised from church as we largely know it.
This message of a grace-based gospel is ANYTHING but boring or staid.
What if the Love of God was bigger than the sins of the world?
It is scandalous in its oozing of mercy, positively radical in it’s inclusion.Where has this message of the Good News BEEN all my life!? Studying the Old and New Covenants, so much comes into focus. So many questions answered.
I find myself undone.
Because if what I’m learning is true, it turns everything upside down.
Sin gets so much airtime. But here’s the rub: Sin is not the MAIN THING.It shouldn’t take center stage?
What if Love took center stage, as Jesus intended?
If it’s true – this grace-based Gospel – then we can do nothing to mitigate the furious love of our father.
If it’s true that the Kingdom of God is within us, we need to stop looking for him elsewhere.
If it’s true, we need to stop trying to invoke the presence of Holy Spirit in our worship. He is already here.
If it’s true (and my Spirit tells me it IS, it’s gloriously, wonderfully, life-givingly TRUE!) then perhaps we should start spreading this amazing news. Gospel = GOOD NEWS.
I’ve been a Christian most of my life, and have never appreciated true Grace and the love of our Triune God.
Not the good news that comes with a disclaimer at the bottom for full legal disclosure. (Has anyone seen my can of “LAW BE GONE? I’m sure I left it right here next to my Self Condemnation Deflator….hmmmm.)
Not the news that Jesus loves you but you’d better get your act together before you try to follow him, or you’ll make us all look bad.
No.
The neat and tidy Jesus of Vacation Bible School is not gazing out into the atmosphere, but at YOU. Right now. He is looking upon you adoringly.
It is finished.
He is here. He is here in this messy, screwed-up, fallen, trainwreck of a planet because he just cannot get close enough to YOU.
He walks among us, inhabits us, throws mercy on us, guides us, cradles us. LOVES US. People really need to hear this, ya’ll.
Yeah, I’m thinking Seminary is really going to mess with my head.
And I simply cannot wait to get to know my Papa better. I hope you don’t mind too terribly much if I blog about the experience here?
Greetings, readers – I want to wish each of you a very happy new year!
Earlier this week, something earth-shattering happened. I attended my 12-step home group and picked up my 16 year chip. Sixteen years! I didn’t even know they made chips in that denomination, but alas, here it is. It’s made of metal, even. Isn’t it beautiful?
To others, it may look like a regular token, but it’s actually much more than that. In the 16 years I’ve been in recovery from alcoholism, I cherish picking up every single one each year. From the blue, plastic surrender chip that began the whole journey, to all of the AA and Celebrate Recovery chips collected in between. You might wonder – what’s the big deal about a little chip?
Let me just boast about my weakness for a moment:
A chip represents an entire 365-day span of time in which I felt every single one of my pesky feelings without reaching for a drink.
It’s a keepsake that reminds me to boast on my weakness, because God’s grace is enough; it’s all I need. HIS strength comes into its own in my weakness.
It commemorates another entire trip around the sun in which my craziness did not defeat my sobriety. And my craziness can be very persistent, believe you me.
It is a tangible totem of what the Grace of Almighty God looks like.
It’s a little, round harbinger of possibility. I made it another year without picking up. I can do it again.
It’s a metal manifestation of tribal-ness. Picking up a chip is cause for rounding applause from others in the meeting (who are also feeling every pesky feeling and understand, but are doing it one day at a time, too.)
It’s a trophy for devil-slaying. And no, I don’t think I’m being a drama queen by making that statement. Seriously, ya’ll.
It’s a souvenir of a life led a little more manageably.
It is a reminder that God is still in the miracle business, because in some of the tougher years, I held on by the skin of my teeth.
What might appear to be a silly little token is so much more.
“Because of the extravagance of those revelations, and so I wouldn’t get a big head, I was given the gift of a handicap to keep me in constant touch with my limitations. Satan’s angel did his best to get me down; what he in fact did was push me to my knees. No danger then of walking around high and mighty! At first I didn’t think of it as a gift, and begged God to remove it. Three times I did that, and then he told me, Mygraceis enough; it’s all you need. My strength comes into its own in your weakness. Once I heard that, I was glad to let it happen. I quit focusing on the handicap and began appreciating the gift. It was a case of Christ’s strength moving in on my weakness. Now I take limitations in stride, and with good cheer, these limitations that cut me down to size—abuse, accidents, opposition, bad breaks. I just let Christ take over! And so the weaker I get, the stronger I become.”
I may have wanted to drink several times over the past year, but as I hold this chip in the palm of my hand, I’m so glad I didn’t. I’m so glad that I asked God for help. I’m especially grateful that I have learned not just how to ask for help, but to ACCEPT it, as well.
It’s a big deal because it represents hope and accomplishment and another solid year of learning, and lurching, and learning again. A year of (largely) moving in a forward direction.
I am praising God for this little chip that’s not JUST a chip. Grateful.
And grateful to share these musings with you, dear readers.
“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, couldn’t resist…)
A virtual smorgasbord of naughty and / or reprehensible to your delicate sensibilities. My delicate sensibilities. Here’s the rub: The hurting world already knows what Christians think of their behaviors and choices. They’ve already heard it, and built fortresses around themselves to keep Jesus out because his followers are too often full of hate and judgement.
Maybe what they DON’T know is the message of his passionate and unrelenting LOVE for them, right exactly where they are. Maybe they can’t hear it over the din of our disdain.
There is a large percentage of church-goers who will call you a heretic, if you don’t call unbelievers on their crap. I know because I used to be one.
But not anymore. Because God didn’t build a fortress to keep me out when I was abusing alcohol and dying inside. He invited me in to his kingdom as is. As. Is.
So, picking back up on the story of last night’s considerations, God gave me the image of a paramedic.
When an EMT is called to the scene of an accident or incident, it is because a horrible emergency has arisen. They are FIRST on the scene because they must act fast to keep people from dying. If they are responding to a car accident, for example, they are not tasked with figuring out which driver was at fault, who ran through the red light. They are not determining who was at fault and why. They are just bringing life-giving service in the heat of carnage and panic. Law enforcement will arrive shortly after an incident to hash out the details and disperse judgement via tickets or citations.
We believers are called to be triage. We are asked to be first responders in the call to tell people (even the ones that rile us up). God will do his thing – his Holy thing – smack-dab in the middle of carnage and panic. On his time. He metes out conviction, and does so lovingly, like the gentle Father he is. He hashes out the details. It’s simply not our job.
You are triage.
You might be the first point of contact for someone whose whole life is caving in.
Open the fortress gate like Jesus did for you. Fling those gates WIDE open. Tell people about the wild, fierce, passionate love that God wants to manifest in their lives. There is nothing tidy about his love, it spills over and out to all sinners and saints, and this hurting world needs desperately to know that.
Billy Graham is quoted as saying:
“It is the Holy Spirit’s job to convict, God’s job to judge and my job to love.”
This week, I would love to explore the oft-overlooked issue of Self-Care, and what it really means to care for yourself in the tenderest way. I welcome all comments, as I’d love to start a conversation about how God figures in your journey. Taking care of yourself isn’t just for those in recovery – I think all of us struggle with it at times. Women especially – the mothers and grandmothers and caretakers – are often expected to put their needs last. It may not be an audible and clear message, but the societal expectations buoy it up all the same. When we don’t self-care, we have nothing to pour out. God bless you in this new year!
By: Jana Greene
Have you ever just gotten lazy about something? Like really taking care of yourself – Mind, body and soul?
This time of year, we are all thinking about priorities. That’s all New Year’s resolutions are, right? Putting priority on one healthier endeavor and maybe letting other, less healthy habits slip down a notch or two.
For me, going to 12 Step meetings is my re-boot.
When I say I don’t have time to go, I’m suggesting to myself that I’m not worth making the time.
When I say I’m too sick or tired to go, I am opting out of an experience that may not heal my body, but will certainly be a salve to my soul.
When I want to hide away under my duvet cover and eat a box of Thin Mints instead of going to a meeting, well …. that should be a big, red flag.
I was raised with the notion that you don’t want to think too highly of yourself, and I get that. I understand why that is a slippery slope – God is God and I am not. I’m not talking about being self-righteous or pious. Any righteousness I might have certainly doesn’t stem from my own actions, but by the willingness to surrender my will to God’s. That’s not what I’m talking about at all.
I’m talking about how easy it is find your own heart and mind and spirit on the bottom rung of the priority ladder. You may not even notice the slippage happening. You may have been too busy caring for everyone else to see it. You may have stacked up box after box of codependency to reach your top priorities. Without a basis of loving self-care, it will topple and take you with it.
I’m terrible at self-care, true self-care. I’m really good at showing myself love by giving into it’s appetites. Isn’t that what care is about? If I want a cookie, I want the box. If I want to treat myself to something on Amazon, 10 things end up in my basket. Stay up late to watch “Call the Midwife” on Netflix? ALL NIGHT LONG.
Somewhere my psyche learned to equate moderation with deprivation.
If one is good, twelve is better. Except for that’s hardly ever true.
“Self-Care” that makes you feel awful afterward is not self-care. This may seem rudimentary, but this morning as I write this post, it’s kind of an epiphany to me.
I’ve gotten lazy with self-care, cheapening it. Worse, when someone I love needs help or care, I’ve got only a dry well to draw from.
This January 3rd, I will celebrate 16 years of consecutive sobriety. For my Recovery’s Sweet Sixteen, I’m going back to the basics. Because that’s where I find God most of the time. Like most teenagers, my recovery often likes to think it knows everything. But oh how wrong that mindset is!
I still have SO much to learn!
So, as we enter a New Year, I’m going to try to take better care of myself and re-arrange the rungs on the priority ladder. If you’ve forgotten how to truly self-care, join me on the intentional journey to care for yourself. Take time to put pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard) and write out some self-care statements. Here are mine:
I will seek out one-on-one time with my Heavenly Father. That doesn’t mean carving out an Instagram-worthy devotional time, but authentic conversation with God. (Authentic conversation means listening, too. I forget that.)
I will not apologize for showing myself the same level of kindness as I would a friend, or even a stranger.
I will not call myself names, deriding myself for being ‘so stupid,’ for example. Even when just kept in the confines of own mind, putting myself down takes a toll.
I will make the time and effort to make at least one Celebrate Recovery per week. I will ask God to help me out of the rut of making excuses to avoid going. At the meetings, I will LISTEN and learn, and love on my tribe.
I will make a sincere effort to consider that moderation and deprivation are not the same thing. I need Holy Help on this one, because it is ingrained very deeply. Honestly, it stems from a place of fear, of being without. And that isn’t what faith in the Lord looks like. It’s what trusting in only this world looks like.
I will get up and walk at least once every day. Jesus, walk with me and talk with me as I strive to make the changes my physical health so badly needs implemented.
I will listen to my body, and try to heed what it’s telling me. I have limitations that I’ve been fighting against for years. Maybe it’s time for acceptance.
I will maintain boundaries to protect my sobriety.
I will become more intuitive about what I REALLY need, and feed myself that which cares for it best. The Word of God. Spending time with friends. Investing in my marriage. Bringing my anxiety straight to Jesus instead of rolling around in it first.
I will give myself permission to enjoy life. And I will rely on God to help me do that. All evidence points to doom in the worldly estimation, but all truth says that He has already got this. He’s GOT it, already.
I will make the cup of tea the right way, not the microwave way.
Take the bubble bath.
Enjoy the funny cat memes.
Sometimes self-care is so simple.
Father God, praise to you for my sobriety, and for my tribe of recovery warriors. Thank you for friends and readers, and family. In this new year, reveal yourself to us in our ordinary days and through extraordinary circumstances. We need to feel your presence. Help us to actually BELIEVE that we are worth the care, the way YOU say we are worth caring for.
Life is just really weird and hard sometimes, isn’t it? Life with an autoimmune disorder is almost too weird to deal with.
I stayed relatively well all during our recent Trip to DC last weekend (PRAISE BE) but I am now battling a 101 degree fever and raging sinus infection. The Ehlers Danlos Syndrome is reacting with widespread inflammation and pain, because that’s how it reacts to damn near everything (weather changes, fighting the common cold, allergies, Tuesday … really, it ain’t picky.) My post surgical shoulder is especially peeved right now.
So after a trip to the doctor this morning and a shot of antibiotics in the hip and a 10-day course of oral anti-b’s; ice on the shoulder and heating pad on my rear….it occurs to me that…
Thanksgiving is TOMORROW. And it’s the first year I won’t be manically cooking and cleaning, entertaining my loud daughters and playing inappropriate games like Cards Against Humanity with them and their bfs after supper. No raucious and noisy discussions or leftover pecan pie.
Things will be quiet tomorrow. We don’t have any turkey or trimmings, and I’m feeling too sick to even care. I guess I could pop open a canister of Salt & Vinegar Pringles, but that’s just not really the same.
Everything keeps CHANGING, you know? Kids grow up. Limitations hamper plans. Traditions change – and I dislike that especially. When I became a single mom years back, the girls and I made so many new traditions – it never occurred to me that those too would morph and change as the girls grew up and became adults.
I’ve battled health issues since I was born – literally – but the older I get, the more intrusive and limiting it makes everything, and I’m NOT okay with that. I keep telling God that I’m not okay with it, and he just keeps reminding me that His grace is sufficient, and I know that to be true, so I’m trying to deal and tell myself ‘suck it up, buttercup!’ There are so many people with SUCH worse health issues, and they manage to stay chipper and accepting, and I’m over here being a whiny ass and honing my pity party skills.
So, I guess I’m going to try harder to flip the mindfulness script right now, because these things are true:
*Made it through a wonderful mini vacay to DC with My Beloved.
*Did not even ONCE have to wear my knee or ankle braces (a staple for EDS patients, as our joints tend to subluxate regularly) Minor miracle in and of itself!
*I can still practice thankfulness on this blessed Thanksgiving, even if the house is quiet and I’m in pain. I’m so proud of my girls and that they have their own lives and travels and loves. Cards Against Humanity can wait.
* Above all else – I have the right to be thankful. For heating pads and antibiotics. For being married to my best friend, who just keeps selflessly caring for his sickie wife all theses years…. he shows o sign of stopping loving me.
*For big fat kitty cats who love to cuddle – especially when they know you aren’t feeling well.
*For these gorgeous, amazing daughters of ours who are paving their own lives with their own traditions.
*Im thankful for my faithful readers, who know I’m a little crazy and a lot in love with Jesus, and who read my musings and complaints and STILL keep coming back to read more.
I hope I can bless you, as you bless me.
Happy Thanksgiving to each and every last one of you. I’m thankful none of us have to do this crazy life alone.
God bless us, every one.
What a time to be alive.
From Wikileaks to any-source-is-a-news-source, literally everyone can be an expert about any subject.
Distrust the media.
Distrust the ‘sources.’
Distrust the talking heads and their agenda-laden propaganda.
And trust God.
That’s right. Trust the invisible being whose name is Love, who manifests not in sound bites and slick campaign ads, but whose modus operandi is love and only love.
In a world where truth has to be mined from mass bullshit, trust only the One whose golden truth is not merely surface truth, but deep, permanent, abiding truth – tested through the ages.
“What a time to be alive,” we almost complain, inconvenienced by the glut of corruption and half-truths and non-truths that we are expected to wade through to convince the world we are people of faith.
But “What a time to be alive!” say I.
Never had here been a time in which we reject the nastiness of politics-as-usual and to tell people what our God is really made of. Is He a man, that He should operate on the scum-sucking base-lines of the talking heads? Or a King whose victory had already been declared in the Heavenlies and manifest though us in the most glorious of trickle down economics – a grace so rich that no man should ever run a deficit?
What a time to be alive!
What an opportunity to take imperfect, humanistic agendas and turn them into truth tales of hope, because ALL WAS LOST, but just before it seemed too late, WE the People elected to trust God instead of the mere body politic.
If – in the tale of The Ugliest Election Ever – We the People stopped worshipping of the low-blow, bickering, blaming, smear campaign believing, two-party system Golden Calf, and lean into God instead of man.
Never had there been such a time as this, it’s true.
God, open our eyes. You are our only hope. Let we – your representation here on earth – not spend these hours running around like Chicken Little, shrieking in every Facebook post “The Sky is falling! the sky is falling!” But instead be a force of calm, reassured that no matter who sits in the highest platform on earth is still only earthly, and You are still, forever on The Throne.
I’m not saying it’s easy to stump for God. My Inner Chicken Little is very loud and persuasive. Maybe the sky needs to fall for a little while. Maybe Abba can use the falling sky to awaken His people to spread the Good News that all the pundits leave out of here doomsday news reports.
There has never been such an opportunity as this to tell the world that there is an antidote to lies, corruption, politics-as-usual.
I’m not sure what the world would know what to do with that – calm assuredness that Love Wins, but I’m ready to see what it would look like.
We are called to run on a platform of truth, confident and steadfast….to (coin a phrase) ‘act like we KNOW something. Because we DO.
Distrust the media.
Distrust the ‘sources.’
Distrust the talking heads and their agenda-laden propaganda.
I will likely be on hiatus for a while, as I am having shoulder surgery tomorrow morning (all prayers and warm fuzzy wishes welcome!)
But I did want to write a little post for you today (I don’t want you to forget me altogether!)
It is an excerpt from the book I am currently working on.
The book will explore our true identities as women who walk with Christ. Are you just a beggar, desperate for Him? Or are you legit royalty – the Daughter of the Most High King…..that sort of thing. This little snippet is from the 1st chapter. I hope you enjoy it, and I will be back writing the blog as soon as I’m able.
God bless us, every one!
As always, THANK YOU for your readership ❤
….Years after the damage of fatherlessness left me feeling unworthy, God healed my heart. Actually, if I am honest, He is still healing my heart, which has a tendency to hold on to things because they are familiar; and not because they are in my best interest. I trust my Father daily, but it is an ongoing process to give up the hurt.
Very soon after I seriously entertained the concept of being a daughter of the King, I had a really vivid dream.
I was a little girl in full Ren Fair, Princess garb – Tiara, sparkly pink plastic shoes, a dress with layers upon layers of taffeta and satin. I was indeed a princess! Anyone could see I was royalty.
And all around me is the perfection of nature I’ve loved all my life – clear, flowing waters, flowers surrounding me, lush, greenery and this incredible feeling of peace. It was the Garden of Eden!
I make my way to water’s edge to admire the tinkling creek, taking care not to muss my gown or dirty my sparkly shoes.
But oh, OH! MUD!
The mud by the river is so delightfully squishy. I cannot resist stepping in a puddle of it. And before I know it, I’m making elaborate mud pies – all shapes and sizes, decorated with flowers from Eden’s own garden.
I was just lost in the muck, icing my cakes with more squishy mud, adding silken grass leaves and smooth pebbles as garnishes. Soon, I had enough mud pies to open a bakery.
“Look, Papa!” I remember saying.
And then – in one sick moment – I realized that I was a mess. Nobody could tell I was a Princess, so caked in mud was I. Mud encrusted my shoes, and my dress was filthy. I’d dropped my tiara somewhere in the grasses while looking for cake decorations.
Shame and self-loathing started sinking in. The more I focused on my muck, the more everything around me started fading darker and dimmer.
It was then that I started to cry, avoiding the glare of the King, but when I peeped through my muddy fingers, King Jesus smiled widely at me! He scooped me up in wild embrace and held me there until I stopped crying.
He wasn’t about to let a little mud get in between Him and His Daughter!
I can still conjure the feelings I experienced in that amazing, tangible dream. It really made me consider if I believed (deep, deep down) that I am just a little more royal when I get things right and please the father; and a muddy beggar urchin, when I make a big mess. And the truth is – Papa sees through the mud and muck. It is I who focuses too much on the dirt and not enough on the divine.
Do you ever feel unworthy? Have you ever made a mess of your life?
The mud doesn’t get in the way of His love for you, either.
“Some people feel guilty about their anxieties and regard them as a defect of faith. I don’t agree at all. They are afflictions, not sins. Like all afflictions, they are, if we can so take them, our share in the Passion of Christ” – C.S. Lewis
By: Jana Greene
Oh, C.S. Lewis. How I would love to go back (or forward) in time and pick you brain. Your thoughts so messy, yet austere. I just want to smoke a pipe (vanilla tobacco, please) beside a lit fireplace at a table for two – the kind of table that’s too small to eat a meal on, but too big to be a nightstand. And I want to say, “THANK YOU!” Thank you, that you did not regard anxiety as SIN (which seems to be, unfortunately, a consideration of the modern church proper.)
Dear readers, if you don’t already know, I suffer from anxiety, depression, ADD and OCD, and it’s been a life long issue.
I think I was born anxious.
When I was a five-year old frozen in fear just walking into the kindergarten class, I wasn’t sinning.
When I display compulsive behaviors, I have no evil intent. (Oh, and being diagnosed OCD was SUCH a shock – not because I knew it was true, but because I thought I hid it from the world so WELL.)
When my heart will simply not beating 125 beats per minute, it’s not a demon makin’ it tick.
When I cannot focus on one thing for 10 seconds, God is not disappointed in me.
When my brain confuses being chased by a T-Rex with emailing a resume, it’s not sin – it’s out of my control – fight or flight.
Anxiety is what led to my alcoholism. It took the edge off, eventually it took me past the edge.
I thought it was a wonderful thing because all of my mom friends drank wine – I just drank mine out of a Big Gulp cup. With a lid. And a straw. I do not suggest this method of anxiety quelling, it’s highly non-sustainable. I didn’t know when to stop, and that’s why I don’t do that anymore. Haven’t for 15 years, hallelujah!
But I still contend with depression/anxiety/ADD/OCD. I just do it sober now. And it can be very difficult. I really don’t care who knows it because it is what it is and I try to write authentically.
What does anxiety feel like to me?
It feels involuntary. SO involuntary.
It feels like asking Jesus to take the wheel, but being sure the steering fluid is low.
It feels like you are the only kid in class who forgot to get her permission slip signed, and now you can’t go to the museum.
My body reacts to a crowded aisle in Walmart as if I were a wolf willing to chew my own leg off to escape the trap. (For some reason, Walmart just does me in.)
It feels like I am too awkward to inhabit a planet with normal people who don’t have panic attacks on the regular. Plus, I forget what to do with my face a lot.
It feels like a stutter in your soul.
It feels like abandonment. Remember a time when someone walked away from you for good? That feeling. The first five minutes after it occurred to you that the person was never coming back. Now replay those 5 minutes in an endless loop.
It feels like I’m sorry for being this way!
It feels overwhelming. Worry, doubt, pray. Or is it pray, doubt, worry? See? I just can’t get it straight.
It feels like DOOM. Not just regular doom, but DOOOOOOOOOOM.
It’s being certain nobody likes you, because you are, well, weird.
I have been prayed over, prayed for, where two or more are gathered or two dozen are gathered. I have felt like a sub-par Christian because my healing didn’t ‘stick’ – and that’s a really crappy feeling, ya’ll. It is pouring gasoline on a fire.
So now, I’m anxiety-ridden AND my faith is too puny to do any good?
Nobody judges the diabetic whose insulin will not bow at the feet of the cross, but people will drown you in holy water trying to get depression to go. (By the way, I do believe depression can be a spirit, but I also believe early childhood trauma, genetics, or just plain chemistry can rile up a good baseline anxiety.)
I really fail to see how mental illness is any different.
I would rather not battle mental illness, but if I must, I will try to consider it from your point of view, Mr. Lewis (‘May I call you C.S.?”)
My Abba circuited my brain just as He pleased, and did so for a reason. There were environmental events that tightened the screws. He allowed things to shape me, just as He is shaping YOU. I believe that all of it – the janky humanity in us – I believe Jesus walks with us and in us, and that’s what His heart really longs for. It isn’t the ‘alphabet soup’ disorder that defines me, it’s that I’m His.
So sometimes I freak out, and its scary because I don’t even totally understand it, but always, always I feel God’s presence, even when I can’t calm down. My anxiety doesn’t scare Him away.
He is less concerned in having a vast army of perfect people – a master race of Christians who pray away anxiety, and never say a potty word. Followers who have gotten it ‘all together.’
I believe He loves all His misfits right where they are.
How much more passionate might we be with the mentally ill if we considered their affliction as sharing in the Passion of the Christ?
I never thought I’d see the day. As I grow older, I realize there are a lot of days I thought I’d never see. The hatred and offense and mud-slingery and seething anger – those things usually reserved for the political candidates themselves – somehow bequeathed to We the Constituents with ardent fervor. It’s never been uglier.
First, let me open with this:
I will not unfriend you on Facebook if you vote for Trump. I won’t even unfriend you if you vote for Hillary. I will not real-life break up a friendship with you if you lean left or right at an angle that offends me. I will not judge your worth as a human being by a ballot choice. I will really try not to browbeat people with my independent opinions. I will really, really make an effort to respect you no matter what.
Because you are a person my Jesus loves completely – beyond borders and elephants and donkeys. And truly we have more in common than we disagree on.
But I think we need to take a hard look at the fruits of our righteous passion as a result of the political climate:
Anger.…venomous, destructive hateful talk.
Unrest….racial, political, ideological.
Ugliness toward one another….even within families.
It’s (dare I say?) an implosion of Biblical proportions, what’s going on in our country – in the whole world.
But you have strong feelings, you say?
It’s OBVIOUS that Candidate X is an egotistical, misogynist, mean-spirited, blowhard.
It’s JUST as obvious that Candidate Y is murderous, deceptive, mercenary she-devil.
See? I have strong feelings TOO!
In years past, candidates got ugly with one another and it only hurt their efforts, whereas now we kind of expect vile, scandalous, and sometimes criminal flaws in our candidates. Worse, in a kind of trickle-down discontent, John Q. Public is drawn into the fray, tearing down others in his own community in the name of being right.
The question I pose – the question I have to keep asking myself – is this: Which is higher in value? Rightness or relationship? When I value being ‘right,’ more, it could lead me to take any number of drastic actions:
I could break relationship with those miscreants who don’t see life exactly the way I do. That’ll show ’em!
I could threaten to move to another country, a place where harmony reigns supreme and everyone treats everyone with respect and honor. Except such a place does not exist here on earth.
I could make the announcement in ALL CAPS on my Facebook wall that IF YOU ARE VOTING FOR (fill in the blank) JUST UNFRIEND ME NOW. But then I remember how diverse and varied my friends are and how very much I LOVE that diversity and value those friendships.
People are more than their political positions.
And that’s where this gets spiritual, because Jesus was so inclusive in His love. He was so good at seeing the PERSON underneath the dogma or circumstance.
People bring their baggage and their hopes and their priorities to the table every time they talk politics.
When I start letting my very sincere perception of injustice allow me to hate other people, I am missing the mark. And, just so you know, I HAVE done just that on numerous occasions. My flesh rather favors this method of threshing the wheat from the chaff. I have to catch myself.
We all have strong feelings, and for some reason, this generation has determined that everyone MUST take his/her feelings into consideration.
Keep in mind that no-one’s mind has ever been changed by a Facebook post. No, not even the really witty ones, or the fact-laden ones, or the ones featuring the carnage of war or abortion.
Keep in mind that most people who are fervent supporters of either X or Y love their country, too, and really, truly believe that their guy (or gal) can fix what’s wrong with America. Again, I don’t get it, but hey – it’s okay that others disagree.
I am going on record as saying NONE of the candidates can “fix” America. That’s God’s job, but He will not interfere if uninvited to finding solutions. That being said, I think we are pretty much screwed politically, but God is still on the throne and I know the end of the story – the rest is just bullsh*t.
So. Much. Bullsh*t.
Each person with a strong opinion (however variant to mine) is a person Jesus deeply loves. Yes, EVEN the candidates – he loves them, too! Don’t ask me why – I do not find them lovable in the LEAST, but He is pretty clear about the love thing. He doesn’t stutter.
Why? Because He recognized that people are more than their positions.
We are only visitors here. We’re here to learn to love God and learn how to love one another. This is an especially difficult season to do so. If everyone were loving and lovable, we wouldn’t need to be students on this campus, so to speak.
In this benchmark high-vitriol election, maybe it’s important to remember that Jesus didn’t even ‘unfriend’ Judas, knowing full well that his friend would betray him, leading Him to His very death.
Dude, that’s Love. That’s radical love.
I’m not inferring that we give every differently-minded friend a big, fake smile and a smackaroo on the cheek. No need to be disingenuous. These are things we feel PASSIONATE about! There’s nothing wrong with passion. God loves a passionate heart.
I’m suggesting that when you are on social networks or having conversations and feel that hatred/anger roil up from your gut and spill over into your spirit, check yourself. I’ll try to check myself too.
Call a wrong out, there’s nothing wrong with that. But don’t vilify the person holding on to that ‘wrong.’
Don’t give that nastiness a foothold in your life, it has a way of becoming cancerous. No matter who wins this crazy election, you don’t want that poison coursing through your veins. Even as justified as it may feel, it is not of Christ and will choke out the fruits of the Spirit all the way down to the roots, if you let it.
Don’t let it.
Oh, and God bless America.
We’re going to need it.
Galatians 5:22-24 (MSG)
“But what happens when we live God’s way? He brings gifts into our lives, much the same way that fruit appears in an orchard—things like affection for others, exuberance about life, serenity. We develop a willingness to stick with things, a sense of compassion in the heart, and a conviction that a basic holiness permeates things and people. We find ourselves involved in loyal commitments, not needing to force our way in life, able to marshal and direct our energies wisely.
Legalism is helpless in bringing this about; it only gets in the way. Among those who belong to Christ, everything connected with getting our own way and mindlessly responding to what everyone else calls necessities is killed off for good—crucified.”
God,
I’ve been feeling so discouraged,
Two steps forward, one step back,
Feeling like my soul is tired,
Over extended, under attack.
Oh to have my joy back!
I know it is mine for the asking.
To gain it I must first surrender to you
The pain that my sadness is masking.
The tiredness, the sickness,
The constant striving,
On my own human power
It keeps me from thriving.
Oh, God, please be infused in me.
They way Holy Spirit desires to be.
I want to have my joy back –
That birthright you left in the empty tomb.
I want the peace – the good shalom –
You left me in that Upper Room.
The weary dark replaced instead with
Your open, welcoming arms,
The chronic illness bested by
Your protection from all harm.
Oh God, please inhabit me, my
Source of peace so close to me That Holy…
“When people form their opinion about God from what they hear from contemporary legalistic religion, it’s no wonder they conclude that God is a cranky, old, bookkeeping, judgmental, demanding deity who is more interested in people’s behavior than anything else. It would be easy to see how a god like that would be angry much of the time. Sadly, people who hold that view of God impose it on the Bible and interpret the Bible to present a God like that. Nothing could be further from the truth. I’m not saying that our God is a milquetoast, a mild-mannered god who can be managed. He’s no kitten, that for sure.” — Steve McVey (Beyond an Angry God)
Part 4 of The Seismic Seven Series
When I was a little girl, my father would often go into rages. I learned early how to walk on eggshells, as you…
How convenient that I’m kicking off a blog series about Self Care when just the right inspiration presented itself, and made me consider one of the most important tenants of Self Care: Setting Boundaries and Letting Go.
As of late, I’ve been dealing with a situation in which a loved one whom I’ve constructed pretty high fortifications with is lobbing cannonballs at me in the Wonderful World of Social Media.
This person has not tried to contact me in five years. Not even once.
Letting go completely of one’s own family member seems like a cold-hearted thing to do to the casual observer, but I can promise you it’s heart wrenching. It takes years (and sometimes long periods of recovery) to gain the clarity of how very toxic a person is – a person who is supposed to love you.
Preceding any true rift are innumerable fights, a scorched earth battlefield where innumerable feelings went to die, and enough hurt to quite literally kill a person – if you don’t separate yourself from the drama.
I’ve decided that – instead of lobbing cannons over in response – I’ve drafted:
The Healthy Person’s Guide to Surviving Emotional F*ckwittage and Manipulation –
A Bill of Rights
1. You have the right to estrangement if said toxic person repeatedly oversteps (or bulldozes) boundaries you’ve asked to be respected.
2. It is NOT HONORING someone to allow them to manipulate you.
2. If it’s all about them all the time, it’s not about you having a healthy relationship.
3. You have the right to guard your sobriety (or regular old peace of mind) with everything you’ve got, and if this means stepping away from toxic people because they make you want to use / drink / pull your hair out / jump off a bridge in order to just to DEAL with their drama, so be it.
4. You have the right to pray for the toxic person every single day. I recommend it. Seriously, pray that God will bless them in unimaginable ways and that he will heal both of your wounded hearts.
5. Once you’ve decided that it is in YOUR best interest (yeah, that’s right, YOU get to determine when that is!) to stay away from a toxic person, that is reason ENOUGH. A narcissist will never give you permission, so don’t wait around for it. It ain’t coming.
6. You don’t owe a DAMN thing to anyone. Not one explanation, not one excuse. ONLY YOU know the particulars that left your heart in shards.You’ve been hurt, and it ain’t nobody’s business what/when/where/why you have severed the relationship.
Don’t let others weigh in on your self-care.
Don’t let others weigh in on your self-care.
Don’t let others weigh in on your self-care.
(S0 important, I said it thrice)
I used to worry that everyone would think I was a horrible person for protecting my boundaries. Now I no longer care. I’m not a horrible person, just someone who has learned in the most painful way possible NOT to trust someone.
7. A narcissist will ALWAYS have somebody to blame for every circumstance, relationship, or non-relationship in their lives. It is usually the one person that they are trying to destroy with their manipulations. If they had to own a single shred of responsibility, they are afraid of losing their Victim Card. This entitlement card allows the bearer to run ramshackle over the feelings of others in order to receive constant validation. It also makes it damn near impossible for you to look like any thing but a villain.
Because, as aforementioned, it’s all about them.
8. Setting boundaries, even estrangements, does not mean you stop loving that person. Oh how much easier it would be if that were the case! But love goes so many layers deep in the sediment of relationships. You will ALWAYS love this person – even if they are really bad for you. Who knows? God can do all things, including restoring relationships. But when a person has spent a lifetime cultivating an inability to own any of his / her behaviors, it may be on the other side of the Kindgom before true healing takes place.
A long time ago, when I had retrospectively minimalist problems, I used to read the Psalms out loud in my morning devotion time. Until recently, I’d forgotten how much power is invoked in reading them aloud.
It’s 4 a.m. right now. And it’s me, it’s me, it’s me, Oh Lord…..standing in the need of prayer. I’ve been up all night with gargantuan aches, pains, and the like – that seem hellbent of keeping me awake.
The Bible says that biblical David was a man after God’s own heart, but if you read the scripture, it seems that David was a bit of a whiner at best, and a real drama queen at worst. I mucked up a lot, made a lot of mistakes, and STILL God knew his deep and abiding love for him. I absolutely love Kind David. He GETS me.
Yesterday, I got some medical news that I suspected was coming. I’d warned my mind and body about it (as the symptoms had already revealed themselves to said mind and body), but my Spirit put up quite a fit upon learning what’s going on. Renal issues. Enlarged Liver issues. Chronic pain and more migraines to expect. Fatigue as the order of the day forthcoming. And leg and foot cramps that make you want to cry uncle at the top of your lungs at 2 a.m. (My poor, poor husband, I KNOW he is losing sleep…..)
Oh, and did I mention mental health issues arising from dealing with the stress of all of the above PLUS childhood trauma that has never been dealt with, and a whole lifetime of untreated depression? As I lurch forward in treatment for mental health issues, I’m feeling black-and-blue, my heart beat up badly, and bones and soul, too.
Which brings me back to the biblical David, bitcher of circumstance, beloved man after God’s own heart (is it possible to be both? I’m kind of counting on it….) Like David, I am on the cusp of digging deeper in my faith. Like David, I’m getting ready to clean out my closet and make room for fresh hope.
The Psalms are best read aloud because you can better capture biblical David’s desperation aloud. He is one of my favorite biblical characters because he can slay giants, become a mighty king, loves God with all of his heart, and seemingly and impulsively throw it away for a hot chick in a bathtub. Hey, who am I to judge?
Here is a man who knows frustration. Here is a man who gave us authentic prayer of the highest order.
Pray it aloud when you are at the end of your proverbial rope:
1-2 Please, God, no more yelling, no more trips to the woodshed. Treat me nice for a change; I’m so starved for affection.
2-3 Can’t you see I’m black-and-blue, beat up badly in bones and soul? God, how long will it take for you to let up?
4-5 Break in, God, and break up this fight; if you love me at all, get me out of here. I’m no good to you dead, am I? I can’t sing in your choir if I’m buried in some tomb!
6-7 I’m tired of all this—so tired. My bed has been floating forty days and nights On the flood of my tears. My mattress is soaked, soggy with tears. The sockets of my eyes are black holes; nearly blind, I squint and grope.
8-9 Get out of here, you Devil’s crew: at last God has heard my sobs. My requests have all been granted, my prayers are answered.10 Cowards, my enemies disappear. Disgraced, they turn tail and run. Pslam 6:1-10 (MSG
Read this aloud when imploring the Lord, perhaps in times you feel forgotten:
13-14 Be kind to me, God; I’ve been kicked around long enough. Once you’ve pulled me back from the gates of death, I’ll write the book on Hallelujahs; on the corner of Main and First I’ll hold a street meeting; I’ll be the song leader; we’ll fill the air with salvation songs.” Psalm 9:1-10 (MSG)
And then this. Pray it out loud. Pray it so that the devil can hear you. Pray it so that the cells wrapped in pain in your body can know it’s true. If we don’t get healing this side of the kingdom, we get it eventually and in full, and forever! In the meantime, pray it LOUD:
And this after-God’s-own-heart, keeping it 100, plea from an authentic David to God:
“Oh, God, my Lord, step in; work a miracle for me—you can do it! Get me out of here—your love is so great!— I’m at the end of my rope, my life in ruins. I’m fading away to nothing, passing away, my youth gone, old before my time. I’m weak from hunger and can hardly stand up, my body a rack of skin and bones. I’m a joke in poor taste to those who see me; they take one look and shake their heads.
26-29 Help me, oh help me, God, my God, save me through your wonderful love; Then they’ll know that your hand is in this, that you, God, have been at work. Let them curse all they want; you do the blessing. Let them be jeered by the crowd when they stand up, followed by cheers for me, your servant. Dress my accusers in clothes dirty with shame, discarded and humiliating old ragbag clothes.
30-31 My mouth’s full of great praise for God, I’m singing his hallelujahs surrounded by crowds, For he’s always at hand to take the side of the needy, to rescue a life from the unjust judge.(Psalm 109:25-31)
And here, finally, we see the AHA moment in which David sees the light, so to speak. He is at that pivotal place we all need to find ourselves in, in order to keep running that most challenging race set before us:
“Don’t put your life in the hands of experts who know nothing of life, of salvation life. Mere humans don’t have what it takes; when they die, their projects die with them. Instead, get help from the God of Jacob, put your hope in God and know real blessing! God made sky and soil, sea and all the fish in it. He always does what he says— he defends the wronged, he feeds the hungry. God frees prisoners— he gives sight to the blind, he lifts up the fallen. God loves good people, protects strangers, takes the side of orphans and widows, but makes short work of the wicked.
10 God’s in charge—always. Zion’s God is God for good! Hallelujah!” Psalm 146:3-10
Lift up us fallen ones, Abba. We are so tired.
But even in our sickness and sadness and end-of-our-rope-ness, we are are a people after your own Heart!
For all of you Normies (normal people) out there, I hope the shines a light on what living with a chronic illness feels like. For all of you who suffer from an invisible illness, I pray this blesses you and assures you that YOU ARE NEVER ALONE!
Woke up this morning feeling like Death’s younger, less apprenticed sister/ like “shit on a shingle,” as we used to say in Texas (!?) Like I should get busy living or get busy dying (props to Shawshank Redemption), but suck at both endeavors right now and am kind of hovering around in between? Health Purgatory.
When people with a chronic illness tell you “Meh, I have good days and bad days,” they ain’t whistling Dixie. It means they have good days in which they feel manically invincible and squeeze a thousand little errands in that ONE day because they never know when a ‘bad’ day will hit, thus exhausting themselves and hastening a ‘bad’ day. On good days, you do the normalsauce stuff other people complain about having to do with great aplomb. Gleefully, almost.
BAD DAYS: Every. Cell. In. Your. Body. Hurts. You feel like you could sleep for days except your head is exploding. Going out to the mailbox saps you. You find yourself wondering where the exhaustion ends and you begin. Bad days are weepy, sore, frustrating days of complete unproductiveness. You are down for the count.
GOOD DAYS: Yesterday was a GOOD day, I went about my business like a regular normal person. That’s all I want! – To have a solid week with no pain or migraine or nasty bug. Can I just give a shout out to the GOOD DAY, the one in which it doesn’t hurt to dress yourself, and you go to Trader Joes AND Food Lion in ONE day, and have the strength to carry in the groceries when you get home? I get a natural HIGH on days like these. And praise Jesus for making them possible.
MY IMMUNE SYSTEM IS A REAL ASSHOLE: It is the Hostess with the Mostess, that system.Lets EVERYBODY IN – flu, sinus infection, UTI issues, 24-hour bug…you name it. It is super hospitable. I can almost hear my autoimmune disease say to a virus that’s finally moving on, “Ya’ll come back here, ya’ hear!?”
‘BORING THING’ ENVY: I’m talking when you are so tired or in pain that you are jealous that your husband is cleaning the litter boxes, because he can do it and you cannot. When my friends on social media complain about the boringness of having to take a car to have their oil changed, and your excruciating migrained head can only WISH you could do something like that on this sunny, beautiful day. Instead, you are laying in a dark, silent room praying that your neighbor will not decide to mow his freaking lawn outside your window for the fourth time this week.
WHY YES, I HAVE TRIED THE ST. JOHN’S WORT!: Peeps, I’ve tried it. Whatever you are fixin’ to suggest, I’ve done it. Fancy and expensive shake mixes, check. Green Superfood, check. Yoga, check. Eating clean, eating dirty, fasting, Britta water filter, meditation, pharmaceuticals galore, and (of course) prayer. Also tried essential oils, Dialectical Behavior techniques, and good old fashion denial. I have even had a spinal tap once, to rule out MS.
WATCH FOR DEPRESSION: If you have too may ‘bad days’ in a row, the bedfellow of depression creeps in, because let’s face it, THIS SUCKS. Is it any wonder that the number of chronic illness sufferers who experience mild to severe depression is sky high? When you don’t feel good, YOU DON’T FEEL GOOD, and it’s a real buzzkill to your body, mind, and spirit.
SILLY STUPID THINGS: Cough or sneeze? Subluxated rib (ribs temporarily dislocate – it is every bit as fun as it sounds). Drive over to the Quick-E-Mart? No can do – double vision from a migraine. I once broke my ankle in two places from climbing out of bed and walking to the bathroom to pee. Torqued my leg in just the ‘right’ way, and felt my bones breaking. Turns out, it is related to the syndrome I’ve been diagnosed with. (I wonder what the odd are of harming oneself just by getting up to pee? Hmmm.)
HUGS ARE THE BEST: I’m not actually sure this has anything to do with chronic illness, but it surely doesn’t hurt!
FAITH AND HUMOR are my saving graces. How do we still smile and laugh in the midst of pain and suffering, when our bodies that betray us on the regular? Because NOT to do so would take us from our feeling like death ‘warmed over,’ and straight into death – of the spirit and mind, if not outright and altogether. Gallows humor is still HUMOR.
PRAISE GOD FOR YOUR HEATH AND NORMALITY. If YOU are a regular normal person whose body jovially goes along with whatever you tell it to do, get on your knees and thank your Maker. Truly. Dude, I’m so jealous of you right now.
INVITE US: I know we cancel plans a lot. It makes us feel unreliable, and I’m so sorry for that. It comes with the EDS, Hashimotos (or a plethora of other ‘invisible’ illnesses) and is one of the worst things about this. It isn’t that we don’t miss you and love you, it’s usually because we are in pain or chronically fatigued and simply CAN NOT. It’s not you; it’s me.
APPRECIATE YOUR SUPPORT SYSTEM: My Beloved (husband) has stood by in side for the past 10 years like crazy. I don’t know how he does it (I sure as hell wouldn’t be married to me!) He has never doubted my illnesses or pain. He takes tender care of me every single day. You need people around you who BELIEVE you and will never give up on you.
WE DIDN’T CHOOSE THIS FOR OUR BODIES. WE DIDN’T CHOOSE THIS FOR OUR LIVES:
Thank you for your understanding, Normies. We need your support to survive this thing.
Ugh. It was really hard to put this picture up on the blog. No make-up, no filters. Photo filters are increasingly becoming my very best friend, to be honest….
By: Jana Greene
About that ageing gracefully thing….
Let me just preface this with a nod to those more spiritually evolved than myself, who will remind me that old age is an honor, and that silver hair a crown of glory, and that women are like fine wine and only get better with age (I never understood that one, but I drank only wine that came in a box before I got sober 15 years ago.)
You are right, yes. I get it! But some days, plain old regular vanity kicks in and sucks all the platitudes right out of getting older.Sometimes it’s just helpful to hear, “You, too?”
Remember those first wrinkles you discovered around your eyes in your early thirties? The ones that snapped you out of the delusion that wrinkles weren’t going to happen to you? The ones that spurred you on to buy that expensive sunblock at the Clinique counter? Doesn’t that seem wildly over-reactive and optimistic now?
Sometimes when I look in the mirror, I feel like Father Time has been walking on my face wearing soccer cleats and things on my body (including my face) are forever getting softer, lower, and unable to ‘snap back.’ Can we just be honest about it?
I was musing about this on Facebook one day, and I invited my women friends to weigh in on their processes of ageing AND accepting that the process is a thing.
Crepey neck skin, bags under my eyes – who said “getting old is for sissies”? Is there a meat clever around? I’ll give em sissies!
Ah, the crepey skin. Just when I’d finally learned how to properly apply eye shadow, it disappears into the crepey folds of eye lid. (Take care to take your eye makeup off without rubbing, young ones! You will thank me later on.)
Another sister really just kind of summed it up thus: (If ever there were an occasion to use multiple emoticons, it is here. Mid-life is ONE LONG EMOTICON, I’m finding.)
Hello death to the metabolism… Moment of silence please …… Ok, no need to expound there … Attack of weird skin issues. All things saggy , crepey, spotted, super dry, moles, veins veins, veins..did I mention veins ? Hormones that go up and down, like the rides at the county fair …. One minute I want to devour my husband, and another I want to zap him with a stun gun! 😍😘🔥😱😁😂😊… Let’s just Changing sleep patterns can not be a good thing 😱😁💤😴💤😵😵😵and so begins The Strangeness … Memory ? Oh yeah what was I saying ? Why did I come In this room again? … I don’t feel like doing a darn thing ..life takes too much energy…
And…
Inside there is this 20 year old thinking she can still do what she used to. Then someone decided we need mirrors over every stinking bathroom sink and BAM! I see that the outside is not a 20 year old any longer.
How did that happen?
Wrinkles? Seriously? They are coming folks and it doesn’t matter how much cream or moisturizer you apply, they are coming.
I think the hardest part is the wisdom streaks that seem to be popping up everywhere. Anywhere there is hair. Sheesh. Gray…… thank God for this wonderful invention of color. We really can be anything we want to be. Not a blond? Not a brunette? Not a red head? No problem, there’s a color to suit your every whim.
For me, well, I’ll try to continue to do this aging thing gracefully but I’m just not ready to show all of my wisdom to the world just yet. Maybe in another 20 or 30 years. Maybe by then, I won’t be bothered by those pesky, lying bathroom mirrors anymore.
In the meantime, I know whose child I am and He loves me even with all of wrinkles that pop up daily it seems and the ever growing wisdom streaks..
Dang, that’s good.
I have the best girlfriends in the world, ya’ll.
Arthritis in the back. I love being active and that reminds me every time that I am not at young as I used to be. Not that it is stopping me now. I just fear it will some day!
Fear is a big thing with us, but we need to let that go. We ARE all still 20 year-olds, we are just driving classic cars now. Costly, sputtering, high-maintence, they-don’t-make-’em-like-that-anymore classics. We’ve survived this long, Baby.
Suck it, Fear. (I say that now….wait 5 minutes for mood to change, and we’ll re-assess.)
Several friends mentioned the dreaded and slow-morphing phenomenon that is ‘turkey neck,’ which deserves it’s very own blog post. Seriously, it needs a blog post all it’s own.
But then this:
I like me more emotionally, spiritually, and mentally. So things drag a bit…and the skin is drier, and there are things I never had before–moles, skin tags, hairy face….I am good with me. I love this stage of life.
OMG, I love this stage in my life, too. I really do! I can be authentic without feeling like I need to apologize for being who I am. The younger me wanted to people please 24/7, and was always worried about making herself small. Part of authenticity is being honest about grieving the loss of the season, while still being cognizant of the honor that comes with age.
As the Facebook thread bemoaning our collective youth kept moving along, the posts got more positive. Like we all needed to just SAY IT – admit our struggles in gory detail – and find camaraderie with one another.And then we could entertain the awesomeness of mid-life.
We are all women who love God and know that silver hair is a crown of glory. But sometimes we bitch about getting older anyway, and grace fills in the cracks in our vanity like the wrinkle creams promised to do for our faces. Grace-fully.
Slowly, the sentiment became – yes, our bodies, faces and minds carry the wear and tear – but our spirits have never been so vibrant! Getting older ain’t for sissies, but that’s okay. We ain’t sissies.
We’re FIERCE, friends!
I wouldn’t take all the young, taught skin and youthful energy in the world for the relationship I have with The Father now – it took a lifetime to learn how to ACCEPT His love. My earlier years were so focused on earning it, I forgot to accept it.
I laugh more, share more, love more, taste more, savor more, give more. In the end, I suppose vanity aims to squash down the ‘more-ness.’ Don’t let it take your MORE!
If there’s a damn wrinkle cream on the planet that works, I haven’t found it. And there are a thousand things about ageing I sincerely do not appreciate. I would like my metabolism back, pretty please. Also, I’m very sorry I didn’t appreciate estrogen when I had tons of it…in retrospect, it was rad. I wish I still only equated ‘crepey’ with French foods, and thought only of giblets when I consider the ‘turkey neck.’
About that ageing gracefully thing again….to re-quote a fabulous friend of mine:
….In the meantime, I know whose child I am and He loves me even with all of wrinkles that pop up daily it seems and the ever growing wisdom streaks..
You, too?
Amen, Sister.
Amen.
(**Side note: If you are a woman in mid-life and have not read Nora Ephron’s book “I feel Bad about my Neck, and other thoughts on being a Woman,” please do. You will relate and likely be brought to tears from laughter. Which may bring more smile lines, but honey, it’s WORTH it. Laughter is ALWAYS worth it!**)
“When I stand before God at the end of my life, I would hope that I would not have a single bit of talent left, and could say, ‘I used everything you gave me.” – (The Great) Erma Bombeck
By: Jana Greene
Once upon a time, there was a girl who wanted to do a lot of things. But while she was waiting until she had time to do them, she did other things. She became a woman who did lots of important life work:
She became a mother and raised children.
She fell in love and got married.
She wrote a lot of poetry read a lot of books.
She even wrote a few.
She held several full-time jobs at one time or another.
She served in church.
Pretty standard fare.
Then, one by one, many of the manifestations of importance in her life grew up and moved on…
It’s true that The Beggar’s Bakery is a blog heavy on the substance abuse recovery material. That’s my passion. But through the ages (the nearly three years I’ve been blogging) I like to mix things up a little on occasion. I am also a “recovering” cat hater. Truly.
Recovery is my passion, but it’s not my ONLY passion. There is also my family, and the kitty cats – animals of all kinds, really – and chocolate, and music, and clothes with elastic waistbands.
Here is one from a blog I maintained for, um….about two posts. But I’m re-posting it because sometimes you just need to write a little, er….FLUFF to go along with the heavier issues.
What’s fluffier than kitties?
This is Catsby, the first cat I’ve ever had that is truly mine (Bob claims him, too, but he is a Mama’s Boy through-and-through!)
Let me preface this piece by saying that I’m going through a bit of a depression. And yes, I know that depression is “not of God” and that if I had mustard seed-sized faith, I could declare to this mountain MOVE, and verily I say unto thee, it shall be done as it is written.
But I’m kind of a regular Joe, who navigates the terrain in fits and starts, wholeheartedly loving my Jesus, but not always making the grade.
So this morning, I found myself in the ice cream aisle of our local grocery store, crying, and in doing so, made the stock boy feel kind of awkward. I’m sure I’m not the first menopausal lady to cry in the ice cream aisle but who knows. At least I’m not crying in the liquor store, which is – in all honesty – where I’d end up in days of yore. I’m 15 years into sobriety from alcohol, praise Jesus. I’ve cried in liquor stores many times.
I came home and put my ice cream(s) in the freezer, and sat down on the hardwood floor because my energy was gone right that very minute and I had no auxiliary source in which to plug. I’m kind of slow-burn crying, and my amazing and very codependent tuxedo cat, Catsby, threw all 20 pounds of himself against me in purry solidarity. Oh my God, I love that little guy.
“Ugh,” I told God. “I’m so tired of being SAD. Why won’t you just come pluck me out of this Sad?”
And then God – who was sitting on the floor with Catsby and I, his arms around me – gave me the craziest vision. I feel I should make the distinction right now that my depression is rather garden variety, and not psychotic, and my the vision was not an apparition. I don’t hear audible voices. It is more like a vivid and comforting thought visual. But whatever, I’ll take communication from God any way I can get it.
And it looked like this:
I’m sitting in the forest, wearing climbing gear. All around me are beautiful mountainous peaks and lush valleys, and I have NO IDEA where I am. None. I’ve gone missing in perilous terrain and I radio for help. A chopper appears from nowhere, lowers a rope, and whisks me away from all danger. I am plopped into familiar territory and the helicopter leaves, having done it’s job. And I’m alone.
In an instant, I understood what Abba was trying to tell me.
Do I want a God who will be my Genie in a bottle and pluck me out of every precarious situation, and then be on His merry way? (Although that sounds good sometimes, it’s not the deity I crave.)
I felt Abba say, “How deep would our relationship be, if I were only ever your rescue party?” In my mind’s eye, I imagine Him sitting with me and my big fat cat, and in my imaginings, God is also wearing climbing gear.
That’s the thing. (Warning: Cornball mountain / valley analogy ahead:)
Our Father longs to hike the tough peaks and deep valleys alongside us. That’s where the relationship grows. When we don’t have the strength to command the mountains to move, Jesus treks with us. He knows the way out, He has all the right tools and equipment, and most of all, He has a passionate love for me that will not allow Him to leave me behind.
Valleys are depressions in rock formations. Depressions. He could easily pluck me from the midst of my circumstance, and sometimes He does. But other times, He is my mountain guide, walking with me every step, talking with me, laughing and joking, picking flowers, climbing seemingly insurmountable peaks. He is my Spotter, my Safety Net, the Director of my Steps. He holds on to me and refuses to let go. He CARES about the little stuff along the journey. We are BONDED, man. We have a bond. It’s deep and rich and personal.
A bond we would never have if I only depended on him to pluck me from danger and depression every time I asked. It’s such a comfort to know that He will never leave me behind!
I kept sitting on the floor with my cat and my God. I sat til I stopped crying (for now.) Catsby got up and stretched, and so did I. And I thought I’d better write this down before I forget it. So here it is, I’m sharing it with you in the hopes that your Sad might be lessened if you’re reminded that Jesus treks with you, too. It’s not instant wisdom or bottled Genie wish-granting, but reassurance that you aren’t climbing alone and you were never meant to.
Today, I’m still sad, but that’s okay. Everything isn’t coming up sunshine and rainbows and unicorn farts because I have the best mountain guide ever. It just doesn’t work that way. And I’m pretty sure Jesus GETS that.
I’m still going to eat my ice cream to make myself feel better, and that’s okay too. I’ll share it with Jesus, if he wants. I don’t have any Mustard Seed flavored ice cream, but I do have Belgian chocolate, and that’s got to count for something.
He will be sitting right next to me just like always, in this perilous terrain. I’m never alone.
“What’s going to happen further along down the road?”
“I’m sorry, that’s on a need-to-know basis. Just trust me.”
“But….”
“Trust me, love. Whatever comes further, I’m already there with you.”
I’m always badgering God about what’s next, even though I know that I couldn’t even handle it if I knew. Seriously, I COULD NOT EVEN. But in some convoluted way, I ask God to reveal to me the outcome of certain things, but the gift of prophesy is not my strong suit.
I am considering this today as I’m struggling with my health issues. I have a rare-ish condition that causes chronic fatigue, migraines, intermittent system pain, and recurrent infections. It’s not going to kill me, but some days I feel like it would kill me if it were more merciful.
Here’s the thing, though: If God had revealed to me that I would do battle with this for the rest of my life, I don’t know that I would have stayed sober. I don’t know if I’d handle it well at all, so I’m grateful for the not knowing.
While I was busy NOT knowing, He went further down the road with me when I wasn’t even looking. The manifestations of His mighty hand over this struggle were being constructed long before I was even symptomatic.
If God had revealed that I would carry this thorn, maybe it would have gone down like this:
“Child, enough badgering! Come sit with me, and I will indulge your curiosity….
“As you grow older, you will feel like your mind and body are falling apart, because they will be – sort of – and you will be scared and tired and frustrated. But I’m working on an infrastructure for your life so that you will be able to carry this yoke…..
“I will bring you a spouse who adores you, and believes you when you are telling the truth about your pain. He will never give up on you, even when you are really sick….
“I will drop friends into your life with EXACTLY this same disease that you suffer from, and they will seemingly drop from the clear blue sky. You will marvel that I took such care to place those perfect people in your life at just the right moments. Lean on them and let them lean into you. They are sent directly from me….
“When you are having a bad day and hurting inside and out, I will scootch right up next to you so close that you can feel my love for you, even through the pain. My Holy Spirit will be IN you, giving you fresh hope, even through the tears…..
“I will give you the gift to write about your experience, so that you can pay this Love forward to others….the ones who are gravely sick but look well, the ones whose labs and tests all come back normal and they feel like they are losing their minds, and that nobody believes them. YOU will comfort and believe them, just as you have been comforted….
“I will give you humor in copious quantities, so that you can not just survive, but THRIVE….
“Whatever comes further, I am already there with you.”
“Persuasion confirms confident expectation and proves the unseen world to be more real than the seen. Faith celebrates as certain what hope visualizes as future.” – Hebrews 11:1 (The Mirror Bible translation)
Can I just take a minute to appreciate the beauty of that verse? Faith celebrates as certain what hope visualizes as future. MIND BLOWN.
There doesn’t seem to be a glut of things to celebrate right now.
I was turbo-thumb scrolling through Facebook chuckling at goofy cats wearing hats and babies teaching each other to walk, and then.. a trickle of posts from news agencies. Lives of yet more law enforcement officers were taken in Baton Rouge, and oh my dear Lord, what is happening to us?
Oh no. Please God, no.
I’m ashamed to say I haven’t even tuned in for live coverage yet. Much like the grounds of my beloved hometown of Houston, my ground is saturated. My spirit is just saturated. I can’t take one more sad thing. Storm after storm have filled the ground and there’s nowhere for the runoff to go. I know we are all hurting. We are all just trying to doggy paddle in the flood of awfulness right now.
The past few weeks have been an abysmally horrible example of what people of a godless world can inflict upon each other. Does blood mean NOTHING to us anymore?
In between tragedies and murders, there have been tides of goodwill and love between fellow men. Each tragedy followed by an outpouring of people helping one another, followed by another blow, followed by good people acting, followed by more blood in the street….Each time Grace gets on her feet, she is assaulted with another hard swing. But like a boxing match between Hatred and Grace, Grace is getting its ass kicked.
Or so it seems.
But still …
I keep thinking of the end of Jesus’s last day on earth, and how terrified the disciples must have been when the sky turned black and their One True Hope died just like a regular guy. Can you imagine? Talk about feeling like God has left the building! There was even an earthquake as His Spirit ascended, but from the human viewpoint, it just looked like the world was ending.
It just looked like doom.
That’s what it feels like to me now.
Blood means everything, and is the only way anything matters. The darkening sky had to happen; It had to happen for love to swing harder. Blood and disaster ushered in hope for the whole of mankind.
I guess faith isn’t about not questioning, because any sane person is doubting and questioning right now. I know I am – big time. Just being honest.
In spite of everything, I believe we are on this planet right now because God deemed us fit to thrive in it for His sake. Not just survive – but thrive.
Even when I just want to make a blanket fort and consume multiple cartons of Haagen Dazs and wash it down with boxed chardonnay while I snuggle with my cats and listen to sad Coldplay songs so I can properly grieve the state of the Union (and the state of the world.)
Again, just being honest.
I’ve been sober a long time, but I have to tell you, I am asking God for help every single day. I need him to help me stay sober and sane.
How can love swing harder if we all stay drunk in our blanket forts? Faith celebrates as certain what hope visualizes as future.
Here’s my strategy, and it’s kind of weird but wildly helpful to me:
Each time I become despondent and feel anxiety rising, I try to visualize the expressions on the faces of the disciples when they laid their actual EYES on the resurrected Jesus. Awe, wonder, hope sprung eternal. Doom turned to dust, death made impotent for all eternity.
Jesus was all like “TA DAAA!”
And “What part of ‘I’m coming back’ don’t you understand?”
And “I love you! Go now and love on everybody else.”
That’s how I’m coping and staying sober – striving toward the day Hatred doesn’t get the last swing, the day evil gets its ass kicked forevermore. Leaning INTO a loving Father whose heart is breaking for the way His kids are treating one another.
And trying to honor the One True Hope – and be the best ambassador for Him that I can.
When it looks like doom, stand on this saturated ground with me, and keep proclaiming who we KNOW God to be. By grace, love wins. This broken world needs to know it.
“When I stand before God at the end of my life, I would hope that I would not have a single bit of talent left, and could say, ‘I used everything you gave me.” – (The Great) Erma Bombeck
Musings of a Gypsy Soul 