Addiction · Spiritual

There’s no Graduating from Addiction (and why that’s a GOOD thing)

Present tense

By: Jana Greene

I follow a support board on Facebook that consists of women alcoholics and addicts. In a recent post, a member asked this simple question: “Do you think a person can ever say they’ve recovered from their addiction.” Out of 129 responses, there was only three ‘yes’ answers. And there’s a reason for this:

Addiction is a lifelong condition.

“Yeah, but….” you might be thinking. Consider the alcoholic uncle who just gave booze up cold turkey, after declaring that he just woke up one day and lost his taste for it.

Bully for Uncle Herbert. I’ve heard tell of people like this; I’ve just never known one.

For most of us, it takes work – and a lifetime of it. But the alternative is doing the same self-destructive thing over and over and expecting a different result. That’s the definition of insanity. At the end of the day, ask yourself: Do I want to jump head first into the recovery life? Or do I want to perpetuate the insanity of active addiction until I end up in a jail or coffin?

Sounds pretty dramatic, right?

In my small city, the heroin epidemic is the worst in the state. Our sons and daughters are dying with needles in their arms. Children are becoming motherless or fatherless. That’s not drama. That’s real life. Raw, serious real life. What the citizenry of my city is experiencing is happening in every state in the nation. Something has to stem the tide.

Thank God there is an alternative!

The recovery life IS life. And when you have very nearly lost the one life you’re given, it’s time to wake up. The next time you need a fix, seek help. Help is out there for the asking!

You don’t have to participate in feeding your disease. I don’t believe we are ever ‘recovered.’ You don’t graduate and get to flip your tassel, but you DO get to experience life and find the harmony in yourself just below the surface you’ve been numbing.

In plain speak, life can be a real b*tch – seek out your recovery tribe and let them love you until you can love yourself.

A healthy, sustainable recovery is possible. Enjoyable, even. Being in lifelong recovery sounds daunting, but not nearly as daunting as the using life. Aren’t you curious to find out who you really are? Active recovery is the way to find out.

Did you know that you have friends you haven’t even met yet in the rooms? You are not alone. You have a safe place to fall.

As of this writing, here is a list of resources to get you on your way. Just click on the blue hyperlinks below.

God bless us, every one.

ALCOHOLISM (Alcoholics Anonymous)

SUBSTANCE ABUSE AND MENTAL HEALTH SERVICE ADMINISTRATION

National Alliance on Mental Illness

CELEBRATE RECOVERY

NARCOTICS ANONYMOUS

FRIENDS / FAMILY OF ADDICTS: AL ANON

 

Spiritual

Picking up Rocks on a Walk with God

Jana Greene's avatarMusings of a Gypsy Soul

“Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.” – Matthew 11:28 (The Message)

Crispy.

Fried.

Burned out.

These are not amongst the niceties exchanged between friends as we pass in the street.

“How are you?”

“Parched.  Just really heavy-laden lately. You?”

“Weary and burdened, actually.”

The truth is that we do become those things, regularly. Or at least I do. A praising heart becomes a languid spirit far too easily.

I will be walking alongside Jesus, matching my footsteps to his, and enjoying the journey. And then I see something up…

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Spiritual

A Lady who was Mean to her Kid (or “Grace for Jerks”)

Jana Greene's avatarMusings of a Gypsy Soul

Friends.jpg “Friends” by Liz Lemon Swindle

“One day children were brought to Jesus in the hope that he would lay hands on them and pray over them. The disciples shooed them off. But Jesus intervened: “Let the children alone, don’t prevent them from coming to me. God’s kingdom is made up of people like these.”– Matthew 19:14 (MSG)

By: Jana Greene

In her book “Traveling Mercies: Some Thoughts on Faith,” Anne Lamott wrote a chapter entitled “A Man who was Mean to His Dog.” She wrote about witnessing a guy being mean to his Golden Retriever at her local beach, and her incredulousness that anyone could be unkind to a dog of that breed. Goldens are the most people-pleasing dogs in the world, just so full of goofy and abundant love. They just want to win your approval.

I witnessed something this morning at the grocery store that may have…

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Spiritual

Oozing Grace and other Heretical Hazards

I love and appreciate my readers. Thanks for taking the time to read my work. God bless you!

Jana Greene's avatarMusings of a Gypsy Soul

15years
BY: Jana Greene
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…

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Grace · Spiritual

You can Run on for a Long Time, but Sooner or Later God will Tackle You with Relentless Mercy (The Beatitudes Series V)

cash

By: Jana Greene

I absolutely love Johnny Cash. It is rumored that he always only wore black because he forever identified with the poor and the downtrodden. I like to include those who are spiritually poor in this consideration.

One of his very best songs, in my humble opinion is “God will Cut you Down.” It’s so gritty, so confident in the justice in its lyrics. Do You know the song (CLICK HERE TO HEAR ” SOONER OR LATER GOD’LL CUT YOU DOWN”

 

If you haven’t heard the song I’m referring to, here is the main refrain:

“You can run on for a long time
Run on for a long time
Run on for a long time
Sooner or later God’ll cut you down
Sooner or later God’ll cut you down”

On this blog, all I can do is share my personal experience, opinion, and hope with you. I like to do so honestly, and I know there are many who disagree with me on key subjects. That’s okay.

But my own personal story’s refrain goes something like this:

“I ran on for a long time.

I ran on for a long time.

I ran on for a long time,

But sooner or later Jesus found me and heaped so much copious grace on me that I had to start a blog to tell the rambler, the gambler, the back-biter that God himself is love and mercy.”

Not as catchy, I admit. But it’s the truth as my heart receives it.

Jesus isn’t running after you to cut you down, but to tackle you and tell you that he loves you. Right where you are. That’s the Good News.

He isn’t a god of cutting down, but a God of Great Mercy.

Don’t take my word for it. Matthew 5 1:7:

“God blesses those who are merciful, for they will be shown mercy.” (NIV)

or, more plainly,

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

We are blessed when we are merciful toward the riff-raff,  because God was and is merciful with us. The act of showing mercy brings about a state of revolutionary and scandalous blessedness, and people don’t always know what to do with it.

At the moment of being ‘care-full,’ you find yourselves cared for. Hmmmm.

Mr. Cash himself struggled as a rambler most of his life. Whether we like to admit it or not, so do we. We may not all dress in black to identify with the poor and downtrodden, but our white-washed, white-collar rambling is rambling, just the same.

You know the classic question, “If you could sit down with a person living or dead and have coffee with them, who would you choose?” I must admit Johnny Cash isn’t my first choice.

But if I were having coffee with him right now, I’d ask “What did Jesus come for, if not to be merciful and graceful? Of what value would the blood of Christ have if it only washed away the surface-level stains?”

Yes, we must repent. We must repent to gain the full benefit of relationship with Christ. That job position is already filled by Holy Spirit.

If I remember correctly, God doesn’t wait for us to get our sh*t together before loving us, making Grace available to us, and showing us mercy.

“Christ arrives right on time to make this happen. He didn’t, and doesn’t, wait for us to get ready. He presented himself for this sacrificial death when we were far too weak and rebellious to do anything to get ourselves ready. And even if we hadn’t been so weak, we wouldn’t have known what to do anyway. We can understand someone dying for a person worth dying for, and we can understand how someone good and noble could inspire us to selfless sacrifice. But God put his love on the line for us by offering his Son in sacrificial death while we were of no use whatever to him.” – Romans 5:8 (MSG)

There are other lyrics in “Run On” that almost contradicts other parts of the same song:

“Well my goodness gracious let me tell you the news
My head’s been wet with the midnight dew
I’ve been down on bended knee talkin’ to the man from Galilee
He spoke to me in the
voice so sweet
I thought I heard the shuffle of the angel’s feet
He called my name and my heart stood still
When he said, “John go do my will.”

I like that part. I like that part a lot.

Let’s do God’s will.

Let’s be merciful.

Let’s be blessed.

Spiritual

The Flippin’ Sweet Whole Love of God

Are you drinking in life lite? Because you don’t have to.

Jana Greene's avatarMusings of a Gypsy Soul

napoleanBy: Jana Greene

Last night, I was tossing and turning. Thinking about all the things that are oh-so wrong in this world. I exhausted my energies with worry, and then I implored my Heavenly Father to please comfort me. As I often do when asking God for favors, I quoted scripture to Him, when really – plain talk would have sufficed. He already knows my heart – a heart thirsty to be filled up with His love.

“I’m tired, Abba. Worn down. I need your strength,” my spirit said. ” I just need a touch, Lord. Just see me through today.” I reminded him of the woman at the well, who touched the hem of the garment of Jesus and was made whole.

Just then a woman who had hemorrhaged for twelve years slipped in from behind and lightly touched his robe. She was thinking to herself, “If I…

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Recovery · Spiritual

Slay. That. Dragon.

17

By: Jana Greene

I know I’ve milked this 17 years of sobriety thing for an entire week now, and for that I’m sorry. If you are sick of hearing about it, I don’t blame you in the least.. But you are my friends and I want to be 100% transparent with you.
January 3rd is my official DOS (date of sobriety). I was going to pick up my chip on the 1st but it was special order and hadn’t arrived yet, which was fine with me. Because I really – for the first time ever – had zero enthusiasm for collecting that !little token of time earned through sobriety.
I rather resent the past year, which has been the most difficult to avoid relapse, if I’m honest. I made it – but by the skin of my teeth. At one point, I even opened a bottle of brandy I found that my husband had had for years and sat it on my bedside table. I curled up on my bed and cried. Then I opened the bottle. And I smelled the brandy, which smelled like an old friend, or how a grandpa used to smell when you were a kid. I never should have smelled that Brandy. Then I cried some more. I had words with God, and he listened so patiently, and I could feel His Spirit near me and in me, and it aggravated me to no end because without that presence I could pick up that bottle and just let the dragon have his way. I was so exhausted from fighting it and running from it.
See, having an addiction is a lot like having a dragon follow you around everywhere. And I mean EVERYWHERE. Your deepest thoughts. Your stress and anxiety. The crapper. EVERYWHERE. He taunts you, sometimes far more aggressively than others, This past year,, he has been practically crawling up my ass. One thing after another after another. In that moment in a fetal position on my bed with a bottle of Dragon Sedative sitting RIGHT THERE, so close – I wished God would bugger off.
But, that sliver of my soul that so values the life I’ve been granted – this beautiful second chance – gave voice above the din of my disgruntled sobbing. My lips said “please.’ Just “please;” that’s all. Over and over and over and over until I wasn’t crying anymore, and the brandy starting stinking, and I could feel my father’s arms around me. I wiped off the snot and tears, took the bottle to the bathroom sink, and poured it’s contents down the drain. I didn’t feel victorious. I felt nothing at all.
Soon after, that damn dragon was on my heels again. But I started trying to self care a little better – including joining my tribe at meetings. As the big anniversary approached, I felt unworthy of going through the ceremonial celebration of Chipdom, whereas I had ALWAYS looked forward to picking it up every other year. I’ll be sober 17 years. Cherrio! (Sorry, I’ve been watching a lot of “The Crown.”) Yay. Blargh. I don’t deserve it. I’ve been a terrible role model for recovery lately.
But something happened between last week and this week. Clear up until the moment I arrived at the meeting (with one of my daughters, who came for moral support,) I felt that same malaise.
The program is the same each week, as it was tonight: Worship, the reading of the 12 Steps, announcements, and then The Bestowing of the Chips.
Two people went up to pick up surrender chips, and my heart melted for them. I remember picking up that chip and finally admitting I had been drinking myself to death. I kept going – 90 meetings in 90 days – collecting chips with awe and wonder every noteworthy time chips were given.
Hey…..
Today is January 8, 2018. I can remember when I could only make it one day without drinking and having to start over. I remember when a month was an eternity, but a wonderful eternity of self-discovery. The whites of my eyes lost the yellow tinge. I worked on ME. And most importantly, I didn’t drink.
Well guess what? 2017 was a dadgum BITCH. Every thing in our lives changed, and not for the better. I had 6-10 migraines per month. I’ve still not found employment. A million stressful circumstances riled up my dragon like crazy.
But I did not drink. By God’s GRACE.
Tonight – when my friend who was giving out chips asked with a wink if anyone here tonight has 17 years, I felt like the conflab Grinch himself – my heart started expanding.
OH MY GOD. 17 YEARS.
And despite the suckiness of 2017, I DID NOT DRINK.
I became suddenly exhilarated beyond explanation. My daughter stood and applauded as I approached the stage to pick up my chip. I gave my friend a hug and he put the brass chip in my hand.
And I sobbed because the weight of it felt like lead. It felt like all the weight I’d been carrying on my shoulders for a year, but as golden treasure, not the heart-heaviness of  dragon bullying. I became giddy, ya’ll. I’ve never been so happy to pick up a chip in my whole entire recovery life, and I’ve had some doozies of difficult years. The dragon has tried to push me off the wagon many, many times, but today?
God flipped the script. All the ways I felt I’d failed this year felt instead like victories. Yes, I had close scrapes, but God gave me the strength to carry on and hold fast to my precious recovery – the thing that has made all other good things possible. The reason my children are not motherless. The reason I’m not 6 feet under. The reason I get to watch my grandchild grow up.
So ya’ll….I think this chip is my FAVORITE chip. Of. All. TIME. The hardest earned. Ultimately, the most gloriously received.
Oh God, thank you.
Thank you for getting me through, even if my the skin of my teeth. It doesn’t matter. I didn’t relapse.
(And it could not have happened without the boundless grace of God. And WONDERFUL friends. And my tribe – my homegroup. I couldn’t have done it without the support of my husband.)
And the dragon?
I. SLAYED. THAT. BITCH.
SLAY.
The sword is sharpened with every hardship.
And I’m so grateful.

 

 

Spiritual

What David Bowie Taught Me about Living Authentically

Happy Birthday, Thin White Duke. The stars have looked very different since you left us. Thanks for being part of my growing-up. I’ll be exacting a hug from you in Heaven one day.

Jana Greene's avatarMusings of a Gypsy Soul

david_bowie_07I purposefully took my time to write this piece, as I wanted desperately to do the memory of David Bowie justice. Thanks for the memories, O Great One. You will be missed.

By: Jana Greene

In the summer of my 13th year, I fell in love. And the man I fell in love with passed away last week.

I fell HARD, much like the object of my desire who fell to Earth, when I first came to love his music, and again when I found out he passed away.

As a young girl, I’d  heard Space Oddity play on the radio and was completely transfixed. What did I just HEAR? I’d always loved music, but this…this? This was another thing altogether.

From then forward, I was obsessed. Everything Bowie wrote or sang, every cameo he made in a film, every poster featuring his amazing face from obscure and punk-ish Houston…

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Spiritual

Pathway to a Richer Life

Be blessed, family of grace.

Jana Greene's avatarMusings of a Gypsy Soul

By: Jana Greene

God,

Your plans are perfect, holy, good.

Mine lead me in the wrong direction.

My plans don’t work out as they should,

Flawed and full of imperfection.

Your mercy, it endures forever.

Mine toward others? Not always so.

Depending on my mood and temper,

My mercy will often come and go.

Yours is the path to righteousness,

Of light and honor, love and grace.

Mine is the path of least resistance

My flesh seeks a faster pace.

Show me where to venture next

(My sense of direction? It’s off by a mile!)

And I will follow your inflection

Instead of the pulling of my own guile.

Not because I’m so deserving –

A member of this human race,

But because your love does no deserting,

You run towards those who seek your face.

God,

Your plans are perfect, holy, good.

Mine are often cause for strife.

Teach…

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humor · Spiritual

The Iceman Freezith (and it ain’t so toasty here)

iceman
For today’s blog graphic, I am using an actual National Geographic image of “The Iceman” A.K.A. ÖTzi.  The Iceman was found to have 61 tattoos, which – in my opinion – he had done because the continual jabbing of many  needles took his mind off of the COLD.  
He lived around 3,300 BC – during the Chalcolithic, or copper age – and his incredibly well-preserved remains were trapped in glacial ice for more than 5,000 years until his eventual discovery in 1991, by German tourists hiking in the alps near the border of Austria and Italy. Don’t say I never taught you anything. As you can see, OTzi (???) was clearing reaching for something at the time of his frozen-ass demise. My theory is that his wife was hogging the Pittsburgh Steelers stadium blanket and he was just trying to get a piece (of the blanket.) You know she could have shared a LITTLE of it. Mrs. OTzi was the Titanic’s Rose of her time. JUST SCOOT OVER ALREADY.

By: Jana Greene

Just a little hardy-har-har to thaw my sense of humor out. I’m trying to blog more often, so you get to read more pieces (oh boy!) I’m also trying to cut down on the length of some of the lighter items. And I’d like to punctuate the more serious pieces with things that might actually be fun to read, if not edifying.

It’s COLD here, ya’ll. Ok, maybe not to some of you Nanooks of the North. But here in NC, we’re not equipped to deal with such tundra-like conditions. I think our town has one snowplow, total. We are supposed to get snow, and we live at the beach, so for each snowflake that hits the ground (whether or not it sticks to the ground) is an hour they call off school / government buildings / bridges / and just about everything else. Stay warm ya’ll!

Diary entry: Decembruary 2, in the year of our Lord (Jack Frost) 2018.

We can hear the hail hit all around the house and on the roof. At least I hope it’s hail, and not brimstone. That would suck.

When I look out the windows, every walking surface is covered in a thick layer of ice. No thanks. I have trouble walking on the regular ground.

We are down to 1 1/2 loaves of bread. I suppose we’ll die.

The storm has the cats super freaked out; so much so that they are all napping right through it. Brave souls.

Hoping for actual snow, but because I live at the actual beach, I would have to make snow angels in my super unflattering, middle-aged woman skorted, bathing suit.

I am currently laying under 7 blankets. One is a Steelers stadium blanket, so it counts as 3 additional.

We have no Cheeze-its.

We have Nacho Doritos.

I guess this is how the Donner Party must have felt.

Recovery · Spiritual

Happy New Year! And Happy 17 Truly – and I cannot stress this enough – TRULY Miraculous Continuous Sobriety Years to Me!

1111111134gdsgdgdga

By: Jana Greene

Happy New Year, dear Readers! I hope your 2017 was awesome, but for me it was a virtual cascade of sh*t storm after sh*t storm. So SEE YA, 2017. And welcome 2018. Please Lord Jesus, make it better!

Last night, I picked up my 17 year recovery chip. THIS IS A MIRACLE. I’m not sure anyone outside of the program understands the significance and representation of a simple coin with no value outside of recovery circles. Anyway….

At tonight’s 12 Step Meeting,  I got to say a few words to the crowd – what an honor- and I didn’t sugarcoat a thing. It went a little something like this:

How did i do it? Stay over 17 years?

Even a year ago, I would have said it’s only Jesus, Jesus, Jesus.

But this year my answer is different.

God’s grace is always, always available to us, but let’s face it. Most of us are here because our natural default is to numb out. Grace or no grace, obliterating can be our inclination. I don’t care how long you’ve been sober, and that’s the truth.

As a matter of fact, this past year year was the hardest to maintain recovery ever. Shit hit the fan repeatedly and with endless supply. Yes, it is Jesus, Jesus,Jesus that’s kept me hanging on by the skin of my teeth, but I play a part in it too.

I learned I have to supply the willingness to surrender DAILY. Because there ain’t no graduation day for this. That’s my responsibility. I have to keep up with self care. I have to surrender my will. I have to remember what a sick drunk I was and how many people I hurt.

The rigorous honesty truth of the matter is that recently, I’ve gotten lazy about working the steps as I should. Last year kicked my ass, y’all. But I never survived any of it alone.

Holy Ghost is a gentleman in that his teaching is gentle. But he has also given us another way to ensure we are never alone. We have each other. I need you; you need me. We need our tribe, because we all GET it. We get how difficult surrender is.

No one ever woke up after a relapse grateful. But I’m grateful to have this place and so glad to be here.

Those things that kick your butt and make you doubt your recovery will always happen.

But they always pass.

Keep your recovery. It’s your choice to make it priority. Minute by minite if necessarily.

Helping each other keeps us well.

Thank you for letting me share

Spiritual

Sweet Baby James and two Little Girls who Grew up too Fast

taylor

By: Jana Greene

Bittersweet moment alert!

Tonight, I’m remembering the thousand of bedtimes when my daughters were little and I would lay down with them every evening holding each of their tiny hands until they fell asleep.

Some might say that was spoiling them.

There wasn’t a term for it back then – more than 20 years ago –  but now I believe it is called “attachment parenting.” Every family is different, but i knew, in some deep, primal way, is that it was right for me and my girls. Co-sleeping. Extended breastfeeding, nursing on demand, and child-led weaning. No crying it out. Baby wearing.

And every night, the same playlist of lullabies by their tone-deaf Mom, including – always including – Sweet Baby James. I changed the lyrics about “glasses of beer” to”glasses of milk,” and nobody seems the wiser.

The funny thing I remember cognitive thought “memorize this, Mama.”

Memorize holding the tiny hand still a little sticky from where the baby wipe missed a spot of cotton candy.

Remember Lexi sleepily wriggling her lose front tooth between lullaby verses.

Stare into Ashleigh’s big, chocolate brown eyes as her eyelids drooped slowly little by little.

Indulge “sing it one more time, Mama,” even if it’s the tenth time in a row.

I intuitively knew these days were fleeting. I knew every bedtime took them a little farther from sticky hands and Sweet Baby James, and closer to the rest of the world they’d have to figure out for themselves.

The rest of the world I couldn’t make all better with a lullaby.

Until then, though, we had James Taylor and tons of cuddles.
And friends with littles, soak up every second.

It does fly by so fast.

CLICK HERE TO LISTEN TO JAMES TAYLOR’S “SWEET BABY JAMES.”

 

Beatitudes · Social Justice · Spiritual

Blessed are Those who Hunger for Social Justice and Spit out the Subterfuge (Part IIII of The Beatitude Series)

Justice.jpg

By: Jana Greene

I gave birth to liberal children.

There, it’s out now (Haha! Whew! What a relief to just SAY it, and put it out there into the UNIVERSE!)

I’m kidding of course. I am very, VERY proud of the strong, young women grew up to be. Nearly everyone in the world could be labeled ‘liberal,’ some ‘conservative,’ but most fall in the spectrum in between.

Labels. Labels. Labels. Oh how we just LOVE labeling people. And the act of doing so is SO not of God.

For the record (and all labeling purposes) I am a moderate – and a moderate with libertarian leanings at that. I apologize to no one. Let’s just get those nasty ‘ol labels out of the way and God bless America and all that.

It bothers me less and less that my kids’ lean to the left, because the older I get, the more I understand how social justice matters to GOD.

Here are the complicated instructions I gave my kids growing up: “Form your own ideas based on what you know, and grow up to CARE about people are treated.”

I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that they did.

Here’s my honest account of social justice (and those who supposedly hunger and thirst for righteousness):

To this white, middle-aged woman, I used to think of social justice as a phase of American history in which there were blatant abuses and  involuntary segregation and horrible injustices done to people for no other reason than they had more melanin in their skin tone than others. But thank GOD, a man named Martin Luther King came and was the fairest, true-ist man in all the land, and he and his brave and peaceful soldiers of equality rid the world of social injustice so that we could all live in a world where everyone was equal and valued as such. The end.

(I didn’t say it was accurate, I said it was what we were taught. At my particular high school, the black kids were the popular kids, so I had no other perspective to view it from. It was certainly not applicable to every black child in America.

Here’s the thing: We all believe fundamentally that we are right. But statistically, we cannot POSSIBLY all be right all the time. Where are you wrong? I’m wrong about a lot of things.

And as I said, it was the history through the eyes of a white, middle-aged white woman who was educated in ’80’s era Texas and who then – and now – have multitudes of dear friends of every race, color, and creed.

As evidenced by our current political and socioeconomic climate, it ain’t over, obviously. And there is no way of getting around it – liberally or conservatively – it is an issue important to our fully-just Father.  I cannot fathom a subject more near and dear to his heart than how his children treat eachother.

It’s easy to resort to quoting the Bible verses we’ve all come to know (and be kind of confused by:) “Blessed are those who are hungry and thirsty for righteousness,  because it is they who will be satisfied!” Matthew 5:6 (NIV)

or, as The Message translates the verse: 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.”

Oh, THIS. Yes, the eating and drinking  analogy. Now , THAT’ll preach!

True justice is the best meal you’ll ever eat?  That goes right alongside drinking of the water that will make you never thirst again. That’s satiation. That’s fullness. That’s true and just satisfaction.

So as I’ve been trying to figure out for weeks how to write this piece, God has given me the word “truth’ over and over.

“Yeah, I get it, God. Truth is part and parcel to justice, and there can be no justice without there being absolute truth. But you see, we here are sorely lacking in thine ultimate truth-o-meter, as we have only our senses with which to mitigate it. Think about it. Most of we humans determine justice by perspective.

The hard part here is determining how we understand justice:

Our own sense of right and wrong (which is subjective).

And our physical senses – what we see here with our gelatinous eyeballs and selective hearing. What we touch, which may vary from person to person. What we taste, which is literally a matter of personal taste; and by what we feel – physically or emotionally.

All these weeks that God has been telling me “write about truth in justice and the blessing therein” I couldn’t complete  writing this piece because I felt something was missing.

I’d been missing the second word he’d told me to write about this morning out of a dead sleep  (and at 2 a.m., thanks, God – your ways are not our ways nor is your timing ours!)

SUBTERFUGE. The key to understanding true just ice is cutting through all of the crap that is subterfuge.

sub·ter·fuge
ˈsəbtərˌfyo͞oj/
noun
noun: subterfuge; plural noun: subterfuges
  1. deceit used in order to achieve one’s goal.
    synonyms: trickery, intrigue, deviousness, deceit, deception, dishonesty, cheating, duplicity, guile, cunning, craftiness, chicanery, pretense, fraud, fraudulence

    “the use of subterfuge by journalists”
    trick, hoax, ruse, wile, ploy, stratagem, artifice, dodge, bluff, pretense, deception, fraud, blind, smokescreen;
    informational, scam
    “a disreputable subterfuge”

There is truth and justice. And then there is subterfuge.  Everything else that is not God’s righteousness is subterfuge. 

The problem being that subterfuge is also highly subjective. What may offend you may not offend me.

But what offends God should offend us all. That’s the hard part because we’ve had so many things chiseled into our minds that God HATES. But God, by his very nature, LOVES.

(Hey, I didn’t claim to answer all the world’s problems, I’m just saying God gave me a word at 2 a.m. and told me to share it, so if ONE single reader has an epiphany through this piece, my work here is done!)

Blessed are those who truly hunger for righteousness; whatever that righteousness looks like to Almighty God, fair in all of his dealings and loving in all of his ways. I think Martin Luther King understood that.

Care about how people are treated, and you cannot go wrong.

Blessed – that state of BEING, not state of FEELING – are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness. Blessed are we who grow up to be people who CARE about other people.

Only God knows every truth that constitutes every justice. But BLESSED are we who work up a good appetite for the Giver of those Truths – God. He truly satisfies.

It’s not necessarily the “figuring out” what is just and un-just (although we should certainly strive to) but the thirsting for truth and justice that releases His power like no other sense we can manufacture on our own. Maybe we can all start by admitting  “hey, this was my perception growing up.” Maybe it’s really important to listen to one another.

Subterfuge would love to keep us all silent.

Let us selah on this, God.

For a day, and for a lifetime.

 

 

 

 

Spiritual

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

Sharing again.
Because reasons.

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

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)

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)

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)

 

 

 

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)

(*This piece is satire* No offspring were hurt or egos bruised in the making of this post.)
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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

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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