The Darkness of The Train Tunnels Is A Light For Someone Else

It seems the train has been running backwards on the tracks lately, my mind has been on the past. My lupus has been flaring up and my stress levels are high. What do they say about your frame of mind? If you are anxious, you live in the future. If you are depressed you live in the past. If you are at peace you live in this very moment. I am always trying to escape this moment, whichever moment it is, so I am often both anxious and depressed. Some thoughts I can change, some I cannot. Not even the xanax can help when your mind turns on  you, it can just ease you through a few of the rougher patches.
Tonight, for absolutely no reason, I had this fragment of a memory flit through my brain. I grabbed it before it fluttered away and nurtured it, until the fragment grew into a full story. Once upon a time my father took two of my brothers and myself away from our mother. We went to live, for a while, with my mother's parents in a tiny town in Indiana. My grandparents had a house at a crossroad. Across the street from the front of the house was a corn field. On the other corner was another pretty little house and the last corner, diagonal to their house, was a church. A tiny little white country church. The area was full of trees, grass, the houses neatly kept. The main - and only one of two - paved street through town boasted only three or four businesses and a volunteer fire station. The houses were little Victorian cottages, neatly kept. I remember a lot of elderly women with dainty furniture and hand embroidered tablecloths, fragile tea cups and gossipy visits. My grandmother had a garden in her back yard, as most folks did, and she would make corn husk dolls. In the early twilight of a new autumn, the only one I spent there, we would sit on the porch steps and watch the last of the fireflies dance across the broken stalks in the harvested corn field and hear an occasional howl which chilled me far more than the wind. But what I remember most, that fleeting bit of memory that came to me today, was of the church. It was simple compared to the mega-million dollar monuments to various pastors these days. The vestibule was tiny and the pews were hard. They were of a dark, polished wood and the older women that volunteered to clean the church must have put a great deal of care into their work because that wood shined. The windows were all very gothic in shape, and stained glass. I do not remember the depictions, only that they mesmerized me. The church was open all of the time and I often snuck in to play in the pews and wonder at the patterns the sunlight created through those magical windows. I remember that the community would come together for dinners, weddings, parties - all held in the basement. Mostly, though, I remember that I often sat in the back pew. I was a curious child, easily bored unless I had a book - and the bible did not count at the time. Often, there was a gentleman in the back pew with me and, looking back, he was probably in his late 60's, at least. This would have been somewhere around 1979 and I was a very tomboyish six year old. In fact, something that still makes me burn with shame happened about this time. I was always anxious to shed my dress and shiny shoes for shorts and ragged sneakers the moment church let out. And, being in the back pew, I was out faster than anyone. I was so fast, in fact, that one Sunday I was in my play clothes and on my bike before anyone else had really moved beyond the church yard toward their cars, parked on the sides of the street. I, having been cooped up too long with nothing but the magical windows to keep me entertained, sped out on my bike like a Tasmanian devil, wind whipping through my already messy hair. I must have been feeling particularly dare devilish on that day because I found myself veering toward a car and, before I could straighten up, the side of my handlebar left a long scratch on the car. I never did 'fess up. I put my bike away and suddenly the freedom of those two wheels and the riotous wind in my hair had lost their allure. But, as I was saying, there was often a gentleman in the back pew with me. Elderly already, he would be long gone by now. But I remember that he seemed . . . melancholy. And that he always had a butterscotch in his pocket for me. I remember his hands, the skin parchment paper thin, veins standing out, knuckles knobby and his fingers twisted a bit. And I remember his sad eyes. I think now, perhaps, he must have been a widower.
So I was just going through the motions, putting medication in Bee's feeding tube, when that church, that man, just flickered into my brain. The more I thought of him, the sadder I became until I sat down and sobbed for a man I can barely remember, one I'm sure whose name I never even knew. A man I sometimes sat beside during a brief summer and autumn of my childhood with sad eyes, old hands and a butterscotch always at the ready for an unruly little girl looking for magic in stained glass windows. A man long gone in years and memories, I'm sure, and yet I sobbed for him as if he had been my own flesh and blood and had just passed on. It took a long time to stop crying. I think, at some point, I stopped crying for the perceived loneliness of that old man and began to cry for my own consuming loneliness.
And now I sit here, the occasional tear still falling, wondering about the mysterious roads my mind often takes me down these days. I think the memory came to me because - other than myself - he has become, in my mind, the picture of loneliness. Not just loneliness. but of actually being alone. Bereft of loved ones, of friends, of community, of purpose. I feel that way so much of the time. And this man came to me, this lonely memory wandered in, because in the last week my daily devotions have concentrated on the sacrifices of Jesus. And, for some reason, I've found myself so busy that the days I've been able to pray my rosary without falling asleep have been Tuesday, Friday and Sunday - and if you are Catholic you know that those days (the Sundays during Lent) are all about the sorrowful mysteries. The first mystery is the Agony In The Garden, and it described the terrible loneliness that Jesus felt as He prayed.
InTouch had a devotion titled "The Cost of Our Salvation" a few weeks ago. Did you know that Jesus was completely separated from God during this time? That He was not just feeling the weight of our sins, He was feeling he weight of the shame, the burden of punishment, and all without that lifelong connection He had always had with God. He was, utterly and completely, alone. Even His friends could not stay awake, they did not seem to understand His great loneliness and agony. How alone He must have felt. Somewhere in my brain, in the haze of anxiety and xanax, I seem to have put the old man from my childhood and the image of Jesus weeping in the garden together and the thought of that elderly gentleman brought me to thoughts of Jesus, weeping in the garden and praying for God's love that was, for an allotted time, withheld from Him.
It is both a comfort and bitter knowledge, that Jesus understands my dreadful loneliness. I know I've written about that before - loneliness is a longstanding theme in my life. But until recently, I did not know or understand the absolute depth of the loneliness He must have felt, having been separated from God entirely. I have never felt that. God has always been in my life. I tell people sometimes - and they always look at me as if I'm daft - that God is in the flowers. As a little girl, nursing bruised flesh or feelings, I would creep into our forbidden flower beds, lean against the house and feel the flower petals. Born with Anosmia, I could not smell the flowers, but I would rub the velvety petals and feel . . . comfort. I would feel God, as if He was sitting right there enjoying the beauty of the very flowers He had crafted and watching over me. And even in times when I cannot feel God's presence, I know that He is watching over me, working in my life behind the scenes, on miracles both big and small that will come into my life in time. Unlike Jesus, I have never been without God at my side. But, for a time, that was a price Jesus was willing to pay. And the more I learn about what He went through, the more I understand, the more I am both thankful and shamed.
And so, as I sit here still weeping for a man lost to time, for myself, I know that Jesus understands how I am feeling, more than I would like Him to. Before I had my little breakdown I didn't understand people with true anxiety or depression, but now I do, more than I would like. The price Jesus paid for our sins wasn't just an accounting, sins tallied and marked off a balance sheet - it was an example, yet again, even in those final hours, for us to follow: I understand your loneliness and so I can comfort you; I can be in your loneliness with you and will not abandon you.
What have you experienced that has changed the way you can be with your fellow man, that has given you a perspective that affords you a beautiful opportunity to simply be there for another person in their anguish, their loneliness, their anxiety, pain, depression .  . . ? Don't pass up the opportunity, it is a gift you have been given, that we have all been given, to take a darkness we have passed through and turn it into a light for someone else. And for me, it is a comfort to believe that one day, this bitter loneliness I feel to my very core will transform into something beautiful, something meaningful, and will give solace to someone else. And I pray that elderly gentleman from so long ago knows that his life profoundly impacted mine, in such a brief season, for such a small acquaintance, his life still has value.

Romans 5:3-5 Not only so, but we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out His love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom He has given us.

Track Change. Where The Heck Are We Going?

Before the invention of GPS and cars smart enough to drive themselves we had to use maps to get where we wanted to go. You'd buy this crisp, new, neatly folded map, unfold it and plot your course. You would carefully watch for signs, frequently checking that trusty map. Most of the time you ended up right where you wanted to be. Other times, not so much. Maybe you misread the map, maybe you missed a sign along the way. And then, suddenly, you found yourself somewhere else entirely. Somewhere you didn't want to be. Now, it isn't necessarily a bad place, just not the intended destination. And then, of course, fed up with the map - because it is, of course, entirely the maps' fault - you try to fold it up and put it back the way it was. Does that ever actually work out? Or does it end up as a crumbled ball on the floor under your feet while you squint through the windshield looking for something, anything, to guide you back to where you belong.

But maybe, just maybe, you actually belong where you ended up. Kind of like when my train switched tracks oh so many years ago, and then again more recently when it morphed into the crazy train and rumbled off onto some seriously rickety tracks through incredibly rough terrain. I've just been hanging on to the backs of seats as I make my way to the engine and find out what the heck is going on. I mean, really - what the heck is going on? Has the engineer completely lost it? Is he even there anymore or is this train just rushing along without him?

And then I consider that the engineer is God and I know that He is, indeed, up there firing the engines and making sure I'm on the right track - even if it isn't the track I wanted or expected. Today was one of those days where I looked out the window and thought "When did we switch tracks again? How did I get HERE?" Because today, "here" was not a happy place. It was a place even Xanax couldn't work a little magic on. And as it is the end of the month chocolate and tea therapy were out of the question. In fact, as I'll have to manage the rest of the month without either, we may need to increase my Xanax.

Recently I found an etsy shop where you can purchase little cards - about the size of business cards - with scripture on them. I purchased the "Worship and Encouragement" set. I put them everywhere, use them as bookmarks, sent some to a friend. Tomorrow when they shove me in that tiny little tube for my MRI I will probably be clutching one since taking my rosary beads isn't an option. Just having Gods' words around, finding the cards in various places during the day, has been like having God send me little hugs. Yeah yeah, that sounds like I should be doodling unicorns in the margin of my notebook that already has "Mrs. Keanu Reeves" written all over it, lol. But as sappy as it sounds, it is actually true. And I need that, I need moments of unexpected encouragement. There is no hope or help in your run of the mill "Oh don't worry everything is going to be fine" sentiments that people throw at you like rice at a wedding, and just as useless. But a little moment of hope from God in the form of little cards, or your favorite flower, or a tiny little bird on your window sill, or the sun shining through the clouds or a song that makes you sing. . . now that is something special, even if it is completely ordinary.  

Now, don't get me wrong. I'm human and that means I'm still stubbornly grasping the edges of the next seat in the aisle, slowly pulling myself through each car until I get to the engine so I can direct the train where I want it to go. Because, of course, I want it my way. Thankfully, there are a lot of cars between me and the engine and maybe by the time I get there I'll have learned to put a little more faith in the engineer and will make peace with the idea that wherever He takes me is where I'm supposed to be.

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 of your heart." 

You can find the cards here: https://www.etsy.com/shop/SweetHomeTreasures

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."

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.

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.

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. 

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.

First stop: Doubt. Population: Millions.

     When God delivered the Israelites from Egypt, He did so with what could be considered much pomp and circumstance. While it is hard to think of the word "miracle" when one considers the plagues that befell Egypt, they were just that - miracles. Signs and wonders. From the burning bush to the manna in the desert. God was performing incredible miracles for all to see. And yet, how did the Israelites respond? Each time circumstances turned difficult, they doubted. They railed against Moses. They wailed and cried and often wished to be back in Egypt, once again enslaved but comforted by the familiar. I can certainly sympathize, I'm not an adventurous person myself and the familiar is, indeed, safer than the unknown. But I have always puzzled over their doubt. How could they doubt? God brought plagues, parted a sea and allowed them to walk across the seafloor to safety, He provided a guiding pillar of smoke and another of fire, poured down food from heaven. . . ! I am certain I would never doubt God if He manifested such extraordinary miracles in my presence.
     Or would I? What is the nature of a miracle? Is the word "miracle" not defined as an extraordinary act of divine intervention?

An extraordinary act of divine intervention.

     Does a miracle have to be as awesome as the parting of a sea for us to count it as such? Or can a miracle be . . . quieter? Certainly just as awe inspiring but on a smaller scale. A kind stranger when you were at the end of your rope. Twenty dollars pressed into your palm by someone that whispered "God wanted me to share this with you" without realizing you couldn't feed your children that day. A call, out of the blue, from a friend when you need someone the most. We tend not to think of such things as miracles. Some even might call them coincidences. But make no mistake - they are, indeed, extraordinary acts of divine intervention - and at the time we usually recognize them as such. But, like the Israelites, we often forget those gloriously intimate moments with God and allow doubt to take root again.
     While reading Exodus recently, I realized that I, too, doubt God even in the face of wondrous miracles. Divorced, caring for two children alone, struggling with Lupus, my daughter's severe disabilities, and financial difficulties, I have met God many times in both friends and strangers alike. And yet, when the next crisis occurs, I doubt. How can I possibly look at the Israelites with incredulity when I am no different? Does it matter that paying the rent isn't as "showy" a miracle as parting a sea? Because despite the fact that it was not a miracle to garner worldwide attention, being gifted with the money to pay my rent was still an extraordinary act of divine intervention. A miracle I prayed for most fervently and a miracle that God delivered, among many others. Some of those miracles I have forgotten. Isn't that terrible? Moments that God made it clear that He was right there, by my side, actively working in my life, and I've forgotten many of them. Life moved on and those "ordinary" miracles were forgotten in the overwhelming worry of the next difficulty.
     Aren't we lucky Moses took the time to commit to paper the many miracles God performed for the Israelites? Imagine those events occurring now and Moses authoring a blog:

'Yesterday God parted the Red Sea so that we could walk to safety. It was an extraordinary feat, a glorious example of the power and majesty of our God. Today the people look out at the desert before us and think maybe they should have stayed in Egypt. God, give me patience!'

     Perhaps the Israelites would have been a little less doubtful if they had the chance to read daily summaries of their activities, realizing that God always saved them. But, somehow, I doubt it. After all, I have the entire Bible of miracles as well as the experience of miracles in my own life and still I doubt. I worry. I become consumed with anxiety and fear. I forget miracles.
     Luckily, God does not. He does not forget that we are human and fallible. He does not forget that He loves us and has gone to great lengths to save us - usually from ourselves - time and again. Rather, He walks patiently with us, working miracles and weaving them into the tapestry of our lives so effortlessly that they appear as common occurrences to us, appreciated in the moment but quickly forgotten. It would seem that little has changed since the time of Moses.
     I'd like to conclude with some suggestion, some divinely inspired gem of wisdom that will take away all of your doubts, fears, and mine, but I have none. I am not, after all, Solomon. I probably would have asked for wealth, or beauty, or the love of a particular someone. If I'd had a little time to ponder maybe even calorie free chocolate. But not wisdom. And so I will leave you with this: GOD HAS YOUR BACK. Write that down somewhere because you are going to forget it soon. And you know what? God will have your back anyway. And that, dear reader, is the most extraordinary act of divine intervention of all.