No Stops For A Few Days, We Must Contain The Plague

Well, if I thought yesterday was bad  today is worse. I am pretty sure Noah was calling whales. At least, that is what it sounded like. Somewhere in the whale calls were things like "Moooooommmmm I'm soooooooo siiiiiicckkkkkk" and "Pllllllllllllllleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaaassseeeee hhhhheeelp meeeeeeeeeeeeeee" and "I'm in sooooooooooooooooooooooo muuuuuuuuuuuchhhhhhhhhhhh paiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnnnnn". Exactly as I typed it, I promise, with whale song like sounds - only not as musical.
And, of course, the last thing Bee needs is to be exposed to something when she is on the last of her antibiotic shots and oral antibiotics. Thank God I have tea, chocolate and magic pills for the crazy. I just wish I'd purchased night time cold medication instead of regular because Noah would sleeping right now instead of taking my very last nerve and running it through a meat grinder. Noah pointed out last night that some animals eat their young when they are ill or injured. I politely declined, I'm mostly vegetarian and he does have some redeeming qualities. Today, I am marveling at the wisdom of some animals.
I am taking a moment, sitting down to drink some tea and on my wall is the following scripture:

Philippians 4:6-7 Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all comprehension, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.

I've probably posted that one before, it does help a lot. Right next to that is a picture of snow, which is soothing to my soul as I love snow more than I can possibly express and miss it so much that each year my soul dies just a little as winter comes and goes and there is nary a flake to be found in this tropical "paradise". Ugh, I think I hear a lung being hacked up, guess I'll go clean that up now.

Sigh.

A Quick Side Trip To Joy

This will be a short post again, now instead of one sick child I'm dealing with two and I'm not feeling fantastic myself. However, I wanted to share my morning passage as it was just so uplifting. As you know I went crazy about six months ago or so, and so joy, hope, peace . . . not in abundance in my house. But every morning I read this morning prayer that is like a dedication of my day, my time and my attention to God. Then I read a praise passage in the bible. A while back I looked up a whole bunch of them and wrote them on an index card. Each morning I look one up and read it. Even the darkest of my days I start with praise to God, it is just plain essential. Today the passage was Romans 15:7 but I kept reading and came to this:

Romans 15:13 May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit. 

I needed that today, and of course God knew that. Not to say I was unhappy - though I've been trying to cut back on the magic pills and I can feel that anxiety slithering around in the back of my brain again - but just that joy, hope, and peace just feel too dangerous. Christmas day was extraordinary in our house this year. For starters, the priest at the church my son attends (Bee and I can't go, obviously, without any form of transport) came out. He was there to bless Bee and he brought two members of RCIA - who were just about two of the nicest people I have ever met. And this priest! First - priests and nuns are like rock stars to me (well, and writers. I'd need smelling salts if I ever met Stephen King or Judy Blume) so the fact that an actual priest was in my home was just so exciting. But this priest! He was so . . . exuberant. He simply radiated energy and joy and, according to my son, he is like that all the time. No wonder my son was willing to walk all that way for mass! So he comes over and blesses Bee. And let me tell you, she was happy and excited. I haven't heard her that vocal in AGES, seriously. She knew. Or maybe Father Mike's absolute joy and love just washed over her. I don't know. All I do know is that she was happy and so was I. Gosh, even Noah was and usually he is deep in the middle of moody teenage angst. But I tell you this because . . . it terrified me. To be that joyful, that hopeful, was frightening. The good days always are, because the bad days are so much worse, so much more of a fall.
Wow, I started this post two hours ago and only am just getting back to it. Apparently a sinus infection and sore throat are equivelant to the Black Plague to 16 year old boys. He keeps saying "Mom, I'm in so much pain, help me!" And I thought . . . didn't his dear friend and mentor give him a shillelagh for Christmas? Hmmm. It IS heavy . . . one good hit in just the right spot would knock him out for hours . . . but I decided against that particular form of pain relief.
Okay, so to make this quick because he'll need me again quite soon and the nurse should be coming for Bee at some point for her daily shot so I'll wrap this up. I'm pretty sure I had a point two hours ago and now I've just lost it. And I hear Noah growling so I must hurry. Joy is a good thing, a gift from God. Much like the child now beating on his bedroom wall crying "Moooooommmm. Moooommmm!"
Back again. Okay, joy is a gift. People that radiate joy like Father Mike are a blessing. And so, on Christmas Day, God was so very present in our apartment through the joy and love of Father Mike, Angie and Tom. Then, they handed us gifts and Christmas cards (which really excited me as I LOVE Christmas cards, I keep them year after year and I have tons of them) and found that they had blessed us even more. When my kids are better I must sit down and write each of them a letter but I do not think there are words to convey how we feel. But I will try. At first, my son and I balked at their kindness, we discussed the most tactful way of declining and returning the bulk of their kindness. We consulted Noah's sponsor/mentor and he told me that I needed to accept their kindness with gratitude and joy, that they would not have been so kind to us if they did not want to be. I felt selfish at the thought of allowing this, and we discussed it at length.
Oh good heavens, he's banging on his wall again. Okay - joy is good. Scary but good. It is a gift from God. Plus, there are people out there that have the gift for spreading joy just by their very presence and we were so blessed Christmas Day. Now I must finish because I have a shillelagh to find. . .

God's In Charge of the Time Table, Thankfully - Cause I'm Always Running Late

This is just a quick post of thanksgiving. Something that I have dreaded happened today and God just made things work out well. I took my magic pills but I hardly needed them, God was amazing. He has perfect timing. Weeks ago a friend of mine that usually visits on Sundays couldn't because her truck wouldn't start - turns out two days later she was at the ER because she was very sick and very contagious! I put off hanging my wreath all day one day and when I finally did I was in the right place at the right time to see my elderly neighbor needed help (we ended up calling an ambulance for her). God's got amazing timing! But this has to be short because the nurse is coming to give Bee a shot. Prayers please, that this course of treatment works. We want to get her to her 21st birthday in January (the 6th, Epiphany) and beyond!!!!

Psalm 95:2-3 Let us come before Him with thanksgiving and extol Him with music and song. For the Lord is the great God, the great King above all gods.

What The Dickens?!

The train is pulling into a train yard today - total chaos. My brain is going in a million different directions and the magic pills are only helping so much.
First things first - my Bee is very ill and not getting better. I know that we've been so blessed to have nearly 21 years already, but I suppose I am selfish and want more time. I'm not foolish enough to think I'll get another full year, I understand that. But I'm hoping for a few more months, maybe until I'm sane again. I don't think I could handle her passing in the best of times, right now during my unfortunate dip into the crazy pool, I think it would do me in. However, she had such a treat just a few days ago! We love the Beekman 1802 Boys and they wished her a Merry Christmas and even showed a painting she had done for them on their 24 hour live marathon! She was so cheered by that! And on Christmas day, Father Mike and some of the others from the church are going to come and bless her. The doctor is calling in a nurse for daily antibiotic shots. And today, my morning scripture was uplifting and hopeful and just perfectly timed:

James 5:13-15 Is any one of you in trouble? He should pray. Is anyone happy? Let him sing songs of praise Is any one of you sick? He should call the elders of the church to pray over him and anoint him with oil in the name of the Lord. And the prayer offered in faith will make the sick person well; the Lord will raise him up. If he has sinned, he will be forgiven.

Second things - my crazy. You know, I think the most frustrating thing about the panic, the anxiety is that there is no logic to it. You can sit yourself down and think clearly, logically, and yet it makes not one whit of difference. Knowing that you are fixating on something foolishly does not help, thinking it through does not help. For example, I am anxious about my fridge, for starters. I am constantly afraid it is going to break down. Every time it turns off I find my heart racing, checking the clock, waiting till it turns on again. Now I didn't just fixate for no reason, the temp fluctuates, it began making a worrisome buzzing sound, it makes all manner of loud and scary noises. And also, if it broke down and our food went bad, I have no means to replace the food to feed Noah. That terrifies me. I also have panic attacks about the rest of the apartment. I can't use my dryer anymore because apparently the vent that runs through my bedroom ceiling must be broken somewhere because the condensation of the drying clothes has been leaking from the ceiling and also you can hear it dripping into the walls - the complex dismissed it, apparently it happens in several apartments. So now I hang all my clothes to dry and just fluff them in the dryer. About a year ago our floors developed hills and valleys practically overnight. Again, apparently something not to worry about. But I do. I worry that this place is going to fall apart and we will be homeless again. That thought terrifies me more than I can express. In fact, that was about the time I started getting the little cracks in my sanity. I have a friend that prays for my fridge every day. Isn't that lovely? She embraces my crazy and prays about my fridge just because.

Thirds - I'm 42 today. I've been watching old episodes of the British comedy "Are You Being Served" and in one episode a man tells Mrs. Slocombe that he wants to buy a dress. She asked the age range and he says younger forties (that'd be where I'm at) and Mrs. Slocombe tells Ms. Brahms to get something from the "younger middle age category". Younger MIDDLE AGE???? That's where I'm at now? Middle age? How did that happen? I was 19 just YESTERDAY. And now I'm middle aged. I don't mind, so much, it's just that I had so many hopes and dreams and it feels like it is too late for them now. Like I'm an apple that fell off the tree and rolled under a bush and now I'm just drying out and if anyone ever happens to find me I'll look like one of those carved dried apples that look like little old ladies and they'll toss me back down again and that will be that.

Fourth - I've been thinking about my "friends". The ones mentioned before. Last night I found myself crying over them. All of it hurt, the things they said, the way they just walked away, the awful phone call from one of them saying terrible things but, mostly, the fact that not one of them chose to defend me. Oh drama llama. I miss them and I find myself crying over them more often than I care to. I'm not angry, just so hurt and confused. Who CHOOSES to become ill in any way, mental or physical?? No one would choose to have their brain turn on them like this, to feel like this all the time! I didn't choose this.

Fifth - how could I be so blind, me - the lover of Dickens? Me, who can quote A Christmas Carol practically line for line? Last night Bee and I were watching Patrick Stewart's film version - much darker than our usual preferences (Mickey's Christmas Carol and A Muppet's Christmas Carol) but quite good. I looked over at our Advent wreath and thought about how upset I've been, not being able to get my kids or anyone else what  I'd like to buy them. Worrying about stuff. Stuff! I lit my "miracle candle" and said a prayer of thanksgiving for all the miracles, but especially the miracle of the birth of Christ. I thought about that for a long time. Because we aren't really just celebrating the birth of Christ. We are celebrating the love of God, the love that Jesus also has for us. That they both chose - chose freely and without hesitation - to make such sacrifices for us all. God knew that Jesus would suffer loneliness, pain, fear, so many terrible things. And Jesus understood that as well. And yet they both chose love anyway. Why one Earth am I worried about foolish things like what I can afford to purchase when I should be showing my love and care daily to my children, to the people around us. God authored a whole book just to tell me that, sent His Son to show me that, inspired Dickens to write about it in the most lyrical, moving story ever written. Stuff is just stuff. It comes, it goes, we don't really need stuff. We need God, Jesus, each other. I'm rambling, I know. It's just that I found myself staring at the screen, at Capt. Picard as Scrooge laughing and frolicking because he finally realized it - Christmas is a feeling. Christmas is every single day. Christmas comes to us even without trees, decorations, presents (come to think of it, Dr. Seuss had it, as well). Christmas is an attitude, one of gratitude, humility, love, charity, compassion and thanksgiving and it should rule our hearts daily. It is not a season, a particular day of the year, it is choice every single day to look at the people around us with love NO MATTER WHAT. No matter that they might be unkind to you, or rude. No matter that they might hurt you. No matter that you are tired and broken. No matter what because we are all beloved children of God - every single person you see is a beloved child of God and someone that God sent His son to suffer and die for. God had to watch all that, you know. As a parent I think about that, about God watching it all and standing by His choice to love us, watching with pride that Jesus daily made that same choice despite everything.

I may or may not post again before Christmas Day. If I don't I wish you a Merry Christmas and implore you to remember that Christmas is a daily act of love to everyone you meet, the whole year 'round. And I'll leave you with this, for comfort and inspiration, as it is one of my favorites. Remember as you read it that this is what God and Jesus offer you, and what they want you to offer to others - love and peace:

Matthew 11: 28-30 Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.

Is There An Infirmary Car On This Train?

Since nobody actually reads this blog I guess I can really consider it a diary, lol. Except for the (according to my stats) occasional Russian citizen (I thank you and promise I'm not a typical example of your average American). So I'm going to divulge a bit of information that I've shared with absolutely no one, not even my doctor yet. And not my doctor because she ordered an MRI many months ago and I had a bit of a claustrophobia issue (I practically clawed my way out of the machine, hysterical) and had to reschedule. Which I haven't done yet because at the time of the MRI debacle I hadn't fully realized that I was developing a full blown anxiety disorder. And although I'm being treated with semi magic pills for that, and was given a special magic pill to take for the MRI, the thought of going into that tube again freaks me out. I can't even handle the idea of that little cage thing they put over your face. That was actually when I started to panic last time. And so, until I can pluck up the courage to reschedule (yes, I'll do it soon, I know it needs to be done) and then get the energy to walk down there (I'm so tired lately) there is no point in telling my doctor my secret because she would say "Well, we really do need a good look at your brain, my dear." And then she'd give me that look like she's disappointed in me. So until then I will keep it to myself. Well, except for putting it out here on the internet. Which will largely go unnoticed. But it is kind of like gifts. When I buy a gift for someone it must be last minute because otherwise I can't wait and keep quiet until they open it, it drives me crazy. I want to see them open it and be happy so I badger them with hints and basically make gift getting for others an absolute nightmare because I am terrible at secrets. Now, I'll keep them, if I give you my word I'll keep it, but you can just be sure it will drive me nuts. So here is my secret: I have begun to develop small little signs that my lupus has moved into the neurological arena. When they first diagnosed me with lupus after my son was born I was shocked. The only thing I knew about lupus was what I'd seen in that movie Gross Anatomy and that wasn't good! But the doctor said that mine was mostly causing a lot of inflammation and that with a healthy diet, exercise, I'd be fine. I believed him and so for years I just kind of went on with life. As we get older we all get aches and pains, right? By the time I was really sick and in a lot of pain and found a good doctor my SED rate was over 100. It still hovers around 40, no matter what I do. And for several years it has mostly been joint pain and mild arthritis issues, some very mild kidney issues, just general icky feeling, a constant feeling of being tired and a LOT of weight gain from the Prednisone. And I know that I've been lucky, lots of women have suffered far worse with their lupus. But lately I've been having other symptoms and I know that although my life seems to be at a standstill (in Crazy Town, no less) my lupus is marching forward at a slow but steady pace. I just had to put it out there. I could never tell my son, he has enough to deal with. Besides, I just have one more year of his childhood and then he is officially an adult. Some nights I weep for all the things I wish I could give him. And not really things, experiences. Without a car we can't even go to the grocery store together, one of us must always watch my daughter. We haven't been out together to do anything other than walking to doctor appointments or the hospital in about four years. So many things I wanted to do with him, so much lost time. And really, he is such an extraordinary young man, he deserves the best. But in a year and one month he'll be an adult and rush off to live his life his way. My daughter will probably be gone by then, her health has been fading the last year or so and in the last six months she has been almost constantly ill. Once they are both gone I wonder sometimes if I will just . . . fade away? I have two friends, and they have busy lives of their own. So I wonder if one day one of them would say to themselves "Hmm. Didn't I used to know this one kind of annoying woman named . . . ?" and then the moment would pass and I'd find myself just a wisp of nothingness.
When my daughter was diagnosed nearly 21 years ago, I didn't understand what this life would be. When my husband left us, I did, and I made a choice. I didn't realize we'd end up living below the poverty level, but I knew it would be tough and that my life would become very small. I made that choice, to keep my daughter with me so that she would always be in a loving home, always know comfort and kind voices, never be afraid (except for lately we've had to go to the doctor for a lot of antibiotic shots and she'd beginning to flinch when she hears the nurse, poor thing). Point is, I knew that my circle would grow smaller and smaller, just not this small. My son, however, is finally starting to widen his circle, and that makes me excited. I want so much for him. I don't care if he makes lots of money, or becomes "successful" in some sort of career, I just want him to be happy, to be kind, to always be compassionate, charitable, and always open minded and fair. Rich would be nice, mind you. I'd like to eventually end up in a place as nice as the one Shawn was in in that one episode of Psych - although I'm still holding out for Star Trek type medical developments, lol.
Wow, I'm rambling. This train is just going on and on today isn't it? No logical stops, sorry. I think the conductor is taking a nap.
My point is, my anxiety is high, my lupus is getting a little rowdy, my daughter is very sick, my son is moody, I'm turning 42 in a few days and like most years the day will pass pretty much unnoticed even though I have this secret hope (okay, not secret now but who in Russia is going to tell?) that someone would one day make an actual big deal of my birthday. You know, cake, ice cream, a present, a hug (silly, I know). I've a few bills I can't pay this month and Christmas is nearly here. And then New Years, which always makes me sad anyway and people will insist on singing Auld Lang Syne which ALWAYS makes me bawl like a baby. Doesn't anyone else realize that song is SAD? How the heck did it become the song we sing to bring in a hopeful new year???
Wow, rambling again. Okay, to a point. Well . . . I don't have a point. I'm writing till the Goody's Headache Powder kicks in and my head hurts a little less. Okay, point. Hmmm. Well, I guess in the end my point is that God is here. Even though my life has gotten very small, even though I'm tired, sad, anxious, hurting physically and emotionally, even though it seems I've been forgotten, God really is still here. The other day when something terrible happened and I was crying a lovely friend told me that no matter what, God loves me. Even if my circle is so small it becomes a black hole, and I fade away, God still loves me. Even if another year passes and no one notices. Even if someone does something terrible to me and no one stands up for me and says "Hey, you can't hurt my friend like that!" Even if my son is almost out of his boyhood and I rarely catch those little glimpses of my baby anymore. Even if my daughter has only a little while left with us. Even if . . . oh, a lot of things. Sometimes, we need to come to the understanding that if all we have is the love of God, we have enough. If we have the love of God, we have a cup that is overflowing. So I'll stop my silly rambling and leave you with this:

Romans 8:39 . . . neither height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.

And just how much love is that?

Ephesians 3:18 . . . may have power, together will all the saints, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ. 

Rumbling Along The Tracks Through The Empty Wastelands

Last night something awful happened to me. It was so unexpected, so shocking, I've been so stunned, so hurt. As a little girl, and then as a wife, fear was a daily companion. I learned to read all the signs, to see what mood my stepmother, and later my husband, was in. Their anger would . . . shrink me. I would grow still inside, smaller, I suppose I was trying to fade away. I've been feeling that since last night, that stillness. I feel like I've been scooped out and left empty, I can't even seem to hold a thought in my head for long, I find myself drifting off.
I walked to the grocery store today. I had a perfectly lovely offer of a ride but after the terrible things that were said to me, I felt uncomfortable allowing someone to do me such a favor, no matter how sincere their offer. So I made the five mile round trip in the heat, honestly with nothing in my head for the entire walk there, just scooped out and empty, like I said. Still inside, and broken. The walk back was a bit harder, I had three cases of bottled water (the water here is awful and stuff is floating in it) in my little "little old lady cart" and the weight was hard to push. At one point I paused and looked up at the sky that was partly cloudy and saw a darker cloud in the distance with such a lovely rainbow. I thanked God for such an unexpected moment of joy and moved on. A little while later, I had to pause again. And there it was, moving along with me, that dark cloud with a lovely rainbow. As I walked for several minutes it seemed to keep pace with me and I began to feel hope. Hope that God loves me, that things will be okay. Then . . . it rained on me. Talk about mixed signals. I tried to cover things that needed covering in my little cart and by the time I was finished with that the rain had already stopped. I kept moving forward but soon hit a hole in the sidewalk and, because of the weight of the water, one of the front tires broke. I tried to fix it but it was no use. I was still nearly two miles from home. The only thing to do was to turn it around behind me, tilt it on the back wheels and pull. There were several times I didn't think I'd make it home, and the arthritis in my hands and hip was just screaming at me. By the strength of God and nothing more I got home.
I still have that scooped out and empty feeling, and all I want to do right now is push everyone away, keep them away, so that I won't get hurt anymore. For a few hours, I was even pushing God away. But by the time I had showered, given Bee her breathing treatment, made dinner for Noah and finally got a chance to sit and read my bible, I realized that God loves me, period. He loves everyone, no matter what we do, no matter who we are. And considering the fact that my life is so small I should cling to that love as it is the only sure love and acceptance I can depend on.
So as I was reading my bible I realized that I needed to just let go what happened, the terrible and hurtful things that were said, and to fill that emptiness with as much love as I can. That was when I ran across a passage in my bible that I have highlighted, and read often:

Colossians 3:12-17 Therefore, as God's chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience. Bear with each other and forgive whatever grievances you may have against one another. Forgive as the Lord forgave you. And over all of these virtues put on love, which binds them all together in perfect unity. Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, since as members of one body you were called to peace. And be thankful. Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly as you teach and admonish one another with all wisdom, and as you sing psalms, hymns and spiritual songs with gratitude in your hearts to God. And whatever you do, whether in word or deed, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him.

I suppose I don't have a point to this post, I just felt like getting it all out. Scooping out any bitterness, hurt and anger that was filling up the empty space so that I can fill it with love, forgiveness, kindness and thanksgiving. And so, tonight (Xanax already taken, anxiety slightly at bay for a few hours) I will try to fall asleep with only good thoughts, with gratitude for my blessings, and perhaps with a small bit of hope at the bottom of all of that emptiness. For anybody that might ever read this - and according to my stats so far that is one American and three or four Russians for some crazy reason - I wish you a peaceful night tonight and a heart that is full of joy and hope. I know hope can be scary, but grab on with both hands tightly anyway.

Little Moments of Joy

Last year I purchased a calendar at the Dollar Tree. The title was "Country Living" and every single month was a treat. I put it on the wall in front of the little folding table I use as a desk and have found myself staring at it a lot, daydreaming. There are two sides to me, the woman that wants to own a little Victorian cottage in town within walking distance to my two bookstores (Yes, two. One big, magical one for kids and another that's like an old fashioned study for mystery books). I love the fantasy of that little life, how I'd wear a costume every day for work - costume depending upon which store I was at that day. Walking to a little cafe for lunch, the kids and I taking a walk after dinner to the local ice cream parlor. Tree lined neighborhood that I usually imagine in full autumn bloom or blanketed with winter snow. There is this other side of me, though, that longs to return to the farm life. I grew up on a farm, we were very poor. We grew everything we ate and I'll tell you I cried through many of my dinners as I knew I was eating a friend. And I never learned because, as a lonely child, I looked for friends everywhere and that included the chickens and cows. My farm would have four seasons and lots of activities for the community. Flowers, vegetables, fruits, a pumpkin patch, Christmas trees, making our own soaps, candles, cheeses, jams and jellies, all the stuff I did as a kid (though we just had a little farm and grew only enough for our large family, nothing commercial). This calendar brought all those dreams back to me. Each month I'd stare at the picture and daydream. When I'd say my prayers at night I'd wish that life could be, for everyone, as simple, charming and carefree as it was for the people in the pictures. I got a great deal of joy out of that dollar calendar.
Since crazy has set up shop in my brain, I've found myself afraid of joy, even little moments. They make the bad days so much harder because for a little while I felt almost normal. I suppose that sounds silly, I suppose, as we should be on the lookout for joyful moments and savor them. And though I fight them, I've had a few things that have made me smile, given me a few moments of peace. For example, old episodes of Newhart. I'm not big on celebrities but I think I'd babble like an idiot if I ever got the chance to meet Bob Newhart. He's gotten me through some dark moments lately. Reruns of The Facts of Life, Golden Girls, Designing Women, Scooby Doo (yeah yeah, but it makes me laugh so what the heck). I never used to be a tv watcher, I'd rather read. And there have been a few books that have given me some laughs, a few moments of joy and peace. Thornyhold by Mary Stewart - this is my "security blanket" book. The Cobbs Landing cozy series by Kate Borden. The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society by  Mary Anne Shaffer - I cried a bit, too, but it was a heartwarming book. The Bucolic Plague by Josh Kilmer-Purcell had me laughing so hard. I read The Sugar Queen by Sarah Addison Allen half a dozen times, it just was such a feel good book. The daily devotions on the InTouch Ministries website. My son found me crying one day and gave me a hug and hugs from moody 16 year old boys are hard to come by. I held on so tight and it was such a balm. Sometimes Bee will wake herself up because she laughs so hard in her sleep and that is a joy to watch. My son played two board games with me a few nights ago and I savored every single moment. That first sip of tea in the morning. A couple of evenings lately that were so chilly it almost felt like autumn - which my soul misses so much. Mickey's Christmas Carol (my favorite version, don't judge). Listening to my son laugh in his room, talking to a friend on Skype. The ducks on the pond when I walk to the doctor. A tiny little bird I saw today on the walk back home, that took tiny little hops and could have fit in the palm of my hand with plenty of room leftover. There was something magical about that little bird and I found myself smiling as I stopped to watch it. I was too tired to walk all the way to the pharmacy and when I called to tell them I'd have to pick up my antibiotic on Monday they insisted on dropping it off (they are lovely at that pharmacy, I'm telling you). I waited outside as twilight swept through the sky and the first star came out. I haven't wished on the first star of evening in a long time and there it was, just waiting for my wish. A short video of a tree, in full autumn dress, with a musical breeze playing through the leaves that was so healing. My friend that prays for my refrigerator because that darn thing breaking down is one of the illogical focuses of my crazy.
Little moments of joy. They are all around us, everywhere. You don't even have to look for them, they find you. Even when you've taken up residence on crazy island, they still find you. Pestering you like a little toddler that can't understand why you shut the bathroom door and would like to pee in peace for ten seconds, those little fingers reaching under the door, wiggling around, searching for you.
When one of those moments find me, I realize that God wants us to be happy. I see a lot of sour Christians (my mother can be one of them). They live their lives by "Don't". But look around, God put so many extraordinary things in our lives, from the tiny little wren to the first twinkling star to the velvety petals of a flower, He clearly wants us to embrace joy. To laugh, to dance, to look around at this extraordinary world and see all the little touches He added just to make us smile.
In the movie Pollyanna she tells the Reverend that there are 800 "glad texts" in the bible, and that if God went to that much trouble to tell us to be happy, we ought to be. Now, deep in the land of crazy and anxiety, happy can be elusive but, as I said, it finds you in little moments you don't expect. It isn't a decision, it is a charm, a blessing, a surprise around the corner. And maybe I'm crazy (ha ha) but I think God set it up to be like that. For "normal" people that don't struggle with mental health issues, happiness really is a choice. But for some of us, no matter how much you stand up, wave your arms in the air and scream "Me! Me!" happiness seems elusive - but not completely lost. Like I said, I think God set up those little moments of joy just for us, to remind us that there is so much more, that we will be okay, that there is a light at the end of the tunnel, just give it a little time.
Taking Pollyanna up on her boast, I decided to do a little search of the bible to find a few of those "glad texts".

Psalm 16:9 Therefore my heart is glad and my tongue rejoices; my body also will rest secure.

Psalm 90:14 Satisfy us in the morning with your unfailing love, that we may sing for joy and be glad all our days.

Psalm 4:7 You have filled my heart with greater joy than when their grain and new wine abound.

1 Chronicles 16:27 Strength and majesty are before him; strength and joy are in his dwelling place.

1 Thessalonians 5:16 Be joyful always

Romans 15:13 May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.

John 15:11 I have told you this so that my joy may be in you and that your joy may be complete.

There are a lot more, obviously, but I think the point is clear - God wants us to be happy so much so that He pointed it out a lot and He plants little moments of joy in our lives in unexpected places. So even if you are drowning sometimes, even if there is anxiety and depression slithering around in your brain just waiting to strike, there is still joy. Remember that. Allow that. And thank God for them, because basically they are God saying "Hey, I see you. I hear you. You matter. YOU MATTER."

God Loves You . . . Do you?

Today's post will be short - a change from my usual rambles. My neighbor is a lovely, hardworking divorced mother of two. Her children are kind, polite, and her eldest has a part time job in addition to completing his final year of high school. Her youngest makes a special effort to check up on our elderly neighbor and always has a sunny smile for everyone. Although I tend to keep to myself I have spoken with her on a number of occasions and like her very much. She is, like most of us struggling financially, utterly and completely weary. You can see it in her eyes, the distant idea that life was supposed to turn out differently. She has given me a ride to the store several times, and I can see that she offers kindness to anyone that needs it.
About a week ago she put a Christmas wreath on her door. I thought it was a lovely wreath, very festive, and reminded me that I needed to do the same. I couldn't afford to purchase one so I made a wreath from scraps of garland, tinsel and ornaments and hung it up. Standing outside I looked at mine, and then hers and had the thought that anyone looking at the two would clearly think mine looked terrible and clearly hand made and cheap. I wanted to take it down but didn't - after all, it was all I could afford and I'd done my best. It was made with hope, anyway, and that would have to be enough.
A few days later we had to call an ambulance for our elderly neighbor (that will go in another post as it, and another incident, clearly demonstrated to me that God had great timing). After the ambulance had taken her away we spoke for several minutes and she brought up our wreaths. She told me that after I put mine up she felt embarrassed to have hers up, she thought mine was so much nicer. I stared at her in astonishment for a moment and then I laughed till I cried while she looked at me a little worriedly.
Do you see what we do to ourselves??? WHY are we so hard on ourselves? Why can't we love ourselves? Why must we measure ourselves against others? Against our long ago dreams? We measure ourselves with faulty rulers, I assure you. The only measurement should be the love of God and I can promise you have it, fully and completely.

Psalm 139:14 I will give thanks to you because I have been so miraculously and amazingly made. You're works are miraculous and my soul is fully aware of this.

Psalm 136:26 Give thanks to the God of heaven, for his steadfast love lasts forever.

Humility - But It's Not What You Think.

     I didn't grow up with my mother. I have a few memories of her, but my parents divorced and my father took my brothers and I when I was four or five. The few memories I have of her are not great. My mother had mental health issues. I didn't understand how much she must have suffered and struggled until recently. I went to live with her briefly as a teenager but moved into my own apartment fairly quickly. My mother, because of her overwhelming guilt about the kind of mother she was - or wasn't - is very emotionally needy. I left my husband once, when my kids were very little, and she let us live with her for a very, very long six month (Yes, I went back to him. Yes, it was stupid.) We have maintained a phone relationship and I have always hoped that someday we might live closer so that we can develop a deeper relationship. I've really always wanted a mother, the kind that fit in with all of those daydreams as a child. As an adult I realize that is unrealistic and I'd just like to be friends, at least. We hadn't seen each other in ten years when she came down for a visit this summer. Time rushes past us and sometimes it passes like a whirling dervish. What I didn't expect when I opened the door was a little old lady in sensible shoes and clutching a little old lady handbag. We spent time talking, she got a chance to get to know my son. She had budgeted her money carefully for the trip with the intention of purchasing dinner for each of her children. Noah loves pizza so she insisted that we order pizza, her treat. After I ordered the pizza I told her how much it would be and she reached into her purse to pull out her change purse. It was . . . a shock . . . to see my little old lady of a mother hunched over her little change purse counting out change to give us this treat. She was so pleased to do it and she was smiling as she counted out her bills and coins. I don't know why the moment was such a moving experience for me, but I wanted to cry. For her, for the past, for everyone whose life is changed by mental illness and shoulder losses the rest of us cannot comprehend. For all the guilt she carries, for the belief - no matter what I say - that I resent her for the things that happened when I was a child. But I don't, I never did. I always knew that parents were just people with baggage doing the best they could. My mom just did the best she could. I've learned lately that sometimes just surviving the day, the night, and not succumbing to that seductive voice in the darkness that tells you to just let go is a monumental act of strength. I guess in that moment I saw my mother very clearly, as a little old lady clutching desperately the broken pieces of her soul, as a weary woman with a lot of tattered dreams she takes out sometimes and sighs over with longing and tears. As she was leaving she had trouble putting her shoes on. I got down on my knees and helped her. It was one of the most profound moments of my life, kneeling before my mother and putting her shoes on her feet. Although I'm used to caretaking (Bee will be 21 soon and I do everything from changing her diaper to reading to her) this was a different experience. It was humbling, a lesson in humility I never expected. I was so grateful for every single second on my knees helping my mother with her shoes.
     I think about that moment often. It was, perhaps, the most intimate experience I've ever had with my mother, with anyone. And for the second time in my life I found that a word I thought I understood was completely redefined: humility. When most people think of that word they associate it with humiliation but I'm not talking about the time I got up to sing in front of my entire junior high school in a white dress having finally, unbeknownst to me, gotten a visit from my "friend". Or singing at the county fair with a friend and from the second I got up on that stage I stood frozen and uttered not a sound, moved not an inch, just stood there like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming semi filled with laughing people. Or even the time my then five year old son mispronounced the word crocheting (think about it) in front of a group of little old ladies from a church group. Or, most humiliating of all, the time I stood like an "X" in front of the men's room door at the bookstore the first time my son used a public bathroom all by himself and, with my back to the door, called over my shoulder to the person I thought was my son opening the door "Wow, that took a while, did you need to poop?" and it turned out to be the most gorgeous man on the entire planet rather than my little son.
     I'm talking about something else. The dictionary defines the word humility as having a modest or low opinion of oneself. But the bible gives us a different definition. In fact, Jesus gives us an amazing example of humility in John 13: 3 - 17:

Jesus knew that the Father had put all things under his power, and that he had come from God and was returning to God; so he got up from the meal, took off his outer clothing, and wrapped a towel around his waist. After that, he poured water into a basin to wash his disciples' feet, drying them with the towel that was wrapped around him. He came to Simon Peter, who said to him, "Lord, are you going to wash my feet?" 

Jesus replied, "You do not realize now what I am doing, but later you will understand." 

"No," said Peter, "you shall never wash my feet." 

Jesus answered, "Unless I wash you, you have no part with me." 

"Then, Lord," Simon Peter replied, "not just my feet but my hands and head as well!"

Jesus answered, "A person who has had a bath needs only to wash his feet; his whole body is clean. And you are clean, though not every one of you." For he knew who was going to betray him, and that was why he said not everyone was clean. When he finished washing their feet, he put on his clothes and returned to his place. "Do you understand what I have done for you?" he asked them. "You call me 'Teacher' and 'Lord', and rightly so, for that is what I am. Now that I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also should wash one another's feet. I have set you an example that you should do as I have done for you. I tell you the truth, no servant is greater than his master, nor is a messenger greater than the one who sent him. Now that you know these things, you will be blessed if you do them."

     Jesus wasn't humiliated to get down on his hands and knees and wash the feet of others. It wasn't a humiliating experience, but one of love and giving, and a teaching moment for not just the disciples, but for all of us. Humility is not about having a low opinion of yourself, or doing something demeaning. Humility is about giving of yourself without a single thought of what you'll get out of it. It is true charity wrapped in absolute love and kindness, without selfishness or judgement.
     We are getting very close to Christmas and, as Dickens noted in A Christmas Carol, this is a time people feel a little more kindness toward one another:

". . . the only time I know of in the long calendar of the year, when men and women seem by one consent to open their shut-up hearts freely, and to think of people below them as if they really were fellow-passengers to the grave, and not another race of creatures bound on other journeys."

     As I've grown older I've come to realize that Christmas is about humility. Not presents, not decorations, not shopping and sales. Those things are nice. But those things aren't what Christmas is all about. Christmas is about following the example of Christ with humility and extending that attitude to each day of the year. Because, to quote Dickens and A Christmas Carol again "Mankind was my business! The common welfare was my business; charity, mercy, forbearance, and benevolence, were all my business. The dealings of my trade were but a drop of water in the comprehensive ocean of my business!"

     When I was a kid the expression "Jesus is the reason for the season" was very popular. There were bookmarks, magnets, pins, buttons, shirts, posters, stickers, it was everywhere. And although it eventually grew a bit stale from overuse it was then, nevertheless, and continues to be, true.

Matthew 20:28 . . . just as the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve . . .

Not exactly a Norman Rockwell painting

Today, instead of blessings, I've been counting Xanax. I guess it is reassuring to know that I have enough . . . if I need enough. My daughter has pneumonia, my son isn't feeling well and I instead of turkey and all the trimmings I bought prescriptions for the kids and cold meds. I did make sure we had our usual chocolate pecan pie, though. It is my son's favorite part of Thanksgiving anyway. This is one of those days where time seems to meander, to stroll along at a Sunday drive pace and by mid afternoon it has become unbearable. I used to dream of big family gatherings. In the deepest parts of my heart all I ever hoped for was a husband that loved me, a big extended family to gather together on holidays. I guess I wanted a Norman Rockwell picture. It's funny, that is what my ex-husband got. He was an unkind husband at best, has been an absent and selfish father, but today he is gathered with his family having a big, wonderful, noisy family feast. I'm struggling so much not to be angry today with him, to ask God why it worked out this way? Why he gets a big, lovely house and we have an apartment that has so many issues? Why he has two personal vehicles and a work vehicle and we walk everywhere? Why he, who has spent his life focused only on himself, always has plenty while we usually do without?
I suppose I'm just tired today. My lupus is flaring, my anxiety is off the charts, my depression is digging in. I know that we have so many more blessings than many people. I know that, I truly do. But today I feel like I'm failing my son in so many ways and it hurts. Today everything hurts.
However, if anybody actually reads this, I hope that you are having a wonderful Thanksgiving. I pray that your day is filled with family and friends, lots of delicious food and that you are making wonderful memories.
As for me, I will hold on to this and hope to get through the day. If anyone out there is lonely, and sad, maybe this will help them as well:

John 16:33 I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.

This Train Does Not Stop For Black Friday Shopping

     We go off on all sorts of tangents here, little adventures we'll call them, on this train ride through my mind. We make lots of stops, most recently to crazy town, a stop I have not been a particular fan of but it seems to be a regular stop on the schedule so I'm learning to deal. But there is one thing darker than my depression, something so vile and repugnant you can be assured it is not on this train schedule: Black Friday.
     I despise Black Friday. Every single year you hear about some poor soul killed by rampaging crowds desperate to get a deal on a TV or a computer or a whatever. A thing. A thing worth far more than the lives and safety of our fellow man, apparently. It is shameful, simply shameful. On Thanksgiving we gather together with family and friends, our hearts near to bursting with joy for all the blessings in our lives. And then the next day we go out and act like maniacs because we want more. More, more, more.
     Now, I'm not immune to wanting more. Good heavens no. Frankly, I'd like more clothes. I own exactly three shirts, three pairs of pants, three pairs of undergarments and one bra and all so worn they are close to falling apart. I'd like a bed. Sometimes I complain about my air mattress. It isn't all that comfortable and it just sucks up all the cold air and keeps it there until I am both cold and clammy. I'd love about a million more books. I'd really love a vehicle. None of our specialists are withing walking distance, nor is there a pediatrician within walking distance and the grocery store is a very long, hot walk. And the list could just go on and on. I've a pintrest board full of things I'd like to have so no, I'm not immune to the "More, more, more" attitude. But one day I was complaining about my air mattress. Now, on this air mattress every night are clean sheets and a blanket, a firm pillow. And while it isn't the most comfortable thing to sleep on I have had to sleep on the floor when I'm in between air mattresses (they only last about six months with continuous use) and the air mattress is practically a bed fit for a Queen compared to the floor. But, anyway, I was complaining. My back hurt, I wished I had a "real" bed. And then I saw this video:

     I felt so ashamed of myself. Basically, I live in luxury. The fridge is driving me crazy, the floors have hills and valleys, there are dripping sounds in the walls that freak me out, it isn't safe to go out after dark, but I also have a clean home with safe drinking water, a very convenient bathroom with hot and cold running clean water, a kitchen usually filled with food, three outfits, a comfortable pair of shoes, a doctor and insurance, medications to treat my lupus, books to read and tea to drink, all of these things are luxuries. I get up and go about my day and how often do I appreciate any of these things, really? When my bed breaks and I can't afford a new one for a few days or when the grocery money runs out before the end of the month. And then, aha! Realization for a brief moment, that those things are blessings. 

     There are a few things we do need more of, a few things that an attitude of "more, more, more" would finally work in our favor: love, compassion, gratitude. Tonight as I was reading my bible I came across a few verses that put me in mind of Thanksgiving, Black Friday, and our ever increasing desire for more things we don't really need.

Colossians 3:12-17 Therefore, as God's chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience. Bear with each other and forgive whatever grievances you may have against one another. Forgive as the Lord forgave you. And over all these virtues put on love, which binds them all together in perfect unity. Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, since as members of one body you were called to peace. And be thankful. Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly as you teach and admonish one another with all wisdom, and you sing psalms, hymns, and spiritual songs with gratitude in your hearts to God. And whatever you do, whether in word or in deed, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him.

     So the day after our day of giving thanks, let's do something radical. Let's look around at all we have and say "I have enough things." Then, be thankful all over again . It's okay to be thankful two days in a row. In fact, it's okay to be thankful every single day! And instead of running out to save a little money one something you don't really need, take a moment to enjoy all you already have. Don't go out to your nearest store and wrestle some old lady for the last $10 bread maker, or shove people to the ground to get a plasma TV for half off. Is it worth it? It that something to be proud of? Over things???

     This makes me think of another passage in the bible that, frankly, I'm too tired to dig for. I've just taken a little of my crazy meds (the fridge, the dripping . . . I'm in full pre-panic mode) so I'm getting a little sleepy and I'm going to crawl onto my air mattress and get some sleep soon, thankful to have it. But the gist of the passage was that every single person you meet is wholly and completely loved by God. They may have a different color skin than you, they may worship differently than you, they may not like sci-fi (there are actually people out there that don't - go figure), they may have a different sexual orientation, they may even think chocolate is awful (I don't actually believe such a person exists, I'm just throwing it out there though cause that would mean that person would be so completely different than me that they might as well come from a distant planet where everyone loves lima beans). There are a lot of differences, but in the end every single person you meet is loved by God, created by God just as they are and deserving of love, respect, kindness, patience and compassion as you are. They do not deserve to be called rude names, pushed, shoved, kicked, humiliated, threatened or injured because the things you want more of are of less value than the things you truly need. So stay on the train with me this Friday. Yes, it's still the Crazy Train (sing the song, you know you want to) and no there aren't a lot of deals to wrap up and shove under your tree on the train. There's chocolate. There's also hope, love, and a whole lot of thanksgiving and praise. You can't wrap them up and put them under your tree, but they are free and I promise they will enhance your life way more than a plasma TV or a smart phone. 

Still Riding The Crazy Train But The View Ain't Bad

So remember when I said I'd kind of gone off the deep end? Yeah well that was an understatement. I'm still there, riding the crazy train, barely treading water at the deep end of the pool, I'm living in a world without chocolate or books or green tea. . . . you get the bleak picture. Point is, this isn't something that just goes away. And looking back I can see that I started developing little cracks as far back as a year ago. Nobody else really noticed and I just thought lack of sleep and money, Bee's health, my son's depression and explosions, lack of transportation, lupus, and female issues were all conspiring together to make things a little tougher. And that is all certainly true. But it was something else, something deeper and I went a little crazy. Well, am a little crazy. And by the way, don't be offended. I'm from the South and crazy is a perfectly acceptable thing to be. I mean, don't you watch the news? ALL the crazy stuff happens in Florida which is because, I assume, per capita, we have more crazy people. I think it's the heat. And using the word "crazy" allows for a little levity. However, as a mother of a child that is, as defined by her diagnosis, mentally retarded I can understand if someone gets a little offended. After all, I've been known to go all mad cow on anyone I hear using the word "retard". So I get it but I promise, I'm not being derogatory.

So back to my point. I'm crazy and I'm now on crazy pills. They help a little but they make me sleepy. Now, lupus makes me sleepy. My heart defect makes me sleepy. The extra weight I've put on from the prednisone to treat my lupus makes me tired (which is different from sleepy as some of you might understand), stress makes me tired and so on and so on. Point is, if my air mattress was more comfortable I could stay in bed constantly and still not get enough rest. But the pills take a bit of the worst of the crazy away. Not all of it and I'm trying to keep the consumption to a minimum as I've been given the "addiction" caution talk from my doc about the meds. But at the moment I'll take addiction later for a little tiny bit of almost sanity now.

You're probably wondering where I'm going with this and what the heck it has to do with God. Well, I'll tell you and then I'll probably wander off onto another tangent and then get back to the point again. Try to stick with me, it might be worth it in the end but I can't promise anything.

Okay - here it is: God always has a plan. 

The point could also be: God can turn a tragedy into a miracle. 

A few scriptures to back these points up before I go on another ramble:

Romans 5:3-4 Not only so, but we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; character, hope. 

Okay, I'll ramble here for a minute. As I typed the scripture above I thought to myself "Who the heck enjoys suffering?" I mean, sure, we can keep our eye on the truth that God is at work in our lives but down here in the mud and the blood that doesn't always help. Or maybe my faith is still not strong enough. But I know plenty of faithful people truly living Christ-like lives (and this is a lot different than being a Christian but that is a rant for another day) and they struggle with struggle, too - if you know what I mean. But I think the intention of the scripture is that eventually, perhaps once the misery is over and you are on the other side of it, you can rejoice in what you went through because now you can see where that struggle has led you. Point is, God's got a plan and wide screen viewing, you know?

Jeremiah 29:11-13 For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord. Plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. Then you will call upon me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart.

James 1:2 Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance.

1 Corinthians 10:13 No temptation has seized you except what is common to man. And God is faithful; he will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear. But when you are tempted, he will also provide a way out so that you can stand up under it.

That last one I think you can safely substitute the words "misery", "struggle", "trouble", "affliction of the crazies" or any other thing that pops into your head for the word "temptation". Basically, God's got a plan and He is going to make it all turn out alright. And that's my point today. My journey on the crazy train has taught me a few things about compassion, about being a friend, about not judging people, about walking the mile. And from the vantage point of nearly clear thinking in the middle of a dose of meds, I can see that this is a growing experience for me. An opportunity to become a better person because now I understand something that I previously had little compassion for. Not to say that I had none, but I didn't understand, and so couldn't fully respond with complete love and acceptance. Now, I have inside information, so to speak.

When the anxiety began to consume me, when the fear froze me, I started researching online for natural ways to treat anxiety. I read all about exercise, green tea, meditation, proper nutrition, and a variety of other things. All these months later I realize those articles are meant to treat the kind of anxiety everyone faces through daily stresses, not full on episodes of crazy. And trust me, the crazy has been all up in my business. Still, what could trying those things hurt? So I made a vow to exercise daily no matter how I felt (Leslie Sansone Walk at Home - try it, she is amazing and youtube has full length workouts for free) and trust me, there have been days I could barely slog through. But somewhere in my brain I got the idea that if I didn't do this, something bad would happen. For example, right now it is 2 in the morning. I haven't done my mile yet (I'm working up to the two miles but like I said, I'm so freaking tired) but I will before I go to bed, which is usually around sunrise. Another part of my anxiety is that it gets worse at night, and I feel like I need to be on watch. I also vowed to write creatively every day. Now, you may be reading this blog thinking "Why? She's not a talented writer!" and that's okay. This blog isn't about presentation, it's about reality. Remember what I said in the first post? This is a trip through my brain so I've already warned you - it ain't always gonna be pretty. The point is, I vowed to do it, even if it was just one single sentence, I had to write something. And so, I did. And last night, I finished a book.

Let me back up to the glory days for you (feel free to sing the song while you read this, it's a good song and now it's in my head) to my school days. From the first time I won an award for my writing in elementary school (it was a national award, by the way) I was certain I'd grow up to be a writer. All of my teachers (with the exception of my high school math teacher who believed I was some sort of personal blight) thought I would be as well. I racked up a lot of awards, had some poems and short stories published in a few magazines, newspapers. Typing this I get the image of a high school quarterback that everyone thinks is going to go on to the pros and get million dollar deals but at the 10 year reunion already has a comb over and sells lemons to us poor folk. That's kind of me - without the comb over though if this prednisone induced hair loss doesn't stop it might come to that. Point is, I married, had kids, specifically a profoundly disabled kid that was physically, financially, and emotionally draining (I love her, but hey, honesty here) and I quit writing for the most part. I put those dreams away. Oh, once in a while I wrote things. A short story that appeared in a regional magazine. A poem here and there for weddings and things (the thing being a eulogy for a child, sigh). But, mostly, I didn't write. If I had time to sit down for something like writing I was napping, I mean, come on! Last year - before the cracks - I started writing again. Then the cracks appeared and I didn't recognize them and thought I was just silly for trying again.

Always, though, in the back of my mind, was this thing someone said to me once - God gave you a gift, how are you using it? 

The answer . . . I wasn't. Then the question: Did I still have the gift? The answer. . . (ummm, I'm starting to sound like Oh from Home here) I didn't know and was afraid to find out. 

But my vows were to God, kind of like a deal. You probably know all about those, right? Fox hole deals. Help me out and I'll do blah blah blah. Well, frankly, God can smell fear induced malarkey a mile off so the only one dealing is the person in the fox hole. God's plans aren't going to change just because you vowed to be nice to your odd Aunt Patrice at the next family get together or volunteer more or whatever. YOU may change, if you choose to keep your end of the bargain, but God's got wide screen viewing, remember, and that fox hole is right smack in the middle of whatever plan he's been cooking up all along. 

But like most fairly honest fox hole deal makers - with the added bonus of my brain making me think I HAD to or bad things would happen even though I know well and good God doesn't work like that - I've been keeping to my deal. Daily exercise, ugh (though I've actually gained weight, not sure what's up with that) and daily writing. Gallons of Twinings Decaf Green Tea. As healthy a diet as my finances can allow. And even though the crazy was getting worse, I stuck with it. Seriously, sometimes I was like a puppet doing my exercise video. Some nights I really did only write a single sentence. And when it became obvious that I wasn't getting better I spent six weeks desperately trying to get in to see the doctor for some magic pills. And in case you're wondering, spending the night clutching your kids' bottle of seizure medication thinking you could drink it and everything would just be okay does not qualify for a same day sick appointment. Go figure. I did, however, manage to get an appointment for a sinus infection, thank God, or maybe I wouldn't be here right now.

So here I am, pills in hand. Still riding the crazy train. Still deep in the fox hole. But changed for the better, all the same. Although, to be honest, when I'd finished the last sentence of the book, got down on my knees in thanks, and realized I would not have written anything had my life continued down the usual track, I did hope that God would look down and say "Okay, good. Lesson learned. Let me just restore your sanity real quick." Judging by the anxiety slithering around in the back of my head today, I'm guessing He didn't do that. I mean, it would have been my preference but He's got that wide screen viewing and all so I guess I just need to keep on writing, exercising, drinking enough tea to raise Twining stocks, and hope that I'm close to the light at the end of the tunnel. And, in the meantime, just have faith and remember this:

Psalm 37:5 Give yourself to the Lord; trust in Him and He will help you.

Perspective

Recently I went through a box of old photos my stepmother had kept. One picture, in particular, had a profound affect on me. It was taken one cold, snowy December night when I was ten. The year was 1983 and I was just a few days shy of my 11th birthday. In the picture I am wearing a hideous red velvet jumpsuit with a frilly, red and white striped shirt and a pair of boots that had been handed down through my five older brothers and had been cut down a bit so that they would fit me. We won't even discuss my hair. It was, after all, the 80's and taken in that context - with the exception of the boots - I looked just fine. I was even smiling, which was rare for me as a child. You see, I was very excited. That night, I was to attend a church Christmas party.
A few months earlier my family had decided to look for a new church but by Christmas we hadn't found one. The pastor of our previous church and his wife had decided to become missionaries and I think my parents were not very fond of all the changes in the church after that. We hadn't attended in several months so it was a surprise when the new youth leader called our house one night about a week before Christmas. She wanted to invite me to the youth Christmas party. My parents said that I could go, but they would not drive me, so she agreed to pick me up and drop me off.
We lived at the end of a very long dirt road that meandered through thick patches of woods and pastures. The road was about two, perhaps three miles in length. My brothers and I walked this road every school day to the main road to catch the bus and this "bus stop" was where the youth leader agreed to pick me up. I remember that night very clearly. It was extremely cold and had been snowing all day. The wind was biting, the snow flying, and it was so very dark outside. I was afraid of the dark all those years ago. Okay, truth is I still am. But I'd have braved anything to get the chance to go to that party. My stepmother had been baking - a rare occurrence - while I was getting ready and when I left she placed a large slab of banana nut bread, wrapped in a paper towel, in my hand - another very rare treat. I remember how warm it was in my mitten covered hands and as I walked out the door I held it close to my face to feel the warmth. I honestly don't think it lasted very long, I was whip thin but had the appetite of two teenage boys. Because it was so cold, and so dark, I hurried to the main road. When I arrived I stood where I could easily be seen and waited. And waited. And waited. Eventually I was so cold I knew I couldn't stay out much longer and decided I'd better head back home. That walk, which before had been quick with hope and anticipation, was long and dreary and bitterly cold, inside and out.
My stepmother was angry to see me, insisted I must have dawdled and that the youth leader had tired of waiting and left. I had embarrassed the family and should be ashamed of myself. I remember I cried myself to sleep that night. Couldn't I ever do anything right? It seemed I couldn't.
A week or so later the youth leader called again. She spoke with my stepmother and then asked to speak with me. I realize that her explanation was meant as an apology but it was, really, a cementing of an idea that had been growing in me for years. You see, she told me she was very sorry but she had forgotten about me.
Forgotten about me.
I was forgettable.
My response? Oh no, that's okay. Don't you worry about it! My feelings don't matter, let me make you feel better. And she did. And that was when I knew: I didn't matter. Not to my family, not to strangers. Not at all.
Over the years I have searched for people that will love me, for whom I would matter. You ever see two people, friends, family, spouses, and when one walks into the room the other lights up? I want that. Who doesn't? Just one person to think of me each day. To notice if I'm not around. To love me enough to push and prod until all my neurosis lay in a broken heap at our feet. For a while, I thought I'd found that.
So fast forward to about eight months ago or so. Myself and six other women had this group. We met on a private fb chat and watched a movie together and talked once a month, sometimes twice. We had a private group page and shared our lives, we'd known each other for about 13 years but lived too far away from each other to get together in "real life". One of our group often isolated herself and had been gone for a while. I called, I messaged, I sent cards. She avoided. One day I finally got her and she cried, saying she was afraid to come back to the group, that we would be angry with her for having been gone so long. I promised we weren't and she said she would come back. I thought it would be nice if she could see how much she meant to everyone, but in order to not single her out, I created posts with each of our names on them. The idea was that each person should write something they really loved about that person. Everyone participated and wrote wonderful things about each other. The other ladies told each other how they felt they were like daughters, sisters, mothers, how special, how talented, how loved they were. Under my name? They all wrote in varying ways that I was a good mother.
Oh, I know. It's silly to be hurt by such a thing. But you see, I was ten again and felt like an afterthought, someone that didn't matter so much, but you included because you were being nice. I didn't share how hurt I was, I knew I was being childish. But the truth is, I have always been that little ten year old girl with so much hope only to be told I'm forgettable. Of course, I didn't realize at the time, but I was well on my way to this little island of crazy I'm currently inhabiting. The price is high but as they say in real estate: location, location, location. And the location of this little island is right in the center of all my broken dreams, lost hopes, blackest moods, biggest fears, neediest impulses, deepest pains. So I think I reacted to the exercise more emotionally than I would have had I not already been developing all those little tiny cracks.
Who doesn't have baggage? Who doesn't carry a lot of hurt and pain around with them? I know a woman that was sure that every time she walked in a room and someone laughed that they were laughing at her. Didn't matter that they hadn't even seen her, all those little snubs and hurts and insecurities started poking at her until she felt like she was wrong somehow, less than. Most people have them, learn to heal them or live with them or let them ruin their lives. Usually one of the three. I'm somewhere smack in the middle of that triangle.
In the end, I think our lives all come down to perspective. We cannot see anything through eyes other than our own and our experiences color everything. But there is someone that sees all things, clearly.

Hebrews 4:13 Nothing in all creation is hidden from God's sight. Everything is uncovered and laid bare before the eyes of him to whom we much give account.

Matthew 6:3-4 But when you give to the needy, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, so that your giving may be in secret. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you.

Matthew 6:6 But when you pray, go into your room, close the door and pray to your Father, who is unseen. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you.

See a theme there? God sees everything, even into our hearts. God can see what is really happening, and He can see how WE see what is happening. And guess what? God loves us, insecurities, neurosis, breakdowns, breakups, crackups and all. Because, in the end, our perspective is flawed. God's however, never is.

Zephaniah 3:17 The Lord your God is with you, He is mighty to save. He will take great delight in you, He will quiet you with his love, He will rejoice over you with singing.

Now go find yourself the soundtrack to The Prince of Egypt and listen to the song "Through Heaven's Eyes" sung by the extraordinarily talented Brian Stokes Mitchell or go to this link and remember, God sees everything and He still loves you. 

Let's Visit Loneliness Again

     I have - or had, not sure any more - a wonderful group of friends. We were a group of seven women and we've known each other for about thirteen years. The last couple of years have been very hard financially for my kids and I and my friends have been so wonderfully supportive. When they found out that the last week of the month is so lean I don't eat, and that Noah doesn't eat that much, they sent groceries, grocery money. When they discovered we couldn't afford the groceries for a Thanksgiving or Christmas feast, they ordered them delivered straight to our door two years in a row. They sent Christmas presents to my children. Lovely women. Truly a blessing from God. They didn't care about our financial situation, understood that I could never repay them, and reached out to help us anyway. We would not have made it through the last two years without their kindness and generosity.
     It seemed that these wonderful women would always be in my life, they were my family. But then, depression hit. I can deal with depression. It made things a little harder, moving through life was a little more difficult but I was still moving forward. Then the anxiety hit. Terrible panic attacks, paralyzing fear. I tried to talk to these wonderful friends of mine but they didn't seem to listen. I was told to look on the bright side, to stop feeling sorry for myself, to make the choice to be happy, to be stronger. I could feel their impatience with me growing. They messaged less and less. No more phone calls. I tried not to talk about how I was feeling, I understood that there were some things people didn't want to deal with, even the most wonderful, giving, loving people. After a while there was silence. No phone calls, no messages. I would check my mail every day hoping for a card, a little note that said "Hey, I love you and you are not alone. I'm thinking about you." It took a few weeks to realize the mailbox would be empty but for the bills and junk mail, that the phone was not going to ring.
     I have never felt more alone in my life, and that is saying something. There has been one woman, a newer friend that I am still getting to know, that has been here for me as she can. I say as she can because she deals with many of the same issues I do: financial struggles, physical pain due to a disease or disorder (though she hasn't received a diagnosis yet but we are praying for one), depression, anxiety. She knows my darkness and sits with me in it when she can. I try to do the same for her. When my family of girlfriends abandoned me, God had someone else ready. He had laid the foundation for this two years previously when her daughter met my son at school. Eventually her character convinced my son - who had been an atheist up to that point - to come to her church. He would walk every Sunday to mass. Four miles round trip in the hot Florida sun, wearing his dress shirt and tie and not made for long walks dress shoes. One day her father found out and the rest is history. He started taking Noah to mass, became his sponsor in his RCIA class. Her mother and I started talking and we really clicked. Then things started to fall apart in my life. But God had already known what was going to happen, He had already been at work preparing.
     How much time do you think God spends working in the background of our lives, building bridges over troubled waters, spreading safety nets for those times we try to fly without Him, preparing a shoulder when we need a friend? I think He spends a lot more time than we realize. I think God is always working on something, forever at His loom weaving the tapestry of our lives. We may lose sight of God but neither God nor Jesus has ever lost sight of us. The bible abounds with proof of this but I think I was most moved to believe it when I read John 17:20-26:

My prayer is not for them alone. I pray also for those who will believe in me through their message, that all of them may be one, Father, just as you are in me and I am in you. May they also be in us so that the world may believe that you have sent me. I have given them the glory that you gave me, that they may be one as we are one: I in them and you in me. May they be brought to complete unity to let the world know that you sent me and have loved them even as you have loved me. Father, I want those you have given me to be with me where I am, and to see my glory, the glory you have given me because you loved me before the creation of the world. Righteous Father, though the world does not know you, I know you, and they know that you have sent me. I have made you known to them, and will continue to make you known in order that the love you have for me may be in them and that I myself may be in them.

     That was about me. That was about you. Even before we were born Jesus was praying for us. Even in this moment Jesus is praying for us. We don't deserve it. I am often ashamed to address Jesus in prayer, I know that some of the pain, the horror that He endured was caused by me. By my selfishness, my sins, and I have a hard time coming to Him in prayer. But Jesus will wait for me, as will God. And in the meantime, Jesus will continue to pray and God will continue to weave a foundation for me that no amount of anxiety or depression can obscure. Lupus pain and illness cannot change. Loss of family and friends cannot break it. If I have no other family, if there is not a human on this Earth that thinks of me on any day, I still have a Father and I still have a Brother and they are weaving and praying and loving me and when I am so alone on this Earth I weep, I am not alone in Creation.

Still On The Wrong Train

Really rough time right now. Today is one of those days I'm not sure if I can get through. I've been trying to get in to see my doctor but apparently severe anxiety and thoughts of suicide don't count as same day sick. So I'm really not up for a lot of writing at the moment but I just wanted to put this here:

Psalm 150

Praise the Lord.

Praise God in his sanctuary;

praise him in his mighty heavens.

Praise him for his acts of power;

praise him for his surpassing greatness.

Praise him with the sounding of the trumpet,

praise him with the harp and lyre,

praise him with tambourine and dancing,

praise him with the strings and flute,

praise him with the clash of cymbals,

praise him with resounding cymbals.

Let everything that has breath praise the Lord.

Praise the Lord.

A Little Side Trip on the Crazy Train

At the last stop I got off and boarded the crazy train. Not by choice. I think I was just going to the gift shop at the train station to restock on chocolate and got on the wrong train. This one is terrible and the sound of the wheels against the track is like a voice that tells me this fight is pointless. I've tried everything I can to combat this anxiety and depression. Eating healthy within my limited food budget, exercise daily, drink lots of green tea, none of these things seem to be helping. I've lost all but one of my friends, this is the one tough time they couldn't seem to stick through. I've been told to stop feeling sorry for myself, to make the choice to feel better and that has only left me more alone. This is not a choice. Trust me, who would choose to feel like this?! Two years ago on the 23rd of this month a dear friend of ours committed suicide. At the time I could not imagine why he would do such a thing. His business was successful, he was surrounded by loving family. I understand so much better now. Sometimes when I'm not in crazy mode and I feel almost close to normal I can still feel it, like an itch, in the back of my mind. A watchfulness, wondering what is the next thing to set me off, when am I going to feel that awful anxiety again? Anxiety is such a tame word for it. It is a terror, a horror, and because it is inside of your mind you can't escape it no matter what you do. I've been reading two books during this time: the bible and Thornyhold by Mary Stewart. I've read that book about two dozen times in the last few months. While reading either one I achieve a quasi-calm. I read a daily devotion from In Touch Ministries (www.intouch.org) and follow up with Psalm 118 and Matthew 11:28-30 then I just flip through until something catches my eye. I have a lot of passages highlighted and tons of bookmarks in my bible so I often turn to something that has brought me peace before.
Recently I was allowed to go through some of the old family photos. I found a few pictures of myself as a little girl. I was not a happy child. Solitary and lonely, always daydreaming, so different from my family. Most of the pictures show me with a small, forced smile. I felt unloved and knew that it was true. One of the biggest revelations in my life has been that I have spent my life looking for love and approval, never to find it. I didn't remember my mother, my father was too busy with my brothers and my stepmother was every kind of evil stepmom cliche' rolled into one. Do you know what it does to a person when the people that are supposed to love them do not? You look for love, everywhere.
I grew up in a fire and brimstone church and heard the phrase "God'll get you for that" often. I developed a fearful relationship with God, with which I still struggle. Over time though I have come to realize that all the love, all the parental guidance and approval I have longed for is available to me through God, my father. Because He is, indeed, my father. And yours. He isn't sitting up on some cloud looking down and saying "Okay, if she messes up one more time I'm really going to give it to her!" It took me a long time to figure that out - though I still have those irrational fears in the back of my mind.
One day, though, while looking through the bible I found a passage that gave me such a wonderful look at God as a father that I not only underlined the passage but I got out my yellow highlighter and then added a bookmark to the page. I turn to it often:

Hosea 11:1-4

When Israel was a child, I loved him

and out of Egypt I called my son.

But the more I called Israel

the further they went from me.

They sacrificed to the Baals

and they burned incense to images.

It was I who taught Ephraim to walk,

taking them by the arms;

but they did not realize

it was I who healed them.

I led them with cords of human kindness,

with ties of love;

I lifted the yoke from their neck

and bent down to feed them.

Such a wonderful image of a dedicated, loving father desperately trying to help His children. Even if you didn't grow up with parents that loved you, you still did, because God has always been your father. And mine. I think about that a lot lately, and I turn to my father in these dark times. I know He is there, I know. But so often I still feel alone in the dark. But I read those words in Hosea and I think that maybe as much as I am struggling, He is trying to help me. I hope so, I really need the help right now. 

Third Stop: The Neighbor's House. Population: Everyone

     Before we lost our house it was the place to be during the summer - at least for all the neighborhood kids. We had a three lane slip-n-slide as well as a Banzai skimboard surfer slip-n-slide that you took a run up and jumped on this little board and tried (though rarely successfully) to stay on your feet down the length of the slide. I cooked out every afternoon. During sudden rain showers we would all gather on the porch and I'd pass out little cups of ice cream, the kind with the wooden spoons. Evenings were filled with flashlight hide and seek and sparklers. We had some epic Nerf battles and plenty of grade school drama. It was a nice neighborhood and everyone got on well together, for the most part. Here in the complex we don't really know most of our neighbors. There was a murder soon after we moved in, and then another, so we keep to ourselves. Who are your neighbors? Do you host dinner parties for them? Have backyard barbecues, feel comfortable running over for a cup of sugar? Maybe you don't know them very well, maybe you just wave when you see each other but couldn't place them if you met up at the grocery store.

     Jesus instructed us in Mark 12:31 to love our neighbors as ourselves. And He didn't just mean the guy across the street that doesn't close his robe when he goes out for his morning paper. Or the sweet old lady down the block that always has a wave and a smile. He meant everyone. Everyone is our neighbor. Every. Single. Person. And we are supposed to love them. And yet, the world is full of hate. We hate each other over something as ridiculous as skin color, we fight each other over cultural choices, we despise each other over financial status, we fling hate at each other over sexual orientation. And everyone has a reason, some foundation for their hate that they feel is absolutely justifiable. But hate is wrong, always.Sometimes, as we are not perfect, we can't always help it. I'll freely admit that I hate my ex-husband. It is something I'm working on, but I'm so very much not there yet. People hurt us, or they hurt someone we love, they do something truly evil and we hate them for it. It's something to work on. But when you pick and choose bits of the bible to support your hate and attempt to make it acceptable, I have to draw the line. I have absolutely no idea how many times Jesus admonished us to love each other, but He said it a lot. In fact, love was kind of his theme: 'Love me, love God, love your enemies, love everyone'. And He didn't just say it, He showed it. Time and again Jesus taught by example. In Luke 14:13-14 Jesus tells us to invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind, to our banquet. Well, you can just substitute any word for banquet because He means to include them, to treat them equally. And then in Luke 15: 1-2, He does just that. Jesus is hanging out with tax collectors and other "sinners". Jesus is teaching them, speaking with them, treating them as equals, as He instructed us to do ourselves. Jesus never saw poor people dressed in dirty rags, He saw brothers and sisters, children of God. Think about that. Whenever I get really negative about my ex-husband, I remind myself of that - he is a child of God. We all are. God made each of us, God LOVES EACH OF US. So when we exclude others, when we look down at others, we are doing that to someone God loves. Imagine someone treating a child of yours that way! And I don't care what "sin" YOU feel they committed. That isn't up to you to decide or judge. Jesus was very clear: love one another. In Matthew 5: 43-47 Jesus tells us to love our enemies. Be kind to them. Don't just love the people that love you, don't just be kind to those that are kind to you. Love everyone, be kind to everyone. Seriously, I've got to go through the New Testament and count how many times He tells us this.
     Lately the news has been filled with hate for the poor and homeless and most of that hate is coming from "Christians". That absolutely baffles me! With so many clear admonishes to love everyone, how exactly are we justifying so much hate? I am continually shocked at the vitriol directed toward the homeless. Why? When my children and I were homeless we met a lot of lovely people in the same situation. They weren't on drugs, they weren't sitting around being lazy while trying to take your hard earned money. They were regular people, hard workers, most of them homeless because they had been hit with a medical condition that drained their finances, left them struggling. What is their sin, exactly? I am reminded of a news article about a wealthy community that called the police because they thought a homeless person was sleeping on a bench in front of their church. Turns out it was a statue of Jesus that had been donated. But those church goers were horrified at the thought that some "street person" might be hanging out by their church. They weren't moved with compassion to help this person, they wanted to banish him. I have a feeling Jesus was not in attendance at their service, He was clearly not invited.
     I get it, I really do. That whole "love everyone" thing is a lot harder than Jesus made it seem. I mean, He's the son of God. He's love and light. He looked at the people around Him with only hope and compassion. We struggle with loving ourselves, even with loving the people that love us, so of course we struggle with loving people that are different than us. But make no mistake, that is our assignment. That is the whole meaning of life, in case you've been wondering about that: Love God and love each other. And when you give it a little thought, it really is that simple. The next time you feel like being unkind, losing your patience, making a snarky comment, remember that the object of your hate is a child of God, wholly and completely loved by our Creator, and your brother or sister in this family of God's. And then. . . choose love.

Matthew 11:28-29

     The last few days have been quite a struggle for me. When the sun comes up, I feel such relief - I made it through the night. I don't sleep a lot anymore, I'm up all night. I used to be up all night because my daughter, Bee, needed me to turn her, or change her diaper, put more food in her bag, give her meds or a breathing treatment. I still do all of that stuff but after 20 years it is routine. Now, I don't sleep because the anxiety has my nerves stretched to the breaking point. Before the last few months I'd have said I was well acquainted with stress, anxiety and depression. Twenty years as my daughters' only caregiver has certainly given me more than a passing relationship with them. But I have discovered that I knew absolutely nothing about true depression and anxiety, until recently. I have been guilty of losing my patience with friends that seem to stay in their depressions, that stress out over simple things until they take to their couch in a fit of nerves. I've been guilty of saying inane things like "Start your day off with good thoughts" and "You have to choose to be happy" and other rather foolish things. I see a pattern in my life of judgement. I think that is one of the lessons I'm supposed to learn in this life: do not judge.
     In high school my best friend became pregnant. I didn't see her for several months and when I did, I was shocked that she had gained so much weight. It wasn't just pregnancy weight, it was what-have-I-done-to-my-life weight. I made some flippant comments about her weight and never knew, until much later, how much they hurt her. Fast forward a few years and I became pregnant with my first child. I was somewhere between 100 and 108 pounds when I became pregnant. In fact, I'd always been underweight, my whole life. But by the time I gave birth I had gained 100 pounds. The doctors couldn't figure out why, they ran every test, monitored my food. Now, I know why.
     A few years later when my son was about eight a friend was struggling with her teenage son. He had pushed her several times, screamed at her, had become belligerent and distant. My son and I spent all of our time together talking, playing games, reading together. We were very close. I offered my friend advice that was laced with criticism about her son and his behavior. I was certain that my son would not behave that way as a teenager and I thought I knew exactly what she should do. Fast forward eight years and my son is a moody teenager that has, occasionally, yelled at me, He slams doors, stays in his room most of the time and rarely speaks to me. He's a good kid going through a rough time.
     A few years later I have a couple of friends that deal with anxiety and depression. While I have always tried to be supportive, send cards, call, check up on them, I've always been right there with the silly platitudes that I thought were so helpful, so spot on. I did not understand true depression and anxiety, I did not understand what it feels like inside. How you just can't stand being inside your own head anymore. How you try, you do, you surround yourself with "happy" things, you get up and try to do all the positive things that should make the days and nights better . .  but they don't. And then you discover how very alone you are in your depression and anxiety, and just how much those silly comments hurt, how they leave you alone in your darkness and throw in guilt for good measure. Mostly, I have found that not only have my friends left me in my darkness but they trivialize it. Oh, don't get me wrong, they are good women. But they make some truly devastating comments, as I did in the past.
     Tonight I sat here drinking tea, looking at the clock, praying for the sun to come up, that I could get through another long night. I had some of those "why me" moments. I thought about a Christian radio program I heard once. A woman remarked to her father that she found his ability to sympathize with his congregation was remarkable, and that she wished she could connect with others that way. She admitted that she often lost patience with people, could not step into their shoes and understand their pain. Then one day she became ill. She was, eventually, diagnosed with a terrible illness that would only grow worse as time went on. On the day of the radio broadcast she said that God had answered her request to be more like her father. She found that her ability to connect, her compassion for others, had grown. During my long night tonight I thought about that, and hoped that one day I could help others, that my struggles have a purpose. Because in this darkness I sometimes have such moments of clarity and I realize that my life is so pointless, that time is a heavy burden, that life is monotonous. No, those things are not true, but they feel so true when I'm on my knees and know that I can't hold on much longer.
     Every single day I read Matthew 11: 28-29. I'm so grateful that Jesus understood how tiring living can be. That everything can weigh you down so much that you can't move another step forward. I don't like to think about what happened to Jesus that gave Him such insight but I am so grateful He made a point to encourage us and give us hope, to do the one thing it seems no one else can do - sit in the dark with us so that we are not alone.

Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. 

     The Great Physician, offering healing to broken souls.