The Unwrapping

"Unwrap him, and let him go." - John 11

It has been nearly 16 years since the above scripture became much more meaningful to me. I am a Christian. I have been ever since I was a teenager. However, my Christian life (my "walk" in churchy terms) left something to be desired. And then, when I was about 48 years old, my "walk" actually became a WALK.  Not a hop. 

To explain that last sentence, I refer to the story of the raising of Lazarus, from where the above scripture comes. The burial custom of the day was that when someone died (after several rituals meant to make certain the person was dead) they were wrapped like a mummy in strips of cloth with spices sprinkled between the layers... to hide the smell until the funeral was done and the person laid on a stone shelf inside a tomb, which often had a round slab of stone rolled in front of it. Jesus arrived at Lazarus' home to find Lazarus' sisters and a whole lot of other relatives, mourning outside his tomb. He had died 4 days previous, so decomposition had started to kick in. Jesus told them to roll away the stone, and after a bit of protest (but he's stinking by now!) they did as He asked. Jesus wept when He saw their misery and lack of hope. He then called out to the dead man and told Lazarus to come out of the tomb. 

Lazarus was still in the mummy-wrappings. So the only way he had of moving forward from the ledge was to take small little hops and hope he didn't fall over (because he was unable to extend his arms.) 

Freeze frame right there. Lazarus had been raised from the dead. Everyone could see that. It was a bona fide miracle! But for Lazarus, it was taking all his strength just to stand up. That is what my Christian walk was like, with wrappings others had put on me, just as others had wrapped him. Neither of us could move without risk of great harm. 

And Jesus spoke to the assembled crowd. "Unwrap him, and let him go." As they did, the putrid strips of cloth, which by now overpowered the spices his sisters had so lovingly put there, started to loosen and Lazarus could move. A little at first, then more. And more. And more. He could finally benefit from the miracle that was already his - this newness of life. 

And in my life, as I began to drop the grave-clothes of old habits and prejudices from me, I learned how to really be alive and not be hindered by the bondage that made me try to live the Christian life by my own efforts (hopping). I could walk. I could run. I could breathe a deep breath. Lazarus and I were both raised by the Master, and loosened / unwrapped to fully enjoy life. 

The process took longer for me than it did for him. I was several months getting those stinky old things off me ... and there are still times when I find a hanger-on from my old self-effort life, for which I get help to free me. Together with the lifestyle I learned during that time, I can enjoy life, as Lazarus did. I look with pity on the person I was before that time, and I revel in my new-found freedom. All that I had lost, all that I could not touch because of the grave-clothes, came back to me. 

I talk about my spiritual life occasionally on this blog because it is part of me, just like any other part or role that is mine (wife, mother, friend, counsellor, etc.) And I do so as living, walking, talking proof that there is One who delivers, and those who loosen the bonds; each serves a role. 

And me? I'm grateful. That's it, that's all.  

She believed ... and she did

 (yes, she is me.)

She didn't believe at first. She thought she was "stuck fat." 

She believed her genetics, her physical limitations, her inner critic. She believed her fears. Until, through others' belief in her, she believed too: believed she could learn to understand her emotions, her thought, and her own desires enough to take one day, one meal at a time.

She'd lost weight before, five years previous (after a diagnosis of type II diabetes) and gained a third of it back: very discouraged, she gave up. On herself, on her hopes and dreams. She embraced body positivity to the point where she had herself convinced that the number on the scale didn't matter as long as her sugars were low enough to treat with pills ... and hid from the fact that it DID matter:to HER. 

But, it was only a symbol of something more significant: a lifestyle she had given up believing was possible, one she'd dreamed of since she was much younger, of freedom to own and ride a horse, to go golfing again, to hike (or ride) through forest trails, one with nature. 

Image free from Pixabay

And then there was a point when she got tired of being resigned to a life of feeling "less than" in her own skin, of having given up. And she heard about Noom. 

And she tried it. Being a therapist, she knew the psychology piece, but she remembered how very Hard it was to lose weight because, you know, history, plus diabetes ... and she hesitated.

But ... she remembered the one-day-at-a-time process of her deciding to go back to school. And so she downloaded the app, and she began to apply the psychology she'd learned. And she lost weight. Not much, but about half to three quarters of a pound per week, if at all. 

And she learned that foods could be dense - in calories. The amount of water in a food lowered caloric density and made feeling full take fewer calories. And that no food was "off limits" - even ice cream! ... just taken in moderation. and that she could tame her inner impulses and increase control over them. AND ... most important: she could DO this. She learned that a goal didn't have to be a number on a scale, but the freedom to dream again. One meal, one walk, one day at a time. 

Best of all, she learned that she could enjoy the process!!

The strange face of gratitude

Almost nine days ago, on February 24, 2020 at 10:10 pm, my brother passed away. It was unexpected, as he had been getting slowly better with dialysis and his kidney function was improving. But one of his two catheters, the one that carried his bile out of the gall bladder, became infected and caused blood poisoning (also known as sepsis.) He became too weak to get out of bed, and to make a long story short, after police got to him, he was in bad shape and died later in hospital from septic shock.

I say this only to set the stage for all of the aftermath of his passing.

Free photo by Larisa-K at pixabay

My brother and I were as close as any brother and sister could be. He and I were like soul-mates. We thought alike, felt the same things, and had the same background. We "got" each other. Almost every day, separated by the miles, we talked for at least a half hour, sometimes as much as three hours. And we enjoyed ourselves to the full while doing so. It was a joy to talk to him, to watch him grow as a person, to share experiences and thoughts and hopes with him and he with me, to make plans together for the future, to talk of our love for God, for family, for animals, for nature, for music, and for life.

I miss him terribly. And time will not diminish the pain of that. Only Love can.

In the last few days, I have had the opportunity to look back and marvel at how many wonderful and miraculous things have happened. Leave alone the miracles in his own life: being cured of colon cancer in 2017, surviving two heart attacks (fall 2017 and winter 2019), and witnessing many other smaller miracles of the everyday. Just in his passing and the subsequent events arising from that, I have been able to be thankful for several things:

• He did not die alone and undiscovered. This was his greatest fear, and it was on a day when he was expected at a medical appointment (dialysis) that I finally got someone to check on him and knew enough to call 9-1-1.
• He was spared having to say goodbye to our mother.  He was anxious regarding how he would handle her death. She is still alive (although she has dementia), so he was spared this pain.
• He was ready.  He was finally moving toward feeling at ease in his own skin, and he was growing spiritually and so excited for the things he was learning about how to live life. There is no doubt in my mind that he is waiting for me on the other side, enjoying restored / perfect health and strength in everything that gave (and gives) him joy.
• My husband is retired, and he never left my side during this whole ordeal of going out of province, making arrangements, and greeting people I had not seen in decades (and whom he barely knew) - even though it is outside his comfort zone. That's love, and that heals.
• My daughter was able to stay home and look after the animals all week, and she, too, went outside her own comfort zone to come and attend the funeral with us. This is a huge deal for her, because the thought of losing people in her life makes her very anxious and panicky.
• My work situation is such that I was able to take the time off to make arrangements for his funeral, plus some time to decompress. My boss was unexpectedly understanding about the whole thing.
• Co-worker after co-worker ... each has expressed condolences on Facebook. They really do care. That blows me away.
• I was in the middle of taking a break from my studies when this happened. As a result, my schooling was not interrupted, and I didn't lose any marks for lack of concentration. My brother was so proud of me for taking steps to be a counselor. He rejoiced with me over every milestone. He would want me to graduate with full honors.
• The circumstances of his death, plus the communication with family and friends, re-established old ties long since given up for lost.
• The fact that he died in the winter meant that there was no committal service (graveside) and I was spared the stress and pain of seeing his body put in the ground, the hardest part of death rituals for me.
• The love from family and friends has been nothing short of miraculous and has even now already started the healing process.
• My psychologist is amazing. I saw her yesterday and poured out my heart regarding many of the above things - in detail - and she listened and supported me in my grieving process.

I could say much more, but I will stop there. All of those things (and more) has left me with something I never expected:  the strange face of gratitude in the middle of my suffering, in the process of my grief.  That does not mean that I am untouched by losing him. Rather, it means that I feel somehow honored to have been a part of his life for as long as he was here - with no regrets for having helped him as much as I could - and privileged to be a part of a circle of family and friends that, unknown to me, was there all along.

Gratitude is a strange response to grief. But here I am. Grateful. And grieving. But grateful.

The Next Right Thing

I had a bit of a scare yesterday.

I had planned to drive my brother to an appointment with an ophthalmologist (eye surgeon; he has cataracts) so I went for the 2-hour trip to his place (out of province).  When I got to his house, I realized that he either wasn't there or he was unable to open the door for me. Some frantic calls later, I learned (thanks to a great RCMP officer) that he had been admitted to hospital in a neighboring city the previous day. He gave me the telephone number at the nurse's station of his unit and also his room number. I called and got an update - he was in the cardiac care unit but was stable. The relief I felt that he was alive and being cared for eclipsed the anxiety of what might lie ahead for him.

Photo "Footprints On The Beach Sand"
courtesy of foto76 at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

Since I was already there and within an hour's drive of the hospital he was in, I decided to go to see him, which I did. Braving the open highway, and multiple exits to the city I was going to, was worth the extra stress of making the trip!  He was in good spirits and so glad to see me! He was hooked up to an intravenous tube with a couple of extra bags - nitro-glycerine and heparin - and to heart, blood pressure, and oxygen monitors.  It was comforting to see the numbers and the regular rhythm of his heartbeat on the screen.  We chatted for a while about this and that, and I decided that while I was in the building, I would go and see Mom, who has dementia.  I promised my brother that I'd come back and see him before I left the building to go home.

I had called Mom's unit so often, and hospitals are laid out in pretty much the same way on each floor, that it was easy to find her area after having been to his. When I got there, I found her in a common area with a few people. She was playing Skip-Bo, her favorite card game, and trouncing everyone while she was at it. She barely looked up when I came in, except to express surprise to see me - which is normal for her. As I chatted with one of the other visitors, I watched while her right hand repeatedly picked the brightly-colored cards out of her left and played them on the discard pile. She was still unbeatable. And when she won, she didn't show pleasure, only a slight disappointment that the activity was over. And then she forgot she had done it. It was like she was home, except that ... she wasn't.

Once one of the people left, and we herded Mom back into her room (reminding her three times to not forget her walker), I shared with the other visitors (honorary Bro and Sis) the news about my brother, while managing to keep Mom from cluing in to it.  That's easy these days because she doesn't hear well and only can focus on one person at a time: whoever is in front of her usually.  I got a chance to visit with all of them, though. As visits go, it was pretty good. :)

Later, honorary Bro and I went down to see my brother in the CCU while honorary Sis and Mom kept playing cards in her room. The events just flowed, like they'd been prepared for me in advance, and all I needed to do was walk into them and take my place. Seeing her didn't fill me with dread or sadness; she was still Mom. 

The whole day was - I was going to say easy, but that isn't the right word. I was just ... living in each moment as it came without wondering where the next one would lead. It was an odd experience, unlike any other, but it felt completely natural. I just did whatever came next. Naturally.

"Do the next right thing" is a slogan that I have known about for close to nine years. The beauty of it is that word "next" because it implies that there is always a next time, and a next, and a next. Yesterday was supremely stressful and there were a lot of ups and downs in it (including the harrowing drive to the hospital at high speed on fairly unfamiliar roads among unforgiving drivers in high winds that buffeted the little car I was driving). But each segment of the day - including the drive and all the components of it - was one more step in doing "the next right thing."  I have rarely been more aware that I was exactly where I should be and doing the very thing that I was meant to do in that moment. It was like those moments were being orchestrated, conducted by a Master Designer, to meet not only their needs, but my own in the process. 

Blink of an eye

Blink.

December 18, 1991 - "Get a trauma blanket in here. Let's see if we can raise a vein."  .... "Ma'am, can you make a fist?" .... "Okay the IV is in - let's get some Tagamet in there to stop the nausea..." ... "You were dehydrated, Judy. Badly. We'll keep you on liquids for a few days. You'll need someone to look after you when we discharge you from hospital." 

Blink.

July 16, 1992 4:10 am - "Puuuush!! One more big push!" ... "How did you DO that?" .... "Honey, you were amazing."  (A baby cries in the corner of the room). "Welcome to the outside, Arielle!" ... 

Blink.

1995 - In church - "I am sallllty, I am sallllty, I am salllty, Oh Lord..."

Blink.
 
Summer 1997 - "You getting ANOTHER five Mr. Freezies? Don't these kids have homes to go to?" ... "But Mom, they're thirsty..." 

Blink.

June 2000 - "It's okay honey. Lots of people repeat a grade. You'll do all that much better next year."

Blink.

March 2002 - "Mrs. D____, we need to talk to you about some bullying that's been going on." ... "Sweetie, it's not okay that people are calling you those names. We need to stop them from doing it to you and stop them from doing it to anyone else too." ...

Blink.

October 2005 - "Well of course she passed the test; she's not stupid! You gave it to her in a quiet room with no distractions! Give it to her in a noisy room and she'd fail it!" .... "What do you mean she's just lazy! She knocks herself out every night doing homework. She just doesn't know what parts to pay attention to!" 

Blink. 

November 2006 - "No, I wasn't aware that she skipped school today. Yes, we'll have a conversation with her." .... "You want to go to the Village AGAIN?  I'm not sure those kids are good to hang around with..." ... 

Blink.

May 2007 - "Is this Arielle's dad? Um, I think you better come pick her up. Someone gave her some 180-proof and she's falling down and throwing up."  ... "So, how does it make you feel?" "AWful. I never wanna do that again." ... "Good." 

Blink.

February 2010 - "We had a fight and K___ kicked B____ out. I left with him. We have nowhere to go. I don't know what to do, Dad."  .... "If they stay here we at least know where she is." ... "Dear God, where did we go wrong?".... 

Blink.

September 2012 - "Mom. [sob]. They turned me back at the border and they made C___ go back to Michigan. Can you and Dad come and get me?" ... 

Blink. 

May 2013 - "Honey, we can't do it anymore. We can't stand the lying and the stealing, the not knowing where you are. Pick up your stuff because this is it. You can't come back home." ...

Blink. :'( 

June 2013 - "Yeah, we're leaving. There's nothing for us here anymore. We're going out West." ... "We'll keep in touch..." ... "Text me."

Blink.

July 16, 2013 - "I got the job, Mom!!"... 

Blink. 

September 18, 2013 - "You're never gonna believe this Mom. .... God touched me. I know He's real. .... I used to be afraid of being alone. And I'm not anymore. It's like I have this Friend who never leaves me." 

Blink.

September 19, 2013 - "Well she kicked me out, I have nowhere to live but in my car..." 

Blink.

October 5, 2013 - "Oh Mom. Don't give up your Thanksgiving spirit. Look at me, I'm living in my car ... but I'm thankful for my family, for what I do have. Just don't give up on Thanksgiving, Mom."

Blink.

October 23, 2013 - 1:10 pm - "Honey, ... I ... don't know how to start this conversation.  The police were just here at the house.  There's been an accident ... a head-on collision. ...."

Blink.

Change by millimeters

Today I had another reminder of how gradual and almost imperceptible growth is. 

I'd been fretting about an upcoming event for weeks, because I knew it would place me in a situation which - all my life - I would avoid like the plague because it MIGHT be construed by someone (anyone, it doesn't matter who!) as confrontational.  And I hate confrontation.  There was a lot of preparation that went into it, and I got some really cool strategies for coping with the stress of the situation from someone who was way more seasoned a presenter than I am.

Well, today was the day.  And the event happened.  And not only did I not sit there like a bump on a log afraid to say anything, I spoke up.  And I held my own. And I wasn't afraid. Yes, I stumbled over some of my words, but you know what? the world didn't cave in on me when I struggled to express myself.  

And - truth be told - the whole thing went pretty well.  

Surprise!  (Well, nobody there was more surprised than I was at how much I said and how calm I was!)  I thought afterward (about myself and my performance today), "Who was that person? and how can I get to know her?" 

But I reminded myself that I entered this new realm, took this new endeavor upon myself in order to "stretch" me. Indeed, I discovered how much I had already been "stretched" by growing in my own recovery and getting comfortable inside my own skin the last few years - without even knowing it!!  

It's been in increments - in millimeters - and at times it's felt so slow, almost glacial.  But it's been happening nonetheless.  And it's days like today that show me just how far I've come in what (in hindsight) has been such a short time compared to the "before" picture of uncertainty, insecurity, fear, and anxiety - which took decades to create.  The change boggles my mind.

Calm.  Confidence.  Compassion.  Courage.  

The inner climate is warming. The glacier is moving.

Hide and Seek

One of the things about this new life of healing and recovery is that as it progresses, there are fewer and fewer places to hide.  The lifestyle of rigorous honesty, of living in God's searchlight, is such that it pervades  Every. Single. Thing.  Every facet of my existence is open to scrutiny, and can be an occasion for God to put His finger on something that needs to happen in my life, some way I need to grow, some new fear or challenge that needs to be conquered.  And ONLY by His presence and power in my life - because I tried to do it on my own ... and failed - over and over again.  

Image via Google - source:
http://hearts-for-him.blogspot.ca/2011/12/hide-and-seek.html

As He frees me more and more of the shackles of my own self-deceptions and hindrances to intimacy with Him, (and I am far from having arrived!!) I tend to notice things more easily than I used to.  

I notice when I'm being manipulated, for example.  I notice it when people lie - even for reasons they may think are good - and it bothers me because ... well, because in this new way of living, I've learned that lying - even if my motives are good - ALWAYS leads to heartache.  So does manipulation.  And taking people on guilt trips.  All things I was VERY good at.  

I hid there for years. It was a safe place ... at least I thought it was.  It was also a very lonely place. I was so secure in "being right" that I pushed away everyone in my life that cared about me.  Nobody wanted to be around me - and those who had to be, tolerated me at best.  Hiding in my fortress of control - whether I exercised that control through playing the victim card or through intimidating my children with all my religious clap-trap - kept me from being happy.

This road I've been traveling for the last three years has brought me much farther out into the open than I ever was comfortable with, and the transition is ... well, uncomfortable!  Yet, I'm more easily able to seek those things which will be beneficial to me because I've come to be a bit more at ease inside my own skin.  The changes in me - and that is the key word : "IN" me - are slowly making changes automatically in my words, my relationships, my behavior.  I don't have to grunt and groan and strain to make them happen. They just DO.  

And instead of this uneasy and squirming, foreboding feeling when talking to God, like I was being called to the principal's office or something, I am more free to seek Him out and just spend time with Him.  No agendas.  No prayer list.  No chapter-a-day stuff.  Just me and Him.  The conversation takes place whether I'm aware of it or not.  Sometimes I'll just muse (seemingly to myself...) "Hm.  It would be really nice if this (fill in the blank) happened."  And when it does, I find myself pleasantly surprised - suddenly it comes to me that I spoke about it ... and God heard me. "Wow - thanks God!  That was pretty cool!"   

It's kind of an assumption that I have come to make that He's always with me, whether I'm conscious of it or not.  So I don't need to hide anymore.  The game of hide and seek has been turned on its ear and gone back to the way it was before the "rules" took over.  

Oh come on, I'm sure you get it.  You know how it is, you've seen it happen when a child who is too young to understand the rules of hide-and-seek "ruins" it for the older ones by jumping out and shouting "Here I am!"  The pure joy of being found is obvious to the toddler.  That's where I am starting to live now, spiritually (in other words, in relationship with God) as well as in other areas.  I have skulked around in the darkness and in the corners - bound up by the 'rules' -  long enough to know that even making it to 'home base' (like, for example, being right or winning an argument) brings only temporary satisfaction - and always at someone else's expense.  And the 'hiding' - the fear of being found out, of being exposed - that is so not healthy.  

So, as much as I know how ... here I am.

Forced to Fit

I hate being "pegged."  That statement that starts, "Well, knowing you..." raises a teeny red flag with me especially if it comes from someone who doesn't know anything about me and only thinks they do because they know me in one context.  

There have been times I have done things just to upset the applecart of someone else's preconceived notion of me.  And there have been things about me that have come to light which have made others who think they know me, absolutely shocked.  Like the time a few years back that I got one of the 3 highest marks in the country for a leadership screening test.  I was "just a clerk."  The other clerks around me were (hee hee) shocked (and yes, that pleased me for some reason).  Some were angry.  Others were jealous.  Still others were happy for me and championed my cause.  It's funny - I could easily tell which ones were which. 

People are multi-faceted.  

You know what's annoying?  the whole concept of "fitting in"!!  Conforming to a set bunch of social rules just because someone - usually an extravert - has deemed that this is the behavior desired and that if you don't like it, you're "weird."  

It's like trying to hammer a square peg into a round hole, the peg is forced to fit, and is irreparably damaged.  Of course nobody thinks of it that way; "fitting in" is paramount.  (My question is always, "WHYYYY?")  If everybody was the same as everybody else, we'd be in a sorry state!  And how unutterably boring would that be??   

The apostle Paul recognized each person's individuality within the church, saying that each person had a part to play, each needed the other - just like members of a physical body need each other.  Just because my sense of humour is not like sister so-and-so's, and just because I am more hesitant to socialize, doesn't make me bad or wrong.  I am a unique and precious creation and was created this way for a reason.  If I become like someone else and sacrifice my own unique talents and gifts, then I've sabotaged my own purpose in the world.  

It's not a hard concept to grasp.  Square holes are hard to find, but they exist.  God created them too; He'll lead me to them. 

Awareness is the Key

Appearances can be deceiving.  People are multi-faceted.  Often there are hidden treasures laying beneath the surface for those who are willing to invest the time it takes to get to know someone.  Even when you think you know someone, and have known them for several years, they can still surprise you with yet another facet.  

But there are times when I assume that I know something about someone and that is set in stone, and I can miss something important, something wonderful, about that person.  And I suspect that it happens to other people when they look at me.  A few times in my life, I have demonstrated a latent ability that others didn't expect from me, and I have seen eyebrows raise in shock.  

Taking a very simple example from the physical world, ... okay - I'm obese.  I know I'm obese.  Yet there are times when I see a passageway toward which I and another person are approaching ... and I honestly think both of us can fit through at the same time.  That's because I still think of myself as this tiny slip of a thing I used to be when I was eight.  I didn't start gaining weight until I was in my 20's and so my natural 'default' body image is one of someone who takes up almost no space.  So when I head into the passageway and the other person waits for me - it's a reminder.  (Oh yeah, crap.  I don't look like that anymore; I can't do those things anymore.) 

The same with my default personality-image.  My self-esteem, my way of thinking about the kind of person I am defaults to that scared, needy, clingy, manipulative complainer all too quickly.  When I act out of that head-space, I feel myself sliding inside, feeling two-dimensional: something just cringes and feels all oily and soiled.  When I become aware, and do a quick inventory of my attitudes, I realize it's because I've gone back into that muck and mire of the old life.  The answer for me is to realize that's what has happened, admit it to myself and to God, ask for His help, and then in faith to stop the mindset and begin to really live life intentionally instead of coasting. 

Sometimes I have no clue where I'm going or what I'm doing.  Okay, most times I don't.  That's when I go back to my newly-discovered (yet ages-old) maxim of "One Day at a Time" and trust that God is doing for me what I can't do for myself.  He sees all the fragmented pieces as a complete whole and someday, He'll let me see it as well.

It's awareness that is the key to living an "intentional" life - a choice-based life, rather than one just run on "auto-pilot."  But it's  trust in something - a Power - greater than ourselves that allows us to turn that key and unlock from a lifetime of coasting in sheer "me-ness." 

Identifying those old self-destructive patterns and their sources is extremely hard; I am not going to sugar-coat it.  The process is far from easy and it takes a lot longer than desired.  Often someone on this road of healing doesn't know the next step, much less what lies around the next bend in the road (if there even is one).  But with perseverance, commitment to being aware of those things and rooting them out ... the way does clear, the thicket thins out, and there is a growing light along the way - plus a surprise that I for one never expected.

Happiness.

What makes us human?

We dance all around it.  We talk about it but then try to hide it whenever possible.  The defining trait of humanity - as I have come to see it - isn't so much our intelligence, our social structure, or our accomplishments (including how much money we make or even that we have the concept of money!)  Rather, it is the capacity to both experience emotion and KNOW we are experiencing it, to have thoughts and know we are having them.  

Psychologists call this capacity "meta-cognition."  We have no problem with the thinking part.  We think and we know we're thinking, and we can even express in words, either verbal or written (another defining human trait), the ideas and thoughts that we think.

However, we have a harder time with the other part.

Emotions.  We are taught (especially in Western culture) that emotions are bad, especially negative ones, even the positive ones - if they are intense - are suspect.  For this reason many try to clamp down on their negative emotions.  I did it for years, even prided myself on nothing being able to affect me.  The problem with that, of course, is that nothing affected me.  In cutting myself off from my negative emotions, I also cut myself off from the pleasant ones.  I lost my self, and not in a good way.  I lost touch with who I was - and at the age of 48, I had no idea who Judy was or if I would even like her if I got to know her.  If there was a feeling there at all, it was of bewilderment... of sadness so profound I could not even begin to get to its roots - by myself.  

Suppressed (shall I put it another way - denied and unexpressed) anger, fear, or disappointment, mixed with a sense of being trapped, are the seeds of depression, clinical (that is, lasting more than 3 months) or not.  

Only now, now that I have been in a recovery process for over 2 years, am I starting to allow myself the luxury of having fun.  In order to get there, I had to express some pretty strong feelings (in a safe way of course and with people I had come to trust).  All that pent-up anger and feelings of betrayal, sadness, and self-pity had to come out, to be brought to the surface and ... FELT.

Yes, it was hard.  It was incredibly hard.  I am not a big fan of pain at all!!  But I had someone who was wiling to walk through the process with me and let me know that it was necessary in order to be free, to come to a place of forgiveness, dare I say acceptance ... and compassion.  Before, I could not get to forgiveness because I could not allow myself to express those feelings that - truth be told - I was forbidden to express growing up.  

Being assured that my emerging feelings were normal for what I went through was extremely liberating.  Just the validation of that carried me through many painful months of having those "normal" feelings... I put it in quotation marks because it felt anything but normal - they came out in a flood because they had been pent-up for so very long and I had only allowed overflows (like a pressure cooker letting off steam enough to keep from blowing up).  The flood was overwhelming at times. And most of the stuff I felt was negative.  A lot of negative stuff happened to me in my life.  My emotional recovery was like a storm in a lake - all the silt and mud gets stirred up and the waters look so dirty.  That's how I felt - soiled somehow - until these things started to be brought to the surface, dealt with, and forgiven.  

Gradually, though, the waters cleared ... and I could begin to see clearly.  I began to experience something I had not known for many years - if at all.  Happiness.

I would not trade that sense of everything being as it should be - for anything.

My Story - my thanks!

The interchange went something like this today:

"It's really weird.  The more I tell my story, the more I find I am helping others who are suffering like I was, to come into their own freedom, and the better and more solid I am in my recovery.  I can talk about my past without becoming angry and upset, and God has given me a compassion for those who injured me in the past, and a burning desire to help those who are still living in suffering and denial."

He smiled.  "Telling one's story is a truly powerful thing."

We went on to talk about how after a certain time, one who is being healed of so many things in his or her inner life comes to the point where going back to the pre-recovery lifestyle is repulsive.  

I believe one book says this about that: "For by this time sanity will have returned. ... if tempted (to go back to the old lifestyle) we recoil from it as from a hot flame.  We react sanely and normally, and we will find that this new attitude has been given to us without any thought or effort on our part. It just comes! That is the miracle of it. We are not fighting it, neither are we avoiding temptation.  We feel as though we had been placed in a position of neutrality, safe and protected.  We have not even sworn off.  Instead, the problem has been removed.  It does not exist for us.  We are neither cocky, nor are we afraid.  That is how we react as long as we keep in fit spiritual condition. ... We are not cured... What we have is a daily reprieve contingent on the maintenance of our spiritual condition."

I shook my head.  "It really is repulsive to me now, the life I once thought was so righteous, so 'Christian.'  I wasn't real at all; I hid inside my rules and regulations, isolated myself from the very people who (like me) were in desperate need of God's touch on their lives.  And the whole time I deluded myself into believing that being "right" was better than being happy, being free.  Now that I'm free ... I don't need to be right, to win every argument any more. God is opening more doors than I ever thought possible.  My family, my marriage is restored.  I'm way more accepting of people, and I have more of a sense of where they start and I stop, and vice versa.  I'm ... happy, for what feels like the first time in my life."

He nodded - his eyes sparkling with ... were those tears?

"What a difference this last 2 years has made in my life," I continued.  "And you've been a part of that healing, and I am so grateful."

And I am.

Edmund's song

The first time I read CS Lewis' "The Chronicles of Narnia" I was in my 20's. (We won't talk about how long ago that was...)

I was visiting my sister-in-law. Glenda was born with spina bifida and hydrocephalus, at a time when shunt operations were still experimental and nobody survived them. Her parents had decided not to approve the operation and pray instead. The water on her brain stopped being produced and her head stopped growing. She survived, and brought such joy to our lives during her 41 years. (I might write more about her in a later post.) Her reading level was about a grade 6 or 7 but her comprehension was around grade 3 or 4.

Somebody had given her the entire set of CS Lewis' Chronicles of Narnia. I'd heard of the books, knew they were allegory, but had never read them. She saw my interest and said I could borrow them: "I'll probably never read them," she said. So I took them home.

For two weeks I devoured those books, one after the other. They transported me to Narnia, a mythical place where Aslan the lion was king, where the animals could talk, and where sons of Adam and daughters of Eve were kings and queens.

Shortly after that I discovered the 70's group, The 2nd Chapter of Acts. And I found out they'd done a tribute to CS Lewis' 2nd Narnia book, "The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe." My favorite scene in that book is when Aslan rescues Edmund from the White Witch's clutches and talks to him. (Soon after, if you've read the book or seen the movie, Aslan fulfills his part of the deal to redeem Edmund - by dying for him.) So when I heard Edmund's song on the 2CA album, (ok - vinyl, that dates me) it touched something deep in me.

Here's the song -

I love that line - "I've looked in Aslan's eyes, now fears can't hide my lies..."

There is something about Jesus (we all know who Aslan is) that reaches past those fears, exposes the lies of life lived from the outside in (religion, in other words) and grants the simple joy of sins forgiven, erased as though they never existed. I need to be reminded of it. Often.

I can hear His roar of love.