Tag: anxiety

Spiritual

No Bullies at the Table – the truth about fear (and soul wedgies)

Jana Greene2 Comments

By: Jana Greene

Fear is a big, fat bully – the kind that steals our spiritual lunch money.  It is lurking in the nooks and crannies of our being, waiting to lunge out and take our provision.  And give a big ol’ soul wedgie so we don’t even THINK of ignoring it later.

At first, fear is just trash talk:   You can’t do it.  You aren’t qualified.  You don’t have the smarts/degree/credentials to do it.

But then it becomes a paralyzing barrage of blows.

You’re a failure.  You’ve had a failed marriage, failed relationships, failed careers.

You’re too old to start this project.  You’re too boring/plain/ordinary.

Fear can result in so many bugaboos:  depression, addiction, self-loathing.  Inaction.

The bully sounds a lot like the devil, because fear is more tactical than random.  Sometimes the strategy is not to destroy, but to distract.  God aims to fellowship with us, to feed us on his love and purpose.  If we get too distracted by the lies, we never get where we were meant to go.

We never get to enjoy the feast in fulfilling His greater purpose in us.

There are hundreds of verses in the Bible reminding us to “fear not”, but this is one of my favorites:

“People who don’t know God and the way he works fuss over these things, but you know both God and how he works. Steep yourself in God-reality, God-initiative, God-provisions. You’ll find all your everyday human concerns will be met. Don’t be afraid of missing out. You’re my dearest friends! The Father wants to give you the very kingdom itself.” – Luke 12:32 (MSG)

My perception is that I don’t have the means to follow God’s purpose for me, but in my heart – where no bully can steal it – is the Holy Spirit.  That is truth, fear’s greatest nemesis.

I belong to Christ  – why worry for my everyday human concerns?  As his Spirit leads  me to purpose, I cannot lose.  God doesn’t need my success, he longs for my surrender. His will is that I walk past the fear, even when it’s difficult.  Even when the bully is loud, he is still a liar.

Expect me at the table, Father God.  And thanks for the provision.

 

Recovery

Lead me not into temptation – or a sketchy alleyway ATM

Jana Greene4 Comments

By:  Jana Greene

At the end of a long alleyway in my city’s otherwise very lovely downtown district there is a dumpster, a metal landing that leads to nowhere and an incongruous automated teller machine.  Or at least it advertises itself as such, what with the bold-font red printed “ATM” lettering.  When my husband and I passed it while strolling around,  I burst out laughing.

“Looks legit,” I said. He laughed too.  I took a picture of it, which really doesn’t represent the shady-factor, since I had to zoom in a good bit in order to see the “ATM: letters.  The machine is far, far down the alley.

Who would go down that path?  I suppose you might be tempted to use it if you  really needed cash and had no other way to get it.  But there are teller machines at nationally-known banks fifty feet away in either direction.

I don’t know if it is a legitimate machine or not,  because  it didn’t feel safe to venture down the alley, much less withdraw cash and have to venture back out.  It seemed very sketchy.

Going into dangerous places often feels “sketchy”.

When I first became sober, I acutely felt temptation everywhere.  The first time I made a run to the grocery store as a person in active recovery, I barely made it through one aisle before having a panic attack, because I knew that a mere six aisles away was the wine section.  By the time I passed the wine en route to the frozen foods, I finished my shopping while quietly sobbing, grieving.  It has been eleven years since that day and I have grocery shopped without incident for years – passing  the wine section like someone with a fatal addiction passes the peanut products – they are perfectly safe for most people, but not for me.

But I still don’t go into a liquor store.  It’s just a dangerous place for me.  Why risk temptation?

Another dangerous place can be my own mindset.  Sometimes in my anxiety,  I allow my mind to wander around, consulting my experience instead of my chaperone (and sponsor) Jesus.    Who would go down that path?  Me.  But in truth, my past mistakes have never held the key to coping with life on life’s terms.  So when those dark-alley thoughts appear, Jesus reins me back by reminding me that temptation never comes from Him.

Don’t let anyone under pressure to give in to evil say, “God is trying to trip me up”.  God is impervious to evil, and puts evil in no one’s way.  The temptation to give in to evil comes from us and only us.” – James 1:13-14

My mind is not always the best judge of what is dangerous, sometimes temptation doesn’t feel dangerous – just tempting.  What I need is never in the sketchy place; God never tries to trip me up.  It is in Him, and His good and perfect will.

The most legit place there is.

Spiritual

13

Jana Greene12 Comments

I wrote this poem for my youngest daughter when she was going through a rough time, and I’m posting it with her permission.  (She has grown up to be all the good things that her mama predicted, by the way….she was all along – she just had to figure it out).

By:  Jana Greene

“13”

She sees herself in dimmest light,

All shadows that she doesn’t like

And awkward features

In her mind all,

Predicting every trip and fall.

She feels alone in mass of crowd

And tries to hide within her shroud

Of shortcomings,

All in her mind

Afraid of what the light may find.

She only knows that it’s not fair,

That “perfect girls” with flaxen hair

And flawless looks

And stellar grades

Really sometimes feel just the same.

She sees herself as in the dark

Inadequacies in contrast stark

To the proud and bright and secure around.

So, feeling small… she makes no sound.

If only she could stand outside

Those limits that she sets and hides

Behind as if they were in stone….

She isn’t falling.

She’s not alone.

She’s beautiful

This much is true,

But her brown eyes should see it too.

Proud and bright, secure and true?

One day, her eyes will see it, too.

Spiritual

Swamp Blogger

Jana Greene4 Comments

By:  Jana Greene

The Mister and I went for a car ride last Sunday afternoon, deep into wilderness of Pender County, North Carolina.  I was grumpy and fretful with the busy thoughts, and he doesn’t seem to mind being in an enclosed area with me when I’m like that, God bless him.

So, off we went with a half-tank of gas and our trusty camera.

The further we drive away from named communities with neat, rowed housing, the more interesting the scenery.   My mind slips slowly out of busy-ness and eventually relaxes somewhere between the first blueberry field and the fifth “No Trespassing” sign.  By the time we get to the old river roads, find something to worry about becomes find something beautiful.

Beauty is everywhere.

Pender County is locally famous for being a filming site for the Discovery Channel show, Swamp Loggers.  The Cape Fear River winds black and lazy through the land, in such a vascular way that the ground never feels quite solid enough to walk on.   Water, water everywhere, and everywhere you sink.

On the river, it seems that everything in sight was, is or will be some shade of green in its existence.  Animal, mineral, vegetable…covered in either water or algae or moss, and wild.

We stop at a “boat access”, although it is only wide enough to put in a John boat, or a couple of kayaks.  I take pictures of a family of ducks, an old hollow stump and some moss in a tree.

We get back in the car and ride around for several minutes without saying a word.   I see a bunch of insanely yellow flowers blooming by the roadside and stop to capture the visual Prozac on film.  Later that day, we snap photos of a tree that seems to have a goiter in its trunk, and a random puppy flopping through some tall grass with his family at another boat access.   Anything anomalous, anything strange and wonderful……*click*.   The transmission has completely slipped at the crossroads of my grumpiness and fret, like a rusty old pickup truck resting like sculpture in a field by the riverside.

But, it is also the quiet that disarms me most there; humid, comforting silence.  Quiet from modern life…quiet from myself.

I don’t have a lot of that in my mind.  I’ve always been a worrier, and although I know it is the least useful (and faithful) venue for my brain to seek out, it knows the way so well it sometimes gets there before me.  Half of the battle is getting out from the worn ruts.  Driving into the swampy country in Pender County, North Carolina is like taking my spirit off-roading in the best way possible.

Find something beautiful.

Beauty is everywhere, messy and wild.

Wet and green.

Inspirational

Write, Wrong or Indifferent (Part 2)

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Write, Wrong or Indifferent

Joining a Writer’s Guild

Part 2

The night of the first guild meeting finally arrived.  Because it was December, it had already become pitch-black by the 7 o’ clock scheduled start.  I was haggard from work, and had been in a fair amount of back pain all day.  On especially trying days, I cannot wait to come home from work and pull off my shoes and put on comfy clothes, usually PJs.  This was definitely one of those days.  I chose a decent pair of sweats to wear to the meeting, and when I passed my husband as I walked out the door, grumbled:  “I hate clothes.”

“I love you,” he said anyway.

How I adore that man.

The guild meeting was held in a church classroom, and the parking lot was only dimly lit.  I realized how dimly lit when I accidentally ran over an orange traffic cone, and then another.  The last cone was still dragging under the Jeep when I screeched into (what I assumed was) a parking space.  When I look up, there is the silhouette of a woman standing in the doorway to the classroom.  I can tell by her body language that she is trying to look casual, as if she is unsure whether to laugh, offer help, or call the cops.  I am five minutes late now, and I hate being late for anything.  Maybe I should just go home.

When I step out of the car, it immediately begins to rain.  I am cold, nervous, embarrassed and now wet.  The six copies of my article are wet too, I notice, around the edges.  I slog up to the door, and the woman I had seen in the doorway was gone.   But I do see Melissa!

She is standing at a “welcome “area.  Melissa is a kindred spirit.  She claims to feel awkward, too, on a regular basis, but it is hard to imagine her insecurity.  She is deeply and powerfully beautiful and disarmingly candid – which made me love her right away when we met several years ago.

I couldn’t wait to hug her.

She explained how the guild meeting works, and gave me some pamphlets and other materials.

“I’ll sign you in,” she says.  “What is your genre?”

I had no idea.  This article would not fit neatly in any one “box”.  If I were to “shop” the piece out, what magazine might buy it?  Again, no idea.  Although it was essentially about parenting, it would certainly not be a fit for parenting magazines (which, really, only cover the predictable parenting topics like potty training or making popsicle-stick art.  Show me an article in a magazine for parents entitled, “You Want to Pierce WHAT?” and I will buy a subscription on the spot).

There are spiritual aspects to the piece as well, but I doubted a Christian magazine would touch it, what with its subject matter (tattoos) and generally snarky overtones.  And, it was neither comedy nor horror, though to be honest, there were elements of both.  I tried to quell the anxiety that I am in the wrong place at the wrong time, with a genre-less essay.  This was not a good start.

“Don’t worry about it,” Melissa soothed.  “It’s ok.  Just find a seat.”

In a room right off the hallway, the other ladies sat in school chairs in a small auditorium.  It was, actually, the Band room for the Christian school housed at the facility.  There were less than a dozen women scattered unevenly throughout about forty chairs and while I was wondering what significance – if any – choosing where to sit might have with perceived writing skill, they stopped chatting amongst themselves to say hello.  I responded, took a random seat, and resumed thinking about the universality of Band rooms all over America, with their distinctive scent of woodwind oil and their porous ceilings, and …yes?

Oh, yes…..Nice to meet you, too.

A lady had just arrived and taken the seat right next to me.

She was well-dressed (business-casual, you might say) and I noticed that her brown leather purse matched her brown leather shoes perfectly.  A quick look around the room revealed that all of the ladies are lovely.  They are all “put together”, by outward appearance anyway.  No-one else is wearing sweatpants.  No-one else had her hair in a poorly executed (and wet) ponytail.  Suddenly, I was in 8th grade band again, the new kid.  I wondered why I was there.

I was wondering, too, where did the other traffic cone I hit go? When Melissa sat in the other free chair next to me and took my hand to hold.  And the meeting began.

Spiritual

Sleepless

Jana Greene5 Comments

By:  Jana Greene

                Last night was a  self-choreography of tossing, turning, fitfulness.  Like synchronized swimming in the bed.    

                Yet, the sun still came up this morning, right on time.

                Last night, when I scrootched in bed next to my sleepy husband around 10:00 p.m., the possibility of slumber seemed promising.  I was in peaceful spirits because I had made it through the entire day without any pain medication at all.  For over a month, I had been weaning down to only one-half tablet per day at bedtime for pain due to a surgical procedure.  But not today, I thought, triumphantly.   This pain, I can handle.

                I tried to get comfortable, as the mild throbbing in my leg intensified.  Sleeping in the orthopedic boot is as awkward as sleeping with one of those giant “#1!” foam fingers you see waved around at football games strapped to your leg, if that foam finger were made of brick.  Still, I can usually manage to sleep a little.

                Not tonight.  It is now 1:00 in the morning.

                The pain is spread like a rash in my bones.  I take three Advil, and wait for them to negotiate with the pain.

                Meanwhile, I move my spastic-ness to the living room couch and try to settle in there.  There’s no point in keeping my hubby up as well.  Our dog – an elderly Golden Retriever with a lapdog mentality, tries to jump on the couch next to me.    I scold her.  She slurps me with a kiss to the face anyway, because, honestly, Golden Retrievers don’t know any other way to react except with love.  I could learn a lot from my dog.

                On this night, the Advil is a crappy negotiator.  I take the boot off, but my ankle feels too vulnerable.

                 So, I put the boot back on, and it feels heavy on the hardware in my leg, like there is no flesh between it and the titanium plate.

 I don’t feel like “#1!”

                I start to worry about things, because the peace in my tired mind had vacated hours ago.  One anxious thought leads to another until the soundtrack to my mind goes something like this:  

“I wonder if I took enough chicken out to defrost last night. Did I remember to feed the cat?  I wonder if Blues Traveler broke up, or if they might be touring?  I like harmonica music.  Hmmmm…..What bills have I not paid yet?    What if our kids live with us forever and never fly the nest? (this is when the thoughts took a turn for the worse, I think.)   OHNO!  How can Bob and I make them NOT WANT TO live at home forever?  We make things way too easy for these girls…..How much RENT should we charge them?  Oh, no….but I WILL MISS THEM when the nest is EMPTY!  When should I look for another job?  WHAT IF I DON”T FIND ANOTHER JOB???  Why is the economy so bad?  Where will the price of gas level out?  WHAT IF I NEVER WALK ON MY ANKLE NORMALLY AGAIN AND   WHAT IF I CAN”T LOSE THESE FIFTEEN POUNDS AND NEVER BRING MY TRYGLICERIDES DOWN AND OHMYGOSH, I”VE BLOGGED EVERY DETAIL OF MY LIFE AND WHY DID I DO THAT???”……

                You get the idea.

                3:34 in the a.m. now.

                My oldest daughter be-bops out of her room to go to the bathroom down the hall and sees me on the sofa.  I shut my eyes quickly and try to fake sleep (oh how the tables do turn)…..it’s too late. She lights up like a Christmas tree.

                “You have insomnia too, Mom?”  She beams, like we’ve both been invited to a Prince’s ball, instead of sentenced to a night without sleep. 

                Because usually, when neither she nor I  can sleep, we agree to watch a movie, or play Scrabble together, or look at funny pictures of animals saying captioned things on the internet until one of us gets sleepy.  She is young, at that glorious time in life in which she can choose to eat or not eat what she wants.  Sleep or not sleep.  It makes no difference to her body….yet. 

                No, I grouse at her, turning over on the couch.  Not tonight. 

Then, it comes, the slightest hint of drowsiness, as if someone is pouring sleep over my head.  Ah….sweet, sweet slumber.  Sleepiness is warm, I think, pulling my soft blanket up and smiling a bit.  Really warm.  Whew…..I kick off the blanket, panting.  Dammit!  This is not sleepiness!

                HOT. FLASH. 

                If these villians all formed an alliance to combat the superhero of Sleep…they would be Pain, Anxiety and Menopause. 

And they were attempting to take up headquarters in my body! 

                I start to cry a little now, because I am being slowly drenched in sweat, and I’m already miserably tired.  Sometimes I have to get to the point of crying to remember to pray, and this was one of those times.

                I began to pray for myself.  I asked that God would help me combat the forces keeping me awake.  Ouch, Lord.  Ouch!  And a hot flash, really?   But as I pray, I began thinking about all of the people I am blessed to know who are standing in much bigger need of prayer.  I didn’t really want to , to be truthful.  I wanted to complain and be grumpy.  But….Names and faces, appearing in  my mind, rapid-fire….until there is no room to worry about lesser things.   I lay still (and blanket-less) and try to concentrate. 

I see the face of a friend who is in the intensive care unit in a hospital in Chapel Hill, fighting for her life.  Pray.   I think of my three closest friends, and the battles they are going through right this very minute, real issues with potentially lasting implications, and I ask God’s guidance for each of them by name.  Several long-distance friends from high-school, brought back into my life via the miracle of Facebook, who stand in the need of prayer two-thousand miles away…..please, Lord, hear their cries.

Miles are no hindrance to God.  And neither are units of time….hours, minutes, seconds…time that I’ve designated for sleeping.  Maybe He had designs on my insomnia for other purposes.  Maybe for prayer.  

There was no sleeping last night, and I will stumble around today with Uncle-Fester-esque circles under my eyes.  I will also most likely be a bit ill-tempered with sleep deprivation.   But as I write this, my elderly Golden Retriever is wrapped around my feet, not seeming to mind the awkward orthopedic boot under her head, not seeming to mind that I wouldn’t let her on the couch with me last night.  She is sleeping, not a worry in the world.

I could learn a lot from my dog.