Breathe. In and out. Repeat.

Some days just pass by without me taking much notice; they seem normal and uneventful, as if nothing tumultuous has ever happened to me or to those I love. 

And other times, I have fleeting moments where I need to remind myself to breathe, to let go, to concentrate on doing the next right thing. 

"Waterfall In Forest" - courtesy of
phonsawat at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

Still others are entire days when I need to remind myself continually of those things: specific days such as a birthday or an anniversary, a statutory holiday like Christmas or Easter or Thanksgiving. At those times, I wonder how I'll get through the day, remind myself to breathe, in and out, and repeat as needed. And it's hard, even with relying heavily on my relationship with God and reminding myself that "He's got me."  

And ... miraculously ... I get through it. 

I had a day like that recently - our baby girl's birthday was last Wednesday. She would have been 22 years old. Try as I might to treat it like "just any other day" ... it was difficult to concentrate and I kept making silly, stupid mistakes that just weren't "me." 

The love of friends and family helped me as I breathed in, and breathed out. Giving myself permission to grieve without guilt or shame was key to surviving the experience. And love, love expressed in tangible ways, was the healing balm that I needed. God usually finds a way to remind me that He cares by showing me that people care. This particular time it was through a thoughtful gift from a friend miles away from here. 

Photo "Daisy Flower" by
markuso at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

Someone reminded me a few weeks ago that the pain of an initial physical injury (such as when I tore the cartilage in my shoulder on August 7, 2006) can be remembered, but not brought back and relived or re-experienced with the same intensity. (Not that I'd want to!!) 

However, the pain of an emotional injury is just as fresh and excruciating as its memory. If the emotionally painful experience is remembered, the emotional pain comes with it. 

What I didn't know until several months ago is that the brain releases the exact same chemicals when experiencing emotional pain as when having physical pain. It's therefore crucial to be gentle with ourselves when life throws a monkey-wrench into our daily experience. 

"It will pass. It will," a still small Voice says inside of me. "Breathe."

"Again." 

And I do. And it passes. 

And the next day life could return completely back to normal. And it often does. 

But I'm so glad that when those times come, when the billows roll over me and knock me around, I know I can count on Love to be whatever I need it to be for me at the time I need it. Even if it's hard. 

Love is Life's breath.

So I breathe. In and out. And ... repeat as needed.

Breaking a Few Eggs

I'm the kind of person who likes to feel safe. I know that some people thrive on conflict; I'm not one of them. I like to have things planned out, predictable, and no-risk. 

There comes a time, though, when it's necessary to take a few risks to achieve a desired result, to no longer settle for the "status quo." The expression, "You can't make an omelet without breaking a few eggs," sometimes applies. 

Thanks to Apolonia at www.freedigitalphotos.net for
this photo called "Omelette with Vegetables"

Lately, though I can't exactly pinpoint when or how it started, I've been taking a few risks in my personal life, in my spiritual growth, in my finances, and in my professional life. Yes, it's outside my comfort zone; yes, it's scary. Very scary at times. However, I came to the point where the same-old-same-old was just not acceptable. Something had to change. My attitudes slowly evolved and I found myself making choices that I would never have considered even a year ago. 

Even something as simple as expressing an opinion that might not be considered popular, was unthinkable for me several months ago, but I find myself doing it on occasion. Just on occasion... but at least it happens instead of me suppressing my feelings and suffering for it physically.... with symptoms that typically range from headaches to acid reflux to backaches.

Do I know how all this happened or what started the ball rolling? No, not exactly. In a way, I kind of grew into it, as my relationships with myself, with God, and with others healed, and I automatically began to feel more comfortable inside my own skin. All I know is that the more I look after myself, the more I let go of the things in my life over which I have no control, and the more I refuse to try to influence the outcome of other people's stuff, I find that I have more energy for the things in my life that I can change ... and I also notice that my body fights less against me. 

That's one omelet I could relish.

An Almost Everything Week

So I guess those of you who read this blog know that my daughter dislocated her kneecap on November 30, 2012, and that she's been attending physiotherapy while being monitored by an orthopedic surgeon.

When she went to see him in January after five weeks off work, the knee hadn't come along as quickly in healing as the specialist had thought. We asked why he didn't order an MRI. "These soft-tissue injuries generally settle on their own," he replied. "In all my years of doing this, I've only seen one situation where the patellar dislocation was hiding a deeper issue in the underlying ligaments, and the patient needed surgery to correct it. Besides, we only have one MRI machine for the whole Island. When you see me again in three weeks," he turned to her and spoke directly, "if you are not smiling when you do, I'll order the MRI." 

On February 5, she wasn't smiling. He ordered the MRI. "When the hospital calls you with a date, ask to be put on the cancellation list," he advised her.  "In the wintertime, with people in the country not wanting to chance the road when there are 'a few flakes' and the forecast is nasty; it shouldn't take long."

It took a few days to get the paperwork in place. She called the hospital herself after waiting almost a week. "Oh yes," they said. Your date is June 19th." 

(Gulp). She immediately asked to be put on the cancellation list. They obliged! 

Then we began noticing how often we had storms on the weekend this year. When it wasn't the weekend, it was a civic holiday. We prayed. "A storm, just a little one, to discourage someone from making the trip? Please?" (Was this me, the one who HATES winter, praying for a STORM??) Yet, we'd seen her hobble from room to room. We knew she was going to need surgery. We knew in our guts, "The sooner the better." That was this past Monday - the civic holiday when it was storming and the Island shut down for hours.

"Kingdom of Cold" courtesy of Evgeni Dinev at
www.FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Two days later, (this past Wednesday) with freezing rain and snow forecast for later in the day, she and her father went for a few errands. She got a temporary handicapped permit so that it would be easier for us to park and get in and out of places while she was recuperating. She paid her insurance premiums for her work's health care plan. 

Then, when they got back home, there was a message waiting on the voice mail. "This is radiology calling. Can you come in for 3 pm?" Her heart sank; it had been left over an hour prior to her return. 

Forty-five minutes later, the phone rang. "Are you still interested in that 3 pm appointment?"

OH yeah. With bells on! 

She managed quite well, and soon afterward we were laughing and joking over how quick it all was and how the promised storm held off until we were home!

I also started deepening my understanding of how ironic and quirky God's sense of humor is - using the things I hate most about winter to our benefit, and after all the complaining I'd been doing this year about the cold! Oh, He's a witty One. ;)

Anyway, the next morning, Thursday, she called the surgeon's office. "Can I get an appointment? I just got my MRI yesterday afternoon." They booked one for March 8. Wow - about 2 weeks, not bad!

Yesterday morning, Friday, she got yet another call. "This is Dr. ____'s office. We have the results of your MRI. The doctor wants to see you as soon as possible. Can you come in today at 11:15 to discuss?" 

A quick exam to confirm the MRI findings was all that he needed ... and so he told her what the results were. Without getting all technical, when she dislocated her kneecap, (this happened three times after the initial injury, all within a week and a half of it!) three ligaments were stretched permanently and were now too lax, making the knee unstable and more prone to dislocating again. Those ligaments, every time she re-injured, got frayed against the back of her kneecap, which runs along a vertical trench-like groove, like a taut rope fraying against a length of wood. 

This needed to be repaired by shortening the now too-long ligaments and securing with screws. 

Surgery.

"While I'm in there, I'd like to shift the focal point of your knee because it's off-center," he told her. This involves operating on the tendon that goes from the bottom of the kneecap to the top of the shin-bone, separating it from the shin-bone and re-attaching it more toward the center of her stance. What this will do is correct that knock-knee problem she's had since she was a baby and prevent her from hurting it again. 

Once all her (and our) questions were answered, he wrote the requisition for surgery. Right on the requisition, he wrote, "Place on cancellation list." 

Before she even got a surgery date.

Of course, they'll send her information in the mail with her "if not before" date and instructions for pre-surgery... yes. But usually she'd have to wait for that information and THEN call to be put on the cancellation list. 

We got the impression he was trying to bump her to the front of the line. Just an impression, you understand. Perhaps he was feeling a little guilty that he'd waited so long? that she was the one exception in the last 20 years that he hadn't counted on?  Perhaps.

We're just so glad that the wheels are moving, that this will be over sooner rather than later, and that things can get back to normal and she might even be better than before she hurt herself! 

Was it only a month ago that someone (who shall remain nameless) turned to me at the kitchen table and said that he was not convinced that God cared about us? 

Hmmm.

That same person turned to me last night and said, "You know, I think I'll start a gratitude journal. I forget so easily."

*happy sigh....*

Soup for the spirit

EASY MINESTRONE (wheat-free)

One tetra box of chicken stock
1 cooked boneless chicken breast, diced
2 and 1/2 to 3 cups water (3 if using celery)
1 minced onion
1/4 diced turnip
1 stalk celery, diced fine (optional)
3 diced carrots
2 medium potatoes, diced
1 to 2 Tbsp summer savory
1/2 tsp pepper
1/2 to 2/3 can (5.5 oz) your favorite tomato paste
1/4 tsp ground ginger

Soup in the process of cooking vegetables.
It's so good on a wintry day.

Put the stock and water in a large (4L) pot with the chicken, onion, and turnip (and celery if you wish) and bring to boil. Lower heat to medium and boil uncovered for 30 to 40 minutes. 

Add carrots, potatoes, summer savory and pepper and continue boiling for another 20 to 30 minutes to meld the flavors together. 

Then add tomato paste and ginger, bring to the boil and reduce heat. Simmer for about 2 to 4 minutes, stirring frequently so the broth won't stick to the pot. The soup will be thick, something like the consistency of mulligatawny (or perhaps Irish Stew). However, the taste is like minestrone - without the seeds. Serve alone or with garlic bread.

When I awoke this morning and looked outside to see a snowstorm in progress, I knew today would be a "soup day." I'd seen ingredients last night in the fridge, so I decided to put my creative cap on at around 11:30 this morning. The result was a delicious minestrone-chicken-vegetable soup that stuck to our ribs and hit that "it's cold outside, let's hunker down" spot. My impromptu recipe appears above. It turned out better than I thought it would with no recipe to guide me.

One of the bonuses to soup in the winter is the way it helps with the humidity level inside the house, easing coughs and getting rid of that annoying prickling feeling inside the nostrils. 

A nice thick soup is "comfort food" too. It warms the insides. 

When the cold winds of discouragement whip all around me, when I just want to pull the covers up around my head and tune the world out, that's when I look for a good helping of soup for the spirit. I start to remember all the good things, all the miracles that have happened in my life, all the blessings I've been given. I surround myself with wholesome, hearty helpings of wonderful, uplifting music and the caring company of true friends. These things feed my spirit - they make me feel warm and cared for inside, grateful for even the smallest things and even more grateful for the big things. 

I let that simmer. I linger over the good feelings they give me. I dwell on those great experiences and as I do, more bubble up to the surface. And when the "soup" is just right, when the goodness of those gifts lends flavor to all the other things in my life which might be somewhat bland, I allow myself the joy of letting it feed my innermost being. 

It's okay. That's what soup for the spirit is for. 

Waiting to blossom

Whether winter happens for you in December through March (and here in the Maritimes, it's more the end of April...) or June through August, the colder weather, the reduction in humidity, and especially the shorter days (and therefore less sunlight) can play havoc with people's moods and activity levels. There's a kind of pseudo-hibernation that seeps into the mind and sometimes even the body. 

Where I live, "cocooning" is very common. It's the tendency to hunker down inside the house and not go out except for necessities: groceries, gas, work, possibly church. People don't visit each other - or they have to make a special effort to do so. 

The last couple of months, I've been experiencing this kind of phenomenon more than usual. There's an almost imperceptible sense of being in suspended animation, of 'waiting' for something... sometimes not so patiently.  

About three years ago, I ordered a Hoya carnosa plant from a nursery in Georgia that specializes in those kinds of plants. They sent me three rooted cuttings and I planted them. ONE survived. It grew from a five-inch-long stem with three leaves on it to the size it is today, about four feet long from root to longest tip. 

This kind of plant has to be well established before it will bloom. So, I've been waiting and expecting it to produce bloom clusters - they fill the air with a heady fragrance that is intensified by the nectar that hangs in droplets from the center of each flower. So far ... it has not bloomed. I've seen signs that it's developing the "nibs" from which the flower clusters will eventually grow, but it's happening a lot more slowly than I'd like.

My Hoya - photo taken about three weeks ago

It is healthy; it is growing and sending out shoots, and the foliage is lovely. Yet I find myself wondering when it will blossom.

In a way, I feel like my life is like that plant right now. I know where I want to be, but it's like I'm in a state of pseudo-hibernation. I'm healthy and growing; I know I am ... but it seems the conditions are not right for flowering. 

I know that it will happen. I just don't know when. And there's a large part of me that longs for it to start happening NOW. 

What I need to understand about the plant is that it takes however long it takes ... and that in the meantime, I need to look after what's there. There may be only leaves, but maybe if I focus on keeping them healthy, Mrs. Hoya will surprise me. And the way I keep them healthy is by providing enough light, warmth, and the right amount of water and food to nourish the roots. 

The same applies to me. I just need to make it a priority to look after my growth needs, to nourish my roots (those parts of me that are hidden from view but which are crucial to my spiritual health) and to stay in the warm atmosphere of acceptance, and the light of unconditional love.

On Hold

"Your call is important to us. Please stay on the line and your call will be answered by the next available agent."

It's no secret that I hate waiting. In a sense, I guess that's why I think I do so much of it: the cosmos appears to try to neutralize negative pressure. ;)

In other words, "Get used to it."

The theme in the last couple of months for me has been to get used to waiting. I freely admit that this theme has been met with a lot of kicking and screaming. Waiting to get my old computer fixed. (and waiting). Waiting to see an answer to prayer for a friend. (As usual, God let us wait until the last possible moment before charging in and working a miracle!) 

I've even hated waiting for a diagnosis for our eldest whom we strongly suspect has torn at least one ligament in her knee and severely sprained her patellar tendon. Waiting for that appointment with the specialist, even though it was far sooner than we thought, has seemed interminable as I have watched her take with grace and aplomb the events of the last few days. 

Her attitude has been amazing. Mine? Not so much.

I know that in my relationship with God, if there is some lesson He wants to teach that I'm either just not getting or am unwilling to learn, He finds a way to get me to listen. Usually it's through circumstances that force me to do the thing He wants to teach me to do. When that doesn't work, there is that last resort ... sickness.

So you guessed it - I'm sick. It's "only a cold," but by the Mister Man, those little critters can sure pack a wallop! 

It started yesterday afternoon at work. I couldn't concentrate, and I caught myself "zoning out." Last night, it hit. I felt awful.

Suddenly, all around me, people are making ordinary plans, doing regular things, going on about their lives - and I can't join in. I'm too weak, my throat is too sore, and my body is too tired to do much more than sit at the computer and lurk on Facebook, bolstered by Advil, DayQuil, Vitamin C and coffee to stave off the drowsiness. Even then, I find myself drifting off to sleep.

A nap. A nap might really help. 

Life slows down to a snail's pace. And I spend a lot of time ... waiting. 

Waiting for others to finish doing what they're doing. Waiting for the medicines to kick in. Waiting for my body to fight the virus. Waiting for my throat to be well enough to eat the yummy - yet scratchy - foods that everyone is eating all around me: pizza, for example. 

Normal living - well, as "normal" as it gets for me - is "on hold." My definitions of what's important, what's essential, are being rewritten. Again. 

Okay God. I'm listening. This is me ... waiting.

Let Go; Let God

One of the most important things I'm learning -- and re-learning ... and re-learning, as many times as it takes! -- is the importance of living my life according to the motto, "Let Go; Let God."  I have that saying on my whiteboard right by the doorway, so it's the first thing I see when I arrive home, and the last thing I see before I leave.  

I've been focusing a lot on the letting go part, because after so many years of hanging on as if my life AND the lives of my loved ones depended on it, it's been so difficult to learn how to relax my iron-fisted grip on things I thought I had to control, know about, and monitor.  So much so that the letting God part kind of felt like an afterthought: "Oh yeah, right. That too."  

I was kind of worried about that.  I fretted a bit that I might have left God out of the equation, and I didn't want to do that.  So as I discussed my concerns with God (yeah well, some folks call that praying ... I guess...) a thought occurred to me that hadn't before, even though it was staring me in the face the whole time.  

Letting Go is PART OF
Letting God. 

Well duhhh...  How could I have missed that!

It's a vital part.  Of course! Letting God doesn't just mean that I ask Him to do what needs to be done in my life, in other people's lives.  It means that I trust Him to do the right thing, and that I let go of my need to control how He does that, suggest ways for Him to do it, or try to twist His arm into producing the outcome I desire.  He decides.  HE decides!  

Even if I don't like some of the things along the way.  Even if it's scary.  Even if I or the people I love have to go through stuff I'd rather they - or I - not go through.  I let go and give it to God and I keep my hands off it - because that's part of letting God.  Letting God means I let Him BE God - without interference.  That I get to accept whatever He decides, and sometimes, I even get to watch Him work.

That's pretty cool.

SAFE HOME

It was a cozy, if cluttered, nook - a haven of civility in a harsh world.

My father's workshop, which he slowly (over the years) built onto the garage, housed a home-made workbench with a bench vise, several shelves to hold supplies, and piles upon piles of tools, each with its own specific purpose; he knew where each of them was. He would spend hours (sometimes days) out there, working on some project usually for a friend, sometimes for a family member - for which he would take absolutely no payment.  That was his gift, his legacy to the world, if he but knew it.  He cared for each tool like it was an old friend.  He allowed each tool to share in the gift that was his generosity to others. 

On the opposite wall of the "shop", he had installed a wood-fired stove, which kept the place toasty warm and inviting in the winter.  There was a dusty armchair by the door, pervaded with sawdust and a few tiny wood chips, another similar chair beside the stove, and in the corner there was a cot made up into a bed with a small pillow and a woolen bed-spread on it - the perfect place for him to nap, or just to lie down in a little bit of peace and quiet away from the demands and rigors of living with a nit-picking wife who preached at him on every topic from church attendance to the evils of nicotine. The clutter, I learned by osmosis over the years (because he never actually said so), was a barrier to keep her out. She never went out there unless she had to.  He liked it like that. 

HERE's where I got this photo

It was his realm, his kingdom, and he was the benevolent ruler there.  Here, I would go to spend time with him, watch him work, pass him a tool once in a while.  Or just sit by the stove with him and listen to the fire crackle.  The atmosphere was supremely peaceful, restful.  

Safe.  

He didn't expect anything of me.  He was just glad to have my company.  I knew that here, nobody could touch me, nobody could hurt me.  If I brought with me any of the drama from the goings-on inside the house, he would quell it with a sharp look and an unspoken reminder of the unwritten rule:  This is my refuge. I allowed you in here. We come here to escape the shenanigans, the manipulation, the intimidation that is so much a part of what's under the Other Roof.  This is different. This is ...

Home. 

This was where I could be myself.  To have my feelings.  To say how I felt. To soak in the restfulness - to drink in the earthy smell of sawdust, of wood smoke, of 3-in-1 oil.  To enjoy the one thing I could get in no other place (not across the yard, and not in the place with the steeple up on top of the hill): acceptance.  

He died in the fall of 1993, when our youngest was 16 months old.  

Soon afterward, a van driven by a mercenary family member arrived at his little house and literally raped his workshop; the driver took every last thing that he so lovingly cared for and used to help other people, and left an empty shell - only to take it to his own home and let it gather dust and rust.  I tried going out there to Dad's workshop once after that, tried to recapture that sense of peace, of safety.  But it had changed.  It was cold, violated, distant, void of life. 

He wasn't there anymore.  It wasn't safe any more.  It wasn't home anymore.  

When I say that I miss him, I miss him deep in my heart, in that place within which he made a space to be himself with no apologies, and where he allowed me to be me with no shame.  I miss his smile, his deep bass voice, his smell.  I miss his hard, calloused hands that could be gentle enough to solder the broken wires in a tiny hand-held calculator so someone didn't have to buy a new one.  I miss his stories of the railroad and of his logging days with the horses and the pull-chains, his company, his acceptance ... his love.

That safety, that peace, that sense of being protected, of being at "home" is one I've only found in one other place.  I've tried to find it all my life, with different things, in the company of various people.  Sometimes I got the opposite, and other times I've gotten really, REALLY close to that "safe home" feeling.  

But only one place exudes that same ambiance for me.  

It's a little, well-secluded, somewhat cluttered place inside my heart, the one to which I go too seldom - the one with the warm hearth, with the burning fire in the little stove, with two armchairs, and about sixty-six books on the shelves.  I sit in one chair, and in the other, larger chair sits...

My Father.

Off Centre

One of my favorite things to do with my school supplies when I was going to school was to play with my geometry set.  I'd trace around the protractor, the two triangles, and draw circle after circle with my compass.  

Drawing the circle was tricky on thin paper because it was so very easy to allow the central point of the compass to shift in the middle of drawing it. The result would be anything BUT the circle I intended. The ends wouldn't meet, and it would look sloppy.  It took practice to get it to stay put while the pencil went around and formed the circumference, touching exactly where it started. That central point was the anchor of the whole thing.  It was tricky to get it to work!

Spirograph art - here's the link

A similar diversion was my old Spirograph set. Yes, I had one!! I eventually lost the pins to hold the anchor bracket down to the paper, but that set of little plastic rings, cogs, pins and pens brought me more hours of "whoa-isn't-that-cool" than almost anything else in whatever free time I was allowed to have growing up.  

But the problem with the cogs and the ring was the same as with the compass. It depended on everything staying where it was supposed to stay.  I ruined countless Spirograph artworks because the cog - or the pins - slipped out of the anchoring ring.  The result - usually a dark mark bisecting the entire masterpiece - was not salvageable.  And that was in the days before erasable pens.  ;) So, I found the best way to do it successfully was to make sure it was all anchored well before starting, and to take my time while allowing the cogs to carry the pen - while I concentrated on keeping the pressure against the wheel steady.  Just as I had learned with the compass.  

Everyone needs an Anchor that won't slip away or shift.
I know Who mine is.
I wonder what - or who - is yours?

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.

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.

Faith is ...

"Just believe, just have faith."  So often these words slip from between our lips.  But what do they mean?  Are they platitudes or are they real?  And if they're real, how do they work? what do they look like in practical terms?  

I believe that faith is paradoxical.  It is most active when it insists upon being passive, and it is most impotent when it insists on frantically acting ... because after all, we can't just stand there; we have to DO something!  

Of course by passive I don't mean lazy.  I mean that there is a desire, a deep desire to let God be God and not to hinder His work.  There is a determination to trust when there may seem to be nothing there to justify that trust.  

Source (via Google Images):
http://www.revelife.com/757008876/father-and-son-lessons-in-trust/

Faith is falling. (By falling I don't mean into temptation!)  It's that moment when you know that you can't save yourself from falling flat on your face if you pursue His presence ... and there's nothing there that you can see ... and you fall anyway, let yourself go, knowing in your deepest heart that He'll catch you. 

Faith - if you can feel it emotionally - is very comforting.  Millions of people are comforted by believing that God is with them and sensing His presence.  But it's also frightening.  Believing, trusting, having faith - takes a lot of courage!!  Or is that desperation??  Especially when the emotion just isn't there, when the heavens seem like a giant quonset hut roof, words echoing back and making a big noise... signifying nothing.  When prayer seems to go unanswered.  When the circumstances are oppressive.  

It's those times when - as one songwriter wrote - "believing becomes my victory."  When all strength is gone, and there is nothing left, faith is content to rest - to relinquish all that is not conducive to the spirit-life within and to simply focus, moment-by-moment, on that which is good, pure, praise-worthy, and virtuous.  To shove aside all that detracts from that determination and to lean against His shoulder, to relax into the loving care of God - and let Him carry you.

Slippage

Today I tackled a job I've been putting off for a while.  I used to do it every month, but in the last few months ... not so much. I needed to balance my checkbook.

I can hear the collective groans.  The thing is, I used to be really good at recording every expense.  Treated every debit card transaction like a check, recorded it right away.  Then my habits changed and I started saving receipts when making a debit card purchase, (this to avoid perfect strangers behind me in line from being upset at having to wait while I write down the amount! wow.  Reality check: how codependent is that??) intending to record them later.  Most times I do.  Sometimes - and this is usually the case especially with those pesky  automatic payments - I forget.  This results in what some call "slippage."  A missed transaction or two doesn't seem like much.  But it can be dangerous!

To my surprise, when I finally dug my check register out today, I discovered I had not reconciled it to my bank account in about six months.  Ouch!!  This wasn't going to be good.  

Source of this image:
http://www.istockphoto.com/stock-photo-
775368-checkbook-register.php

After carefully verifying every transaction the bank said I put through, I ended up having a few hundred dollars less in my bank account than I thought. (Talk about slippage!!)  Not a nice feeling to be sure.  A little unsettling (pun not intended) as a matter of fact.  But, I bit the bullet ... made the change in my check register, and now everything balances, although the balance is less than I would have wanted.  Before I sat down with my wallet today, I thought I was doing pretty well.  That's the trouble with slippage.  It adds up.

It's sort of a relief to know where I stand, though.  To know that I'm square - that I won't be caught short of funds when I have to make a payment in future.  But lessons learned:  the arrival of the bank statement is the perfect signal for me to make time to make sure I've been scrupulously honest with myself.  And speaking of honesty - this putting the recording off until that evening or the next day ... has not been working for me: with all my other daily duties, I easily forget about the paperwork, and before I know it, I have a whole whack of receipts falling out of my wallet.  So - perhaps it's time to get a little more meticulous about my record-keeping - to take the time to do it at the checkout as I used to do.  It's another way of looking after myself, of reminding myself that I have the right to take up space in the world.  Even if I have to slip around to the far end of the checkout after paying, for the twenty extra seconds it would take to record my purchase.

It's just that easy to fall behind, to not be as diligent as I once was - not only in my paperwork, but also in my inner life.  I once heard someone say, "Keep short accounts with God."  I'd say that applies to all relationships including the vertical one.  I talk about it ... but when all is said and done, I do tend to let things slip.  I "coast."  I don't live intentionally - and that results in spiritual slippage.  Fortunately, I don't have to wonder if my Record-keeper made a mistake.  If there's a discrepancy, I know I'm the one who goofed.  And although it's humbling, it's better for me to reconcile with God ... and with anyone else for whom I have not been "present" ... so that my life is balanced.

Balanced is good.

To the Care of God

Step three of any 12-step program you can name says, "Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God ..." 

In fact, all the "steps" are about beginning and developing a relationship with God.  They are a blueprint for living life as He directs.  

I wanted to mention that today, because I have heard of 12-step programs being mistakenly called "self-help" programs.  Those who refer to such programs as "self-help" in nature really do NOT understand the basis on which these programs are founded.  God is at the centre of them, God is all the way through them, and God is the One who empowers the weary traveler to do them.  I know.  I'm one of those travelers - and I thank God for that.  

I've often been known to say in the last couple of years, that everyone in the world (or at least in Western society) needs a twelve-step program - without exception.  The longer I am with people "in recovery", the more I realize that this is true.  Those 12 steps that are so mocked in some circles, are the ONLY way to recover from any addiction: from alcohol to codependency to selfishness.  Some in the church have used them without even realizing it (whether instantaneously or not); others deliberately embark upon them and have found an intimate, daily relationship with God in the process.  

Honesty, Openness and Willingness are the only requirements needed.  They are the "HOW" of the program. 

When I got to step three, part of which is quoted above, it was tempting to gloss over it. Been there, done that.  (Oh really?)  I was encouraged to go through the words in the step carefully.  Was there any one that stuck out for me?  And then it hit me.  The word "CARE."  To give my will and my life over to the CARE of God. Was that the real way that I saw God?  did I see Him as caring about me?  or did I believe Him to be uncaring, unfeeling, unconcerned with my life? I had to admit that much of the way I related to God was based on the latter and not the former.  Oh I knew the doctrines - I could spout them as well as the next evangelical believer.  But in practicalities - in the everyday - my behavior didn't line up with what I said I believed.  And that's because there's a difference between the kind of belief that's a "hope-so" and the kind that's a "know-so".   

I spent all my life in the church.  But my relationship with God was stilted and my conversations with Him were fraught with shame, doubt and fear.  And then, after life had beaten me down and I was ready to accept help, someone introduced me to the 12 steps of CoDependents Anonymous - of which step 3 is a crucial part.  There, in the steps and in the fellowship of CoDA, I found what I'd been missing - the HOW of the Christian life I'd been trying so very hard - and failing - to live.  I found people who accepted me for who I was and didn't judge me for not being who I was "supposed" to be - who shared their experience, strength and hope freely with me, who focused on "progress, not perfection."  I believe that God led me to that place, for the express purpose of being able to find what I'd been missing all my life - that central part of the puzzle that I always knew, deep down, was lacking.  In that atmosphere of acceptance and love, I was - and am - able to grow and become everything that God intended, one day at a time.  

Best of all, I don't just believe He loves and cares about me.  I know it.

WE and ME

We.
It can be such a wonderful word when spoken with love or the spirit of togetherness. Not so much when it's spoken in the 'royal' sense - for example, when a doctor asks, "How are we feeling today?"  Hmmm.   But that's not my thrust in today's post.

We.  It means more than one person including the one speaking. There is a shared purpose, a shared experience.  Shared strength, perhaps.  

"We" means belonging to a group - whether a marriage, a one-on-one friendship or a small OR large group of people with a common belief, problem, or interest.  

Of course any time you have a group of people, you are going to get differing opinions, different sensitivities, different expectations brought to the table.  That's a given.  But "We" focuses on the primary purpose for which the people gather or associate with one another.  

Source (via Google Images):
http://nacwr.blogspot.com/2011/07/closer-we-humans-live-
by-mother-natures.html

I belong to different groups of people; everyone does.  Let's say I belong to a curling club and to a soccer-moms club.  (I don't, by the way.)  I might see the same people in each place, but the focus of the group changes and we don't spend our time at the curling club talking about strategies for car-pooling for the soccer-moms club. We stick to the main reason why we're there to support the goals of the group we're in.  It's simple enough.  Nothing complicated about that.

There's solidarity in "We."  Relationships. Support.  Hope.  Strength.  Not that we can't make it without each other, but that we can make it more EASILY with each other's presence to encourage, to cheer each other.  

It's been said that there is no "I" in "We."  While that might be true in a certain sense, I cannot say "We" without including "me".  Otherwise I'd say "you!!"  Right? So my very minor point here is that while group dynamics and group cohesiveness is important, it can only be as successful as the individuals that make up the group.  The willingness of each individual participant to contribute, to work on him or herself (practicing music individually if one is in a band or orchestra, for example) will automatically enhance the quality of the time the group spends together.  

This has all kinds of applications in every situation from ball teams to church.  The group or the team is only as successful as the individual members make it in their own personal lives, and it takes the willingness of those members to contribute to the group BY CHOICE.  Not because the individual members NEED the group but because they WANT to be together.  That, I've found in my own life, is a way more healthy way to come together.  

I'm not exactly sure why I wrote all that.  Perhaps it's just something that was gelling in my own mind.  At any rate, I'm just putting it out there.  Who knows? it might be just what someone needs.  Stranger things have happened...  ;) 

Phostered Phonies

The culture we live in discourages certain behaviors and encourages others based on what it thinks and / or believes is important.  It's not just endemic to one particular subculture or social group, it's pandemic across our entire culture to treat certain actions as laudable and others as lousy - and some of them literally make no sense to me.  To my way of thinking, some actions that are commonly praised need to be exposed and deplored; some which are discouraged need to be re-examined and considered carefully as models upon which to base our interactions with each other. 

In today's culture, for example, in response to a simple question, "How are you?" the answer "Great!" is encouraged - even if you're dying inside.  The answer "Lousy," though honest (which is the goal, right?) is criticized as undesirable, a "downer." Or in the church setting, "not speaking in faith." Even the response, "Okay," is suspect.  ("Just okay?  You should be joyful! deliriously happy! Great!") So I've started to compile a list of some of the more commonly accepted / condoned practices, those ones which foster dysfunctional relationships, phoniness, and judgment, and which reject healthy relationships, honesty, and acceptance.  

1. Segregation.  Oops, I mean mens' (or ladies') groups and/or getaways.  Church is notorious for these. While paying lip service to marriage and family, these groups /events can foster the exact thing that they claim they are trying to avoid.  "Spend more time paying attention to your wives, men. And to help you do that, we're going to get you to leave them at home for three days straight while you hang out with each other and 'bond.' Yeah, golf to your heart's content, spend the family finances on a hotel bill and green fees, and don't be there with your wives and families the only time in the week that you get to spend with them."  Same thing with ladies' groups - also known as women's retreats.  "Okay, ladies... here's how to save your marriages. Rob your men of the joy of sleeping in with you on the one day they can do so per week, so you can go grouse about them behind their backs with a bunch of girls, get fifty-dollar facials ... and play slumber party."   I just don't get it. Then again, I've never been big on girly-girl stuff.  But I digress.  I'd prefer to see "couple's retreats" or "family retreats." Wouldn't that be radical.
   
   
2. Manipulation.  Oh, come on. This is HUGE!!  Everything from "come to the social gathering, there'll be free food" to "oh, he won't mind. All I gotta do is look at him and bat my eyes and say 'please' with a little pout.  He'll come around" to the classic guilt trip mothers give about all those hours of labour and how the child somehow "owes" them for that. It's everywhere!! Control the other guy through manipulation.  Or intimidation.  (Such as implying that someone is not a good wife/mother/husband/father/son/daughter/friend if that person doesn't do a specific action that is all the rage, like oh, I dunno, go to church every time the doors are open, or watching a certain movie that "everyone" is watching). 
   
   
3. Sexism.  Yes, you heard me!! I hear it all the time.  "All men are lazy messy pigs."   (Uh, no they're not.) Or "All blonde [or pretty] women are dumb."  (uh, beg pardon, but ... NO.)  And the most intricate of mental yoga moves (i.e., twisting the mind into a pretzel shape) to account for the many MANY exceptions to whatever sexist rule we hear and believe (really? after all this time?)  ....one of those pretzel moves I heard recently was the "80/20 rule."  I couldn't believe my ears.  That is (giving the example of men and untidiness) 80% of men are slobs and 20% are not, whereas 80% of women are neat freaks and 20% aren't.  Hm.  It doesn't wash with me.  I happen to believe that people are people - - you know, human beings.  Gender - or should I say hormone level - does determine a tendency to do certain things.  But to justify your need to grouse about the opposite gender just because your own life sucks or because you consider your own gender to be superior to the other - is kind of a giant step backward, no matter what gender you are.
   
   



Source (via Google Images):
http://vi.sualize.us/view/8c5074cff0e59aa428a3fc85cebd1c7d/
(classic manipulation through guilt)

4. Bullying. Oh, I'm not talking about the classic bullying that is so much the topic of news stories and so forth.  The kind I mean can take several forms: minimizing another's accomplishments by finding fault with them (how about stopping a conversation or reducing it to a whisper with sidelong glances when that someone comes in the room?) or even the socially acceptable practice known as "practical jokes."  (These, in my opinion, are neither funny nor practical, and if continued, can cause someone to seriously consider the ultimate escape from life.) I see it happen in all spheres of life - work, church, school, other social groups - and in every case it is seen as, "Well, that's just so-and-so.  He's/ she's harmless."  Tell that to every teen who has considered purchasing a one-way ticket to the Other Side because they never get a break from it - and they don't foresee it stopping when they graduate. Or go into the workforce. 
   
   
5. Fatalism.  The "I can't help it, it's just me" mentality can be not only defeatist, but it can be used as an excuse for inexcusable behavior.  Just saying.
   
   
   The truth is, of course, that not one person can change him or herself.  Only God can change the heart. The choice then becomes, am I willing to give it to God and give Him carte blanche to change me in this or that area? 
   
   
   If we are serious about developing relationship with God, perhaps it's time to revisit some of these areas in our own lives.  I've given my opinion on them to spark thought and reflection.  You don't have to agree with my take on things; that's not important - but if I've caused someone to pause and rethink the way he or she thinks and acts, then perhaps this post has been worth the risk.

Wilt thou?

"Wilt thou be healed?" (Jesus, in John 5:6) 

Billy Graham used to tell the funniest little story about the day he got married.  The wedding vows in those days were in Elizabethan English, so at the moment of truth, the minister would say, "Wilt thou take this woman to be thy wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, so long as ye both shall live?"

Billy was talking about that moment, when he quipped: "The preacher said, 'Wilt thou?' .... and I wilted."  

Jesus asked a very important question to a man who had been sick for a very long time, who saw miracles happen all around him on a regular basis, but who never had anyone who cared about him enough to make sure he got HIS miracle.  He said, "Wilt thou be healed?"  

In other words, "Do you want to get better?"

Source:
http://boysofdisney.tumblr.com/post/4292283521

Now, one would think the most natural response in the world would be the same as Emperor Kuzco's response when Pacha asks him if he's tired of being a llama. 

Yeah-hessss!

But this guy - the first thing out of his mouth is excuses.  

He doesn't even answer yes or no.  

But before judging him, let's think about this. Thirty-eight years he's lain by the side of this pool.  Every so often the water bubbles up - they said an angel stirred it, and whoever was the first one into the pool after that, would be healed.  And they were.  Every time.  So 38 years goes by and this guy is still by the side of the pool, begging for food in his spare time (and there'd be a LOT of spare time.) Lots of time to think about how alone he was, how nobody cared enough to roll him over there.  People came - ill - they left - better.  Not him.  People passed by there every day, saw him there.  Perhaps they asked him why he was still there after all this time.  Perhaps just their expression asked him that same question.  Could anyone imagine just how the victim mentality grew all over him like a fungus?  

So when Jesus asks him, "Do you want to be healed?" what do you suppose he hears in his heart?  "How come you're not healed? you must not want it badly enough."  

So his first words are, "Sir, I have nobody..."  Such a lonely existence being ill and being judged for it ... it's true!  Yet - the One asking this question wasn't judging.  He was asking if the man wanted to be healed.  And now that I listen a bit more closely  ...  I think I can hear his heart.  "Yeah-hessss!" 

Immediately Jesus tells him to pick up his pallet, the one on which he had been living for almost 40 years, and walk.  No fanfare, no stirring up the water and pushing people out of the way to get this guy in the pool first - no vindication in front of people who had passed him by and dismissed him.  Just pick up your mat and walk.  Don't worry about the muscles that are atrophied after years of disuse.  Just start using them - you've been given the ability by God to move around.  

At that point the man has a choice: to do as he is told, or to disbelieve and stay on his sleeping pad.  But no, he does - he gets up.  

And he can walk.  Unsteadily perhaps at first - but he does get up.  And - if you will use your imagination with me for a moment - from that day forward, his whole way of life progressively changes.  He has to strengthen his legs, learn balance, re-learn some table manners, perhaps.  He's also expected to work for a living instead of beg.  All those things which were withheld from him as an invalid, begin to unfold in his life.  Everything not only changes in a moment of time, but it continues to change as he walks through every day.

So with us (yes, even - and perhaps especially - Christians!) when we are bound for years and years by some unseen affliction that keeps us living in a victim-state.  We are powerless to help ourselves ... others seem to get healed and move on and leave us in the dust, wondering why, what's wrong with us.  And then the Master comes to us and asks us if we want to be healed.  

Do we?  do we really?  or are we used to the attention we're getting? are we fond of the pity and the emotional stroking we get because we have this great circumstance in our lives that colours every other aspect of our being?  Some of us feel that way, if we were to be brutally honest with ourselves.  I know I did - for many years.  But there comes a point when we must face that question, having come to the end of ourselves, when we are supremely tired of living life that way, and tell the Creator that we want to get better - and that there's nothing that we can do to GET better; we've tried everything on our own with abysmal results.  So we ask for Him to take over.  We tell Him - in response to His ever-present question - that we want to be healed.  

I did.  And when I did, He gave me the ability to get up and walk.  
But that was only the beginning of a whole new lifestyle - one that's ongoing.

Roll Call

John.         Here.
Andrew.     Here.
Marcy.       Here.
Brenda.     Here.
Linda.       Present.
Bruce.       Here.

This was a scene repeated so many times in my childhood in various school years that the names run together ... but the answer was always the same.  Either "here" or "present".  

There's a hint in that little scene.  A reminder that in order to learn in life, we must be in the moment - we must be here.  

Too many times I've gone round and round in the past.  There's been no escape; it's like I was trapped there.  I do believe that the past is useful to visit when it's done with the purpose of healing - or of reminding ourselves of the blessings we have known so as to encourage ourselves to keep believing, keep hoping.  But living there, wallowing in our pasts, leaves us sad, bitter, estranged from or entangled within our roots.  Either way, we cannot be present in the now.  Our energy is all tied up in what has already happened, what might have happened if we (or others) had only done things differently.  Emotionally and physically, we tire easily. So it was with me.  I held deep resentments against those who had injured me, nursed each new wound and compounded it upon the old.  I berated myself for not living up to my own expectations.  It sapped my strength.  

There've also been times when I feared the future: feared it so much that I would sleep poorly (if at all), fret and stew about things that might happen (most of which never did), and try to influence or manipulate the circumstances or the people involved in my own future so much that I would end up creating the very thing I feared.  It robbed me of many moments I could have enjoyed.  It stole away the present... so that I wasn't here for it.  I was in tomorrow.  Next week. Next month. 

In the last 3 years I have been learning to exist in the here.  In the present.  In the now. The struggle is never-ending: it is difficult to accept what has been, what is.  To not try to change what will be.  When I do live in the now, though, the weight of the backpack of yesterday and the chains of tomorrow drops from me like Pilgrim's pack when he gets to the cross.  I am freed to spend my energy in things that matter, right now.  Enjoying the moment, now.  Helping the person who is in front of me, now.  Hearing the still, small whisper of the divine, now.  Breathing the rarefied air in the presence of God, now.  Worshiping Him, now.  Not ten years ago.  Not next Sunday.  NOW.

If I carry anything with me into the new year, I wish for it to be this.  That when I am called upon, that whenever and wherever God will speak to me and give me that inner nudge - I will be "present."

Psyched up - Let Down

It happens every December.  People get psyched up for Christmas, young and old, with a flurry of activity: social, culinary, and shopping-related, and it all comes to a head on the 25th of December.  After that, it's like the air being let out of a balloon.  Enthusiasm deflates.  And people face reality.  Some face truckloads of debt that it will take all year to repay.  Others feel like they need to take a steamshovel and a hose to their house - or their lives - and clear out all the stuff and/or guilt that has been accumulated over the past few weeks/days.  Still others have been hoping for some sort of emotional miracle or breakthrough with a significant other ... that never happened.  And then there are those who have thoroughly enjoyed the season only to have family and friends return to their own routines and leave them with all those decorations to put away - and loneliness and self-pity creep in and wrap their cold fingers around their hearts again.  

C. S. Lewis noted in his book, "The Screwtape Letters" that humans are cyclical beings - that is, we all experience a normal ebb and flow of emotion, and this is normal.  Some believe that a person should be "up" all the time and feel guilty or somehow defective when they inevitably feel "down" - this is something that the enemy of our souls can capitalize upon to make us doubt ourselves, to doubt whether we are loved and/or cared for by God.  The truth is, however, that people do have ups and downs, that there is a natural rhythm to our emotional lives.  Accepting that, feeling what we feel honestly, and then moving on, is a healthy response to this natural phenomenon.  

It's when we deny what we feel and lie to ourselves (and others) about it, pretend to be fine and act like everything is just peachy - that we are in dysfunction, that we put ourselves under undue stress, and that our bodies (if kept too long in that state of dishonesty) will react by making us sick, or in pain.  

Of course we can stave off the dark specter of being let down by taking care of ourselves, looking after our inner life first instead of always taking what's left over. If we look after ourselves regularly, the "downs" don't tend to go as low or last as long.  They still do happen, though.  Denying that, living the lie of saying that it doesn't exist, only serves to deepen those "down" times and shorten the "up" times. We find ourselves wondering just how long the happiness will last, which robs us of the joy of it - and wondering how long the sadness will last, making it last longer.  Instead of living in the moment, we worry about the future. Or we regret the poor choices of the past.

How much better it is to just be who we are and feel what we feel in honest relationship with God, ourselves, and others.  How much more healthy it is to accept ourselves the way we are without berating ourselves and falling prey to the "shoulds" which some folks try and make stick to our spirits, either by criticism and condemnation or praise and applause.  I have spoken about this externally-based self-esteem before - see my post called "You Are Special" - it really pinpoints the dangers of getting our sense of worth from other people's opinions, and highlights the necessity of spending time nurturing our own spirits. At such times, we can get "let down" far more quickly because our spirits are underfed, running on empty, depleted, whatever you want to call it.

As the year ends ... perhaps it's time to consider spending more of our time doing the important things, before the urgent things steal those moments from us and leave us with more seasons where we are drained of energy. It doesn't have to be super complicated. It can be as simple as carving out time in the run of a day to read an inspirational reading - or go for a drive to see our favorite kind of scenery - or listen to a song - or talk to a good friend - or go for a walk - or put in a good movie and watch it.  Or we can even do something creative that we enjoy doing, like baking ... or painting ... whatever it is.  

Let's just do it.