And here is Part II
Blessings!
Tag: recovery
Debt Relief – The motives of a Most Charitable God
By: Jana Greene
When I first met my husband several years ago, I had a lot of debt in the form of medical bills. Years without health insurance had not kept the health issues at bay, and the bills were stacked high with neglect. Like a Mega-Debt Mountain, it was not just a stack of papers, but a looming monument to financial failure. As a single mother working three jobs, I still couldn’t make ends meet. As a matter of fact, I didn’t think the ends would ever even see one another from afar!
As my soon-to-be husband and I got closer and closer, I was ashamed of all this debt. Thousands of dollars for office visits, treatments for migraines, endometriosis and chronic sinus infections had been wracked up. I felt embarrassed that I owed so much, that I would owe it the rest of my life and still never get it paid off, most likely.
One day, he asked to see Mega-Debt Mountain for himself. We were getting pretty serious at the time, and I couldn’t put off showing him my debts much longer. Still, I presented a lame stalling technique.
“Why?” I asked.
“So I can pay them off,” he said without so much as a sigh. In that season of his life, he had the means to free me of this debt.
At first, I was embarrassed because, after all, it was a substantial amount. I brought the stack of bills, most of which were marked “Last Notice” or “Past Due” (or both) and felt the shame burn my face. He took them gently from my hand and laid them on the desk without even glancing at them, and then he kissed me. Tears sprang to my eyes with gratitude, because I never expected such a thing; such grace.
These were not his debts. He took them on for two reasons:
So they would no longer hang over my head.
And because he “just wanted to be with me for the rest of my life.”
He had erased a debt that I had assumed I would carry all my life, simply because he loved me. The truth was, as huge as Mega-Debt Mountain was, it did not hinder his love for me. He didn’t see the “balance due” when he looked at me, but a future together.
Kind of like God when He looks at us through the filter of His Son. So often we all allow our own mountains to block the view of the grace He offers, because we are ashamed of our sin. Our Father has the means to free us. The blood of Jesus has the most amazing stain-removing properties!
“What are you waiting for?” God is saying. “The debt of everything you’ve ever done wrong is already paid for when you accepted my Son as your Beloved!” Our Father doesn’t see the “balance due” when He looks at His Christ-redeemed children.
God offers us freedom from sin debt for two reasons, you see:
So they will no longer hang over the head of one He loves VERY much. (Debt cannot hang over our heads and on the cross both!)
And because He wants to be with you for all eternity.
Such a thing is grace.
Amazing.
Faith is not Baby-steppable
Hello, dear readers. Today, in WilmingtonFAVS.com, this prayer was published. It is about the freefall of faith, the fear of a hard landing. I hope you are blessed today in some outrageous way, knowing that you have a Father to catch you when you fall.
http://wilmingtonfavs.com/blogs/jana-greene/freefall-into-the-fathers-hand-a-faith-not-baby-stepped
Sweeping off the Crumbs (or: It’s a NEW day!)
By: Jana Greene
The house is dark and quiet. It is five o’clock in the morning and I’ve been up for hours now, with a belly unable to digest the cookies I ate during a late-night bender and a mind unwilling to forgive myself for going on the binge at all. As a matter of fact, I’d like to use a picture of the cookies for this blog post, but they are all gone – nothing but a sad, empty package and a chocolate fallout of crumbs on the carpet.
They were generic Oreos, a very poor substitute for the real thing. I remember thinking it would be easy to only eat a few, because they were an inferior product, but no. I just kept consuming because the consuming itself was a comfort, and it had been a hard day. I would promise myself just one more, and then promise myself just ONE more after that. After a while, I didn’t even taste the cookies – that’s the crazy part. Just hand to mouth, mindless motion and quasi-momentary satisfaction. As if faux-Oreo cream could smudge out all the challenges of the day. After a while, I stopped believing my own promises.
No harm done, short of raising triglycerides and adding more fluff to my frame.
And a helping of very non-generic grade regret this very early morning.
Possibly the only good thing about insomnia is that it gives me time to talk to God without so many distractions. In the frenetic pace of daily life, I get distracted easily. I pray for my family and friends, and that God will reveal His will for me for the upcoming day it to me in such a way that I won’t wonder if it is He who is sending it or just a figment of a belly full of late night cookies and some random clues. Because I can mix up the two, sometimes.
I feel my Heavenly Father nearby – the unmistakable primal presence of His – and He brings to mind one of my favorite Psalms as I pray.
“ For His anger lasts only a short time. But His favor is for life. Crying may last for a night, but joy comes with the new day.” – Psalms 30:5
A day’s trouble lasts a day, unless I invite it to stay longer. Sorrows may last through the night, but JOY comes in the morning. God says it right there: we are not designed to dread each new day, chasing after comfort in a mindless motion of quasi-momentarily satisfaction. We are made to anticipate joy in the morning, every new morning. Our mistakes from yesterday fading like yesterday’s bellyache. Forgiving benders and binges, even extending that forgiveness toward ourselves – sweeping up the crumbs and moving on.
Perhaps my anger at myself should only last a short time. Maybe there is no need for regret.
It’s now 5:30 a.m. in the Greene house and all is still dark and quiet. Even this early, God has made a thousand promises to me – offering grace, acceptance, forgiveness and love. Those are promises that all the cookies and clues in the world can’t make. His favor is for life!
This day looks pretty….promising.
Gimme Shelter – a venue for amazing grace
By: Jana Greene
I have an addictive personality. That’s usually a bad thing, especially with substances, drink (and chocolate) but not always.
Over a decade ago, I had an encounter with Jesus like no other I’d ever experienced. I would like to say that it happened in a beautiful cathedral or in a peaceful mountain valley or by the roaring ocean. But no. It occurred on my dirty 5’x5’ dirty bathroom floor at 2:00 a.m. with my head bowed against the toilet seat.
I felt dead inside, and I knew that I was dying on the outside as well. I had known Jesus from the time I was twelve, but had not walked along side him for many years. I didn’t really need to, you see. I had it ALL under control. There were small, still whispers and glaring neon signs as I passed through on my way to the valley of the shadow that is alcoholism, but I could usually drink them away. Not anymore.
Taking a drink would momentarily stop the shakes but would cause immediate retching. I had consumed so much alcohol on a daily (well, nightly) basis that my body required it now, and rejected it too. Here, lying on the bathroom tile, I crawled over to lock the door so that my children wouldn’twalk in to see their mother this way.
My beautiful children. I hated myself more in that moment than ever before, because my daughters didn’t deserve this kind of mom. Even my deep love for them couldn’t get me sober. My declining health wasn’t enough motivation either. And I certainly was powerless to stop drinking, as every single day for two years I’d promised myself that I would simply NOT drink today. What can get me well? I asked God, from the cold bathroom floor.
But God was in another place. He had to be, didn’t he? He had tons of Good Christians to hang out with instead. The church-goers, the teetolers. The ones like me, who know Him but have pushed him away in favor of some pursuit, addiction or selfishness…why would He want to be present with us?
But between great wracking sobs and heaves, the room spinning like a mad carousel, I vaguely remembered reading something in the Bible years ago about God meeting you where you are.
“God,” I cried. “Oh, God. I’m calling you. I’m so sorry I’ve turned my back on you. I’m asking you to be with me and help me. Father….meet me here.” More wailing. More puking and crying. “You said you would” I whispered hoarsely. ” I remember.”
“Father! Come sit here on the floor with me, please. Please don’t leave me alone!”
I crawled over to make room for God…this God who fashioned the universe but was not too busy or big to come sit on a dirty bathroom floor with his broken child. I felt His presence stronger than I had ever felt it before. In my sickness, I lay down with my head in the lap of Jesus and He comforted me. I knew He was there just as tangibly as any human being could have been; more so. He met me there.
“Come close to God, and God will come close to you,” said Jesus’ brother James, in the Bible. “Wash your hands, you sinners; purify your hearts, for your loyalty is divided between God and the world.” For me, my loyalty had been divided between God and alcohol addiction. I didn’t want my Father to have to compete for my life any more.
That day was twelve years ago this month. I have been sober by His grace (one day at a time) since my encounter with Jesus on the bathroom floor all that time ago. Recovery is sometimes a cathedral-like experience and sometimes a gritty challenge. It is at times peaceful like a mountain valley and at others, as clamoring as a roaring ocean. It is messy work, always.
But Jesus still meets me where I am, in all of those places. He is so good, I tell you. I still have an addictive personality, but these days my addiction is God’s Grace. I cannot get enough of it, and I cannot tell enough people about it.
Redeemed and alive, inside and out. Sheltered by amazing grace.
“Noshing” to Worry About: Food, Comfort and the God-shaped Hole
By: Jana Greene
MMMmmmm, Christmastime. The music is lovely, the parties are grand. The food? Well, it’s almost divine.
Almost.
As a recovering alcoholic, I save a lot of calories by not drinking (sick thought #1) but I make up for it by taking part in food festivities. Savory dips piled high on crackers, sugary cookies and cakes. If it arrives in a crock pot, it’s simmering on borrowed time. Anything with a cream-cheese base? Yes, please!
The problem is – if I’m honest – is that I need to admit a little secret: making food a centerpiece in my life is not just a holiday phenomenon. And I have the pounds to prove it.
I worry about my issues with food because I see a pattern emerging. A few weeks ago, I cleaned out my closet, and within moments I found the first Hershey bar. I had hidden it in an otherwise empty shoebox, a single candy under tissue paper. Working my way under some random papers stacked on a closet shelf, I found another Hershey bar and at the bottom of the stack? Another one., and another. The last one was under an old Pittsburgh Steelers blanket behind some more boxes.
I have had issues with food all my life. From hating to eat as a child, becoming a full-on “foodie” as an adult. When I went through a painful divorce several years ago, I lived on Diet Coke and cigarettes, losing 80 pounds. To be truthful, it felt pretty good to have some measure of control over something going on. The cycle has repeated over and over: starving myself for a little while because I don’t like what I see, bingeing to fill up and comfort. It was the kind of hidden behavior that I just didn’t want to “discuss” with myself (also known as “denial) But now – here in a tangible intervention, was evidence bold on brown wrappers: H.E.R.S.H.E.Y.
All told, there were 11 chocolate bars hidden in strange places in my closet.There is a big difference between using food as a treat and an anesthetic. I am very emotional about food (and dern near everything else) but usually not to the point of crying. This time, there were tears.
The candy had been stashed individually over the course of months, because chocolate is my comfort food and having three young adult daughters, someone is ALWAYS PMS’ing at my house, looking for this anesthetic for the symptoms. So I hide it. Because when I am jonesing for chocolate, I am really jonesing for chocolate, you know? I am the mother in this house and don’t I deserve chocolate for putting up with everyone? I can quit any time I want! I’ll quit for the New Year and get in shape…you’ll see! What’s the big deal?
See? Emotional. Hershey bars should not be that powerful of an emotional trigger. Also, while I’m being real here, hoarding food is a related compulsion I struggle with. But that is a blog post for another day.
Do I remember hiding the chocolate? Not really. It is something I did kind of automatically. Go to the store for milk and eggs, pick up an extra chocolate to hide. When I get especially stressed out, I go buy more chocolate at the store and sooth myself the Hershey Way and it seems harmless enough. Except like some people can’t “just eat one” potato chip, I almost never “just eat one” chocolate bar. Here’s the secret: The second bar I like to enjoy in private – and that’s really embarrassing to admit. Sometimes it is more than two. I’m ashamed, even for my husband to know. Why does all this seem SO familiar?
Ah, yes.
Right before I got sober, I was terribly sick. The first glass of wine, I would drink in front of other people, but the second….seventh…..tenth? I “enjoyed” those alone, ashamed. I had boxes of wine stashed in secret places all over the house, because there was never enough. What if I ran out? Dang it, I am an adult and it’s just WINE for Pete’s sake, and don’t I deserve a little something for putting up with everyone? I can quit any time I want! I’ll quit for the New Year and stay sober, you’ll see! What’s the big deal?
The big deal was that I’d forgotten that the void requiring filling was not shaped like a bottle or box of Chardonnay. The hole is not shaped like a Hershey bar. It is a God-shaped place that, in times of stress and need and worry and peace, can only be filled by Christ. It’s not “just a treat” if you are tormented by it.
Run first to Him, and away from things done in secret. There is no shame in Him; no room for condemnation. Love conquers sick thoughts #’s one through one-billiion. Love fills up the void, and I know that already. That’s the thing about life on this planet: I will struggle with SOMETHING until the undertaker is throwing dirt in my face. You will too. But oh, the grace that God offers us strugglers!
That – the sweetest of things – I don’t need to hoard or hide. It flows constantly and with such force that it spills over into other spaces and can’t be contained. Kind of like my belly over the waistband of my jeans right now. (Hey, it’s important to keep a sense of humor!)
Jesus as the centerpiece of my life, First. Jesus consulted before food or drink or even friends – renewable comfort, available. I just have to ask for it.
Now, that is truly divine.
Day of the Dog, Day of the Hydrant: Everyday is a Mixed Bag
By: Jana Greene
Have you ever heard the expression: “Sometimes you are the dog and sometimes you are the fire hydrant”? Sometimes you feel as if you are in control and other times? Well, you are stuck in a bad place, feeling helpless.
Yesterday was a mixed bag for me, for instance.
BAD: Sick with sinus issues…again.
GOOD: The doctor finally gave me antibiotics –the kind that might actually work!
BAD: the cat continually tried to sit on my keyboard when I was trying to work.
GOOD: Hey, the cat was not completely ignoring me, nor plotting my imminent death!
BAD: I yelled at my kids, enthusiastically.
GOOD: I apologized to them for losing my temper and enjoyed the forgiveness hugs.
BAD: Got cut off in traffic.
GOOD: …
Actually, no good came of that particular situation.
BAD: Overdue fine of $1.60 at the library.
GOOD: Happened across Stephen Colbert’s new book while paying the fine! My seventeen-year-old daughter read some especially funny parts to me whilst I was driving home. We both laughed so hard that we cried, and that’s always good.
If attitude is really 90% of any given problem, I really need to work on my numbers. Because good and bad stuff will happen to me, and good and bad stuff will happen because of my own actions or inaction.
It helps me to remember that the same man who wrote two-thirds of the New Testament of the Bible struggled with the same issues we do today. It is never a surprise to God when we are “all over the map”.
“It happens so regularly that it’s predictable. The moment I decide to do good, sin is there to trip me up. I truly delight in God’s commands, but it’s pretty obvious that not all of me joins in that delight. Parts of me covertly rebel, and just when I least expect it, they take charge.
“I’ve tried everything and nothing helps. I’m at the end of my rope. Is there no one who can do anything for me? Isn’t that the real question?
The answer, thank God, is that Jesus Christ can and does. He acted to set things right in this life of contradictions where I want to serve God with all my heart and mind, but am pulled by the influence of sin to do something totally different.” – Apostle Paul, Romans 7:21-25 (The Message)
My thought life is similar and my attitude? Always in flux. But I’m working on it.
BAD: I am a sinner – and like the Apostle Paul, often do, say and think what I shouldn’t.
GOOD: God is full of mercy and grace, and sees me through the filter of His Son.
Most days are a mixed bag, are they not? It is so easy to label the days of our lives as a good or bad one, depending on the good/bad experience tally of any given timeframe. It’s nice to know that although I cannot be consistent to save my life (literally), God is the same yesterday and today – all day long.
Take me Higher – an Alcoholic Finds Solid Ground
By: Jana Greene
You are an alcoholic. Or an addict. There is precious little difference, really. You indulge in some substance or activity that you cannot for the life of you control. You have tried, under your own power. You simply cannot stop.
It started innocently. You got drunk, or high – maybe a little accidentally. Certainly, it was harmless. Over time, you needed to get just a little drunker or higher to achieve the same result – feeling okay in your own skin. So you start to drink a little more, to get a little higher.
But one day, you start to need the substance or activity more than you really want it. You begin to dread coming down from it.
Who wants to come down from something? All of the great clichés espouse the glory of high…
Ain’t no mountain high enough.
High achiever.
Soaring to great heights.
Your love keeps lifting me higher…..
For a while, “high” made you feel weightless, but not anymore. Now it feels unbearable because you can’t get high enough. It becomes apparent that high is a manner of deceiving yourself. You used to have direction. What happened to knowing where you are in relation to other things?
Then, the spiral. Everything is out of control. Which way is up? It is impossible to tell as you flail about, falling.
Coming down is a bummer. But coming down from artificial heights is inevitable, and fast. It is not the gradual and glorious slow decent of a skydiver with a sturdy parachute.
No.
You must come back to earth because there is nowhere else to go, but doing so results in a free-fall, a plummet. No parachute to catch the wind, and no wind to fill the chute if you had one at all. And something inside you tells you that you should fall and with a hard landing.
The dual demons of entitlement and self-loathing surface in this free-fall:
You deserve to drink/ use and get away with it, because you have all of these pressures and why shouldn’t you have a little relief?
And you deserve to use and lose everything, because you are a weak and hopeless person who can’t cope with Life on Life’s terms.
That is why sharing recovery is the Highest calling for an alcoholic or addict. There is purpose in it – God makes sure that no agony goes to waste in this life.
Authentic life takes place in the venue that is grounded. Recovery can be bumpy path, but it is on solid earth, at least. It is, in the truest sense of the term, death-defying….more so than any leap. It is life worth living for any addict because an active recovery is an expedition..a wonderful journey into uncharted territory and the clarity to soak it all in.
Your active recovery is a hike in the wilderness with a pack full of provision – more than you will ever need, courtesy of God. It is helpful to know which tools are available, but even a blind search through a knapsack is better than a fall from a high cliff.
On the ground, there are people to link arms with who will pull you up when you feel like tripping, because everybody feels like tripping sometimes and everybody needs support. On the ground, it is okay for you to have weight – a fullness and purpose in your step, because you are a human being carrying around a burden of being human. But not by yourself.
Most importantly, you aren’t artificially high in a free-fall of destruction -you can easily locate “up” . From positioning yourself on your knees in prayer, you can see in all directions. You can clearly discern that God is God and you are not. It becomes obvious that He was the wind that filled the parachute you didn’t know you had so that he can be the solid ground beneath your feet now. You are filled with gratitude for having survived, for not having to be your own higher power anymore.
So, where do you go from here?
You go out and find the ones spiraling in the air, grasping at entitlement and self-loathing as they fall. You make sure that they don’t hit the ground without knowing that the dual demons of entitlement and self-loathing are not trying to catch them, but waiting for them to destruct upon impact. Tell hurting people that there is hope because of Grace, and Grace promises that we don’t get what we “deserve” (thank God!)
That’s how you will avoid the same temptations of dangerous height – by providing the gear for others and leading the expedition. Because you are not immune; you are never immune to relapse. You must stay on your guard and ask for God’s help on the journey – each day. He is strong and full of hope and He has sent others to walk with you, victoriously.
One Day at a Time, you feel okay in your own skin. Lifted higher by real love, the Highest Power.
You are going to be just fine.
The Flu or Something Like It
By: Jana Greene
It wasn’t the flu.
It couldn’t have been, because my husband had gotten a flu shot and he got sick before me. The flu shot, heralded as viral kryptonite, was supposed to prevent just such an incidence as this….this plague upon the Greene Residence.
Of course there are two schools of thought on the flu shot.
Team Flu Shot, which consists of people wearing lab coats and the government (completely trustworthy, right?) insists that you MUST have the flu shot. If you don’t, you are a biological renegade, careless with your own health but worse, a phlem-ridden public nuisance volunteering to spread disease.
Team Never Been Sicker is comprised of people who have had the shot and soon thereafter became gravely ill. These folks complete every sentence pertaining to the shot with, “No, really….I’ve never been sicker!” People in this category will also tell you (with a far-away look in the eye, remembering the horror) that they will never get another shot.. Because if you have every symptom of the legit flu, it is The Flu to you whether or not you’ve been immunized against it.
So, maybe it wasn’t the flu that my husband and I had, but it was a relative, at least. If it approached a talent agency about becoming a Flu Impersonator, it would get hired on the spot and paid top-dollar. It was a dead-ringer.
My Beloved and I lay next to each other for a week – two people madly in love with one another in bed – barely touching and saying things like, “please don’t touch me, even my hair hurts” through stuffed, red noses.
Hours became days. Bedside tables became crowded with wadded up tissues and cups sticky with Thera-flu residue. The days became a solid week, and then ten days of Imposter Flu…misery. And then, a tiny ray of hope in the form of a lapse in the constant headache.
We are starting to crawl out from under it, this monster bug. A few days ago, I logged onto this blog and realized that I have not written since October! What? How can that be? But there it was – bigger than Dallas – the calendar on the right-hand side of this page that chronicles blog entries with November empty. Time flies when you are incapacitated.
So, I’m sending apologies to the blogosphere for missing out on the entire month of November (so far) and looking forward to doing some writing in earnest to make up the difference. God snuck in some inspiration for new articles in between bouts of fever and nausea, and I’m looking forward to digging in to His Word and His work, and venturing out into the world again. Mister and Mrs. Never Been Sicker were down for a count, but not out of the game!
The plague is lifted, may the words soon follow!
Pathway to a Richer Life
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 me to follow your will and way,
And mine will be a richer life.
Daddy’s Girls – The Healing
By: Jana Greene
Little girls….they are so full of themselves!
I never really got to know my father. He was disinterested in me when I was born. As a very small girl, I remember jumping and dancing and shouting for him, wanting him to pick me up.
Look at me!
I can still see him now, coolly smoking a cigarette looking through me. How do I get my Daddy’s attention? Little girls crave that attention. They feel deficient if they cannot obtain it.
Then, I had a step-father. When he came into my life I was five years old. I was both jealous of his attention for my mother and hopeful that he might show some for me. I became his adopted child, losing my identity as the daughter of one disinterested. But that didn’t really make me a beloved daughter. There are worse things than parental indifference, I would find out. There could be malevolence and maltreatment.
Years after the damage had been done, God healed my heart. He is still healing my heart. I trust Him daily, but it is an ongoing process to give up the hurt.
For years, I tried to fill up instead of give up. Fill up that space with attention from men. Fill up shame with alcohol. Fill up neediness with accolades. Fill up deficiency with a pouring into various meaningless pursuits. It’s a lot harder to give up expectations and surrender wholly. Giving up pain requires a kind of filling up faith…and trust.
It is said that we model our idea of who God is by our experience with our earthly fathers, and that is true, because we have no other measure to go by. But then, what is a father? My maternal grandfather was a loving influence on my life, and my husband shows me what the most noble human fathering looks like in the way he cares for his daughter (and my daughters, too). But for the most accurate picture, I have to go to the Bible instead of looking to personal experience:
A father doesn’t ignore the needs of his child; he provides more than enough for her.
“Tell them to go after God, who piles on all the riches we could ever manage—to do good, to be rich in helping others, to be extravagantly generous. If they do that, they’ll build a treasury that will last, gaining life that is truly life.” – 1 Timothy 6:17
A father isn’t irritated by the presence of his daughter, but delights in her with pride.
“Cultivate inner beauty, the gentle, gracious kind that God delights in.” – 1 Peter 4:3-6
A father doesn’t betray his daughter’s trust, but honors it.
“I know what I’m doing. I have it all planned out—plans to take care of you, not abandon you, plans to give you the future you hope for.” – Jeremiah 29:11 (MSG)
A father doesn’t abuse and neglect his girl, but protects her from harm.
“Every promise of God proves true; he protects everyone who runs to him for help.” – Proverbs 30:5-6 (MSG)
A father is not detached, but involved.
“What’s the price of a pet canary? Some loose change, right? And God cares what happens to it even more than you do. He pays even greater attention to you, down to the last detail—even numbering the hairs on your head! So don’t be intimidated by all this bully talk. You’re worth more than a million canaries.” – Matthew 10:29-30 (MSG)
A Father is not waiting to reject his child, but welcomes her with open arms regardless of her deeds.
“Now God has us where he wants us, with all the time in this world and the next to shower grace and kindness upon us in Christ Jesus. Saving is all his idea, and all his work. All we do is trust him enough to let him do it. It’s God’s gift from start to finish!” – Ephesians 2:8-9 (MSG)
So, how do I get my Father’s attention? That pure adoration that little girls crave from their Fathers? I don’t have to jump and dance and shout Look at me! He is already looking, already getting a kick out me….just because I’m His kid.
In the spiritual realm, he is my Daddy by adoption because His son grafted me into his family. He is my Creator, the one who used love to make me family.
Getting to know God for The Perfect Father is an adventure in loving and being loved. I wish I could say that I don’t ever struggle with abandonment, rejection or trust issues, but that wouldn’t be true. I am learning to accept that My True Father loves me even though sometimes I misbehave. He is teaching me to accept that he forgives me, even when it is difficult for me to forgive myself. And He doesn’t instruct me with the iron fist or shaming ways of the fathers I have known on Earth, but with the gentlest correction reminding me to focus on His grace instead.
Maybe so many of us women are attention-seekers because we’re designed to be. Perhaps we are created that way in order to seek our Father’s love. To give up on being perfect to earn a Father’s love, in order to fill up on the love of a Perfect Father.
To be Daddy’s Girls in the purest sense…not so much “full of ourselves”, but FULL of our Father.
Playing the cards you’re dealt
By: Jana Greene
Seven UNO cards were spread out like a fan in my hand. There were four greens, two reds and one blue. The card facing upward on the table was yellow, emblazoned with the number “5”…just about the only number and color not represented in my hand.
Anyone who has ever played the card game could see that this was an unlucky grouping. My daughter, who was nine years old at the time, smiled like the cat that ate the canary. Never one to present a poker face, she picked the last of her own seven cards from the thick, worn pile.
“Hmmmm,” she said. “Another wild card.”
I looked down at my cards again, knowing I would have to pick yet another in a game that required losing all to win.
“Skip me?” I asked.
“You know the rules, Mom,” she chided. “You have to pick another card until you get a match for the yellow or the five.”
She was right, of course. So I picked the first card lying face down in the pile. It was a blue eight. The next was a green “skip” card and the one under it was another green three.
“Dos, tres, cuatro,” I counted, my hand becoming heavier with the losing cards.
“You will have catorce soon!” laughed my opponent. “Catorce” is the Spanish word for fourteen.
“I must not have shuffled them well,” I grumped.
“Maybe not,” she said. “But you have to play the cards you’re dealt.” How many times had I told her that?
It was not, in fact, until I did have fourteen cards that I was able to get rid of even one of them. By the time I chose a winning card, there were too many to hold in fan formation so they fell about in a messy heap that allowed my opponent to see which colors and numbers I held.
Miraculously, though, I won the game that day. I kept choosing and she kept laying down her cards until she was forced to play a green one. She had been holding on to not one, but FOUR wild cards – pieces that entitled her to change-up the game in her own favor all along. Somehow, using all of her good cards had resulted in her ending up with green cards.
And green cards I had!
It seems to me that many people are dealt unfair cards in this life. Some are given wild cards in abundance, while others have a handful of “fives” without any apparent significance.
I didn’t mean to choose the hand of proverbial cards that I had to play in the darkest times in my life, but I did pick many of them myself.
I hadn’t wanted to grow up to be an alcoholic.
I don’t remember picking the card for divorce that showed up in my deck.
And single motherhood? I’d have just as soon left that one out, too.
Chronic pain, financial struggle, surviving abuse….I’d never have asked for them. So many issues – more than catorce! – that my hand could not hold them all, spilling out of formation and into a messy heap. And when you have a big enough pile, you can’t hold them close to your chest and they fall about you for all the world to see. For your opponent to see.
I didn’t ask for that messy pile. Even though I often contributed to the disorder with my own actions, it still seemed unfair. Sometimes I’d done all the right things – shuffled well. Still, bad things happened, things that made me hurt deeply.
“Skip me!” I’ve begged the Lord on numerous occasions. “God, please….”
But He had purpose all the while. I found out that there is a huge difference between perceived unfairness and purposeless-ness. All of the losing cards I’ve held have played pivotal roles in making me understand what God’s grace is all about. I wouldn’t trade that card for anything.
We all have to play the cards we are dealt – in a game that often requires losing all of self to win.
Keep picking up the next card, believing that God will work it to the good. Believe it, and ask him to fill in the gaps where you do not believe it yet.
And lay them down; keep laying your cards on the table – on the altar.
At the cross.
Redemption Feast Blog – Letter to my Disease
I invite you, dear readers, to visit http://wilmingtonfavs.com/blogs/jana-greene/letter-to-my-disease to see the Wilmington Faith and Values site that I also write for. My blog there (usually updated a few times per week) is called “Redemption Feast”.
God bless you and yours today, and as always – please feel free to share the link with anyone whom you feel might benefit from it. Have a great day!
Picking up Rocks on a Walk with God
“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 ahead and forget to keep pace with him, racing toward what I assume is our mutual destination. Every footfall becomes heavier, until it feels I am stepping through jelly.
Or, as often happens, I will head off toward somewhere He never planned to go, figuring that I will on meet up with Him later. My steps are intentional in keeping His steady pace, but in another direction entirely. Forcing my own awkward gait, I lose sight of the unforced rhythms that are His grace.
And still….I am always surprised by the result from either choice: weariness. A tiredness that originates from the soul.
“Walk with me and work with me,” implores the God of the universe. “My ways are not your ways, you have no clue about which route to take. And for crying out loud, stop picking up rocks to carry around on the way! No wonder you’re tired!”
I have to stop and remember to read His love letter to me, to take hold of his hand for the same reason that I held my children’s’ hands when they were small. Because although they truly believed they knew better, I had the power to keep them safe on busy streets and complicated intersections. It really is that simple – stay in the Word, love God, love others, serve.
“To care for the needs of all who mourn in Zion,
give them bouquets of roses instead of ashes,
Messages of joy instead of news of doom,
a praising heart instead of a languid spirit.” – Isaiah 61:7
It turns from praise to languish when I make it about religion instead of relationship.
I’m fried, Lord, I tell him when I get worn-out. And he always collects the burned-out bits and pieces together, brushing the “me-dust” back into a pile and transforms it again.
Beauty from ashes.
Randy Travis: Nothing is spared in the destructive wake of addiction
By Jana Greene
Addiction can cut a wide path of destruction….career, reputation, relationships. The news story about Randy Travis this week reminded me just how wide that path can be.
Mr. Travis has sold more than 20 million records during his country music career. According to his official website, he has seven Grammy Awards, 10 Academy of Country Music Association statuettes, 10 American Music Awards, seven Music City News Awards, five Country Music Association honors and eight Dove Awards from the Gospel Music Association to his credit.
Yes, Gospel as in the “good news” of John 3:16: that God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten son, Jesus Christ. And whosoever believes in him shall not perish but have everlasting life.
Mr. Travis was also an actor, having starred in Hallmark Channel movies and Christmas specials, and was known to his friends for having a deep abiding love for his wife and manager of many years, Elizabeth.
In short, he seemed to “have it all”. But where addiction is concerned, having a lot means having a lot to lose.
Earlier this week, an incident in which Mr. Travis was charged with driving while intoxicated made national headlines. He had crashed his car was allegedly yelling threats at police – naked – when they arrived at the scene. In his mug shot, he appears beaten, looking at the camera with a menacing glower – not at all the shy, lanky superstar represented by his public image.
Addiction has a way of doing that, too: bringing the darkest aspects of a person into the public eye. If Mr. Travis suffers and addiction to alcohol, he might continue to deteriorate until he commits to sobriety.
According to the CNN story that ran on August 8th, 2012, he was also arresting for a similar offense back in February of this year.
“I apologize for what resulted following an evening of celebrating the Super Bowl,” he stated after the February episode. “I’m committed to being responsible and accountable, and apologize for my actions.”
He was sorry – he had been celebrating the Superbowl – and no doubt embarrassed about the incident.
In the past couple of years, Mr. Travis is reported to have been involved in messy court proceedings with his ex-wife of 19 years, Elizabeth (who also acted as his Manager for over three decades) until as she put it: Mr. Travis made impossible to do her job. . This most recent DUI suggests that Mr. Travis’s disease is worsening; that he is losing control
Career, reputation, relationships – all take a hit as addictions spiral.
The mess he is going through now seems impossible to overcome…except that all things are possible through Jesus Christ. I cannot pretend to know the heart of Mr. Travis, but if he is a Christian (as his Gospel music might indicate) he already has what it takes to walk in recovery. He has already accepted that he is not his own Higher Power.
Being broken and recognizing that you are not God – those two things make a person an excellent candidate for the recovery life.
There is a special shame in being a Christian and being an addict – and yes, it is possible to be both. It may be true that Christians shouldn’t battle addictions, that they are free through grace to live a life of sobriety. It is also true that people who truly love the Lord walk around in human flesh. They have struggles and make mistakes, and are not immune to consequences. They are – like others – their own worst enemies at times, powerless against sin, yet stunned when faced with the wide path of destruction it leaves.
Being free to walk into grace requires that one step into surrender. Salvation grace is applicable to recovery from addiction; it is allowing God into our darkest places and accepting that he so loved us that he sent his only son to die for us.
He had everything to lose, and gave it up so that this alcoholic can live free to tell others that they can, too.
Mr. Travis has lost a lot, but he still has everlasting life. He still has God, who SO loved him that he gave his only son.
Letter to my Disease
By: Jana Greene
I found this letter amongst some old pieces I wrote in early recovery. In fact, this one dates back eleven years, almost to the day. I had been sober seven months when I originally wrote it. I pray it will bless someone who needs to read it.
A Letter to my Disease
Dear Alcohol,
I know I have had a hard time letting you go, but I feel I must remind you –
I have God on my side.
You may have genetic advantages, and plenty of opportunities to tempt me, and social acceptance, but those things pale in comparison to the Almighty God.
I have friends, too. Powerful friends.
Friends who have fought you for a long time and WIN, day by day.
Friends who care about me, just as strongly as you wanted to destroy me.
I have the “steps”, the “statements” and most importantly, scripture to pray –
And those help keep you at bay, too.
I thought you were my closest friend.
I counted on you!
You lied and deceived, and this I cannot forget.
I know you for who you are, now.
I know you are there, waiting to destroy, still. Willing to play the part of friend,
While you decimate my health, my relationships, and my spirit.
But therein lies my advantage.
I know you are there, and I recognize your voice.
I don’t deny you, but I do despise you.
You will never take me alive, and you will not cause me to die.
You had your try at me, and through Jesus Christ and His saving grace,
I am victorious.
It is finished, one day at a time, by that same
Saving Grace.
I have God on my side.
Terminally Unique….Just Like Everyone Else
By: Jana Greene
Terminal uniqueness.
The first time I heard the term bantered around in an AA meeting, I was personally offended. After all, I was at a meeting because I couldn’t drink like normally like “everyone else” and by attending, I was spotlighting a weakness that had resulted from my unique set of circumstances. And I had stayed sober for weeks by then – in spite of very challenging things: My unhappy home life. My health issues. My negative thought patterns. Of course I am special!
Just like everyone else in the room.
Nowadays, I don’t bristle at the suggestion of feeling terminally unique. It makes me chuckle a bit because I know how terminally unique I am, as are you and each other person whom God has created. For years, I used it as an excuse to keep from getting sober. Easy for her, I would think of someone in recovery. She doesn’t walk in my shoes.
We are all incredibly unique, endowed with a one-of-a-kind skill set of coping, growing, thinking, feeling and choosing….our weirdness, perhaps. Our unique weirdness, combined with life experience, is terminal – there is no chance of being born one soul and dying entirely another.
Even as we are born again in the spirit, that soul still exhibits some quirkiness on occasion.
I used to believe that if I were doing it “right”, being a Christian cause me to have it all together. In my mind’s eye, I saw myself evolving into an entirely different creature: Poised, reverent, polished and wise, the Christian Me would be emotionally available, sane at all times, selfless and serene.
Just like everyone else seems to be!
Except that no-one is all of those lovely things all of the time. Only Jesus could manage to pull that off. God is teaching me that my addictions and behaviors are not weakness born of my terminal uniqueness, but of my humanity. They were born for one unique purpose: to bring his name glory. The weaker times in my life – when I couldn’t cope, grow, think or feel like anyone could pull me out of my troubles, I chose to ask God to help me up. And despite my being so terminally unique, he answered my prayers and advised me to tell others that he can use weirdoes like me. And you.
What about the very unique circumstances that challenged me? My home life, my health issues, my negative thought patterns? Perhaps allowed by God to share hope with those in similar circumstances, walking in similar shoes.
Not the least bit “all together”, terminally unique, and saved by Christ.
Gratitude, intentionally
By: Jana Greene
Gratitude bestows reverence, allowing us to encounter everyday epiphanies, those transcendent moments of awe that change forever how we experience life and the world. – John Milton
I don’t know what I would do without everyday epiphanies.
In recovery circles, they are called “aha!” moments…those times when things suddenly make sense just a little bit. My favorite brand of “aha!” moments are the ones of reverent, intentional gratitude.
Yesterday, my husband and I visited with some old friends at the beach. It was – at the risk of sounding dramatic – as perfect a day as I’ve ever had. We hoisted beach chairs to the water’s edge and talked for hours about how fast our babies grew up, about all of the things that surprised us about parenting (a lot!) We swam in the salty sea and snacked on chips with homemade salsa. And spent the evening having dinner on the back porch, which overlooked the marshes. We shared so much laughter, our cheeks ached.
Several times, I reached over to touch my good friend, because I felt so blessed by her that I wanted to make sure she was real! God loves on us through his other children….Aha!
On the drive home, I held my husband’s hand, which is not at all unusual. But we locked fingers like we have a thousand times before and I thanked the Lord for this perfect fit. And that prayer led to gratitude for all of the other ways I love my husband. I can’t count all of my blessings if I don’t start with “one” ….Aha!
Washing my sandy feet in the tub before bed, I considered the events of the day. I thought about friendship – and said a quick prayer to let the Father know I appreciated his orchestrating those relationships. I smiled, thinking of the ocean and complimented Him on His handiwork. I couldn’t remember a day in recent history in which I’d felt so humbled by blessing, so full of gratitude. It isn’t because I’m not blessed; it’s just that worry has been renting the space in my head that joy rightfully owns. Worry is a destructive tenant, opposite of thankfulness in every way.
God is always bestowing gifts big and small to us, but sometimes I don’t encounter grateful-ness because life is full of not-so-wonderful days, chock full of them. Things seem to go wrong more often than right, and days are not often even close to perfect.
I know that we are not here to be blessed, but to bless. But I also think God gets tickled when we notice the things that we, ourselves, cannot take credit for – the things we shouldn’t take credit for that change forever how we experience life and the world. It takes almost no time at all to say “thank you” but it can change the whole trajectory of mind-set.
Being truly thankful makes sense of things, I think.
Aha!
Why Jesus is my Sponsor
One of the first things that one is encouraged to do in Alcoholics Anonymous is to get a sponsor. Webster’s dictionary describes a sponsor as:
a) A person who vouches or is responsible for a person or thing. Or…
b) A person who makes a pledge or promise on behalf of another.
Although I attended many meetings, I never did find a sponsor in the halls of AA. It wasn’t that I didn’t want one initially, but asking someone to sponsor me seemed a cruel thing to ask of anyone in those early days. Kind of like asking a stranger to donate a kidney. And I surely didn’t want to sponsor someone else, even after some time in recovery, because I am a messy and flawed human being. Being responsible for myself is about all I can handle (and some days that’s a stretch).
At one of the first meetings I went to, one member told the group that your “higher power” could be just about anything.
“It could be a lampshade,” she said, nodding toward the light in the corner of the room. “As long as you admit that believing in it can restore you to sanity.”
I looked at the lampshade, which admittedly appeared to be more sane than I at that moment. But it was not a “higher power” and I didn’t believe in its holiness. I didn’t believe that I could save myself, or that Buddha could save me or nature or another person. I believed in Jesus Christ and His power to get me through this thing called sobriety. It would have to be an act of God for me to stop drinking.
You see, for three days prior I had been on my knees, sick and begging for help. Three days of detoxifying sweats, shakes, and hallucinations – the penalty of denying my body alcohol. In my weak and lonely state, I had called out to Jesus Christ. A fill-in-the-blank deity did not carry me through that – it was nothing short of supernatural.
When I was at my worst, sprawled out on the bathroom floor heaving and shaking, I screamed at the Lord and called him to the mat.
“You said your grace is sufficient,” I yelled, fist punching at air. “Well, where are you? Help me!”
Help me. Help me. Please help me. You SAID you WOULD!
And he did, moment by moment, bit by bit, comforting my sick body and tortured mind. In that dark time, he became my closest friend. The kind of friend you would give you a kidney. The kind of friend that would give up his life for me. Because you see, he did that, too.
Ever since that day, I have felt that I HAVE to tell other people about him, that he is still in the miracle business. I have to show other “beggars” where I found bread.
I love the 12-steps and believe in the practicality that they offer. I pull them out of the “toolbox” constantly, because they help me to do life on life’s terms instead of my own. In the rooms of AA meetings and Celebrate Recovery gatherings, I have met the bravest people on earth. Every person in recovery has something to bring to the table that another person in recovery needs to know or hear. But for me, the program itself and the wonderful people I met at the meetings were just not enough to maintain sobriety. They could not save my soul.
Life kept happening…the good and the bad, and all along, Jesus stayed. Jesus made the pledge, the promise – and he is still vouching for me today. Any sanity I have had restored in these past eleven years of sobriety?
Given to me by my Sponsor, Jesus Christ. He is the Highest Power of all.
Lead me not into temptation – or a sketchy alleyway ATM
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.
Musings of a Gypsy Soul 