on preparation, and smirking

 If there’s a left turn coming, I want to be in the left lane as early as possible. 

Some of my kids mirror this- one teases me and purposely stresses me out when he drives. He coaches me like an amateur therapist, talks me through it like I have irrational anxiety, like it’s good for me to practice sitting in discomfort and learning that I’m still ok. (I do, and it is.)

My husband also has this certain face when he knows I’m spinning my wheels, and I saw it at the dinner table this week when we were talking about moving details. It’s like he knows when the drive to “get ahead of it” or “be prepared” doesn’t really matter and it’s not possible and yet I chase it anyways.  He just knows when I'm being driven by a fear motor, and he won’t get on the train with me. He stays steady on the ground with a slightly amused expression and lets me tire myself out.

(If I see him smirking at this stage I might cry, so he holds his face carefully.)

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This summer I shared a canoe with my daughter, one who also likes to be in the right lane ahead of time.  It was pretty stressful for us, especially because we didn’t know what turns were coming, and never once would the current let us “get ahead of it” or “be prepared” early.

And there was my husband, having a good ‘ol time, and smirking at the way the river kept harassing our desire to be in control.

We relaxed eventually. It helped me to put words to the fear, and then notice that the water really wasn’t very deep, and even if we were in the wrong “lane” it would probably be ok. We hit a few logs, terrified some wood ducks, and we watched a couple other people flip over, and everybody was still ok.

The river, whenever it did fork, never warned us. 

And yet it was usually just a gentle placement of the oar, at the right time,  that was needed for us to follow.

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Today, I am trying to just breathe, just live right here in the part of the river where I am. Up ahead are a thousand decisions to make, bends in the river to navigate, even forks where we must choose. But none of them can be navigated ahead of time. I can only breathe and show up for this one Friday. 

and look around while I’m here. 

when the ache tries to suffocate

The pleasant smile, the patient voice-- it’s not all phony, of course, but sometimes it is.  

The heaviness of this place can suffocate.  

Sin-- our own, and that done to us-- presses down heavy on our chests.  

 

Conceal, don’t feel.

Distract yourself.

Don’t ask that question.

Hide it. Numb it.

Smother it with melted cheese and a huge smile.

“Where is God in all this?” we wonder to ourselves in the darkness.

And there, in the darkness, our enemy begs us to stay:

Don’t ask that question. Pretend you already know.  Pretend you’ve never wondered.

Pretend you’re just “too busy,” or you’re “fighting something,” or it’s “just a headache.”

Conceal, don’t feel.

Don’t let them in, don’t let them see, be the good girl you always have to be

Conceal, don’t feel, don’t let them know…

The advice seems to make sense, when there is something to hide, something that might embarrass us, or hurt someone else. And yet it suffocates, and one can’t help but ache for Elsa and her secret.

For ourselves, and our secrets.

How often I am tempted to numb my own heart.

Surely there are circumstances when we must simply keep moving, and do the work in front of us, despite the way we feel, despite our Big Questions. And so I don’t try to discuss the issues of my own heart with children.  I may ache, but regardless, they still need to eat dinner.  I (try to) put on my pleasant voice and pray to be upheld until I can take off the mask, put on my PJs, and exhale.

But, oh, how I need to exhale.  I need to let it out.  We all do. The ache and the questions, the heaviness of this place, the way it weighs on us, the way the fog rolls in and it seems like the enemy is winning every battle.

Adults are supposed to have all the answers, and yet here we are, in grown-up bodies, with skinned knees, and heavy questions.  And we are still afraid of the dark.

And the enemy whispers:

Chin up.  Be tough.  Fake it till you make it.

Don’t ask for help. They’ll think you are weak.

Don’t be a wimp.

Don’t search His Word, call your pastor, or lean on your church family.  

Don’t run to God like a terrified, hurting child.  

Grow up already.

What if "growing up" means being hard and strong and cold? What if even that kind of "strength" is a not strong enough to weather any of this?  

What if the only real choice is to crumble in one way or another?

But where can we crumble?

Where can we find fellow weary sinners in need of grace? Blessed are you if you can name a fellow sinner right now, one who will hold your hand and bring your needs into the presence of a gracious God.

Where else can we go? We bring our aches and our big questions to God, where He promises to meet us.   In His church, in His Word, and in fellowship with his people.

And there, we hear others speak for us, those shocking words which we do not dare say,

words of grief, or anger, questions of the aching heart:

“Why have you forsaken me?” David cried aloud.

“Why have you forsaken me?” Jesus moaned from the cross.

The question lingers, but we are not the only ones asking it, and that is some comfort.

Others have breathed in the stale air of a dying world, and they, too, have gagged and choked.

Others have questioned like us, and hurt like us, and sinned like us.

And those others have been helped, forgiven, redeemed, rescued from this place.

God’s promises cut through the cold air, like a warm breeze carrying a hint of spring, and we breathe.  We inhale hope, and exhale pleas for more; for spring to hurry.

Free us from this place, Jesus.

Deliver us from evil.

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Deliverance is coming, because Jesus has come.

And again we pray, come, Lord Jesus.

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Today, I dare you to name the heaviness, and to ask your questions, out loud to other people and to God.

When we rest in Him even in the midst of danger.

A snippet from My Gilead- a memory keeping file for my children.

7/14/11

Eldon, what a sweet moment we shared tonight.  We laid on the dock at sunset watching the birds.  I sighed, “This is nice,” and you echoed, “Niiiiice.”  You sucked your fingers and we pointed out the birds.  You wore your little Spiderman pj pants and no shirt, and cuddled up to me in the cool of the evening.  You tried to dangle your feet off the dock but couldn't reach, so you almost fell in, and we both laughed.  And you looked at me with your sweet smile and said “Hey mama! Love you!” and gave me a kiss.    

What a great way to end the day.

How many are your thoughts towards me, O Lord?  If I could number them, they would be more than the sands….  And many are my thoughts towards you, children.  

And to think, God’s thoughts are are more, better, purer.  Towards you, towards me.  It is a comfort.

You children are so young, you are given so many things to delight in with innocence.  You do not see the shadows I see, the dangers lurking.  That's OK.  It is my job to notice the dangers and protect you when I can.  Yet, I miss that innocence.  I had it too, as a child, before I understood that people drown in lakes and the bodies of children can be broken.  I never used to fear, but now I fear.  

Yet fear leads me to cling to God (where else can we go?), and I have prayed a million prayers for your safety.  The danger is ever-present, but God will remove all of that someday.  

How pleasant it will be when he makes all things new.  Perhaps He will allow us to swim and play together, and there will be no shadow of death to taunt us.  I’m not sure what I will do, how I will act, if I can run along a dock and not guard the edges, not brace for jumping and saving one of your precious bodies.  It is good, that God will me making me new too.  I look forward to the version of myself without anxiety.  I hope you can recognize her.

Walking through the fire: Do not attempt alone.

My knees get queasy when I see this hallway.

This hallway leads to the epilepsy testing center at Cleveland Clinic. I walked down this hallway with baby Eldon on my hip, and aching worry for Aggie in my heart, not sure if my knees could stand through the days or weeks of trial ahead of us. Would we find answers? Would we have to let them drill into her skull? Would we hear the awful words, "We don't know what's wrong with her- there's nothing more we can do?"

anxiety in the car

When we drive, I sit at attention. I try not to worry but I do worry, especially when the road is narrow and the drop off is steep. I listen to music and look up at the trees passing by and I don’t actively think of tragedy, but sometimes it comes in flashes. It comes uninvited. The image of the far slipping off the road, rolling down the hill; broken glass and blood and could I even reach my cell phone? 

stepping out in the sunshine despite the threat of rain

Today, the sun is out. The fog of depression has been nowhere near for weeks now. I am energetic, motivated, passionate. I am taking on new commitments, and I am excited for each one of them.

Yet a small anxiety lurks in the back of my mind: what if it happens? What if IT comes back?

I won’t be able to handle this schedule if that happens—not even half of it.

I step back and think about this fear of mine. Things could always happen- A child might get sick. I might get the stomach flu. These things might make me have to cancel my commitments. That’s life. No big deal.

Why is the threat of depression so much scarier? Yet, it is.

The mere threat of depression: it is almost enough to make me timid.

I don’t trust myself, my health. How dare I commit?

Things might change, and I might let you down.

You might not understand.

(I might not even be strong enough to give you the chance.)

I might…. disappoint. (insert horrified gasp)

I can’t kill the fear, but I can let it drive me to prayer and vigilance.

I will watch for symptoms.

I will take care of my body.

I will try to call out for help when I need it, before it is too late.

Today, my mind and my body are strong, and I am upheld by the grace of God. The sun is out! And while the sun shines, I will work. He helps me step forward in faith, relying on His provision, and walk in the works Has placed in front of me, today.

If I am to walk, I must cling to His hand.

Don’t let me get overwhelmed.

Don’t let the pit come back.

Don’t let me crash.

Hold me up, hold me close!

His hand grabs mine, and it is strong and steady.

I am not the glue that holds the world together. He is.

And today, He has given me work to do.

Here we go. 

Steady, now.

(For more on this topic, see Depression)

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Does anyone care about this blog's layout?
I'd love opinions if you have them.
I switched things up because it was feeling a little "busy" to me.
Did you notice?

Coming soon: more thoughts on slackers!

Bad goat.

I put my head down like a goat and I barrel through my day.  


I blame the list: that list, that TOO LONG list, of things I need to get done!  When the list is too long I feel overwhelmed, and I try to accomplish more things more quickly. I focus, and I go, and go, and go... working toward that magical point when I am caught up enough to finally relax.

Though I work all day, still I do not reach the peace of a clean list.  Things get in my way.  

People. Little people.

I don't get caught up.  

But I keep barreling, and before I know it, we are just surviving.

Until, by the grace of God, I realize what I am doing.  Last week, it was the words of a friend that reopened my eyes:

"Don't let survival mode take over.  Take time to breathe and enjoy each day."

I have had this conversation with myself before, but I am all the time forced to learn the same thing again.

Look up!
Breathe!
Open your eyes to the grace all around you!
Don't miss it in the rush of "getting stuff done!"

Source: Uploaded by user via Kyle on Pinterest

Source: google.com via Elizabeth on Pinterest

See?  Even a goat can look up!

If I were a porcupine

Rocking a baby, snuggling a big kid, wrestling ALL the kids- most of the time I truly enjoy all of these things.

But then there are those other kinds of days: when the forces of evil (hormones, depression, sin, weariness, anxiety, noise, etc) combine to create a perfect storm in my heart and my body, and I just really need everybody to BACK OFF!

And I think, wouldn't it be nice to be a porcupine?



If I were a porcupine..... then they wouldn't want to get so close to me all the time.
I wouldn't have to say "give mama a little space please," or "go sit on the other couch for a while," or "please just don't climb on me right now!" or "I said go OVER THERE!"

My quills would say it all for me.  I would be able to sit, just sit, and nobody would want to touch me.

My, wouldn't that be nice?

Worry : Anxiety

We’ve all had that kind of dream, haven’t we?  The kind that makes you wake in a panic, full of images difficult to shake.; the kind that will pull you right back into its horror if you go back to sleep too soon.  The dream is gone, but the emotions linger for awhile while you talk yourself back to reality.

Not surprisingly I had one of those dreams when we slept in our basement due to tornado warnings the other night.  I will spare you the details, but let’s just say when I woke up I had just been running down a huge flight of stairs yelling and praying “Not my babies!  Please no, not my babies, not my babies, notmybabies…”

It was a dream, just a dream.  It didn’t really happen.  It could happen, maybe, but it didn’t.  So feelings, go away.  There is no reason for you. GO AWAY.  Everything’s fine.

Funnel Cloud in our backyard
(last week)

I think most people are familiar with this experience.  It can’t be called worry, exactly, because the dream just came, attacked even. It’s exhausting.  It’s emotional. 

Having a dream like that, though it may be inspired by worries, is not the same as worrying.

Worry is like allowing your mind to dwell on things it doesn’t need to dwell on.  Worry is picturing the what-ifs, letting them consume you, trying to somehow muster up the strength to deal with the hypothetical situations ahead of time.  Worry can be productive- if you are actually problem-solving in some way- or it can simply be idle worry, and sin. 

Bad dreams just come.  Asleep we lie, and images assault, bringing with them a sense of reality and the corresponding emotions.

THIS is how I would describe anxiety; except, of course, it happens when you are awake. (I think the technical term for this is intrusive thoughts, which can be part of depression and/or anxiety.)

Anxiety attacks.  It assaults a person with those images and feelings right out of the blue: they can come through the news, or seeing your child ride a bike, or for no reason whatsoever.  It can make things you once enjoyed nearly impossible: like riding a motorcycle, or taking a child to the lake.


Sometimes I think it is ok to simply accommodate it, and turn off the evening news.  Sometimes you have to push through it and do what you need to do in spite of it. 


Either way, anxiety is a good reminder to pray.  When anxiety shakes the ground under my feet, I find help only by clinging to something Solid. 


Lord, have mercy.  Again.

"Jesus, Lover of My Soul"/b>
by Charles Wesley, 1707-1788

1. Jesus, Lover of my soul,
Let me to Thy bosom fly
While the nearer waters roll,
While the tempest still is high.
Hide me, O my Savior, hide,
Till the storm of life is past;
Safe into the haven guide.
Oh, receive my soul at last!

2. Other refuge have I none;
Hangs my helpless soul on Thee.
Leave, ah, leave me not alone,
Still support and comfort me!
All my trust on Thee is stayed,
All my help from Thee I bring;
Cover my defenseless head
With the shadow of Thy wing.

3. Wilt Thou not regard my call,
Wilt Thou not accept my prayer?
Lo, I sink, I faint, I fall;
Lo, on Thee I cast my care;
Reach me out Thy gracious hand!
While I of Thy strength receive,
Hoping against hope, I stand,
Dying , and behold, I live!

4. Thou, O Christ, art all I want;
More than all in Thee I find.
Raise the fallen, cheer the faint,
Heal the sick, and lead the blind.
Just and holy is Thy name;
I am all unrighteousness,
False and full of sin I am;
Thou art full of truth and grace.

5. Plenteous grace with Thee is found,
Grace to cover all my sin.
Let the healing streams abound;
Make and keep me pure within.
Thou of life the Fountain art,
Freely let me take of Thee;
Spring Thou up within my heart,
Rise to all eternity.

Notes from The Lutheran Hymnal
Hymn #345
Text: Is. 32:2
Author: Charles Wesley, 1740
Composer: Simeon B. Marsh, 1834
Tune: "Martyn"

Bad attitude: depression

Worry: anxiety