Thanks Giving

Our family celebrates Thanksgiving twice a year: once on the 2nd Monday in October (or thereabouts) and once on the 4th Thursday in November (or more likely, the Saturday right after that.) 

Thanksgiving is huge at our house, especially when it comes to food. There's turkey with all the trimmings (dressing, carrots, squash, mashed potatoes, gravy), two kinds of pie, and usually we like to share our "groaning table" (and when we are done eating we sure ARE groaning) with one or two other people.

We take some time to share the things for which we are most grateful - family, friends, this or that circumstance, and other things that we've been thinking about lately. 

Tips and tricks for preparing for a holiday meal here

There are so many ways to express thanks, to show gratitude for the blessings we have in our country, in our society, in our local area - not just at Thanksgiving, but much more frequently than that. 

People can donate money to a good cause. They can attend a church service and give thanks that way. They can wear a specific color or participate in a fund-raiser. They can organize a community potluck. 

But by far the easiest - and yet the most under-used - way is to just contact someone who is or has done something special, and say, "Thank you." 

That's it. Just a heart-felt verbal expression of gratefulness. What could be simpler? 

Apparently it's very difficult for some folks. The words just won't come! Given the choice between telling someone how much he or she means ... and paying him or her money ... you guessed it. They prefer to pay rather than say. 

My take on that is that the feelings are the most important thing. Expressing the feelings runs a close second. After that, giving someone money - if a person really feels the need to do that - needs to be a confirmation of verbally expressed (or written) appreciation. 

And finally, the other part of thanksgiving is the attitude of giving: giving without any expectation of recompense or reward, no strings attached. Part of the reason so many people dread the holidays is that there are so many expectations - so many you-scratch-my-back-and-I'll-scratch-yours assumptions. Reciprocity is a great idea when it's the idea of the person wanting to repay someone for a kindness done. However, when reciprocity (the expectation of repayment in kind) is the basis for a relationship, resentments can build when one party doesn't meet the other's expectations.

I remember one fellow who was well-known for the parties he had at his home for various members of his social group. I knew this man and so I asked him why he'd never invited us to his place. "Because you've never had us over," was his simple - and quick - reply. His response made me think about the political game involved in giving - a game that is most obvious at Christmas, but which is played every day of the year by so many people. And meanwhile, those who have no self-esteem hesitate to even approach someone else ... but I digress. 

My main point is that there needs to be both thanks and giving in Thanksgiving. 

Every day.

But I will remember

I wrote a book about 8 or 9 years ago.  It was never published - I never quite thought that it was finished, and it just lacked ... oomph. 

It sat in a file in my old computer, actually got passed along from computer to computer.  I always knew that someday I would do something with it.  Yet something felt ... unfinished. 

When I was first writing it, the words poured out of me like a torrent.  As I got closer to the point where I left off, though, it seemed ... uncertain, hesitant. It was like there was a bad taste in my mouth - like I was spewing forth poison and someone was going to get hurt.  I didn't have the first clue how to take that out.  So it sat.  The book sat, as it were, on the shelf.  I just had this sense that it had to wait.  It had to wait until I was ready.

About two months ago, it's like I suddenly knew that it was time.  Time to go back and rework what was there, take out the poison, use my current voice, take out some parts and add others, and after that, pick up where I left off.

The hesitancy was gone.  I knew where I was going with it.  

It was to be a prequel to "Get Unwrapped!" 

Source of this photo

I don't know how long it's going to take, or when it will be ready. But I'm working on it... and the words are pouring out of me again. 

The "fever" is upon me again. I laugh and cry as I write.  I remember the things I'm writing about like they were yesterday.  

With the help of all the wall calendars I've kept stashed away through the years, the memories are taking shape, firming up.  I'm getting into the groove of telling my story, remembering how things used to be, what happened, and how I got through it - or didn't, as the case may be. Even as I write, it spurs other memories long forgotten. 

And I know it's right. The poison I felt was there in 2004? - it's being expunged and in its place, compassion and truth reign.  When I left off writing it, I felt I had arrived - and now, that's no longer true.  

A lot has changed. 

I've changed.  

So I'm looking forward to seeing this take shape, to refining it, to getting it ready for publication. 

Who knows? At the rate I'm going, it might even be ready by Christmas.

Get a good grip

You probably would not guess by looking at me, but I love to golf.  I'm not very good at it, but I love to do it.  (I haven't been able to lately for two reasons: my health and my finances). 

One of the first things you learn to do is how to hold the golf club so that the ball will fly straight and long.  It's a delicate balance - you want to hold it tight enough so it doesn't slip, but loose enough so that you don't throw off your whole swing (and sacrifice both distance and accuracy) by tightening up your muscles.  Once the club is pointed in the right direction, a perfectly great golf swing can be ruined by a poor grip.  Too tight and you hook or slice the ball... or you lean back and try to give'er - as the saying goes - and end up "topping" it so it only dribbles off the tee and bouncing about thirty feet ahead.  Not good.  Too loose, and the ball might go a long way, but the club will turn at the point of impact and send the ball in the wrong direction!

I will never forget what the person who taught me said about this. "Balance. Relax your core and keep your shoulders square, your feet lined up to where you want the ball to go.  Your stance should be natural, not contrived. Keep your eye on the ball at all times through the swing.  And remember above all things: it's golf, not baseball. It's not going to go farther if you lean back and put yourself out of balance. Finesse is more important than power."  

Here's the link for this photo!

Great life lessons!  

So is this one - courtesy of my husband.  "Don't compare yourself to the other player(s).  Golf is a contest but not with them ... it's with yourself. If you flub a shot, learn from it, let it go, and move on.  You're here to have fun, not to beat up on yourself."

But of all the things that I had to learn, the grip - I believe - was by far the most important, because it would complement or throw off everything else about my game.  Knowing how to handle that club was key for me to not lose my ball in the rough or miss hitting it altogether.  The reward for a good grip was that satisfying "sssnICK!" as the club face hit that ball right on the sweet spot... and my gaze would follow that ball straight down the fairway. Usually with my mouth open in amazement.

And at first - it felt so incredibly unnatural.  Grip it tight with these fingers but let those fingers flex with the shot.  Hook this finger around that one. No, not like that, like this.  (It was easy to tense up by this point).  Keep your wrists cocked until you get to the bottom of the swing and then straighten them out for impact and let them go again as you follow through.  Confusing?  OH yeah!

It was that way in my own journey of inner healing too.  I had to learn new skills I never had before.  Yes, keep holding on to this but let go of that.  Put this priority over that one, keep it there, no, now it's too far - tighten up this a little, loosen that, adjust your sights, now practice a bit.  See how that feels... (it felt ruddy awkward!!) Ah, you see? that's a good grip! (Really? how do people live like this?)

Eventually though, after a few successful swings at life - seeing the far-reaching results of even my own feeble efforts to live life without trying to beat it (or me) to death, I got a bit more used to the new normal.  And my life-game started to improve.

By no means have I broken a hundred yet.  But at least I'm getting a good grip.  I just need more practice.

Different and same

I just saw a video this morning that I must share.  It's about five and a half minutes long and it is about a young man named Ryan Pittman.

His story is so powerful that it stands alone.  A lot of people have tried to get across what everybody needs to know.  Ryan succeeded.  He has given hope and inspiration to so many people.



I know he inspired me.

Owning Your Power

One of the most difficult concepts I have had to understand and accept over the last three years has been what Melody Beattie, a well-known author in recovery circles, calls "owning your power."  

It did not make any sense to me.  I was painfully aware, having been desperate enough to ask for help, that I was powerLESS over others, even over my own addiction to being needed.  How could anyone - no, how could I - own any power that I was sure I didn't have?  

So I set the idea aside and concentrated on the tasks ahead - which were all about learning that people - all people, including myself - have boundaries.  Those boundaries must be respected.  Learning to let go of other people, to see and respect their boundaries, to stop manipulating, intimidating, and controlling, led me to the understanding that I, too, had boundaries.  That it was okay to say no - if no was what I felt. That certain things that people had done to me or were trying to do to me (such as intimidation, manipulation, and control) were wrong.

It was then that I started to understand what it meant to "own my power."  

It didn't mean that I had or could exert power over others.  It meant that I had a choice as to whether to allow others to exert power over me or not.  It meant that I could choose to take responsibility for my own actions, and to let others assume responsibility for theirs.  And that included their expectations of me!! I didn't need to allow them to make me feel guilty for something they expected me to do which I decided not to do.  Or to for something that they expected me NOT to do which I decided to go ahead and do.  

Owning my power has come to mean placing value on myself, the value that God places on me.  It involves making my own decisions and bearing my own consequences - and allowing others the same courtesy.  It also has a lot to do with not letting other people, their demands or expectations of me control my actions or reactions.  They have the right to their own feelings and opinions - but those feelings and opinions do not have to determine what I do or don't do - or how I feel or don't feel.  

For someone who spent her whole life trying to please people out of a sense of insecurity - that is a huge step.  I still have a tendency to not want people to be mad at me ... but when someone doesn't agree with my choices now, it doesn't bother me nearly as much as it would have - because my sense of self-worth doesn't come from them anymore. 

It's amazing how much energy that frees up to devote to other, more important things that I actually WANT to do.

Power and Peace

It was 1978.  The eastern seaboard had been going through a drought.  Creeks, once gurgling and splashing over the rocks, dwindled to a trickle.  The air was hot and grew muggier and muggier with each passing week.

At a summer camp, everyone has a regular job (one they do all summer) and a rotating job (there are so many duties ranging from cleaning toilets to peeling potatoes to washing dishes that everyone gets to take his or her turn.)  Since my regular job was looking after the trail rides, I rode upwards of 3 hours a day.  

August 17.  We'd gone nearly 8 weeks without rain.  The dirt pathways were dusty, and some of the other staff and I wanted to take the horses for a jaunt that was outside the regular trail, so we got together and took off through the woods.  Leaves scratched lightly against our skin as we traveled through the tree-arched pathways to the neighboring property, a farmer's field - the edge of which we'd gotten permission to ride on.

We heard it from a distance while we were riding the edge of the farmer's field at the far end of the wooded trail - and at first we didn't realize the danger we were in.  A low rumble.  The second surprisingly louder.  

Thunder.

Inside I froze.  I'd always been terrified of lightning - my family culture fostering a vibrant fear of unbridled electricity.  Our parents would wake us up in thunderstorms in the middle of the night, just to sit in the living room in case we had to leave the house if it were struck.  I'd heard how lightning came through the kitchen window while my grandmother was washing dishes, and took a fork right out of her hand.  Or how my father - as a child - was pursued by ball lightning (ignited pockets of methane gas) as he ran across a pig pasture toward his house.  All these things rocketed through my mind in that moment of time.

"Book it!" yelled one of the staff members, shattering my fear-fest, just before another peal ripped across the sky, seemingly right above our heads. We made our way as fast as the horses could run, toward the tree line, and turned back into the wooded path that was the only way back to the camp, slowing down as we did, to avoid having the animals trip on the bare tree roots in the pathway.  And then the rain assaulted us - everything (including us) went from dry to wet in five seconds flat.  Great, saucer-sized drops of rain soaked us, pelting and permeating everything.  And always there was the acrid, metallic smell of electric air.

It was the smell of panic.

I could feel my heart beating in my throat.  We were going from the frying pan into the fire.  All those trees overhead - I was sure I was going to be hit - or one of the trees was going to be hit and crash down on me.  

Each of the bright blue flashes of light melded into the next one.  I remember the feeling of my soaked legs gripping the saddle, the warmth of the horse beneath me.  I wanted to shut my eyes but could not afford to - I needed to be alert to keep from getting smacked by tree branches, to keep from directing the horse over too rough terrain.

The crashes became indistinguishable from each other.  I'd never witnessed a storm that wild in my life - me, who would spend thunderstorms inside cowering under the kitchen table - and here I was in the middle of it and I couldn't run away.  There was nowhere to run!

We rode the trail all the way back to the pasture and let ourselves in the gate, still being hammered with water.  We were so relieved - at the edge of the tree line - to see the open-ended barn: a glorified lean-to, where the horses would gather away from the sun.  We dismounted, drenched to our water-wrinkled skin, and removed the horses' bridles and saddles, putting them on their hooks in the barn, and broke open a couple of bales of hay for our mounts.  Afterward, rain still teeming, we trudged back through more tree-lined paths to the camp.  The others were running - I walked.  After all, I was wet already; how could I get any wetter?

To my surprise, having survived the trip high up on horseback through the trail, I discovered that my fear had changed from a mountainous monster into something a whole lot smaller.

So instead of going to my dorm room immediately to dry off, I went to the neighboring dorm and knocked on the door of a good friend who was assigned there.  She took one look at my face, hair plastered in ribbons along my cheeks, water running off my chin, and started to laugh.  "It's raining!" I yelled over the thunder.  She ran out into the rain with me and we laughed and laughed together, arms and faces raised to the sky, twirling like little children in the mud puddles, greeting each flash of lightning with hoots of approval. We could hear the creek roaring only a hundred feet away, filled almost to overflowing.

Neither of us ever forgot that day. Neither of us ever wants to.

Power Begins with Helplessness

I had a magnetic resonance image (MRI) taken today.  For a person who tends to be claustrophobic it can be a bit off-putting!

They jammed me into the place they wanted me to be, held in place by straps and cushions, and wired up to listen to soothing music, my left hand holding a panic button and my right held immobile at my side while they took a picture of my right shoulder with a very large, very powerful magnet.

My eyes were about two inches from the inside of the tube.  Talk about invading one's personal space.  I felt completely powerless.  This beast had me and I was in its belly until it was done with me.

I'm familiar with that feeling.  As a child, I felt it every time I was beaten.  And as an adult I vowed I'd never feel at anyone's mercy again.  Well, that didn't happen.  For many years I was at the mercy of the most cruel, exacting, judgmental, and perfectionistic person I know.
Me.

My expectations of myself were nothing less than perfection.  And I expected no less from the people around me either.

No wonder they didn't want to have anything to do with me or with anything I believed.

Try as I might, I was powerless to change them. And I was totally incapable of changing myself. I was stuck.  And truth be told, I deluded myself into thinking that I was a selfless, giving person, who wanted nothing more than the best for everyone in my life (definition of the best was "what I want them to do").  The harder I tried, the more I got the opposite of what I wanted.  I learned the hard way that the very things you fear the most are the very things that you create in your life.  Loneliness? check.  Rejection? double-check.  Abandonment? oh yeah.

My journey to a place of wholeness, a life of power, began when I admitted that I was powerless.  Totally, completely, with no reservations, no conditions.  In the control and power department, I was totally bankrupt.  I had no resources to control other people, make them do what I wanted them to do.  Nor could I make MYSELF do what I wanted to do either.  Admitting I was powerless gave me permission to fail.  It gave me permission to allow others to fail.  It  opened up my mind to the possibility that if I couldn't manage my own life, much less anyone else's, then I needed a Manager.

THAT WAS HUGE FOR ME.

I had thought I was pretty normal, not uptight like a lot of folks.  But this admission made me realize just how tense I was.

It was like the moment that I received an epidural (spinal anesthetic) when I had my first child.  The doctor told me to get as relaxed as I possibly could.  I thought I was.  I was slumped over in a very loose way ... and then the needle went into my spinal column.  Immediately I slumped forward another six inches as the control I was holding over my lower body left me in a moment of time.  Poof.  Gone. Just like that. It surprised me.

Within days of the admission that I was powerless over other people, when a situation would arise that I had previously tried to manipulate or control...the knowledge that I couldn't control it came to my rescue.  I could relax.  Inside my mind and heart, I could give this person the right to have a different opinion than me.  I could stop trying to manipulate that person's feelings and just be honest.  (That was a trip.)  I could let go (see my last post).  I didn't need to get all bent out of shape because things weren't going my way.  It wasn't the end of the world. Previously, it had been.

The admission I was powerless actually gave me far more power than I had before.  Not with other people initially, but personally, inside.  It freed up so many inner resources that up until that time were bound up with fretting over what other people did, what they said, what they thought, how they felt.  Usually about me.

It's so different now.  The freedom that kind of mindset gives me is the source of all kinds of good things in my life: new friendships, a new outlook on life, new interests, new passions.  Old (unhealthy) relationships have been transformed - and those that couldn't be transformed have been ended.  I am more and more free as time goes on.  And I would not trade that kind of liberty for any amount of influence someone could promise me over another's behavior.

Not if it meant going back to the way things used to be.

The Power of the Wind

I'm one of those people that dreams of an idyllic paradise where the sun always shines in the day, the rain only falls at night (if at all), and there is no snow, cold, or wind.

Even in the summertime a perfectly sunny day can be ruined for me by a strong wind. It blows in my ears and gives me an earache, sets off my tinnitus, and blows any hair style I thought of having (to use an expression I heard when I was growing up) all to barf. It can really put me in a foul mood... if I let it.


But the wind serves a purpose.  It is the harbinger of weather changes, aids in cross-pollination, spreads seeds, and helps in the water cycle by speeding up evaporation.  It strengthens root systems in trees, makes them more flexible.

It can also give us an inkling of the power of its Creator.  The boulder in the picture to the left has been sliding across the packed sand in the strong desert wind. The wind.  The invisible moves the visible. Who can forget the sight of palm trees whipping and mighty century-old oaks snapping in hurricane after hurricane?  There's no controlling when, in what direction, how hard and how long it will blow.  


I guess that's why God said that His Spirit is like that.  Unpredictable, unseen, yet so evident if you just listen, look, feel.  Oh, He's there, whether we like it or not at times. He's there when things are decidedly uncomfortable.  He's there when we long for a wisp of a breeze to cool us off.  He's there when the storms of life pin us against a wall.  And He decides where He goes, what He does, who He touches, how He works. Unstoppable, powerful, gentle, passionate, ... all those things and much, much more.  After all, He's God.

This is (part of) my story

Lately I have been reminded of the simple power of telling one's story of healing, of God's miraculous power.  

A lot of people can say a lot of things regarding someone's beliefs, opinions, or thoughts, but there is very little anyone can say or do to argue with the voice of experience.  What comes to mind is the man blind from birth, healed when a man he didn't know made mud, put it on his eyes and told him to go wash in a certain pool.  He did - and came back seeing.  When the religious officials questioned him, questioned his theology, and ridiculed his opinion, he simply said, "Whether He is a sinner or not, I don't know.  All I know is that I once was blind, and now I see."

Powerful words because they tell of something that really happened.

Many people have commented on the story my husband and I have to tell.  So, since our assistant pastor came to our house in April 2010 and filmed some of our story, I am including it here.  We did the interview in fear and trembling - but we needn't have worried.  We have been accepted with open arms by people we thought would turn us away.  That's an amazing thing because - well, see for yourself.

The various communities of which we are a part have opened up their hearts and their arms to us, and we are so grateful.  

When I look back at how far we have come, I am truly amazed at God's power to transform.  I've been in recovery  -  on this road of healing  -  for about 22 months, my hubby for 20 months.  Each of us has been on a parallel road of healing in our lives.  The details are different of course, but the process is the same.  


The great thing about this is that we realize that God can use the awful, the difficult things in our lives firstly to bring us to the place where we admit we need help - and then, once we are where God wants us to be, to help others who might have the exact same problem, feelings, addiction, or struggles we did.  And not only can we give them hope that it can change, but we can tell them ... SHOW them how it can be done in the day-to-day.  

In doing so, God transforms the very thing we thought was so ugly, into something beautiful for Him.  What a miracle!

Shoulds and Oughtas - Who am I - Really?

I come from a musical family. Music is a large part of what I do, how I think, what speaks to me when nothing else can. When I watched Disney's Mulan for the first time, I identified with her so very much when she came back home after a disastrous experience trying to conform to family and society expectations.

Here she is, singing that song as it appears in the movie:

The girl had spent her entire life trying to please someone else. I could understand that. I could understand not knowing who the person was that I saw in the mirror in the morning. And I had no clue how to find out who that person was, or why nobody seemed to like her. In fact, I was afraid to find out. I thought that if I knew who she was, I wouldn't like her either.

God used my obsession with other people, my compulsion to "fix" them, to bring me further and further down the path of frustration until I had to admit that I needed help to cope. I thought I was getting help so that I could fix my husband and my children, so they would change and I would THEN be happy.

But God had other plans. He usually does. By my second counseling session I was confronted with the idea that it was I who needed help. Not my addicted husband. Not my out-of-control kids. ME. My counselor looked at me at the end of that session and said, "Judy, I think that in trying to live your life for other people, in trying to rescue them, fix them, have some sort of influence over them, along the way somewhere you've lost yourself."

I burst into tears. "I don't even know who that person is." The words gurgled from my lips past a tight throat.

He handed me a tissue. "That's what I'm here for."

Since that time, I have discovered who I am. Surprisingly, I found out that I was starting to like, even admire, this person. (Who knew?)

And the more I got to know myself, the more I recognized the same lost-ness in others that I once had, that driven-ness to have an impact on my loved ones, on my world. "Gotta." "S'posta." "Should." "Oughta." "Must." "Hafta."

Living like that was so stressful. It wasted so much energy. And what's worse, the more I obsessed about what I should be doing or how others should be behaving, the more I pinged around trying to "help" (in other words, MAKE) people understand what they were doing to themselves, the worse things got. My efforts were having the opposite result from what I wanted. I gave in to temptation - more times than I can count. I lost my temper, I manipulated, I threatened, I threw guilt trip fits. My husband drank more, and my children resented me more, and openly rejected the God I believed in.

Something was wrong and I couldn't figure out what it was. I felt nobody would listen to me. I was right. But I didn't know how to GET them to listen... until I realized that what I was stressing so much about ... didn't matter. God was more interested in getting ME to listen to HIM. He had some amazing things in store for me and He did whatever it took to get me to the place where I was sitting across from this particular counselor and spilling my guts.

He - and I truly believe he was used by God to teach me this - introduced me to the power of admitting TO MYSELF that I was powerless over others, and that in trying to exert power over them, my life was a mess.

That was the first step on the road to healing.

Letting Go

I don't usually give a second thought to birds in flight - until I see one that can't fly but which is supposed to be able to fly.

I remember a song I wrote when I was a teenager. I'd been to a wildlife park and had seen an eagle there. It bothered me so much to see such a magnificent bird dragging its feathers in the dust, hopping from foot to foot, looking miserable.

Anyway, the song was about an eagle who had been captured, tethered to the ground amid the dust, and made to live a lower life to satisfy the curiosity of its captors. He looks up to the skies and sees a sparrow, flitting from bush to bush outside his enclosure.

Part of the lyrics went like this:

I know that I, an eagle, was more majestic than he
But now he owns more power, simply because he is free.

Was I sixteen when I wrote that?? Wow.... But I digress.

He was powerless to free himself. But someone who had enough money to buy him, could come in at any time and loose the bonds. (When that happens with a slave, they call it redemption). Then it would be the eagle's choice whether to stay, still considering himself to be tied to the ground, or move past those fears, let go of his previous mindset, and leap into the sky.

So with us. Jesus has freed us, but many of us are still hopping around on the ground, believing in the limitations to which we've become accustomed.

There is such liberty in letting go.

We let go of our old way of thinking, of thinking that we can fix people, control them, manipulate them, rescue them. We let God rescue them - that is His job, after all. He's the One who does it best. And we just concentrate on our own spiritual journey, our own relationship with Him.

We let go of the lies we were fed all our lives, and we embrace His truth: He loves us, He accepts us just as we are, He wants the best for us (that's HIM), and He will never give up on us. He considers us worth knowing. He gave everything to make sure we had that opportunity!!

With His empowerment,

• We let go of the self-doubt those lies led us to.
• We let go of the guilt for past deeds - He died to take that away if we would just give it to Him.
• We let go of the shame we feel for being ourselves, and we begin to see ourselves as He sees us.
• We let go of the resentments we have harbored against those who have kept us in bondage. Those resentments themselves have kept us bound even more than our oppressors did.

We look only to Him, and let Him look deeply into us with an unconditional love like we've never known or ever will know. In that love-relationship, as we let go of the things that tie us to our old selves, we find the very thing we have longed for all our lives.

Joy.