Sleeping Beauty...Not

So much for New Year resolutions. My plan to write at least one blog a month hasn't panned out. The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak. If I may beg off, it has been mostly due to a circumstance beyond my control. As many of my readers know, I have Bipolar Disorder. For the past twelve years in particular, it's been very difficult at times to function at a level of competence expected of most people without mental illness. I can say that because, thankfully, due to medications, I can and have been living a "normal" life for the most part. Sometimes, however, medications start to get ineffective, then the search begins for suitable replacements, and it can be a crapshoot. I become a guinea pig, and the roller coaster ride takes off.

So it has been. The medication I was taking for mania really hadn't stopped working, but I was always in a semi-daze at work because of it, and I can't count how many times I was pulled into my boss's office and given verbal warnings about my performance. But I couldn't help it. Finally, I just decided to quit taking it and I told my psychiatrist I wanted to take a medication I had taken years ago that worked but didn't have the same side effects. He agreed and now I am much brighter, or would be but for the insomnia. 

If you've tossed and turned for a sleepless night or two, you have an inkling of what I have been living with for the last month. Only it hasn't been a night or two, it's been night after night after night endlessly. If I am fortunate, I get two hours, but for the majority of the past month I have gone entire nights without sleep sometimes for five days in a row. Then a couple hours, then back to no sleep again. None of the sleep aids I have taken are working. Somehow, I have managed to keep going. It's a testament to my new antipsychotic that I haven't become manic or at the very least, hallucinating from sleep deprivation. 

I am now on a four week leave of absence from my job in  order to preserve it. I have been told in no uncertain terms that I had better be sleeping by the time I get back. No pressure. I am trying a new one that seems promising. I slept better last night than I can remember. Maybe this will be my salvation.

I will be frank and admit I have wondered at times what God is doing while I spend sleepless nights begging him. Goodness knows there are a plethora of people praying for me. I will say each morning I thank God for every moment of sleep, and for sleepless nights, I thank him anyway knowing he will give me strength to make it through another day. But my thankfulness is often overwhelmed by the feeling of abandonment. The question of why cannot be ignored. I have also been angry with him, but thankfully he is able to handle my emotions. After all, he created them.

Still, I am left bereft of hope and peace. Every day I make a promise to keep faith and hope and every day deep down I feel like God is not listening. Before you judge, if at all possible, walk in my exhausted shoes for a week. Then maybe you can understand how hard it is.

 I know in the big picture loss of sleep isn't a lot. Really. But it's all overwhelming for me right now. I find solace at church, but I leave and know what I will face at bedtime. I feel like this blog entry is a total loss because I am not testifying about God's majesty and mercy. But after all I have said about my insomnia and the unanswered why, the song Amazing Grace (My Chains Are Gone) comes to mind. As deep as the feeling of where is God runs, deeper still is the unshakable foundation built on Christ. At some point what seems too difficult now, will be overcome through the limitless power and compassion of God. As hard as it is to grasp that truth, I do continue to cling to Jesus. As Peter said to the Lord, where else would we go? I am boxed in on every side, but when it's finally over, I will realize the walls were padded and that Jesus has been with me the whole time, though he seems light years away right now. 

I love him still. Haven't a clue about this trial, but in it all I cannot help but love him. I may never understand why things like this happen, but I will never fail to love him. And tomorrow morning, once again I will thank him, and as each day passes, mean it a little more. 

The Hope of the Incarnation

Many years ago when I was a child, there was a newspaper columnist named Bill Vaughn. One year he wrote a Christmas column about his little girl getting in his lap and wanting him to tell her a Christmas story. I don't remember the exact order they were suggested, but I know he started to tell her about a snowman. She stopped him and said, "No, not that one." So he launched into Santa Claus, and again she stopped him. He tried one more, when she said, "no. Tell me the story about Christmas." He ended his column with the opening words to Luke chapter 2, the gospel account of Jesus birth.

Each Christmas, the Kansas City Star newspaper reprints it because of it's popularity. Each year, I re-blog the Christmas essay I wrote many years ago. I hope reading it has become a tradition for everyone. This a time of anticipation of hope for many. For some it's a time of deep pain, but the Nativity can keep the tiny flame stoked and at some point, it will burst into a fire that warms the desperate heart. Here again, is my Christmas message for you.

The season has officially arrived. Time to bring out the holiday decorations collected over the years, along with new ones purchased at half price after Christmas last year—the special trappings that announce the season of celebration. Trees are trimmed, candles lit, carols sung, lists made, gifts purchased and wrapped, parties planned, church plays produced, turkeys roasted, and every tradition of every family is carefully observed for the sake of memories.

It would be tempting to write a critique about the increasing secularization of our “holy days” traditions. But the deepening layers of fluff that threaten to obscure Christ are a legitimate concern I’ll save for another essay. Truthfully, the whole season with its traditions can produce a warm feeling in me, a kind of rosy glow that makes me want to stuff cash into the red pots of bell ringers, hug strangers, and maybe even “teach the world to sing in perfect harmony.” That’s a good thing—or is it?

I’ve heard many Christmas sermons over the years, but none has enlightened nor disturbed me more than the words of an unsaved woman I knew some years ago. While helping decorate an AA hall for a holiday party, she made the off-handed remark, “I just love Christmas. You know, the baby Jesus thing and all that stuff. It gives me a warm feeling.”

I had forgotten that conversation until today. At the time, I didn’t think much about her comment, except that she needed to know baby Jesus grew up and died for her. Maybe I even said that, I really don’t remember. Now I find her words unsettling in a different way. She had expressed sentimental feelings that are uncomfortably close to what I, and probably other Christians feel.

Sentimentality isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but when it masquerades as spirituality, it satisfies merely at a surface level, distorting love and grace by diminishing them. The deep ocean of God’s love and grace becomes a wading pool. Instead of being immersed in His great love, we slosh around, accepting shallow spirituality and risk missing the awesome waves of His passion that can only be experienced when we venture out into waters over our heads.

The memory of that comment resurfaced today in the form of a question God posed to me: Do you understand the cost of the Incarnation?

Christians are (or should be) familiar with the basic theology of the Incarnation: Christ was born of the Holy Spirit and the Virgin Mary. God became fully human. We recite it in our creeds, we read it in the Bible, and hear it from the pulpit. We proclaim Christ’s divinity and humanity based on the doctrine of the Incarnation. But do we really understand the price the Son of God paid when He became the Son of Man?

I must confess, this morning during my prayer time, it occurred to me I did not. As I prayed, I wondered if indeed it was even possible in this life to fully comprehend the depth of sacrifice Jesus made when He stepped out of eternity and into time.

In The Great Divorce, C. S. Lewis wrote, “… the higher a thing is, the lower it can descend—man can sympathize with a horse but a horse cannot sympathize with a rat.” I believe it was also C. S. Lewis who observed that it is barely within the capacity of humans to understand how amazing an act of condescension it would be for a man to become a lower creature. It is one to thing to have a level of consciousness that enables one to sympathize with a lesser creature, such as a cat, it is entirely another to actually become one and experience all that cats experience, having left the lofty realm of humanness and all that entails.

We can only imagine the possibility, since no man has ever emptied himself of all his natural attributes, retaining only the knowledge that he is still in essence a man, and taken the likeness and consciousness of a lower creature—to be both that lower life form and man. Even though the chasm between man and cat is incredibly broad, the analogy falls short because humans and cats still share a common bond: they are both created beings. The analogy cannot begin to express the magnitude of the condescension of the Creator in becoming the creature.

It is the mystery of the Incarnation: God becoming one of His creatures, yet still being God in essence. What Jesus left behind when He condescended to the level of a dividing cell in Mary’s womb is what I have never fully appreciated, and I say that to my sorrow, because the sacrifice of Jesus on my behalf began long before the cross.

The entire seventeenth chapter of the Gospel of John records the last time Jesus prayed with His disciples before His crucifixion. Next to the anguished prayer in Gethsemane, it is probably the most passionate prayer ever uttered, and He prayed it not only for the small band of men gathered around Him, but also for us:

“And now, O Father, glorify Me together with Yourself, with the glory which I had with You before the world was… Father, I desire that they also whom You gave Me may also be with Me where I am, that they may behold My glory which You have given Me; for You loved Me before the foundation of the world (v. 5, 24).”

The inclusion of that request in His prayer reveals His desire that we understand the level from which He had descended to walk among humanity. He had willingly left the Father’s presence in a place of grandeur and glory beyond human imagining, and emptied Himself of the attributes that made Him God.

In Philippians 2:6-11, Paul attempts to describe the depth Jesus’ sacrifice through the Incarnation:

Who, being in very nature God, did not consider equality with God something to be grasped, but made Himself nothing, taking the very nature of a servant, being made in human likeness. And being found in appearance as a man, He humbled Himself and became obedient to death—even death on a cross! Therefore, God exalted Him to the highest place and gave Him the name that is above every name, that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord to the glory of God the Father.

He made Himself nothing. The All in All, the Alpha and Omega, the Almighty became a creature, a lowly servant, and willingly bore the cross—our cross, our sin, our shame. The question still reverberates: do I understand the cost of the Incarnation?

I will enjoy the Christmas season. I will probably overeat, spend a little too much, and observe all the traditions, sacred and silly. But there will be a silent prayer offered continually from my heart: that I would grow beyond sentimentality and press deeper into the heart of God where emotions are transformed and become holy.

Moses prayed to see God’s glory, and God granted his request, but only gave him a glimpse of his back. He covered Moses’ eyes with His hand as He passed telling him, “you cannot see My face; for no man shall see Me and live.” But Jesus is the face of God, and we are commanded to focus our attention on and our hope in Him. The hand of God no longer blocks our view, only our own hands cast up in fear, shame, or ignorance.

It may well be that before “the mortal is clothed with immortality,” my vision will be obscured for countless reasons. But His prayer will ultimately be answered. Until that day, like Paul, I will seek to grasp the width and length and depth and height of His love, to know the love of Christ which passes knowledge, the love that compelled the Incarnation, and to truly understand His incredible Christmas gift.

Joy in Grief

Christmas cannot go by without emotions.  Whether you are in a celebratory mood or depressed, Christmas is a holy day, one all those who are of the faith mark each year.  But since 2013, every Christmas has been a bit empty from the death of my mother just before the holiday. I miss her and I feel a sense of sadness when she is not present at our family gathering.  Every Christmas since her death has been marked by hidden tears.

But God has a message for those who grieve at Christmas. It’s discovered in a manger with a helpless baby of promise. The birth of Jesus was miraculous, yet undetected by everyone save some shepherds who were fearfully amazed at the sight of angels proclaiming his coming into the world. God chose to begin the plan of salvation in a humble way. Mary and Joseph barely understood that the baby they were now to care for was destined to be the Savior of all humanity; the King of kings and Lord of lords.  It was not yet revealed.

All human history is marked by the Incarnation, the hope of nations and the Light of the world.  What was hidden for centuries was made known that night two millennia ago: God made man in the birth of a child. All we really know about the Father was made known by Jesus. He said to the questioning disciples that he and the Father were one. If you knew him, you knew the Father and Jesus would live out his years on earth in miracles and preaching that the kingdom of God had come to those who believed. He was sent to serve, not be served, and serve he did. As the sacrifice for the sins of the world, the doors of heaven were thrown open and the invitation to enter in was made. All through the death and resurrection of Christ.

What has this to do with grief? Paul summed it up when he said we do not grieve as the world grieves. Christians have the hope of salvation through the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. All who die in the faith are promised a life beyond our years on earth. Jesus birth, death and resurrection means every believer will see again all who have gone before. Those in the faith who we grieve are only absent in the body, they are not dead. And neither we will die. There is no death for those who believe, only resurrection to a new body clothed in righteousness.

Grief is to be expected in this world, yet it is mitigated by the promise of eternal life. Both my mother and my father are near just beyond my reach. But the real hope is that God is not beyond my reach. Jesus said what is impossible for us is possible for God and he condescended to us. He is present in us through the Holy Spirit and he confirms in our hearts that we have eternal life.

I may feel some grief at Christmas by the absence of my mother, but it’s overcome by the joy found in swaddling clothes lying in a manger, the Prince of Peace.

Holding On

It’s been a long time since I last posted an entry. It’s not because I have had nothing to write about. It’s because my bipolar disorder has me so firmly in its grip that I have been unable to write. I am at a loss for words to describe what I am going through right now, but much of it is due, I believe, to a medication fog. I am over medicated and it’s affecting me terribly. I can’t remember things within minutes of their occurrence. This and a considerable state of general confusion has affected my work performance drastically. I am now on a leave of absence to keep my job. And it’s not just work, my husband tells me I am the same way at home.

I cannot fully describe what it’s like to live with this disorder.  Imagine waking up each day and not knowing if you will be safe driving. Or not sure if you put mascara on both eyes. Wondering if people can tell if you are cracking apart on the inside while trying desperately not to crack apart on the outside. Feeling like people are staring at you because it shows and they are afraid of you or just don’t want you near them, and thinking they are talking behind your back because you are paranoid. Bipolar disorder is life sentence in the prison of a brain that functions all wrong. I wouldn’t wish this on anyone.

I cried in the office of my boss today when she laid out all the things I wasn’t doing regarding my job duties. As she told me all the details of my behavior at work I was crushed. I have always worked hard at my job and in the past had excellent evaluations. Now I am totally incompetent and even insubordinate. She wasn’t being unkind about it, just direct so I would understand the seriousness of it. I got it. Now I am coming back around to the “Why Lord?’ I don’t understand. I don’t.

 I have been reading through the bible by reading one chapter a day from the Old Testament and one from the New Testament. I recently went through the book of Job. I can understand his angst. It’s always been a difficult book to understand. Why God permitted Satan to harm him is hard to take in. I’m not sure whether I will ever grasp it until I see him face to face, but I do understand one thing from it, that God is amazing and almighty and we are very small. There is no comparison. Job came to that realization in the end and came to a place of humility and peace.

 I am not there yet. I am not at peace. But God is amazing to me, he truly is, and there is comfort in Psalm 139 where it says he hems me in before and behind. I will find peace. Not today, maybe not tomorrow, but I will be at rest in Abba’s arms.

The Odds are Really Pretty Good

I’m sitting in my son’s kitchen in Washington state. I’m here this  week on vacation. No one else is around. Will took the dog for a walk and poor Matthew has an upset stomach. So I am just putzing around the house for the day. It’s okay. I’d rather be here at loose ends than at home. Here there is a backyard filled with wild flowers and vines of blackberries. Tall Douglas fir trees, and I do mean tall, that you can step out on the porch and admire. There are plenty of things to do this week and we have kind of mapped out a schedule of sorts. But what matters most is spending time with my son.

It’s finally hit me he’s never coming home. He has a life that does not include us. Home is a place visit if he can maybe once a year, but it isn’t “home” anymore. He’s made a life for himself and even though I know he loves us, we do not place very high in his list of priorities anymore. To say it’s okay is a little bit of a lie. He has always been such a high priority in my heart that to know I am no longer in that place in his hurts a little. And yet, I know this is how it works. I can only be on the periphery now. And that really is healthy. But my mother’s heart still stings when I think about it very long.

Lest this be a real downer blog, Matthew planned for our first two days to have meals with some of his friends. How many grown kids would do that? He wanted us to meet his friends. And two of them remarked they wanted to meet his parents because Matthew is so likeable they wanted to know what his parents were like. Talk about uplifting. Now I am worried whether or not I made a good impression!

Life is ever changing. Nothing is static. It can go from great to fantastic, from awful to worse, or bad to better. The odds are fifty/ fifty things will get better or worse. I used to be the Eeyore of Christians and I figured the odds were never in my favor. But what if things are just as likely to improve? I choose to try to look toward the Jesus side. You know, the one where he always wins. That’s how I am going to have to view my changing relationship with my adult son. I have  good chance our relationship will continue to grow, but just in a different way. An appropriate way. He no longer needs me as he did even five years ago. And I have to not need him to need me like that.  Mom, he can do it now, and so can you.

Climbing Out Again

It’s been awhile since I last posted. I have been in a dark place for an extended period. There is no on/off switch for my depressive episodes, I just slowly slide down into a pit that is too deep to crawl out of. I rewrote that last sentence several times. I wanted to make certain it would clearly convey the reality I face, the reality all who suffer major depressive episodes face. I started to say I slowly slide down into a pit that seems to be too deep to crawl out of. The truth is there is no seems about it. The depths to which depression can pull a person is frightening, and once in that downward spiral, there is little the depressed person can do to get out of the pit.

The descent into depression began toward the end of last year and it deepened as the months passed. What is so insidious about the depression I experience is the slow decline. I don’t sleep well, so I blame my low mood on fatigue. Depression can cause insomnia so it’s self-perpetuating. But it became apparent that it was more than lack of sleep and then began the medication merry-go-round. I took time off work to try to find the right medications that would improve my mood and help me sleep.

Through it all, I have been in my bible and in prayer. Every morning I read a chapter from the old testament (up to Exodus), a Psalm, a chapter of Proverbs and a chapter in the new testament (up to Revelation). I will start all over again as I come to the end of each section. I am learning so much and much of what I have been reading has been feeding my downcast spirit. As medication attempts and failures have been going on, I have kept to my reading and morning time with the Lord. Sometimes my prayers haven’t been all that prayerful. They’ve been distracted, disjointed and sometimes mixed with tears. But I know I am heard, and ultimately that is the point: to be heard. And in being heard, to hear. I have heard the still small voice of God whisper to me and I have been given hope.

Though I have hope of getting well, I am looking back and see months of loss to depression, but he looks back and sees something different. The brokenness isn’t something to be ashamed of or dismayed about. God uses broken vessels to allow his grace and mercy to pour through to others who hurt. God has need of wounded healers in his kingdom. I know as this depression is easing up I will once again be in a position to help others who struggle with mental illness.

Throughout these past dark months, God has been at work in me. What looked like utter darkness at times were my own hands covering my eyes in despair. There was light all along. The Light of the world in every believer cannot be extinguished. I can hope this will be the last episode I will experience. I don’t really want to go through this again. But one thing I do know, the Lord is with me and will be with me regardless of where this life takes me, and that thought brings peace that passes all understanding. 

Keeping Hope

Déjà vu. That’s what it is. I feel like, no, I know I have been here before. Coming full circle, once again I am visiting depression, a dark place I would never wish on anyone. It’s been some time since I found myself in this place. I have been hiding it for some time now. Faking the smile while inside feeling like I am coming apart.  I don’t like being here, but at least know what to expect, if that makes any sense.

I didn’t arrive here overnight. It’s been a gradual decline and now it’s deeper than it has been for quite awhile. I haven’t been sleeping and I have reached a point of sheer exhaustion. Perhaps the depression is the outcome. I don’t know. Or the sleep disturbance is the result of the depression. All I know is now I have taken three week’s unpaid leave from work to try medications to see if I can find something that will help me sleep and help consistently. And then just maybe the depression will lift.

While I was still working, I still turned out of bed with the alarm set a half hour earlier than necessary to spend my early mornings in prayer and reading the bible. I will admit, my prayers often drifted with sleepiness and my comprehension of what I was reading wasn’t so great, but I went through the motions out of discipline, whether or not I felt I could. Sometimes in a fog I could only manage, “Bless them all.” But at times it was the best I could possibly do.

The alarm isn’t set now; there is no reason for it. But I am still starting my day with bible reading and prayer. It’s pretty much the same struggle until we find something that works. If I don’t keep up with doing this I fear losing hope of getting better, which happens in depression.

So what happens if I start sleeping and the depression lingers. I don’t know. I suppose a medication change, ECT maybe. I hope it will lift like the exhaustion. I just want to be well again. Depression is not a small thing. It affects all of you, body and emotions. It’s like having a heavy leaden ball and chain tied around your neck and trying to walk with it hung there. Forward progress is nigh impossible and standing in one place is painful from the sheer weight of it pulling on you. In other words, you hurt no matter what.

Psalm 61:1-4 says, “Hear my cry, O God; listen to my prayer. From the ends of the earth I call to you, when my heart is faint. Lead me to rock that is higher than I; for you are my refuge, a strong tower against the enemy. Let me abide in your tent forever, find refuge under the shelter of your wings.” The Lord will keep me. The Lord will lead me to where I need to be. He is my refuge. I will wait upon him and in him I will trust. To whom else can I go? I know where my hope lies and it’s in the Lord, my Savior. 

Wrestling With God

I have been through much in my walk with God. He has led me to places I would have never gone left on my own. I have had mountain top experiences where I never wanted to come down, and fearful, difficult walks through valleys that seemed endless. In all, He has been with me, though at times I have certainly doubted.

Throughout my faith journey, I have had “Jacob times” and “Jonah times.” Every Christian goes through these experiences, some more than others, depending on the condition of their heart. Some of us are just more strong-willed than others. Jacob and Jonah were both such men. The story of their lives as recorded in Scripture gives us hope that God is graceful in dealing with our restless, willfully wandering hearts.

Jacob was a self-made man. If the song had been written then, he would have been singing, “I did it my way.” Given the choice, he was willing to connive and manipulate to get his way. Yet, he is considered a man of great faith and God’s favor rested on him. His descendents referred to God as the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. Whatever his faults, Jacob knew God and worshipped Him. More importantly, God knew and loved Jacob.

Jacob’s knowledge of and reverence for God was frequently punctuated with his self-directed ways. He wanted God, but he wanted Him on his own terms. It took a crisis to bring Jacob to a place of surrender, but not without a fight. Genesis 32 records the story of Jacob wrestling with an angel of God-some believe it was the Lord himself. He was in essence wrestling with God over his future. This struggle we go through is our “Jacob time.” Wanting God’s will, blessing, and presence, but fearful of the future, of where He is leading, the consequences that may follow.

In the struggle, Jacob would not surrender and finally the angel touched him in a way that left him with a limp. In the end, Jacob received God’s blessing, but the limp remained—a reminder of God’s ultimate authority over our lives—and Jacob was transformed and given a new name that reflected his true status before God.

Jonah was also strong-willed, as well as fearful and angry. While he reverenced God, he was unwilling to surrender to God’s will because he didn’t want the certain outcome of obeying. Unlike Jacob, he did not wrestle with God, rather, he ran from Him. Turbulent circumstances and three days in the belly of a whale brought him to the place of surrender. Even then, it was not with complete willingness. Yet, God loved him too. Scripture does not record Jonah’s ultimate transformation, but I cannot help but believe he was changed by his obedience to God, seeing things from His perspective.

Jacob and Jonah fought God each in their own way, but in the end, were transformed through the experience by surrender. I, too, seem to bounce between the two, sometimes experiencing both simultaneously. Jacob was left with a limp, a reminder of his struggle. Anyone who has wrestled with God is limping in some fashion. Jonah had to learn to accept God’s will and understand the intentions of God’s heart, His mercy and grace.

I don’t pretend to understand why God permits Jacob and Jonah times, but I believe it is because we were fashioned for intimate relationship with Him. We are born with the heart of Adam, and through these times, slowly but surely, our hearts are being transformed into the heart of Jesus, who was willing to do all His Father’s will. For some of us, it takes more wrestling and running than others, but the promise is we will all get there together as we bear one another in fellowship through the church.

Love, grace, and prayer are what we offer to those who are going through those times. And as each of us emerges from our struggles, we know God more intimately and have more compassion to extend to others in the faith community, and to those who have yet to come to faith. The Jacob and Jonah times are not in vain, they are a part of the journey of faith, the fire we must all pass through to reach the promise that calls us upward. By God’s grace, we will all arrive.

Paid in Full

Today is Maundy Thursday. The day Christians remember the last supper of Jesus and his disciples. His anguished prayers in the garden of Gethsemane, the kiss of his betrayer and the beginning of the horrors that followed. It was the beginning of the end of his redemptive mission on earth. 

Tonight we had a communion service at my church. It was a solemn service. Subdued and rightly so. In remembering what Jesus was going through that last night with his disciples, it's not a time of joyful fanfare. His soul was in turmoil as he broke the bread and shared the cup at that last Passover meal. Indeed, as he agonized in prayer at the garden, he was bereft of the support of his closest companions who could not even stay awake for him. And Peter, who would rashly draw his sword and cut off a servant's ear when the soldiers came, would just as quickly deny knowing him three times before the night was over. All the disciples would be scattered in fear, except for John, who remained at crucifixion.

At our church service we were each given a small piece of paper and instructed to spend a quiet moment reflecting and to write down a sin or sins we were dealing with. There was a wooden cross at the front of the church sanctuary. One by one, we went forward, pinned our sins onto the cross and received communion, the physical manifestation of God's grace in holy sacrament. 

 I did not partake of the bread and juice right there, I took them back to my pew, which is my way of doing it if I am able. Communion is not something I take lightly. It's the presence of God in a tangible way. When I take communion, I know God has spoken to me, that my sins are forgiven. If I truly am settled and  not rushed through the process, I can feel him sitting next to me, just as I did tonight. When I got back to my pew, I bowed my head and began to weep. All I could think was, "You died for me." In the darkened sanctuary, in the stillness with the gentle music, I met once again with my Redeemer. I partook of the communion with him, and I knew I was forgiven. 

There really are no words able to express how great the love God has for us. We are unable to comprehend the depth, the height, the length and breadth of his vast and endless love and grace. Paul told the Ephesians he prayed they would be able to do just that. I need that prayer. We all do. 

In Isaiah 53, the suffering servant is Jesus. and the prophecy graphically depicted his sufferings. "He was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was on him, and by his wounds we are healed." (verse 5)  I have been reading that chapter daily for the past month and will read it for the last time tomorrow on Good Friday. I have personalized it and maybe that is why I was so moved tonight at the service. I don't know. But this I do know, Christ came, he lived among us, did miracles and taught with authority. He was crucified for the sins of the world, descended into hell and on the third day rose again from the dead. He's paid it all. No more is required. Let that enter your hearts and minds as you consider the overarching love of God. Nothing can ever separate you from him now.

And by His Stripes We Are Healed

In this Lenten season, my pastor has been preaching a series of how we are healed by the specific wounds of the suffering Christ. So far she has covered our wounded self image and negative thoughts, taking on the weight of the world, and relational brokenness. The scriptural base for the sermons is Isaiah 53.

After the very first sermon I felt a desire to read the Isaiah chapter daily. I am already going through the New Testament one chapter a day along with one Psalm. I just added it  to my morning routine, but it has been anything but routine. I find it a difficult read some mornings. Isaiah painted a very graphic prophecy of Jesus' suffering on the cross at our expense, at my expense. I cannot help but take it personally, as I feel it ought to be. Yes, it does say people, but I am a member of humanity for which he suffered in order to secure my salvation, our salvation.

As I read, I keep finding myself emphasizing the words "his wounds", "his bruises", "he was oppressed", "he was afflicted", "he was despised", "he was rejected." And instead of just reading through to better understand the sermons, I am being pulled into a place of deep awareness of how much the Father laid on our Lord because of my transgressions. In this place I have felt an emotional response; a feeling of how  high a price was paid. Two verses stand out: (5a) But he was wounded for our transgressions, crushed for our iniquities; upon him was the punishment that made us whole..." (10) "Yet it was the will of the Lord to crush him with pain."

Crushed. The word is so heavy-handed, and it tears at my  heart to know God the Father had to do that to a willing Son in order to pay the just penalty for sin. "It was the will of the Lord to crush him with pain." I cannot read that verse some mornings without tears. How terrible his suffering must have been. I cannot begin to imagine.

It would overwhelm me if God did not include a verse to bring hope. (11) "After he has suffered, he  will see the light of life and be satisfied; by his knowledge my righteous servant will justify  many, and he will bear their iniquities." Jesus was not left to suffer endlessly on the cross. It was declared finished after a period of time had passed. He was not left to the rotted state of a mortal body in the  tomb. He saw the light of life on the third day when he was resurrected from the dead. He bore our iniquities, he who knew no sin, suffering the ultimate price on our behalf. He is righteous, and now that righteousness has been endued in us. We have been justified. No longer are we outcasts. We have been drawn into the presence of God our creator and  there we no longer have to cringe and crawl. We can stand confident of our acceptance.

If you have time in your schedule, or rather, make time in your schedule to prayerfully read Isaiah 53 daily between now and Easter. Get up ten minutes earlier if you have to or go to bed a little earlier and spend that time with the Lord reading. Expect the Lord to show up as you seek him in your reading of  the word. He's been waiting patiently for you. You have nothing to lose and everything to gain.

When God Doesn't Heal

I have an app on my smartphone that feeds me all kinds of news, not just headlines. It includes editorials from a variety of newspapers across the nation. One that caught my eye recently was written by a woman entitled “When God Did Not Heal Me.” That resonated with me and I clicked the link to read it. I have to say, I could relate to much of what she wrote.

As most of my readers know, I live with mental illness that has been crippling at times. I have been on the brink of an abyss that has threatened to swallow me but have managed to crawl back away from each time. I cannot count the number of prayers I have said asking to be healed. God still heals people today. It didn’t end with Jesus when he walked this earth. If he can heal cancer, Bipolar Disorder is not too difficult. Since I still have it, my prayers have either gone unanswered or have been answered with a no. Either way, God has not healed me.

I admit to having gone through a whole gamut of emotional responses. Sorrow, anger, hopelessness and worst of all, losing faith in God’s goodness toward me. All of which causes the added burden of shame that as a Christian I would feel that way. After all, shouldn’t I just accept it as God’s will and be at peace, even joyful in the midst of it? Paul was in far worse situations and took it all in stride. I should be able to do the same.  Have I? Have I at least made some progress?

A year ago I had just suffered a complete mental breakdown. I was left unable to work and function to the point of having to take a leave of absence for five months. In the first few months I was a mess and consulted a lawyer to discuss disability because it appeared I was going to be unable to hold down a job. And during that time, I felt estranged from God. I couldn’t understand why this was happening to me. Why I had struggled off and on with suicidal thoughts for years and then became psychotic. At times when I prayed I felt like a faithless lover speaking lies.

Slowly, I regained sanity and strength and I am fully back to as normal as I think what normal is supposed to look like. Yet, when I am in a place of relative stability, I always have the fear in the back of my mind of the other shoe dropping. How can I live with God not healing me?

Romans 8, a remarkable read, teaches that all things work together for good for those who are called in Christ Jesus. Though I find it a bitter pill to swallow at times, the truth of it is I have a deeper compassion for those who wrestle with the same question of why God does not always heal. Sometimes when I want to cut that verse out of my bible and throw it away, I remember that. All the bad, all the tragic and the failure, even the sin (yes, even that can be used) has a purpose in God’s plan for me.  I don’t have to understand in order for God to use me. Like Peter said to Jesus after he taught a particularly difficult lesson to the crowds and many left, and Jesus asked if the disciples were going to leave as well, “To whom else would we go?” I don’t understand why God doesn’t heal me, but I can’t leave him. Where else would I go? He alone is my salvation and my strength. My Rock and my Redeemer.

God isn’t afraid of my vacillating emotions. He isn’t taken by surprise when I feel some fear or question him. And as time goes by, I find myself less inclined to doubt his goodness toward me in spite of “No” answers to prayers. Romans 8 also says nothing can separate us from the love of God which is in Christ Jesus. My mental illness cannot cause me to fall away from grace. It’s grace that keeps me in spite of it. My future is secure. I may still struggle in this life, but nothing can snatch me from the hand of God, not even myself.

Growing Tame

A little over a month ago we brought home a feral kitten, about six months old. She had been trapped as part of a spay/neuter and release program. As she was recovering from surgery the folks at the agency thought they'd try keeping  her inside to see if she could adjust to being around people. She took to the litter box but didn't allow a lot of contact, yet seemed to be adjusting. I found out about her while doing an internet search search for a kitten to adopt to give our dog a companion.

When we went to meet  her she really didn't show much of herself. They caught her and put her in the cat carrier for us pretty much sight unseen. She growled and hissed at Zed, our dog, who we had taken along to meet her as well. Not exactly a positive start. But we thought we'd give her a try. We were given four weeks to see if we would be able to make it work.

When we got home and  released her, she immediately went into hiding. While we tried to coax her out from under the bed or out of the basement she'd warily only venture out for food and use the litter box and then run for cover not letting us near her. This went on for pretty much the first week. But gradually she began to become a little less fearful. I would stay in the room with her while she ate and gradually move closer to her  until I was sitting next to her so she would associate me with food, something positive. Soon she began coming into the same room and began rubbing against our legs. Fast forward, now she sits next to me and sleeps on the bed. Still doesn't care all that much for Zed, but she's getting there.

I find a parallel between humans and our fallen state before coming to Christ, at least for me. You could say I was feral. I was living apart from the One who could provide for me and striving to make it through life by my own means. I literally lived wildly. Not everyone shares the same background as me, but all are living on their own terms until they turn to God. Paul made it clear in his writings that all have sinned and fallen short. All have need of salvation through Jesus.

In my fallen state I had a distorted understanding of the Lord. I saw an angry, vindictive God and I wanted no part of him. But he pursued me like the hound of heaven and I ran as fast as I could fearful of what would happen if I were caught. Looking back, I am amazed at the misguided view I had, but judgmental Christians I had encountered had only left me believing God wanted me to burn. Why on earth would I want to come to him? Like my cat, I hid as best I could. But God, knew how to reach me and drew me gradually by the Holy Spirit. I had been raised in a Christian home and as I grew increasingly desperate in my life of addiction, thoughts of a chance of returning to a God of my youth began entering my mind. I am utterly convinced those thoughts were planted by the Holy Spirit. They did not come from me. But by the grace of God those thoughts took root and the day came when I turned back to that concept of God and returned to the fold. I became "tame."

I find spiritual lessons in everyday things if I am open to the Holy Spirit. My kitten is now a part of our household and this lesson serves to remind me of how far the Lord has brought me. The even better news is he isn't finished with me. He's never finished with any of his children. He is busy working wonders in our beings up to the time we are called home. We have been tamed. Oh, there are always times when we don't willingly sit on the lap of our Father. But as I said, he is not finished. The Holy Spirit is working in us to bring our entire beings into willing submission. In that place we find perfect rest.

Abba, Father. Daddy, help us to grow more tame.

One More Lesson Learned

In my first post of the new year I wrote about my lost blog and how frustrated I was. I also said I had prayed about it and no answer had come. I finally accepted the situation and was at peace about it and was moving on when the continued help I was getting from someone at a help forum associated with Blogspot suggested something I had not tried. As you can see, I have regained access to my blog of eight years!

It is another reinforcement of how God sometimes delays answers to prayers. He does sometimes say no, but there are times when a yes is not immediate. When Lazarus, the brother of Mary and Martha fell desperately ill, Jesus delayed going to him. He delayed long enough that Lazarus died. The gospel account of what happened is an object lesson of a delayed yes to prayer because even though there is no written record of prayers being offered for Lazarus by those nearest him, I think it's reasonable to think he was prayed for and with earnestness. It must have seen like a no when Lazarus died.  Yet Jesus indicated it was for the glory of  God that he had delayed. As the familiar story goes, Jesus commanded Lazarus to come forth and he was raised from the dead. Prayers were answered with a yes.

My blog prayer hardly compares to the resurrection of Lazarus, but the lesson is the same. I decided God said no to my old blog so I determined to start over. It was a delayed response and I believe it was to show me something about myself. I was impatient and finally threw in the towel, but it wasn't a fatalistic response. I accepted it and was prepared to start over. That eye opener helped mitigate the guilty feelings over my impatience and frustration.

God isn't surprised by our negative reactions to circumstances that sometimes occur in our lives. But like the son in the bible who first said no to his father's request then changed his mind and followed through, it's our final obedience that matters. As we mature we respond with immediate obedience in some situations, but it is a lifelong lesson as opportunities crop up to help us learn the obedience of Christ.

I am grateful God is not through with me. I hate it when I stumble. But God  reminds me I am still his child and even lovable in his opinion in spite of it. And that is comforting for me. It should be a comfort for everyone who sometimes find waiting for answers to prayer not always easy. God's not through with you either.

Attitude of Gratitude

God answers prayer. It is a simple direct statement, yet sometimes in the excitement having had divine aid we forget to thank him.  I just did, until the great relief of the changed situation passed and it occurred to me I had just gotten an answer to my plea and was already skipping down the road before I was pulled up short realizing I had failed to thank him and praise him for helping me. It makes me wonder how often I do that. Not good.

Maybe it’s due to some of my prayers being long distance ones. Prayers for things I have yet to receive answers to. Prayers for the salvation of loved ones. Prayers about future outcomes. Prayers about our nation and believers around the globe. Those are prayers that take time and are left hanging in spiritual limbo. Prayers I have no way of knowing what the answers will look like.  Yet, I should tell myself that answers will assuredly come. There is no reason why I should not praise him for the answers not yet revealed.

During the time God came down to take on flesh as the Son, Jesus ministry was punctuated by acts of miraculous healings. Those actions were met with praise and wonder. Yet there was one time when those healed ran down the road forgetting the One who had answered their pleas. Ten lepers cried out for Jesus to heal them and when he did so they immediately ran off newly freed from being outcasts now being restored and acceptable to the community. Only one turned back to thank him for the miracle. Jesus asked what happened to the other nine not really expecting an answer. It was a rhetorical question, but one intended to teach the onlookers. Gratitude should never forgotten and praise should be rightly rendered to the Lord.

My prayer was simple yet desperate and the answer was quickly granted. I should have thought to immediately stop, turn back, fall to my knees and express my thankfulness.  But like the nine other lepers I ran off forgetting the One who bailed me out. I did so as an afterthought. I am ashamed that I wasn’t just as quick with my praise as God was with my answer. The Holy Spirit opened my eyes to see what had just transpired and pricked my conscience. I am left with the sin I confessed to in the first paragraph. I think I am not the only one who has done this. Our lives should be one of continual praise for the recognition that none of us have anything but God’s grace to have the forgiveness of all our sin.

I plan to live as though my next breath can only be taken by the great mercy of God. In humility and with gratitude we should live our lives letting our thoughts, actions and words offer continual praise for God’s answers and blessings. He is worthy to be worshipped and glorified for our God is an awesome God.

Let the Good Times Roll!

Today Christians around the world celebrate the resurrection. Jesus is no longer in the tomb! Death could not hold him in its bitter grasp. The rejected Messiah is robed in glory and lives. He has the name above all names and every knee will bow and every tongue confess that Jesus is Lord of all. And all those who place their faith in his atoning sacrifice will be resurrected, too. We will no longer be clothed in the body of shame. The promises made by God will come to pass and all the machinations of the evil one cannot prevent it. It’s been sealed by the broken body and shed blood of our Redeemer who lives and reigns for eternity.

I have been locked in a fierce battle for my mind for a long time. The end of which is still unknown. But today is a day of unrelenting joy and peace. The burdens I bear and the weight of my sin have been lifted from my weak shoulders and borne away by my blessed Savior. It is a day of celebration and we can party hardy! No holds barred. The Lord delights in our unabashed expressions of praise. David danced before the Ark of the Covenant as it was brought to the tabernacle. His wife despised him for it, but God was enjoying every minute of it. Shouldn’t we?

There are holy days in which we take on somber countenances and rightly so. Our God is awesome God and we do well to bow down in his presence. The Creator of all seen and unseen, the vast universe that seems endless and the myriads of angels who do his bidding on earth and in heavenly realms. And yet the Omnipotent One stooped down to fashion us by hand from the dust of the earth he created and breathed the breath of life into us. He made us in his image and blessed us. Then he rested from his creative works saying it was all good.

Never once has God been surprised by our actions and words. He foresaw our fall from perfection into a sinful existence. His glory in us sullied. And yet, there remains in each human a divinely ordained hunger to be more than we are. In the heart of all who live is an urge to worship something. The need is overpowering and humans have sought to fulfill it with anything but the One who placed it within the heart and mind. Driven by carnal instincts men and women have turned to a vast array of false gods and our fallen natures have deceived us into believing the next great thing will take away the emptiness we long to fill. But our desires are never sated.

Enter the promise God first made to Adam and Eve, that a sacrifice greater than the blood of animals would be provided to pay the ransom for us from the demand of justice that required the shedding of blood and death. The Law was given to reveal our hopeless condition. No one, not even one is righteous before God. All are subject to sin and death. We deceive ourselves if we deny the truth that the wages of sin are death and try as we might to pay our way into heaven it’s not good enough to see the face of a holy God.

The good news is God made a way to redeem our fallen race and the broken body and shed blood of an unblemished sacrificial Lamb paid the penalty once and for all time. The redemption of the created ones was declared finished from the cross and the promise of the ages was fulfilled by the resurrection we celebrate today. The path to the presence of the Almighty One is made possible through our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.

So let’s party!

It is a Good Day

It’s an ordinary sort of day. I have been running errands and grabbing breakfast at our favorite greasy spoon. I woke up late and had to drag myself out of bed as it was chilly and rainy and staying curled up under my blankets was quite cozy. I decided it would not be a pajama day as tempting as it was and got out of bed and got ready for the day.

I didn’t take the time to think about the significance of the day, at least not until now. It is Good Friday and Christians throughout the world celebrate this holiest day in the Christian calendar. I don’t have to recount the story as every believer knows it by heart. But still it is right to pause and meditate on the significance of the day.

The road Jesus walked on the way to Calvary was both glorious and labor intensive as he spent the last three years of his life trekking roads throughout the holy lands. He was worshipped and adored for the miracles he wrought. His teaching amazed all who came to listen as scripture says he preached with an authority unlike the scribes in the synagogues. With a word he could heal the blind and the lame. He was able to raise the dead and yet take time to bless little children. He could thunder at willful and flagrant cheapening of the temple in Jerusalem and speak gently about the love and endless mercy of God. And when confronted by the self-righteous Pharisees he confounded them by wisdom that left them speechless.

His wanderings took him to hills and lakes where crowds of people sought him to listen to him preach and they would speak among themselves that he must have been John the Baptist come back to life. It was all set straight when he dared to declare himself as equal to the Father. The crowds thought him the long awaited Messiah who would deliver Israel from the Romans not understanding that he came to deliver them from a different bondage, sin’s seemingly unbreakable grasp. The Pharisees thought him a false prophet who was leading the people astray and hated him for turning people from their allegiance to them.  When Jesus claimed he was deity it was the last straw. What happened next is the story of the greatest gift God would bestow on humanity. His fate was sealed and he set his face like a flint toward Jerusalem.

Believers from the days of Jesus have made attempts to make the sufferings of Jesus as realistic as possible. I have seen displays and heard ministers describe in full detail how the Pharisees and Romans treated our Lord, as they subjected him to unbelievable torture, degradation and humiliation. It was the last step toward the final act of the most profound love that has ever been bestowed on humanity.

We call this day Good Friday because we have the benefit of hindsight. The disciples and Mary did not have the clarity we do. It was not a good day in their limited understanding. It was a brutal end to what was seemingly a journey to a new order on earth. Though Jesus prophesized his end, they did not understand and in that terrible death of their leader they hid as wanted men do.  

This is Good Friday and as we remember the sacrificial death of Jesus, we are given the gift of greater faith in the amazing love and mercy of our Father and our Redeemer King. So while you go about your day, take a moment to reflect on the cross and say once again it is good.

Rejoice! Again I Say Rejoice!

It is almost Easter. It tops my list of Christian holidays. No other holidays compare, not even Christmas. There are scores of celebrations around Christmas, but so few around Easter. Egg hunts and Palm Sunday.  No decorations or a gazillion hymns and songs. While there are hymns and Easter lilies celebrating Easter, it’s just not as many and I have to wonder why.

What sets Easter apart is Maundy Thursday and Good Friday. There were no wise men bringing gifts, no star marking Bethlehem. No angels praising God and awed shepherds spreading the good news. I am not saying Christmas isn’t important, because the incarnation of the Holy Son of God stooping to become a man is miraculous and worthy of celebration. But Easter is the culmination of his life and ministry. It is a miracle above all else. The God Man rising from the grave, bringing eternal hope and life to all who believe. And that hope can embrace all humanity if people will only believe in Jesus, his death and resurrection.

Every time we partake of communion, we celebrate the death of Jesus and in that act we are endued anew with the presence of the Holy Spirit whose mission is to dwell in our hearts and make the teachings of Jesus known, to ourselves and to those to whom we carry the message. All because of Easter.

Remembering the night of the last supper and the betrayal of our Lord is part of the essential belief in the resurrection. We cannot fully grasp the turmoil and struggle of Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane, praying so fervently that his sweat became drops of blood. And all the while the disciples slept. His close friends he shared all with for three years. Oblivious to the danger and all Jesus had revealed to them about his impending death, they slept right up to the betraying kiss. Peter only added to the betrayal of Judas when he denied Jesus three times while Jesus was beaten and interrogated. Mocked, scorned and scourged by his own people and the Gentiles.

The final steps of Jesus were painful beyond comprehension. The nails driven into his hands and feet are too much to bear. I often wonder how much grief was gripping Mary’s heart as she saw her first born, her baby in such agony, knowing there was only death for relief. The mocking was relentless. Even a thief crucified with him joined in the hatred. And on that day God turned his face away and left Jesus to suffer on his own, bearing the weight of the combined sins of all  humanity, past, present and future, and in doing so the sin of the world was forever canceled. The mocking Lucifer was silenced and his dominion on earth was wrested away. 

Lest the terrible days leading up to the crucifixion leave hopeless all who mourn then and now, the plan that was incomplete, the battered and suffering Savior dead and buried, was made complete.  The resurrection from death and the grave overturned all. In the instant Jesus was reincarnated all was made new. Everything was made complete and the hope of all people throughout history was fulfilled. Death was overcome and the door to God’s awesome presence was flung open. For all who believe death no longer stings, no longer brings fear and is no longer the end of life. As Jesus cried out from the cross, it is finished.

He is risen! He is risen indeed!

The Clothing of Christ

Today is a good day. The sun is out, it’s warm and I feel like I am in a better place than I have been for a long time. But I admit to some fear that it is only the eye of the storm I have been caught in for some time. It is terrible thing to not be able to enjoy the present, a gift, because of waiting for the other shoe to drop. Everyone has been in this place. It is for many a roadblock to experiencing the fullness of joy. And when I say many, I include myself.

There is grief in our world. It is a part of human existence, and no one escapes the ravages of loss in life whether it be death of a loved one, loss of a job, loss of health or any number of causes that lead to brokenness. And sometimes that grief hangs on us like an old smelly overcoat we wear everywhere we go. It becomes a part of us and we shuffle through our days with it dragging us down by its weight. It’s what we wear and by extension, it defines who we are.

The fact is we are incapable of shedding the coat that clings to us without the help of other believers who act on behalf of Christ. The Holy Spirit enables us through them to cast aside the cloak that has perpetuated our brokenness. But it is not enough to shake it off. We must replace it with new clothing. We must clothe ourselves with Christ (Gal. 3:27) and clothe ourselves in love (Col. 3:14). 1 Peter 5:5 says we are to clothe ourselves in humility.

But that is not all. Ephesians 6:13 says we must take up the full armor of God so we may be able to stand firm. Verses 14-17 describe what that armor consists of: the belt of truth, the breastplate of righteousness, the shoes of the gospel of peace, the shield of faith, the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit, the word of God. And it all starts with shedding the coat of sorrows and brokenness.

If it were easily achieved, we would have no need for the fellowship of believers and of Christ. We would be autonomous, but that is not how it works. To clothe ourselves with humility is the only way to wholeness. Humility says I hurt. I need your love, grace and support. We will never be totally free from the burdens that weigh us down in this life, but it is possible to gain more joy in the journey. God seeks to instill his joy in the hearts and minds of those who come in humility seeking his face.

I am broken. I have suffered greatly from my past sins and my current burdens, but I do not suffer from terminal uniqueness. We all are broken in some way. No one escapes grief. We must bring them to the suffering and broken Christ who paid all for us. In doing so we are clothed with the triumphant Christ who makes all things new. We are invited to sit at the table of mercy and the celebration of what is to come. We long for the day when all suffering is swept away and joy is made complete.

Lord, hasten the day.

Hope in the Hopeless

It has been a very long time since I last posted to my blog. Much has happened in that time. It’s been difficult to write anything. Life has been, well, life. Nowhere are Christians exempt from the trials and buffeting of events that can leave us reeling, and I have been reeling for months.

Everything began to unravel in August of 2014. I was hospitalized for severe depression. I was in for several days until they thought I was stable again. Then again in December I was hospitalized due to what appeared to be mania. I was in for days until I appeared stable. Then in January, I was hospitalized for six days because I had become psychotic. The frightening thing about the hospitalizations is I have absolutely no memory of them. I have no memory of having a car accident while I was psychotic leading to my third time in the hospital. I have no memory of my breakdown at work for which I was sent home for extreme paranoia and hallucinations. It is all a blank.

Now my job is in jeopardy. I am off on unpaid leave for a minimum of eight weeks and a maximum of nineteen weeks. I took the leave hoping to salvage my job. I have complete short term memory loss, difficulty concentrating and am suffering from a sense of hopelessness about saving my job of eleven years. Several more months of working and  I will have much better retirement benefits, but I will only have ten days when I go back to show my boss I can still do my job. It’s as though life has conspired to beat me into the dust.

I pray. I pray a lot about being able to save my job. If I cannot demonstrate ability to do the job I have done for years I will be summarily fired. That’s it. No grace. Ten days. There have been many changes since I took off and I will have to learn new procedures as well as do what I was able to do before my mental breakdown. It isn't  much time to pull it together. It’s hard to not feel hopeless. It really is.

So, you the reader, may be asking the same question I am: Why? Maybe not. Maybe everyone else can see what’s going on and just I am in the dark. I really don’t know why God has led me down this road. Yes, some may say it’s to make me stronger or bring me to my knees with nothing left of myself so God can fill me up; my bipolar disorder is a cross to bear. None of those are very comforting. It’s like telling parents burying a child that at least they have more. Cold comfort and certainly not Holy Spirit inspired. It only kicks them cruelly while they are down.

No one suffering deserves platitudes. I have to wonder how many times I have tossed a platitude at someone suffering like a dry bone offered to the starving. I ashamed to think how many times I probably have done so. God forgive me. I am not looking for great words of wisdom. I fear at this point they would fall on deaf ears. I am like a person on a ship tossed about by tempestuous waves and cannot gain a firm stance. The only thing keeping me from being washed over into the sea is a tether tied to the mast.

Will I lose all sanity? Am I going to be in and out of institutions the rest of my life? Those questions are continually careening around my mind. I have no answers. I am not sure I will get answers.

The only glimmer of hope I have is the tether tied to the mast. I know I didn't tie it and I can only hope the mast holds. If I may be excused in making an analogy, the tether had to have been tied by Jesus. The tether is the Holy Spirit, and the mast the Father. It’s the only thing that makes any sense in my senseless mind. I cannot hold on. I just can’t. But the tether is keeping me, it’s holding onto me. In my utter weakness I am not going to sink into the unreachable and unfathomable depths that never give back what has been washed overboard.

 I feel lost, but Psalm 139 says, “Where can I go from your spirit? Or where can I flee from your presence? If I ascend to heaven, you are there; if I make my bed in Sheol, you are there. If I take the wings of the morning and settle at the farthest limits of the sea, even there your hand shall lead me, your right hand shall hold me fast. If I say, ‘Surely darkness shall cover me, and the light around me become night,’ even the darkness is not dark to you; the night is as bright as the day, for darkness is light to you.”

This alone is my only hope. What is weakness in me is strength in the Lord. My boss and the rest of the world may write me off as a mental case, but somehow God will keep me alive. I don’t know how, but somehow, he will make it happen. 

The Pain of Grief, When Does it End?

It’s been raining a lot lately. Not outside in the heatwave warning of Kansas City weather, but inside. Inside me, inside as the tears spill over again and again. I can’t seem to stop them from falling. You’d think I would have grieved sufficiently for my deceased mother, but I can’t stop the crying sometimes, I miss her so much. She’s in no pain, has seen my father again after a long time, and other loved ones who have preceded her. Best of all she in the presence of the Lord, who I know with absolute certainty, told her, “Well done good and faithful servant. Enter into the joy of your Lord.” I hope I don’t muff it so badly that I miss out on those words, missing all the joy and love and peace of the next life, seeing loved ones again.

Then the tears morph into what if I lost my only child, my beloved son. It’s irrational in some ways, but in other ways it’s not. I don’t know if I could survive that kind of pain and loss. He is at the command of the U.S. Army, and has to go and do as he is ordered. My pride in him is beyond measure, but while I always told him the military was a noble profession when he was young, I didn’t think he would go through with West Point and become an officer in the Army.

He is no longer my baby, my toddler, my school-ager, and teen that I can protect. He is standing on his own two feet, 25 years old. A safe Subaru car, a MG Midget sports car, and a motorcycle being rebuilt slowly in his garage. I guess he’s got to get it out of his system before he settles down, if he does. I am no longer holding my breath for grandchildren. Will is 67 and I am 59. He seems far away from marriage and children.

But this grief and fear grips my heart and will not let go. Both parents gone, I am parentless. But my son, who I have poured my life into since the day he was born he, is still with us. Perhaps I am projecting the wildness, stupidity, and addictions of my life. Will keeps reminding me how level-headed our son is. But Just like Cat Stevens sang, “It’s a wild world out there.”

So where is God in all this? Where is the comfort of the Holy Spirit, where is the intercession of Jesus? I have been in and out of the hospital three times this past year with the Bipolar Disorder. Where is the break? New meds, new doctor, repeated ECT’s. Yet, I cry, a lot. I fear. I grieve. There is only one verse that says Jesus wept. I am not becoming very Christ-like very quickly in that area. Something needs to happen to me. Grief comes in cycles. I grieved off and on for my dad for years, but my mom hasn’t eased up at all. It’s almost constant and it’s been nine months.

Went to their house today, for the last time that I would be able to look around, but it was empty. I visualized furniture and my parents sitting in the easy chair and on the couch. I saw my bedroom, the posters on the walls, the lava lamp. I was such a difficult child. I pictured the office and their bedroom, and all the things that filled the basement and garage.  Empty, of all that had made it a home. And I cried. It’s been closed on, keys handed over. It’s done.

I wish I could say I was cried out, but even as I asked where God is in all this, He is surely near me, holding my hand. I just can’t feel it right now through my emotions, but the intellect, battered about as it is, tells me the Trinity has not left me bereft of all comfort. I feel it from my family, my husband, and close friends who rally around me. I want to feel his touch and his words directly, but I hear what he has to say through loved ones, the bible, and church. It’s all I have for now. God says his grace is sufficient for me. Even through the pain, it’s there upholding me. I am just not aware of it. Hasten the day that I am once again joy filled.

The Christian Response to Mental Illness

This is a touchy subject. Opinions are as numerous as denominations. I have personally experienced a few faith approaches that made things worse. I can't say for sure when I first began exhibiting mental  illness. I became suicidal in high school. I kept my mouth shut except for one friend (and it was because she feared for my life. We would all do well with such friends.) and it got back to my parents. I played it off as a joke and stayed out of the psychiatrist's office. But it wasn't a joke. I felt that way.

I got got caught up in a bible study group apart from my childhood church in which I never heard a sermon on the topic. This bible study group  was lead by young 20-year-old somethings with no formal training and a pastor of  large charismatic church who came to help get it up and running. I don't remember who invited me, but it was very different from what I was used to and as a sort of rebellious teen I decided to stick around.

The pastor was totally into demonology. Something  new and crazy sounding. I knew nothing about it so I stuck around to learn what it was all about. Basically  there was a Devil's henchman (demon) for  everything bad in the world when it came to people. He pulled out a few bible  verses to back his theology  and began telling us we should come forward for deliverance for the sins he began listing. Among them was depression. No faithful Christian was ever depressed. So, I went up to have the demon of depression kicked out. The only problem, I felt the same. Then he said if you weren't free, then you wanted whatever you had. The deepening despondency drove  me to leave. Obviously that wasn't the answer. If it was, I was toast.

I tried another church. I stayed a couple of years before I admitted I had a mental illness, though I did not call it that at the time. I just knew something was wrong and I figured God was not pleased. The prescriptions were to read the bible more  and pray harder. There was the demon thing by a couple, but the main thing I heard was that I was sinning by being depressed and those who committed suicide went straight to hell. I tried the "cures" but I ended up faking it for a while, then another pastor came who was so condemning of many things, even Christmas trees were evil. I proudly announced that I had one and left the church.

If I hadn't had a child, I would have never gone to church again. But I needed to find a sane church that would help and accept me, and I finally found it at South-Broadland Presbyterian Church. By then I had finally gone to see a psychiatrist because I was suicidal and the thought of doing that and leaving behind a four-year-old with that legacy was too much to bear. That is when I was diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder. It was that because I would have times of the opposite feelings. High energy, extreme irritability, hearing voices and other symptoms. Then I would crash into deep depression.

I began with the pastor who showed compassion and wanted to help anyway he could. The pastor we have now gets it entirely and is a stalwart source of help and mercy. No demons, no extra prayer assignments, though some scriptures designed to help lift me have been suggested. No accusations of not having enough faith, no sinning because of it.  In fact the last  hospital stay, she came twice to visit me and brought comfort, encouragement, understanding, hope, acceptance, and prayer.

I am still battling but with an understanding and loving family, a church that is sensible and sane, and a pastor who doesn't make up theology, but teaches based on the bible and who has been to seminary for a foundation to pastor a church. I  have hope  even when things don't look or feel good.

At the end of each service she says, "God is good all the time." And the congregants respond, "And all the time  God is good." And he is. I am here alive despite all the odds against me and all the condemnation over the years. I honestly know some meant well, but for some their right is wrong. God is good. He  kept me safe and guarded me during some of the darkest times of my life. I can praise him even when low because of his many unlisted blessings to me over the years.

I hope the whole of Christendom will one day treat those with mental illness as God would have them treat them, with love, compassion, understanding, and peaceful, gentle words of hope. And an invitation to have dinner with Jesus in his heavenly kingdom, where there will be many mentally ill who were left to fend for themselves on the mean streets. Find a way to help at least one person, if only to be a steadfast friend  who has the patience and compassion to go the distance. The reward is worth it.

Reaching out to the Suicidal

I would have written this entry sooner, but was on a wonderful vacation. Got to spend time with my son and see some of the most beautiful places I have been: Washington State. Mt, Rainier  in all its massive snow peaked glory. Water falls everywhere, and the tallest trees I have ever seen. I was able to let go of some of my anxiety and seeing my son helped lift my depression. I felt a sense of peace.

But it didn't last. I came home to another ECT treatment the very next day and a session with my shrink. The depression isn't going away and the insomnia is worsening. He asks me each time he sees me if I am suicidal. Last year I was in the hospital for a week and took the full 12 FMLA weeks off work. I had enough sick leave to stay paid. But this last time I spent 10 days in the hospital and began ECT treatments again while going to work. I don't have the money to stay home this time. Now comes  the medicine merry-go-round. Changing the medications to find a combination that might work.

Then I also came home to the news that a famous person who struggled with addiction, as I did until I went to AA 30 years ago,  but the Bipolar ups and downs were ever present. And right now it is the depressive side that is tormenting me. I want to says I have been in his shoes, but I am not faced with an un-treatable disease on top of it.

But I  do know the pain of deep depression. People often use that word when they are just blue over something for a few days or a week. But clinical depression is way beyond having the blues or just feeling down for  a couple days  because something went wrong or didn't work out as had hoped, or any other many reasons.

If you use that word, then go see a psychiatrist. It is a life  altering disorder and has the potential to lead to suicide. And  even if it does n't go that far, it colors your whole world and the people in  your life are affected by it, too. Deep depression can disable a person to the point that they can no longer work, maintain hygiene, be unable to carry on conversations, or even leave the house, isolating completely.

Those are the most severe cases, but many feel that way, but have, with all their energy been able to hide the depression and function.  But inside they are slowly crumbling and no one seems to notice. Still there are signs. Self put-downs, lack of a higher level of normal energy, poor  appetite or gaining rapid weight. Less creativity, and a level of isolating. When you see these things, it's time to  attempt to be a friend who tries to draw out feelings and listen carefully. If the word suicide is ever  mentioned, it's time to take it  not as a joke, but a cry for help. Encourage that person to go to see a psychiatrist, or even offer to take them to an ER. Plans for how to do it may already been made.

Clinical depression is a serious disorder that can be treated if you can provide a trusting friendship where the truth can come out and going to the safety of a hospital. There are medications, ECT, therapy and support groups. Suicide doesn't have to  be the final step in dealing with depression. So pay attention to those who exhibit those signs and get them to the help they need. It  may take some effort, some convincing conversations. Educate yourself so you can be the difference  between a person's suffering and their getting help. You  may turn out to be the only one who makes the difference.

Fear of the Water, Fear of the deep

Here I am hurtling through the air at who knows what speed a 737 does.  We've just taken off for Seattle on our way to see our son. It will be a three hour flight. The longest non-stop flight I've ever been on. I am feeling rather relaxed because that’s what Ativan does. Two pills and my fear of flying eases. But three hours is a long time to me. I don’t know how people are able to fly across the Atlantic. I would have to be knocked out.

Flying for me is fearful in and of itself, but crossing the ocean is beyond fearful. It is terrifying. I have respect for water, and I can swim, but a pool is a far cry from the tempestuous, never still ocean. It is full of swells and when it storms, ships are tossed about like rag dolls. The largest ones weather it better, but still, the oceans can break ships and send them to the deep.

It is that awful power and darkest depths from where no one is ever found or returns that terrifies me. One can only tread water for so long. Then there is becoming a meal for a shark. But the vastness and unforgiving power to destroy is what makes me refuse to cross any ocean. For some it is a source of fascination, but for people like me, it overwhelms and melts the courage of even the normally steadfast.

The ocean makes me think of the Lord. He is vast, powerful, endless in motion in the affairs of men, and for those who have been taught incorrectly, just as the ocean so, too, he can instill great fear. In my past I had a distorted concept of God. He was like the hound of heaven, busily seeking those he could destroy by tossing them into hell. No mercy for those of us who had wandered too far from religion and faith. My actions put me high on the list for eternal torment. At one point in the bible, Kind David felt as if God had turned away from him and he said God’s waves and billows had washed over him.

In a foolish and twisted mind, I knew I was going to hell, so what I did mattered not. Yet, at the same time, I kept running from him as fast as I could. Somehow I thought I could keep out of his reach, I could go on living as I was, staying far away from him as I could. The restricted space of a blog keeps me from telling my whole story, so I shall just say that I finally was cornered, and the relentless hound of heaven had me right where he wanted me. I expected the worst, but what I got was mercy, grace, faith and forgiveness. I was utterly changed. Some things right away, some things took some time, but I did a 180, and the understanding I had of God would never be the same.

He is like the ocean he created. Vast, deep, and awesome. Like how the ocean beckons sailors, so he beckons us. He seeks those who will go into the spiritual waters where we cannot touch bottom. He bids to go well beyond the visible shore; deeper and deeper. If we desire an intimacy with God unlike any other, then we must go beyond wading in ankle deep water.  The Holy Spirit will cause us to walk where only one man walked, and that is Peter when Jesus called to him to come out of the boat. But Peter, seeing the swells from the storm and feeling the wind the churned the water, sank like a rock and Jesus had to rescue him.

God wants us to follow where Jesus walked, defying natural fear and get out of the boat. The wind and high foaming waves are not to be our focus. Our gaze needs to always be on Jesus. He will lead us in safety. That doesn't mean there will be no storms, but he will keep us safe. That is a promise.

I haven’t convinced myself that I want to cross the ocean by plane or ship, but I will get out of the boat that I have been clinging to. God has others yet to be rescued in the deep waters and those of us who have been graciously set free and forgiven must follow where the Spirit leads and reach out to those drowning in their sin and self-imposed bondage, the chains that are dragging them under.

Are you afraid to get out of the safety of the boat? I am. But get out is the command and I must obey, Not because I will be punished if I don’t, but because I will miss out on the wonderful and great exploits of reaching out to the drowning and through the power and grace of God, bring them to Jesus who will take it from  there and turn another life around.

In the book of Psalms, at one point there is a verse that has always been mysterious to me. It is “deep calls unto deep.” As I rack my brain trying to remember where it is, I think it might be in the Psalm I referenced earlier. There is no depth deeper than the mind of God. His thoughts are above our thoughts and his ways above our ways. He doesn't call the wise of the world, nor the strong and naturally brave.

He calls ordinary people, like me, and perhaps you, the reader. He calls the timid, and weak. He calls those the world calls foolish. He calls those who know they need a Savior. They recognize they are calling one last time in desperation for someone to save them as they sink. It is Jesus through us who grabs their hand and pulls them to the safety of salvation. Deep calls unto deep: The Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. And as we grow, we begin to know the mind of God, and listen for the deep calling the deep.

We are on our downward descent into Seattle. I have made it three hours in an airplane. I spent the time writing this. It may not be one of my better ones, but a couple of anxiety pills and two screaming babies next to and behind me…the entire flight hasn't helped my concentration. I could have complained, but I've been told I was just as bad if not worse. There’s grace in that.

Sweet Sorrows

I have sat here for a while trying to figure out a very famous saying. I went through “Loss is such sweet sorrow”, “Goodbye is such sweet sorrow”, and others. Finally, thanks to Google, I found the quote written centuries ago by William Shakespeare: “Parting is such sweet sorrow.”

I have never fully understood that sentiment. The only partings to which I could apply that are ones in which there was a sense of sarcasm. Not recommending that as I do believe the Lord takes a dim view of sarcasm. If you take time to read the book of Proverbs, you see he doesn’t like twisted barbs that harm others or hardens the heart. I have actually contemplated Shakespeare’s oft quoted line at times, albeit sometimes with incorrect words, but nonetheless mean the same and I have wondered what to make of these words that do not come from the bible, yet are so well known.

If I dug further, I suppose it was a romantic moment in which this quote was framed. But setting that aside, the words make little sense when the one you love and care about is taking leave of you. Where is the sweetness in that? Sorrow I understand. People I have loved have exited my life down through the years and there was only a sense of sorrow and loss.

This is where we do turn to the bible, because in it we find quite a few partings of sweet sorrows. Paul sending Timothy and Silas to other cities in faraway lands, and though there was much weeping at the parting, there was a sweetness knowing they were going with God’s blessing. If we stand in the way of those whom God wants to send and convince them to stay, that really isn’t love. And it’s not hearing from the Holy Spirit, and obeying. The parting of sweet sorrow is avoided, but at a cost that may be very dear.

The most profound parting of sweet sorrow came when Jesus left his followers and returned to his father. He made it clear that his ministry on earth was over and it was a difficult case of “parting is such sweet sorrow.” Without his departure, the Holy Spirit could not come. Our Comforter, our Counselor, our Strength and Wisdom that comes directly from the Lord. I have no doubt that tears were shed, and questions abounded, maybe there was even turmoil in the hearts and minds of some who saw him leave. But two angels appeared and asked why they kept looking up toward heaven. They said, “This Jesus, who has been taken up from you into heaven will come in the same way as you saw him go into heaven.” (Acts 1:11) And that is where the sweetness is found.

Brothers and sisters in Christ are never really apart. Oh yes, perhaps in body, but heart and spirits stay intertwined in God’s love. And the parting of sweet sorrow may hurt for a season, but sending out those set apart by God for missions, makes it all the sweeter as we contemplate the countless lives that will be touched with the ever present and ever drawing grace of God.

I write all this in an effort to comfort, not just the reader, but also myself, for there is much sorrow when we lose loved ones, either by distance or death. But the sweetness as we contemplate the reunions that will take place with great joy. I could be way wrong, but I can’t help but doubt Shakespeare implied a spiritual lesson when he penned those words. It’s just in me that I find God in all things, even if only the slightest glimmer in the darkest dungeons of the human heart.

Right now I hurt for a variety of reasons. I said goodbye to a beloved family in church today. And other burdens are causing pain. But at least there is a sweet, sweet Spirit who comforts, and reminds us of what Jesus has given. And that sweet sorrow is actually a means which drives us onward and upward. Thank you, William Shakespeare. You left behind more than you think.

America, God Shed His Grace on Thee

This is a repost from the past. I guess it says what I want to say and doesn't need to be improved upon.

It’s Independence Day and to be honest, I’m not all that excited. As a child, the 4^th of July was next to Christmas and birthdays in terms of anticipation. I could barely contain my enthusiasm for firecrackers, bottle rockets and sparklers. Every year I’d get burned a bit by careless handling of punks and sparks from the sparklers inevitably caught some skin, but nothing that a wild tomboy couldn’t deal with. I was too engrossed with blowing up things to care about a burn or two.

Though my “adultness” keeps me from too much excitement, the fact is if handed some firecrackers, I’d be looking for an empty tin can to blow into the air. There is something about blowing things up that appeals to some lower nature in me. I don’t know whether or not that is something I should confess, but it’s on paper now. So as I sip a cup of coffee and listen to the sounds of fireworks going off in my neighborhood, I cannot help but remember the Independence Days of my childhood.

As a kid, I knew the hoopla was a celebration of the day the Declaration of Independence was signed. I had to know that much to make it through school. There was always rousing band music and flags waving, and of course, fireworks. It was a time when I was in awe of uniforms and ceremony and very proud that I could say my dad was in the Air Force. It was a childish patriotism, but everyone felt that way. I was surrounded by people who revered the flag and all the protocol that is entailed when handling it. The flag was almost holy. Each school morning, we’d face the flag, put our right hands over our hearts and recite the Pledge of Allegiance. I could recite it along with the Lord’s Prayer. The two may have been the same in my understanding. Somehow, God seemed American to me and the USA was the best country in the world.

A lot has changed in the world from the years when I was busily blowing up things. I’ve learned that the flag is not sacred, the Pledge of Allegiance causes controversy, and the USA is not liked by many. And God is not an American. Never was. I am though. In spite of questionable leadership and corrupt government, injustice and inequality, racism and violence, there is still something that causes me to choke back tears when I hear the national anthem. Maybe it’s just a conditioned response, but I doubt it. I can see that with all its many flaws, America is still blessed with much good: abundant resources, wealth, opportunity, and countless generous and caring people. I may not always like how my government acts, but I live in a nation where I can say that and not fear.

So maybe I was wrong to say I’m not too excited today. I am an American. I am proud that I was an Air Force brat, that my father served his country for 25 years. I am proud that my son is a First Lieutenant and serves his country in the Army. I am proud that my husband is a Vietnam veteran. I am proud of the young men and women serving overseas in harm’s way. But I am also proud to be in a land where people serve others everyday in soup kitchens and missions; of those who work for justice and equality; of teachers in classrooms; police officers and firefighters; honest government employees; and all the ordinary folks who get up, go to work, pay taxes, give to their churches and drop money in the Salvation Army buckets each December. I live in a nation where creativity is allowed to flourish and dissension is permitted. I live in a country where people from all walks of faith may gather and worship freely. I live in America and I’m proud of it. And it’s all because some very brave people put pen to paper two hundred thirty –eight years ago and began a grand experiment in democracy and freedom.

I guess I am excited after all.