Spiritual

Filter Foibles: a hazard of modern mid-life

BY: JANA GREENE

Hi, my name is Jana and I’m addicted to filters.
WHEW! I feel better now.


I often say that filters are the poor girl’s facelift, and it’s true. I love me some filters. It can be good for the self esteem…or is it, really?


Every selfie or picture, I find myself honing in on the smile lines and sun damage, vitiligo, and age spots, and that’s all I see.


All I see is evidence that Father Time is stomping across my face wearing soccer cleats.


Aging is hard, y’all. And the EDS exacerbates it because my collagen is faulty amd mutated, and my skin is stretchy but doesn’t always pop back.

But I’m feeling spry and sassy today. I’m dressed, wearing makeup, and am out of the house. So after filtering the @&$%# out of the first pic, I decided to post one unfiltered next to it, because I earned every laugh line and wrinkle and inch of crepey neck and eyelid.

And while it’s fun to use technology to make ourselves look younger, it shouldn’t make us despair our unfiltered, real image as “women of a certain age.”


We’ve seen some shit and been through a half century of life experience. The tough times didn’t kill us – it made us stronger. And who cares if our faces reflect that?

I do, if I’m honest. But I’m working on self-acceptance.

Just some thoughts this Tuesday morning. ❤️

Spiritual

Boundaries and Boomerangs: A Few Thoughts on Codependency

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

BY: JANA GREENE

One of my friends recently said something offhandedly that punched me right in the gut.

“I’m only as happy as my least happy child,” she waxed. Never before has anyone said something more relatable to me.

We live in strange times. Times that can either amp our codependency behaviors, or challenge us to fortify them.

Nobody tells you this, but lean in real close… the age of eighteen is not the “magic” age when your kids get their shit together. I don’t know who the hell came up with that number, but its arbitrary as all get-out. We are here for our kids no matter what their ages.

Children boomerang back. Mine is 28. Two out of three of our adult kids have had to move back home for a spell.

I’m very glad they have somewhere to bounce back to. I did not have a safe place to boomerang home as an adult. Nobody took care of me. I want better for my kids than I had, but I also want them to be fully independent.

Life is messy, ya’ll.

In preparing a room for her, I am also preparing my heart. Because the child who is moving back temporarily can push my buttons.. In all fairness, we both probably push one another’s buttons.

She is scrappy and feisty and “extra,”and I am scrappy and feisty and “extra”. And I don’t know how to “mom” grown children under my roof. I hate conflict, and the more adults you add to your home, the higher the conflict quotient.

Here are some ways in which I will protect my boundaries and actually enjoy the experience of having a grown child back at home:

I will not run interference between other family members.

This is HUGE for me. Keeping the entirety of peace in the house – even in a relatively peaceful family dynamic – is not my job. I will do my part, but I will not clean up after others, literally or figuratively. I hope my husband and daughter get along (as they mostly do), but I will not take ownership of their relationship.

I will set realistic expectations of myself, and of her.

As a disabled person, I sometimes need help. A lot of help. It is okay to ask for it and expect it. (Hear that, self? It is OKAY TO ASK FOR IT AND EXPECT IT.)

I will show grace and respect (and expect respect.)

It’s not the same world it was when most of us were in our 20’s. It’s much more expensive to live on one’s own. As she comes in for a landing, I will remember it’s not her destination flight that brought her home; just circumstances that will improve and allow her to spread her wings. I will try my best to be graceful and patient, while knowing this is temporary.

I will operate from a place of healthy boundaries. I’ve become accustomed to having my own space. And accustomed to meditating and self-care. These things did not come easy, and they did not come until my children flew the nest. I am protective of them.

I can be happy, even if nobody in my house is happy. I tend to calibrate my mood to whomever is feeling any type of way. This includes my husband.

I will not try to “fix”. I am present and available, but must remember it isn’t my job to “fix” anyone. Furthermore, it is an impossibility.

I will keep the faith. I will lean into God and have faith that whatever comes my way, He is only ever good. And I will have faith in my daughter, as I always have. We will get through the bumps in life as a family.

I will find the joy in this – and every – experience.

My daughter and I are exceedingly close. My daughters and I have been through a LOT together. We have legions of inside jokes, the same absurd and silly sense of humor. We talk about deep subjects, even when we don’t agree. We will make memories during this time that wouldn’t be made any other way. I will enjoy the ride!

I don’t know if these points will help you through a trying, temporary time, but writing them out is already helping me. My therapist has been helping me overcome co-dependency issues, and what better time to hone those skills?

I fell like this is not the only area of life I can avoid the potholes of co-dependency. Life is chock full of opportunities to stretch and grow.

I don’t know what age people actually get their shit together is, because I don’t have mine together yet!

And I pray God blesses you and gives you permission to not save the entire world. Because it isn’t yours to save. Life is hard and relationships are hard, and co-dependent behaviors whisper that they will help you get through it, but in reality only make it more difficult.

We are worth the effort of setting healthy boundaries and caring about ourselves and our peace as much as we care for others. I won’t forget that if you don’t!

God bless us, every one.

Spiritual

Shark Teeth and Shifting Focus

My husband holds my heart in his hand. Literally.

BY: Jana Greene

The big spiritual “thing” I’m doing is really something. And reader…I’m so glad you are sticking alongside me for the ride! I am currently reading Rob Bell’s “Everything is Spiritual,” which is a whole other blog post for another time.

I am also fortunate to be a part of a group of free-thinkers and like-minded Christ-following mystics, and we have been learning about Quantum life, the neuroplasticity of the human brain, the connectedness of each of us with every other, and other lite fare concepts. One of the ideas is that you choose your thoughts. Or at least, which ones to accept.

I have been a victim of my own thoughts all my life. I run on 100% emotions, and ergo…feelings sometime feel like facts. They are very convincing and super sneaky that way.

The idea is that I’m changing my focus from the myriad of negative, self-critical, panic-inducing thoughts I experience on the regular that result in self-flagellating and angst; and instead completely shift my thoughts on – oh, I don’t konw – things that DON’T suck.

On PURPOSE, even.

Part of this is becoming deliberate about practicing meditation and affirmations. Another part is changing my prayer life to be a type of constant conversation with God, and asking him specifically to increase my actual AWARENESS of the quantum world. My awareness of his innate goodness. The awareness of all the little ways God winks at us everywhere at every moment. Because he IS, you know. He is giving us signs and wonders, and “coincidences” and a cascade of pure, ridiculously grace-full LOVE. It’s all around us.

Which brings me to shark’s teeth.

My Beloved and I are enjoying a little weekend getaway at the beach. One of the things we love to do is go beach-combing, always with my ultimate goal being a glistening piece of sea glass or the tooth of a shark.

Any shark. I’m not picky.

The latter has proven to be extremely elusive. In 22 years of coastal living, I have only found one single shark tooth. So on our walk this morning, at this new beach, I felt sure I’d find some.

We roamed that beach for half an hour in 40 degree temperature. I had shark teeth on the brain. The beach here is littered with beautiful shells and various examples of flotsam and jetsam from the sea. Really cool stuff. I have found sea glass many times. But today, nary a shark chomper was to be found.

At this point, I am cold and sandy, with a crick in my neck from scanning the ground. In what can only be described as the Most First World Problem to ever “problem,” I was getting frustrated and perturbed.

But just before we call it, I looked down and saw what appeared to be a little heart…a shell heart. I picked it up and examined it, and it occurred to me that I almost missed it, so single-minded was I. I was only focusing on one thing, when around me is the whole big ocean, and a glorious, hazy sky, and the love of my entire life combing through shells alongside me.

I knew that the little heart was a portent.

I know because I asked for the awareness to see and know and be tuned in more to the Divine.

It sounds silly, but I absolutely knew it was a God-thing. And had I just walked in big circles on an endless beach, eyes downcast and mind focused only on one thing, I’d not have seen it.

Yes, I believe that we live among angels and that we are all connected to one another, and that the Creator of the cosmos would plant a little shell emoji on a wintery beach just to remind me where to keep my focus.

And I thought that was a pretty good analogy for where we put our focus, and how many things we miss by being single-minded. I’m the world’s worst about it.

But in asking our Source to increase my awareness of everything good and true, because I forget to look for it, what with all the wringing of hands and gnashing of teeth I inflict on myself.

Today, I hold a God wink in my pocket.

I hope you see a rainbow today.

I hope someone says kind words to you today, and I hope you give others kind words.

I hope you find a flower in frozen ground.

I hope a wave of the peace that passes understanding knocks you down into the Father’s lap.

I hope you see yourself for the magnificent bearer of love that you are.

And that things happen to you that confirm you are made of stardust.

I hope you find your seashell.

Oh, and lots of shark’s teeth too.

Spiritual

Better Space

Photo by Julia Volk on Pexels.com

BY: JANA GREENE

My past and my present are as far away

As East is from the West.

Yesterday’s an illusion

Only my past address.

Don’t try to looking me there

You won’t find me in that place.

My heart’s moved on,

My head’s gone with it,

I’m in a better space.

Spiritual

Why Nationalism isn’t the Cure

By: Jana Greene

I know it’s hard.
I know people are pissing you off.
I know we are living in unprecedented times, and are thoroughly sick of doing so.
I know we are desperate for someone to fix it – all of it. Our local leaders, our politicians, our President…. somebody, anybody.
I know people are selfish and leaning left or right.
I know you are tired of America not being what it used to be (which for some people, is a good thing.)
But even the lawmakers and keepers don’t have the answers. They never did.
If who sits in leadership determines how you represent Christ, please consider that Nationalsim over compassion in history has been a recipe for disaster.
From Herod’s decrees to Germany in the 30’s, to even old Mom and Pop apple pie America led by The Greatest Generation, there were citizens of each who benefited from the actions of their leaders, and citizenry who found themself oppressed, or worse.
Don’t lose sight.
Don’t lose hope.
God has not given us a spirit of fear.
Yes, even Jesus got angry, righteously….as you may feel your anger is righteous.
But he kind of threw a justifiable tantrum and moved on with the business of loving people.
He didn’t stew on it for years.
The world is a #%@&$ MESS!
But it’s the world God so loved. Just as it is.
Just as we were.
We have all “had it up to here” at this point, but please try not to let it make you bitter.
The continual anger will get under your skin and fester, and like an infection, will mostly only affect you, not change the world. It will not affect the people you despise or the state of the country one whit.
Jesus was the Prince of Peace.
Surely we can shift our focus on all the ways our country and the world are effed up, to loving the least of these?
Just some Thursday morning thoughts.

Spiritual

God Winks Look Like Kindness

By: Jana Greene

I’m in a terrible mood.
Didn’t sleep last night.
Shoulder blown out.
Systemic pain off the charts.
Worried about many things.
The next two weeks is a constant treadmill of doctors visits and medical procedures.
But God…
But God keeps winking at me, in spite of it all.
My prayers have become less “God, show me you love me” to “God, increase my awareness that you love me, so I can love others.”
The checker at Trader Joe’s this morning could not have known that I’m having a rough time. It was the standard transaction, albeit friendly, as TJ is know for. But then he plopped this into my cart. I was dumbfounded.
“Just a little something to brighten your day,” he says. I can tell he is smiling even though he he is wearing a mask. His eyes are smiling.
The flowers are beautiful, and even my favorite color!
You see, God loves us with kind acts and nature.
I felt lighter leaving the store, and popped in a CD because Music is Life. And it was a long lost CD my daughter had made for us after her senior trip to NYC, which I chaperoned. Every song had memories attached to it.
Another God wink.
God, make me aware of your love, given in abundance. Every kindness perpetrated by others (whether they know it or not) is a message from our Source.
Every cell in every flower on every tree (or in every shopping cart) is filled with the blueprint of his love. He didn’t have to make them so beautiful, but he did.
He didn’t have to make himself flesh to jump into our pain and suffering so that we are never alone. But he does.
Papa God, increase our awareness.
Increase our capacity to show kindness.
Let us see you in the beauty of your creation, which is really impressive, by the way.
It’s good to know our moods don’t get in the way of his love for us.
Although my heart still has a remnant of heaviness for the people I love who are going through a difficult life season, my prayer is that God winks at them too.
Whatever you’re going through, I know how it feels to be convinced he is not in your corner, if he even exists at all. I get it!
But please know you are deeply loved.
And the fact that we – in all our messy, chaotic humanity – can be a part of that Vis-à-Vis loving one another?
Priceless.

Spiritual

Meditation is a Real Thing, Y’all…and it Works!

Give yourself the gift of learning to meditate. ❤️

By: Jana Greene

Y’all, I have to share. Just got back from having the shoulder MRI. It required dye and lidocaine injected directly into my shoulder capsule, which I thoroughly did not enjoy.

But the craziest thing happened during the 40 minute MRI. Keep in mind I’m extremely claustrophobic I HATE MRIS.

I’ve been learning how to truly meditate for the last few months, and have been regularly practicing meditation. I was dreading the MRI. Even with noise cancellation headphones, it’s loud af. And such a tight a space.

As I entered the machine, my upper body was smooshed very tight and held in place; I couldn’t move an inch, and I could feel by breath bouncing back on my face, the top was so near my head. I decided to keep my eyes closed the whole time for obvious reasons.

As the machine was turned on, I felt a slight panic attack setting it. But then I figured if ever there was an opportunity to meditate, it would be now.

And hons, it WORKED. I used the techniques and to my GREAT suprise, they worked. They worked SO a well that I very nearly fell asleep in the dern thing! Loudness and tight space notwithstanding. They didn’t even give me a Valium to get thru the test as they usually do. I checked out while the MRI was going.. I went to my happy places in my mind. I floated in space. I reminded myself that I was safe, and that I was getting plenty of air to breathe and was safe. And then I transcended for the first time. My mind – and thus energy – was at Frog Holler in the hot tub. It was in Myrtle Beach with my girls. It was in my husband’s arms. And that’s where I became super sleepy and relaxed.

I have never had meditation actually work using this practical application. For 40 minutes, I was at total peace, my mind visiting all my happy places. IT ACTUALLY WORKED! For the 1st time!

I’m really happy about that! I want to live a transcendent life; one where I am not so reactionary and high strung. The more I practice meditation, the easier it is to “check out” in my mind and experience peace.

Between my anxiety and claustrophobia and ADD / OCD tendencies, I never really believed it would work. Thought it was gooey.

But it DOES! It DOES work!

I’m so grateful. This experience could have been so much worse!

Spiritual

Self Reinvented – an anthem for mid-life sisters

Photo by Rachel Claire on Pexels.com

BY: JANA GREENE

If you’re a woman,

You’ll have to be the Mother of invention, the Sultana of Self-Worth.

And I’ll tell you why:

Nobody can validate you better than YOU.

I just turned fifty-two years old, and GOD I love it.

I glory in this mid-life thing (most days, anyway) and here’s why:

Because every outside force you can imagine

Is going to keep changing.

The “new normal” is a revolving thing.

Having the “look” is nothing compared to owning your self-worth.

And the ways you are changing?

Groundbreaking.

Be lady-like, we were always told.

At half a century and some change,

I feel emboldened, empowered, and not at all “small.”

You see, in our youths, we were told

To make ourselves small, so as not to be a bother.

To be selfless and only consider

Your feelings as afterthought.

We did the dainty girl things.

And that’s ok, I LOVE the dainty girl things, but….

It’s still dishearteningly a man’s world,

So we have to be strong, too.

And not the kind of strong

That can hoist a monster truck tire in the air.

Now we are strong enough to hoist each other up.

At this stage,

We are the kind of strong that you can only get from

Wading through the dregs,

Surviving some God-awful shit

And coming out the other side.

The kind of strong that stains your soul so deeply,

It rubs off on others.

The type of strong that isn’t sullied by the dewy, fresh hope of the young,

But is built upon heartache and victory both.

A strength that reinforces faith, not replaces it.

Cheer for yourself, my Queens,

With as much gusto as the cheerleaders in high school

May have put in making us awkward girls “less than.”

Be at the top of your own pyramid,

Without expecting the Strong Man at the bottom

Of the pyramid to catch you.

Have confidence in your own two feet.

Strut your stuff like you know your worth.

If you are dressed to the nines for a celebration,

Or schlepping off to the grocery store in gray sweats

And your hair in a messy bun,

because darling, you are WORKING that casual look.

Appreciate yourself for being comfortable in your own skin,

Because its easy for young women to feel good about themselves

In all their youthful glory.

It takes chutzpah to

Tell yourself the little things a man might say.

Your hair looks great.

You smell fantastic.

Your ass looks amazing in those jeans.

Except say it like you mean it.

After all, you have no ulterior motives when building yourself up.

Because you, my darling, are a phenomenon.

Millennials got nothing on your badassery.

Wrinkles cannot dim your strength, and

White hairs do not distract from it.

Shine on, you Crazy Diamond.

Shine on knowing that all that has gone into making you who you are

Has built one hell of a person.

Reinvent yourself if you need to, sister,

Become a Sultana of Self Worth,

Because you are a Wonder, my Love.

And time can’t take that away from you.

Because nobody can validate you better than you.

Recovery · Spiritual

I am 20 Years Alcohol-Free (and it feels damn good!)

By: Jana Greeme

Hello, Dear Reader.

Yesterday, I celebrated my 20th Sober-versary and huns let me tell you … it feels so GOOD. I will write about it soon, but in the meantime, I wanted to share some pictures from the day with my blogosphere buddies.

Thank you for being such an important part of my journey. If God can help me stay alcohol-free, the reality is that he can help YOU atop. There’s a beautiful life waiting for you.

God bless us, everyone. ❤️

Twenty!

Recovery · Spiritual

Things I Survived in Recovery (That I was Certain Would Kill Me, but Obviously Didn’t)

Photo by cottonbro on Pexels.com

By: Jana Greene

I experienced a strange and new sensation last night, and I think it was invincibility. I’m not sure because I don’t think I’ve ever felt invincible before. But 20 years sober is making me catch ALLTHEFEELS.

I’m sharing this for those who feel getting sober is futile, or too difficult, or just too new and scary. Hons, there is HOPE on the other side of those musings.

I struggle with self-esteem to the point I shit talk myself pretty constantly. I give God all the glory for my recovery, but the truth is that I had a hand in it too. He didn’t do it for me, but with me. And in me. But I white-knuckled every temptation, nurtured every feeling, kept working the steps. And I’m pretty proud of this particular accomplishment because DAMN, a LOT has gone into it.

But I’m not talking about the regular kind of invincibility that manically tells you that you are bulletproof. Not the delusional kind that assures you things will work out as long as “A” and “B” happen as you plan. I had the feeling that I was going to be okay no matter WHAT 2021 OR my health doles out on me. “A” and “B” isn’t happening and probably won’t; it hardly ever does. But I crave a transcendent life, one that rises above circumstance.

I know I can remain sober if I work my recovery, help others find their way, and stick close to the heart of the Universe. That is the recipe for long-term sobriety. It’s not always easy, but it’s tried and true.

I also know that I could lose it by taking just one drink. Because, you see, I know myself. And I’d land back exactly where I was. One is too many, a thousand is not enough.

So on the heels of allowing myself to be joyous about the occasion, I took the time to sit down and compile a list of stuff I’ve survived with sobriety intact, (because it’s a miracle.) I’m as astounded that it stuck as anyone else, but so grateful.

The truth is I wasn’t sure I wanted to live sober. Oh the things I would have missed if I hadn’t chosen the recovery road. Here is a sampling of what I survived without taking a drink:

Went through a nasty divorce. It was traumatic and I’d only been sober a few years. I held tight to my recovery with both hands.

Became a single mom, and worked four jobs to support my kids after being a stay-at-home mom.

Experienced the dissolution of my family of origin.

Was 100% alone, with no outside help, not even from family.

I moved house three times in a short span of time.

Started getting sick – staying sick, and started the journey to try to find out what was wrong with me (it would take several years to get an accurate diagnoses.

Had 8 surgeries in the past 14 years.

A spinal tap and myriad of other invasive procedures.

Received the diagnosis that I have a rare genetic disorder in which my collagen is mutated, and that it would slowly cause me to lose mobility and be in pain almost every single day.

Survived blending a family with three teenage girls. WHAT COULD POSSIBLY GO WRONG? (Everything, that’s what.)

Being sick more often than not, on account of having immune and auto-immune issues.

Recovery can be challenging even under the best of circumstances. But we know that life doesn’t work that way. It’s not designed to be an easy road. But whether or not I drink is entirely my choice. I know also that recovery is community. We need each other.

It’s not just the big things that I stayed sober through, either. There were wonderful things – things that would not have even happened if I’d picked up a drink. I married the love of my life. I have rich relationships with my adult daughters. Life is NOT PERFECT, but it’s good, and I get to BE here for it.

So yes, I know one drink could set me 20 years back, and that’s why I respect alcohol. It tried to kill me once.

But I wear the pants now. “*TeamSoberPants.*!)

DO have control over is turning that drink down. Alcohol is not the boss of you, I promise. Surviving through trauma with sobriety intact is it’s own glorious reward. And it’s available to you.

So long as we don’t pick up a drink.

God bless you, dear reader. I’m sending good vibes and prayers for you all.

Spiritual

Introducing a Series of Essays about Being alcohol-free for 20 Years and Other Unlikely Happenstance

Photo by Ksenia Chernaya on Pexels.com

By: Jana Greene

No, I couldn’t think of a better name for this piece, lol. I think it’s because as I approach my 20 year sobriety anniversary this weekend, my mind is alllll over the place. But I want to record these thoughts, both random and cohesive. I made a promise to God while sprawled out on a bathroom floor, desperate and shaking, that if he would help me not drink, I wouldn’t be shy about sharing my story and journey. And I’m not shy about it. Being shy about addiction has helped to keep the good people of Earth sick and stuck for centuries.

Plus, I’m a shoot-from-the-hip kind of girl.

Twenty years ago, I walked into an AA meeting in the town where I lived. I can recall feeling shame that I didn’t make it two days prior and so I’d already blown my big New Year’s Eve target date. It was actually January 3rd when I darkened the door. My heart raced as I pulled the door open and peered inside. It was a particularly sunny day, which should have been foreshadowing of recovery and not what it felt like – intrusive sunshine that irritated my hangover. My eyes had to adjust to the light, so I couldn’t see faces at first.

But adjust they did. I don’t know what I was expecting, but most of the attendees were much older than my 32 years. The place smelled of mid-grade coffee and served in styrofoam cups. It was a tiny community center – a one-room job. Nowhere to run, as they say.

The thing is, I knew when I walked up the sidewalk to the meeting that this would be a life changer one way or another, because once I showed my face at a recovery event, the jig was up. You can’t admit to God and country that you have an alcohol problem in a small town and then pretend it didn’t happen. Anonymity or not.

And the jig WAS up. I had gotten so sick that the whites of my eyes were yellowing. I had a litany of reasons I had no business being there – your garden variety justification.

I live at the beach and drinking is what everybody does.

I’m only 32, I can’t be an alcoholic.

I don’t drink before 5pm most days. Okay, SOME days.

I don’t drink a lot of the “hard stuff.”

And on and on and on, ad nauseum (literally.)

But of course I did need to be there – badly.

The denial wasn’t working anymore. My health told a different story about how sick I was, inside and out. And the toll on my relationships. And my walk with God. And in my Spirit, where it didn’t want to seem to wash out.

So on that January day in 2001, I made a commitment to myself and to my precious children. Mommy would get sober, but she would need God’s help.

God’s help came in the form of sitting down in a metal chair that day, the legs scraping against the linoleum just a little too loudly. I didn’t want to be seen. But I did want to get found.

The old man chairing the meeting started things off with the following admission:

“I didn’t take a drink for twenty years,” he says to nodding attendants. “But on my 20th sober anniversary, I figured I had obviously licked this thing. I proved that I can go without drinking, right?”

I squirmed in my chair, head splitting, arms crossed.

“So I had a drink to celebrate 20 years, and here I am again today, happily pursuing sobriety, and I have six months again. Keep coming back. It works if you work it.”

I remember thinking, “Dude, I cannot make it one day without drinking. Not a single one. Are you NUTS?” Also, YES….you ARE nuts, because how could you possibly have thought it was a good idea to have a drink after 20 years?

I WILL NEVER GET TO 20 YEARS, I thought. And I meant it. There was NO way; I loved drinking too much.

And now I understand what they guy who chaired the meeting means now. I know what he was up against, and I know how much respect my disease demands.

What IS this force we battle? For someone to go 20 years without and then BOOM! Back at square one? That’s the day I figured out that I wouldn’t get a “day off” from recovery. It’s the nature of the beast to convince you it has no control of you. But it DOES. Until it controls everything.

I never in a million years expected my sobriety to “stick;” and frankly, I wasn’t sure I wanted to stick around myself without ever having another drink. But oh honey! The richness that is life without ingesting your own personal poison is INCREDIBLE!

I know it sounds impossible, but I promise your eyes will adjust to the light. And light aplenty there will be, illuminating so many wonderous things. The light vanquishes the dark, always.

I’m a seasoned veteran at recovery, but still (always) ONE drink away from disaster. I STILL take one single day at a time. There are occasions I learn more from newcomers than old-timers. And I have learned to trust God more than I’d imagined was possible.

The life I’ve been given as recompense, Oh MY! It’s a complex, beautiful dance to which I’m only now beginning to truly appreciate.

There is healing for you. Pick up your mat and come along. It’s the story of how my life was saved.

God bless us, every one.

Spiritual

Pregaming New Year’s Resolutions the Dysfunctional Way!

Ok, Lettuce…I don’t like you and you don’t like me, but by the first of the year, we gotta rekindle some sort of relationship, probably around the theme of Marzetti’s chunky blue cheese dressing.
I mean, I’m only human…

By: Jana Greene

have let my self go. It started with an injury 1 1/2 years ago that resulted in months of PT and taking a break from water aerobics. Then I had old metal hardware coming through the skin of my my ankle, so that necessitated surgery, which set me back more.

So at some point – I’m not sure when exactly – I adopted a “screw it” mentality. Why even bother if I’m just going to have many more injuries? I had my little emotional tantrum that it’s just too hard battling this disease and trying to be as healthy as possible – which actually ain’t even that healthy.

Well, because I’m diabetic and aside from taking the medicine for it, I’ve been living like the ‘beetus ain’t even a thang. But in the new year, I have to get it together and lose some weight and build muscle around my crappy, loosy-goosey joints. It means starting all over. Convo between Bob and I recently:

Me: “I’m getting back on the health train January 1st.”

Bob: “Why wait? Why not just now? Why does it have to be a future date?”

Me: “Are you kidding? That’s not how this works at ALL. I need time to mentally train for a certain day. I also need time to go down in a blaze of glory. Like, between now and the 1st of the year, Imma feed my baser instincts lavishly, really blow it out. Eat what I want, with the appreciation and grieving making a huge likfe change entails…”

Bob: “…..blinking and staring blankly…”

Me: “You know how I do.”

When I quit drinking and smoking, and picked out quit dates (Jan. 1st for smoking, and Jan. 3rd for drinking,) None of that “no time for the present” BS. 😂

I went bananarama with indulging in my vices prior to my actual quitting. Like, I chain smoked for 20 hours before putting the cigs down til I felt absolutely sick. And then on Dec. 31st 2006, quit cold turkey, by which time I had allowed myself to really wallow in and accept that the times, they were ‘a changin’, and I was as prepared as I’d ever be – having obsessed about it and pouted about it, I emerged, Chrysalis-like on January 1st as a non-smoker. That’s IT. Bada bing bada boom!

For three weeks, I was MISERABLE and made everyone else miserable, but then the fog lifted, as it always does.

So in conclusion, last night, I ate Ben and Jerry’s Fudge Brownie Ice Cream at 3:00 am. I also had chips. By 4 am, I am sitting bleary-eyed covered in junk food crumbs in my husband’s recliner like some kind of Tudor era wedding feast guest in the literal dark of night. Oh, the debauchery!

All of this doesn’t make sense to My Beloved, who suspects I’m making it harder than it has to be, but Dude, I got a process here.

What looks binging diabetic shoveling Ben and Jerry’s in her gob is actually “spirit work,”my process. My twisted form of self care.

Gotta get a last binge period in before I start watching every single macro and calorie, which I will also do obsessively, HOW DO YOU NOT OBSESS, PEOPLE!?

And because mental health reasons. (I never claimed to have my shit together, lol.)

What is your process for putting down a bad habit and changing your mindset.

Spiritual

2020 Observations, Part I (or “Rising from the Fire Without Burning to a Crisp”)

This comic from 2013 by KC Green has never been more fitting.

By: Jana Greene

This is not a sappy piece about how we can all find the good in a shitty year, and we should all glean nuggets of gratitude (though we should.)

Twenty-twenty can be assessed by “a series of unfortunate events.” It’s a strange year, not just because of the obvious reasons (*gestures wildly), but because we are all having both universal experience AND an individual experience. We are going through much of the same stuff collectively, yet each and every one of us is entrenched in a totally unique experience.

So in other words, we have an opportunity to understand each other as never before, AND it is true to say that nobody understands what we are going through as individuals.

It’s changed me, and it’s changing you.

In the most fundamental way, I feel like we are all sort of victims of the pandemic and the economy, and the election and the drama that surrounds us.

But in another, we get to rise above, if we so choose to. A passel of impassioned victims is a very strong thing.

It’s been a difficult year to stay sober, I’ll be honest about that. But as I approach my 20 year anniversary of being alcohol-free, I’ve noticed a few things. This universally horrible year has taught me more about what matters than probably the last 20 combined.

I’ve learned to rabidly seek out that which makes me laugh.

Laughter is lifeblood. It carries all the things necessary for a good life on it’s coattails. I have never been sillier (albeit, some would question my “maturity,”) and I have no plans to curtail the silliness. Watch the comedies. Make time for your hilarious friends. Imbibe in standup comedy on Netflix (John Mulaney comes to mind,) look at the ridiculous memes and share them. Laugh and the world laughs with you.

Not everything I write has to be the best thing I ever wrote.

*Whines melodramatically*” BUT WHAT IS THE POINT OF WRITING, THEN?”

God I hate this about myself, the “all-or-nothing-ness.” I cease and desist the stifling of my creative flow just because sometimes I’m gonna suck. That primal fear of not being good enough keeps me from sharing at all, lest I not write something profound at every turn. Screw that. I’m a blogger, and bloggers gotta blog. Even if it’s a frothy piece with no deep, spiritual nutritional value.

ALL MY LABELS HAVE GONE TO SHIT, and I’m not even sure I have 2020 to blame for it.

Hooby, I have no idea what I’m doing. And I mean that across the board. I am a writer who doesn’t make a dime writing. I’m a Christian who has blissfully lost her evangelical bent. I’m a housewife whose house isn’t even clean, and who only cooks half the time. I’m a mom whose kids are grown and need her less (and in a different way.) I’m an artist who can’t seem to sell art, and what am I even DOING with my life?

This year has challenged me to question who I am, yet here I am still. And here you are. So in conclusion….

It’s enough to be a person. It’s enough to be a good friend. It’s enough to write for the love of the craft. It’s enough to have a close relationship with Jesus without all the dogma. It’s enough to be a loving wife. It’s enough to be a friend to those I love.

It’s ENOUGH. I’m enough. YOU are enough.

The bulldozer that is 2020 is a leveling disaster, but it’s a disaster that gives us the opportunity to rise like the mother-flippin’ Phoenixes we truly are.

God bless us, every single one.

Spiritual

When God is all You’ve Got – an honest look at single motherhood

Me and my Firstborn; just two grown women appreciating each other for who we are.

By: Jana Greene

Just had one of those moments that I want to share to encourage all my single mama friends. I know it’s hard to hang on, but you’re doing better than you think and what you are doing matters.
I was a single mom of two girls – then 9 and 12 – in the early 2000’s.

I went from being a stay at home mom to working four jobs at a time at some points, and being the sole provider, keeping a roof over their heads and food in their bellies. I had no family support or encouragement. I lived on Diet Coke and cigarettes, and lost 80 pounds. (I do not recommend the Divorce Diet; it’s a terrible way to lose it.)

I had been sober for “only” 3 1/2 years at that point, and was desperately trying to hold onto my sobriety through the darkest point in my life. It is NOT I but God who was the Source of Strength.

Looking back, I don’t know how I made ends meet. Truly, it’s supernatural. The math just doesn’t work. I made $9 an hour working in a law office, and worked that job alone for months when the others dried up. How is it even possible?

I tried to make things as normal as possible for the girls. I rented a house near their school. It was a modest little house, but I decorated their rooms and tried my best to make it a home. We weren’t in a good part of town, but I don’t remember being afraid when I probably should have been. I trusted God because I had 100% no other choice. I had no help. Failure was not an option.

Fast forward to today. My oldest calls me on the phone because we like to talk once a day. I’m not sure if that makes us enmeshed or what, but she, her sister and I are very close. We were all we had for a long time and have been through a ton together.

Anyway, on today’s phone call, she says out of the clear blue that she has been thinking lately and that she feels awful for how she acted when I was struggling.

In truth, she was a handful, but also a pretty typical 13 year old. Most of them are handfuls, sassy as hell. She couldn’t have some of the things her friends had. We fought a lot. I got she and her sister into therapy and that seemed to help a little, but it was a very difficult time for all of us.

Today she said she is so sorry that she was sassy and said hurtful things. I told her that’s what 13 year old girls do. (She is 28 now, her sister 25.) She said, “Mom, I no idea about what was going on and how hard it must have been.” That she didn’t appreciate everything then, but she is just now “getting it.”

“I was a real jerk to you. I’m so sorry.”
And I told her yes, sometimes she was maybe a little bit of a jerk, but so was I. We both survived it and are closer for the struggle. And that I appreciated her kind words so much.


We parents never actually expect to hear that. Being a mom is it’s own reward; you don’t do it for any recognition. But dang, it’s nice to hear sometimes.

Because y’all….I DO appreciate it.

Teenagers (can I keep it real here?) are just awful some of the time. You cannot imagine your preciously sweet, loving kid ever morphing back into human form. But they DO.

There were MANY times I told God I could not possibly handle ONE more thing, and TWO more things would happen, and I’d rant and rail at Him mightily. When the girls needed school supplies and we were eating instant mashed potatoes and chicken nuggets for days, and ARE YOU KIDDING ME!? ….The car would break down. Honestly, sometimes it was such a comedy of errors, it felt downright conspiratorial.

But you can’t holler and be properly be angry at anyone without stepping close enough that whomever you’re telling off can hear you loud and clear. In getting close enough to push God away, I had to draw near enough to him to feel my wrath.


If he minded my own sass, He didn’t let on. And still hasn’t. He isn’t angry with your frustration either.


So, I don’t know who needs to hear this, IT IS GOING TO BE OKAY.

but YOU ARE DOING AN AMAZING JOB, MAMA. And single dads? BRAVO to you! Raising a child is super hard and one day he or she will tell you that you did a good job, even if you screwed up a lot like me.

And if your child doesn’t tell you, I’m telling you. Keep going; God’s got you! God’s got your babies. God will see you through.

And by the way, I pick up my 20th anniversary sobriety chip in January. Hard fought and won, and made possible by Jesus one day at a time.

Blessed be.

Spiritual

Your Words and the Strength to Bleed Them

“CUTTY SARK” painting by Paul M. Kruemcke (my beloved grandfather “Papa”) Circa 1966

“And I’m bleeding, and I’m bleeding, and I’m bleeding
Right before the Lord
All the words are gonna bleed from me
And I will think no more
” –  The White Stripes, Seven Nation Army

Words

like the ocean when you are standing at the end of the world

right about to fall off the edge.

Just when you think you’ve run out of sea

the world becomes round and look! 

Endless more!

More to say.

More to think.

More to write.

Units of communication,

Words,

transfused into us by our Creator.

On the waters of written language

The world takes passage in order to think.

Thought-provoking words inspire

ignite and set into motion

Kingdoms, governments and laws.

I write in order to unthink.

Unable (unwilling)  to tourniquet the thoughts

with substance or busy-ness or logic,

the flow commences with a single prayer,

“Lord, give me the words.

And lend me Your strength to bleed them.”

Words, woven together

one pitifully weak and thin thread at a time.

One narrow thread of thought,

 meaningless by itself,

white with a memory of bliss until it bleeds from the loom pink,

and then red with heartache.

Keep weaving until the thread changes to the blues of struggle

and the yellows of rejoicing,

and a million shades in between.

My history

thread by thread

word by word

becomes a sail.

Patched when torn

woven with those glorious words

for which God gives us with generous abundance.

Which God reminds us to use carefully.

To choose carefully.

To bleed wisely and weave gloriously.

Under the wind of His grace…

To sail upon.

Spiritual

Old Man Socks (a Seussical Poem for My Geriatric Cat)

Things have been so heavy lately, I thought I’d share a poem I wrote for our elderly cat who – for 18 years – has run through the house batsh*t insane in the middle of the night, most every night. It’s a little Dr. Suessical, but a light reprieve from the usually heavy blog fare. Hope you enjoy!

That Old Man Socks! That Old Man Socks!
He’s up all night, that Old Man Socks!
Socks, do you like good sleep and peace?
“I do not like them” Socks decrees.
“Unless it comes as mid-day nap,
Sleeping at all is utter crap.”
Socks, would you sleep instead of mew
When the moon is nice and new?
Would you please sleep all night through?
Is this something you can do?
I know you don’t like night time peace.
But humans need a few hours, at least.
Would you sleep at night on a sheet?
Would you sleep at night for a treat?
You do not like to let us sleep
So please count mice (or please count sheep!)
When we don our sleeping frocks,
It’s not your cue to go wild, Socks.
Would you pipe down in the night?
Would you, could you, please….alright?
Sleep in a box. Sleep with a fox.
Sleep in a house. Sleep with a mouse.
At nighttime, sleep either here or there.
For the love of God, sleep SOMEWHERE.

  • By: JANA GREENE – TheBeggarsBakery.com
Spiritual

Love Takes Home the Prize (Because Love Always Wins)

Photo by fotografierende on Pexels.com

Hello, dear readers.

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

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

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

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

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

There is no love apart from God

That being who embodies us

And shines like glass inside of us

Reflecting who He is.

Not given straight-up, tidy, neat

This thing we make about ourselves

This thing that wracks and wrecks ourselves

Spills over, out, and through.

We look at life through half-blind eyes

Despairing at the poverty

Body, mind soul  poverty

that chokes and breaks our hearts.

How can you say that God is Love?

I’ve heard asked in angry tones

Broken, acrid, angry tones

Where is He in the hurt?

Has Love gone void in this dark place

Where pain crushes the human race

This fickle, tender human race

And leaves it there to die?

But I say ‘no’; do not give in

To throwing in the towel, my friend,

The towel so soaked with blood and tears

Wring it and be free.

Chin up, all creation!

Rise up, all you nations!

And then crouch down with fellow men

And make yourselves Jesus to them,

For he is inhabiting you.

It’s not by spell of your own power

But by His Spirit enmeshed in you

The Friend he left to dwell in you

Manifesting Love for you.

Like liquid gold, let it flow

Out from the vessel and into the mold

The empty, barren, starving mold

In your brother’s heart.

We see here through half-blind eyes

Through the glass darkly in side of us

But even in spite of the dark in us,

Love takes home the prize.

  • By: JANA GREENE – TheBeggarsBakery.com
Spiritual

Stronger

Art by @artistrybyjana on Etsy

I cannot be part of the solution

And the problem too.

I’m either helping others,

By what I say and do,

Or harming them with division,

Self-righteousness, and pride.

Do I want to be right or loving?

We all must pick a side.

I can’t be both solution and problem,

So I have to choose.

Because we – as a society –

Have everything to lose.

But here’s the rub,

We also have everything to gain,

By taking focus off how we’re different,

And honing in on how we’re the same.

We can’t afford all the division any longer,

If we lean into each other,

We can only come out stronger.

  • By: JANA GREENE – TheBeggarsBakery.com
Spiritual

I Didn’t Drink Today

Photo by Artem Beliaikin on Pexels.com

Twenty-twenty

What a year!

It made me want to have a beer,

Or a bottle of chardonnay,

But still I didn’t drink today.

Pandemic has me all askew

What bigger temptation I ask of you

Than everything changing in work and play,

But still I didn’t drink today.

Then there was that crappy time

Election tensions ran so high

That we all lost our collective mind,

But still I didn’t drink.

Oh 2020, you’ve kicked my rear

It’s been the longest time, yet I fear

That 2021 might step up in rivalry,

But still I didn’t drink, you see.

What 2020 doesn’t know

Is that this isn’t my first rodeo.

I took my last drink in 2001,

Replaced it with faith (by the ton,)

And my addiction to drink was held at bay

By just not picking up TODAY.

Although I will have 20 years

Blessedly alcohol-free,

It’s still (forever) paid in installments

Of “One Day at a Time” for me.

I’m counting my blessings and as I prepare

To celebrate my 20th year,

Even as the world goes cray,

I keep it by just not drinking today.

  • By: JANA GREENE – TheBeggarsBakery.com

Spiritual

Five – A Blended Family Tale

I wrote this piece soon after my husband and I blended a family with three teenaged girls. What could possibly go wrong? 🙂 It all ended up just fine.

Five

Once upon an August day

I happened on a family,

A father and his lovely girl.

Familiar, at once, they were to me.

Two daughters I’d had all along

Bright and loving, brave and strong,

And somehow yet,

Somehow still…

Our hearts and lives had space to fill.

As time went by, soft  memories stacked

Like building blocks placed back-to-back,

Like traveling to places far away

And salty, swimming beachy days,

Talking together and movie nights

Laughter abundant (occasional fights),

All knowing each other deeper each day

And loving each other

Anyway.

Could it be that the whole five

Would find a way to survive

As not just two

And not just three

But as a God-shaped family?

So

Once upon an October day

We became that family,

A Dad, a Mom, three lovely girls

As it was always meant to be.

I gained a husband that day tis’ true,

And I’m blessed to be his wife,

But I gained a daughter, too –

Bright, loving, brave and strong

In my life.

  • By: JANA GREENE – TheBeggarsBakery.com