Oh, New Year's Eve

(Melody of Oh, Holy Night)

Oh, New Year's Eve,
My sin is brightly shining.
It is the night that the year adds plus one.

Long is my list,
Of things I want to break free,
But the fear
Of the change
Is in the way.

Sweet God Devine,
Your patience everlasting.
Your glory reigns,
For now and ever more.

* (Chorus)
Fall on my knees.
Ask...the Lord to help...me.
His love and His light,
Will never leave
Me in the dark
Oh Ask
The Lord
His love for me
Will never leave

Christ is my Lord.
He knows my inner struggles.
Oh how .he longs,
To help me grow
And conform.

The things I clutch so tightly
Are things I have to give up
To the Lord
Let my sin
No longer bound

Oh, day of joy,
I can't await your coming.
To set me free
From sin now never more.

(Chorus)

He longs....
To help....
Me grow...
Forever more

(Well, it might not be perfect but that's my 2016 prayer)

Christmas Moon

Just after midnight, when Christmas officially arrived,
I was driving to my sister's house, listening to Beth Moore's jive.
She's talking about insanity and how it has to go,
For how will we know freedom, if we do not let it go?

I drove along listening, to the words that she said,
"Oh my gosh that's SO true!" I shouted in my head.
But then my attention, was drawn up to the sky,
The brightness was incredible, I just had to know why.

I pulled over safely, to look at this fest.
My eyes looking upward, and then I saw the rest.
I pulled out my camera, not the one on my phone,
For I knew God wanted me to capture it, this amazement being shown.

My pictures had to be perfect, my very very best.
So I began snapping and snapping, until my fingers needed rest.
I couldn't believe it, God was showing off.
Could it be a reminder, of another night aloft?

Luke 2New International Version (NIV)

The Birth of Jesus

2 In those days Caesar Augustus issued a decree that a census should be taken of the entire Roman world. 2 (This was the first census that took place while[a] Quirinius was governor of Syria.) 3 And everyone went to their own town to register.

4 So Joseph also went up from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to Bethlehem the town of David, because he belonged to the house and line of David. 5 He went there to register with Mary, who was pledged to be married to him and was expecting a child. 6 While they were there, the time came for the baby to be born, 7 and she gave birth to her firstborn, a son. She wrapped him in cloths and placed him in a manger, because there was no guest room available for them.

8 And there were shepherds living out in the fields nearby, keeping watch over their flocks at night. 9 An angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. 10 But the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid. I bring you good news that will cause great joy for all the people. 11 Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is the Messiah, the Lord. 12 This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger.”

13 Suddenly a great company of the heavenly host appeared with the angel, praising God and saying,

14 “Glory to God in the highest heaven,
    and on earth peace to those on whom his favor rests.”

15 When the angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, “Let’s go to Bethlehem and see this thing that has happened, which the Lord has told us about.”

16 So they hurried off and found Mary and Joseph, and the baby, who was lying in the manger. 17 When they had seen him, they spread the word concerning what had been told them about this child, 18 and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds said to them. 19 But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart. 20 The shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all the things they had heard and seen, which were just as they had been told."

The shepherds in the field...me in my car.

An angel appearing to them...the full moon up above.

Heavenly Hosts proclaiming...I'm snapping pictures, carefully aiming.

God loves us more than we'll ever know.  

So when you see something and think it's quite fond, remember this story:  
It could be God!!!

Here are the pictures:  After a little while, a golden ring appeared. (Click on them to make them larger)

Depression and/or Anxiety at Christmas Time

It's not a good feeling when you wake up each day feeling depressed or anxious about this festive celebration of the birth of Christ.  I often feel guilt or shame when I wake up depressed knowing full well this is my favorite time of year.  Then the anxiety sets in about being with crowds of people or any people for that matter, including my family.

Don't get me wrong - I love my family.  They are the greatest source of joy in my life next to my relationship with God.  But depression is a battle in my mind that is a challenge to overcome any time of the year.

Today, as many of you, I have a lot to do.  But my spirit is downcast.  I want to curl up on my couch under a blanket.  I want to mindlessly watch television.  I want to close my front door and lock it so that no one will enter.

I feel sad, too.  I have four dear friends who suffered the death of someone close and precious to them this year.  There's nothing I can do except pray for them which feels helpless.  I love them all very much.  The only thing I can do is what the Holy Spirit leads me to do.

I've been very distracted.  I couldn't focus at our Christmas service.  It was the first one in my new church.  I kept thinking about Willow Creek, Bill's teaching, singing Silent Night at the end and hugging my family.  Not all years but some.  Last night I wasn't with any family.  My mom canceled and I was really looking forward to her going.

Anxious thoughts are rushing through my head.  I want to quiet them down but the only way I know how to do that is to write, distract myself and take a medication.  I'm doing all of those so I should be feeling less anxiety soon.

The depression?  I don't know if it will lift and I certainly don't know when.  I miss Aaron so much.  I wish he were here and I could hear, "Aunt Amy!!!!!" and then be bulldozed by his running up to me and grabbing onto me for a big hug.  But all I have left of him are memories in my mind and photographs that will never be added to.  His age of 18 is frozen in time.

Christmas is a celebration of Jesus' birth.

This year feels like the death of loved ones passed.  But life goes on, even in difficult grief.  And this song is why it's possible to get through these emotional and trying times:

God's Provision Surprises Me, Again

Have you ever had one of those days when God is constantly reminding you about his care and his love for you? Today is one of those days. Let me begin.

A week ago tomorrow I started my car and immediately noticed it was not running right. I called my mechanic, explained what was going on and we agreed I should bring my car in this past Monday.  As many of you know bringing your car into a mechanic can be scary. Not knowing what was wrong or how much it was gonna cost to fix I obediently dropped off my car and slid my keys into the slot.

I was told that the repair was going to cost $720. Added to what already need to be repaired was around another $2000 which I did not have. You see I'd already gotten those other repairs fixed and put away $500 for future repairs. I was beginning to panic. I lost sight of what God could do and yet I knew that he would take care of me no matter what that looked like.  I picked up my car and I brought it home. 

I began to explore my options. The main one being taking $200 out of my disability check for January and getting the car fixed that way. The second one was having one of my sisters get her extra car that she had repaired however that car leaked oil and mine does not. There was also discussion about whether or not I should look into getting another used car but when I thought about it the repairs that are being made to my car are ones that will not have to be fixed probably again for the life of the car.  I was back to January trying to figure out how to shave $200 out of my income. But then something happened. I had a conversation with my brother-in-law who has done much work on my car.  He asked specific questions then told me he would get information and see if he could do it himself.

He called me later to say that yes he could fix it. I went over there today.  He fixed it starting with the basics up to the major part. What would've cost $720 only cost $150.  My car now runs like it's brand-new and if I'm not careful I'm going to start racing people at stoplights. But the story doesn't end there.

I've been struggling to make good decisions about Christmas gifts and I've done a very good job. It was already in my budget before any car repairs were needed so I knew I could count on that money to bring joy to my family. I know that joy does not come from a gift but rather from the giver. In any case giving to my family is the one thing that I enjoy  doing the most.

On the way through town in my new race car, I stopped at a local grocery store just to pick up a few things to eat until I get paid. The food itself does not necessarily promote health but it does promote fullness and that's what's important right now. I think I had the squeakiest cart in the store. People knew where I was and I wanted to be somewhere else. The carpal tunnel surgery on my right hand is still repairing itself so that area is very tender. That's the area you use to push a cart. I found this out the hard way. I had to push my cart with my left hand and then lift my right elbow onto the right side of the cart and push it and squeak. Nobody probably noticed but I felt like I was on some sort of video monitor where everybody could see and hear me.

I'm cognizant of how much money I spend so I'm choosing very carefully. I try very hard to stay within my budget no matter what I need to sacrifice. No sweet treats today, no ice cream and nothing bakery related. I walk up to the belt where you take out your own groceries. I laid everything out and put down a divider between myself and the lady behind me. She said thank you and I smiled and said no problem. The cashier rang up my items told me the total and then that same lady said to the cashier, "Here, I've got it."  I looked at her a little stunned and I said, "You don't have to do that!" And she said, "Yes, I do.  

After she paid for it I turn back to her and asked, "Do you know the same guy I do?" She said, "Yes, I do. "  As I walked away I heard the cashier ask her if he missed something in that conversation. I prayed for her and how to answer that question and maybe one more skeptic will be in a relationship with Jesus and in heaven one day.  I thanked her again and I said something about how you have no idea how much you have blessed me. She simply said that she was being obedient to what she was asked to do. I smiled, nodded and walked away.

Sometimes I feel guilty because of all the help that I received from other Christians. I think about the poor and those who are in more dire need than I am, people and children who don't have a place to call home. Then there are times when I feel judged by Christians who have absolutely no clue what it's like to be in my shoes. Those are the people that I feel sickest toward for they have no compassion even on their sister in Christ. But none of that really matters because all of us on this planet have access to the Creator – the one and only creator of the entire universe. And how wonderful it is that he wants to be in a relationship with us? Personal and being forgiving and just all of that is wrapped up into One.  I find that utterly amazing.

So who are you helping this Christmas? Have you already done something meaningful? Something that will impact somebody else's life for the good? I'm not talking about games or stuff or things that will one day be thrown in the garbage. I'm talking about enriching somebody's life who is lonely or in despair or bound to their house or is losing their memory and has no recollection of family or friends or someone who's in the hospital bed laying there feeling so alone or someone grieving the death of a loved one?  

You matter to God. People that you don't like or care for they matter to God. People you've never met who are strangers to you matter to God. Even the person who took your parking space or was driving too slow or almost by God's grace did not kill anyone when they were drunk. They matter to God.

My prayer for you is really simple because it applies to me as well. My prayer is that you will touch one persons life who is not related to you in the next couple of days. Because sometimes all we need is for someone to show they care and you can't put a price tag on that !

My family and I making/decorating Christmas goodies.

Learning How To Live

Since my surgery I've had a lot of opportunities to learn how to accomplish tasks with only my left hand. It's not something I enjoy doing and it's certainly not something I would recommend.  It's something that you learn to adjust to so that you're quality of life does not suffer. 

Sometimes funny things will happen like trying to get yourself dressed with one hand.  It is possible but you have to give yourself enough time so that you're not putting yourself into a frantic state. Just the other day I made baked potatoes. Being single adds yet another challenge because I could put the potatoes into the oven, take them out of the oven, put them into a bowl but then who was going to cut it so I could eat it? That someone is me. I got through it and I did not cut myself but instead I learned how to hold a sharp knife a different way and I learned that there is more than one way to do things.

Feeding the cats has not been a challenge since I use a scooper. But cleaning out their boxes, well, that's a whole other story. It is actually painful because I do need to use my right hand to steady the box for scooping. I've learned to use a broom a different way. I actually tuck it under my right armpit and guide it with my surgical hand while my left hand does a majority of the work.

I imagine this writing is pretty boring for those of you who have never had any type of surgery. I commented to my brother-in-law today (who is recovering from his second shoulder surgery) that all surgeries, no matter where they are, have one thing in common afterwards:  they hurt.

To top off the evening I wet the bed again. I actually had a very soothing and nurturing dream where I spent time with a Bible teacher I respect.  She spent time with me, listened and talked to me about what's going on in my life which I have not revealed on the blog.  She hugged me nice and tight and then she gave me a free pass to go to one of her large teaching events.  All I had to do was get myself there.  I had a car that worked, I'd been given a newer bigger mobile home, I was being blessed so much that maybe all I did is relax.  Dreams can do that.

So this writing is going to end this way: I'm in a lot of pain and I don't like it. It's not like I haven't had surgical pain before, it's not like I'm sitting here feeling sorry for myself, it's not like I don't believe that God is providing for me, it's none of that. Or maybe it's some of that. Or maybe it's all of that. 

I went to my nieces choral concert tonight. It's called Yuletide on the north side. Sixth graders thru seniors in high school stand for an hour and sing some of the most beautiful songs of Christmas that really speak to the meaning of Christmas. They are saying the name of Christ. They sing about peace. They sing about our creator. In a public school.  I was in tears a lot. Some for laughter. And some because my heart was so moved by these children whose choral directors believe in the integrity of this holiday.  Jesus is alive! He has always been alive! He will always be alive.

And frankly, the pain that I feel in my hand is nothing compared to the pain that Jesus felt hanging on the cross. But that's not the message right now. The message is that God wanted Jesus to come and Jesus said OK. OK Father, I will go. The Christmas story is not a story. It's an account of history.  And I think that message is what gets lost. And that's the message that we all need to carry and remember and tell our friends about. Jesus said YES to birth and the pain of death because our salvation hung in the balance.  And our not being with God the Father, Jesus Christ and the Holy Spirit in heaven was NOT ok with God and it was NOT ok with Jesus. There is a purpose and a Presence that we have access to.

That's what spreading the good news is all about. 

Thanks for listening.

Carpal Tunnel Surgery

  I'm sitting in a parking lot where a friend is seeing a doctor. I decided not to go in because of my anxiety related to my carpal tunnel surgery on Friday. It's much easier to sit in the car and be in denial that it is to go into the doctors office who's going to be doing my surgery.  My mood has been swinging up down and sideways. I think it's because I didn't take enough time out for myself in the last two weeks. I also know that surgery hurts because I've had a few. This one is not going to be nearly as extensive yet I still have to have a twilight anesthesia and I won't have use of my hand for a few days.  I'm going to be asking for help because I won't be able to clean out the cat litter boxes for probably a week and that will be with my left hand. At least I'll get some rest and a decent amount of time off where I won't have to function. I'm looking forward it.  To laying on the couch or in my bed watching movies or doing some other stuff will be good.  I know God has everything under control yet I am concerned that the surgery will not work which could inhibit the writing of my book. But I have this close group of friends who have promised that this book will be written even if it's them who put it together. It's my hope that as I raise my hand to God that he would heal it completely and then the possibility of doing the same with my left hand. My life has been one of strife. And each time I got his help to see me through so that I can fulfill his purpose that he has placed inside of me when he created me. And that's the hope once again that I have to hold onto.

Learning How To Live With Emotions

My therapist (Faith) and I have been tackling the challenges and complications that are rising to the surface.  Namely, living as the emotional person God created all of us to be.  It's not easy when your past required submerging those emotions for the sake of survival.

I grew up in an environment where only one person was allowed to be angry - my dad.  His anger was explosive and many times was taken out on me in the form of physical abuse.  I remember clearly his thundering voice and his brutal hands.

I was not allowed to cry or express frustration.  I was not allowed to disagree or voice my opinion.  I was expected to guess what he wanted me to do or say.  I never did figure that out.  Almost nose to nose staring matches became a routine.  No emotion on my face but angry beady eyes and a face of red fury on his face.  It was a standoff.

When my parents divorced I was overjoyed.  A freshman in high school, I was living under the illusion that all will be well now that he was out of the house.  I didn't realize that the abuse I survived would be with me for just over three more decades.

Therapists, hospitalizations, medication and tackling those memories has been a roller coaster ride I wish I hadn't been forced to get in line.  I didn't choose to be abused by someone who was supposed to be my protector.  I didn't choose to be neglected by someone who was supposed to stop the insanity.  But it is what it was.

I'm not sure about the word "manage" when it comes to emotions.  At least, not lately.  Feeling what I am today, I have enormous difficulty dealing with someone who treats me the way my dad treated me most of the time.  Disrespectful, bossy and acting as if they know it all.  In retrospect, I can see the pattern of others behavior and how it takes over my mind.  In twelve step groups we call it, "Giving rent free space to someone in our head."

I have an aggressive side that always wants to handle angry emotions with violence.  I get tangled up in my head because I'd rather verbally lash out or punch someone out.  It was how I was raised.

In my recovery, I remind myself that:

1. I am a new creation in Christ.  The old has gone; the new has come.
2. The abuser died in Feb 2008 and can no longer hurt me.
3. Feeling my emotions full throttle is good as long as I don't self-injure or pick up a drink.
4. My therapist knows what she's doing even when I get annoyed at what she's saying.
5. It's up to me to learn about emotions and let them rise instead of eating.

There's another saying:  "As far as it is up to me, be at peace with all people."

I am a person who needs to receive grace and peace from my Heavenly Father.  What my head tells me to do is not always a good thing.  What my heart tells me to do is not always a good thing, either.  Relying on the Holy Spirit to guide my footsteps through the bog of emotions is a good thing.

Otherwise, who will help me when I fall into the muck?

Connecting the Dots

Connecting the Dots

When life carries on in a somewhat "normal" manner, I forget what it's like to wake up, again, to a paralyzed mind.  What I mean by that is my mind freezes.  It's hard to put thoughts together.  My body is still and it's difficult to concentrate.

This is a common symptom of depression.  I find myself trying to clean my little house and after two rooms and a hallway, I sit down.  I know what to do next yet my thoughts are like scrambled eggs.  I think of the appointments I have each day and I need to say "no" so that I can have a day by myself.

I'm on a restricted diet which is working well most days of the week.  Saturday night I decided to order Chinese food.  It would have been okay had I ordered less.  Instead, I ate too much then finished it off the next day instead of throwing it in the garbage.  I feel remorse for the way I treat my body because I also feel guilty that as a Christian, my body is the temple of the Holy Spirit.

Is all of this connected in some way?

Probably.  But that's for the appointment on Thursday.

Weeds In Our Lives and Flowers In Our Garden

Stades Market, Fox Lake, IL

Have you ever felt excited about starting a garden?  I have two dear friends who have beautiful gardens.  All kinds of plants and flowers and garden decorations sprinkled throughout.

I marvel at the delicacy and work each of them put into their gardens.  It takes a lot of care to grow plants, flowers and vegetables.  As you may know, I planted my first two tomato plants this past summer.  It took work to help them grow.

Weeds.  Not many people who have gardens like weeds.  After all, a weed can snuff out the growth of plants by choking the life out of them.  Weeds must be removed or the health of the garden diminishes.

What about the weeds in our lives?  What do those look like?  They prevent us from moving forward in a positive direction.  They stall our growth until they are found and pulled out by the root.  They can be deceiving and look like a plant until they reveal their true identity.

Weeds are in our lives to show us what to keep out of our lives.  They keep us sharp as we live our lives according to God's plan and purpose.  Weeds keep us alert to what is supposed to be in our life and what we need to remove.  Weeds are not hard to remove - just give them a pull and they're out.

Flowers.  Beautiful colors, some are buds when they begin and they can be fragrant, pleasant to our senses.  Some need to be pruned, some need to be thinned out and all of them need gentle love and water to grow.

Flowers in our lives remind us of the good things.  Like what?  Well, being alive for one. God chose us to be alive, at this time in history and He desires a personal relationship with us.  We choose flowers as friends, a lot of us have flowers as family and each of us has the choice of how many and what kind of flowers to have in our garden.

We want our flowers to grow in a healthy way, perhaps adding Miracle Gro.
We want the weeds to be identified and removed, sometimes they're prickly.
We want our flowers to give us joy and happiness so we spend time with them.
We want the weeds to be pulled out to make room for more flowers so that all those colors nourish our soul.

For me, I'm adding flowers but I'm being choosy.  I want flowers I can easily incorporate into my garden.  I want flowers that will not take over the garden.  I want flowers that can be independent and flourish with some tender loving care.

Good soil, regular watering and bending over to pull weeds.

That's what makes a flower (and a tomato) grow.

When Stinkin' Thinkin' Is All You Have

Today I'm feeling deep seeded anger.  Maybe it's because everywhere I turn, my life oozes with stress.  Maybe it's because I'm restricting my eating so NOT stuffing my feelings with food is aggravating.  Maybe it's because I just finished re-hanging loved ones who have passed away - my memory wall.

Maybe I'm angry because my blood work came back and my triglycerides are so high they could be rented out as an excursion tour.  Maybe I'm angry because I have to lose 100 pounds.  Maybe I'm angry because, unlike my first 90 days in AA where I attended 90 meetings, I can't lose 100 pounds in 100 days.  It's "unhealthy."

Really?  I'd like to know what skinny person said that because I'd punch them in the nose hard enough so they'd hit the ground.  I've watched shows where these 500/600lb men and women lose 50 pounds in a month and they are TOLD to do it.  TOLD.  My doctor didn't blink when last Thursday I said I'd lost 7 pounds since the week before.  He was all for it.

Today is "F" word day.  Don't ask me why, it just is.  I've had so much shit happening that I'm using swear words and it feels satisfying.  Worst of all, I don't care.  I'm told feeling my feelings is good, healthy, emotionally healing, good self-care even though what I really want to do is flip my finger off at the world and quit.

Writing this book is killing me.  Not literally, of course, but it's killing me that it's not getting written.  I mean it's getting written it's just not being put into some sort of order - any order.  Timeline or topic or whatever - it has to get going and it has to get going now.  I feel a sense of urgency.  So I made a call and a friend is going to help.

There are days I hate my life and I've had so many of them strung together for 3-4 weeks.  Medication adjustments, blood tests, carpel tunnel surgery, Lipitor increased, glucose elevated when I had it down six months ago, kitties disappearing then reappearing, my car needs work and I'm screwed up about who should do it.  Trust the people I don't know but are 12 step and Christians or have it done by my mechanics.  It frustrates the "F" out of me.  Right now, I chose the first one on faith.

Oh, yes, I still have faith.
Faith that I'm no good.  I'm no good to people or God or anyone.
Awareness that I'm angry and I feel no good to people or God or anyone.
Remembering I'm angry sober and food free and I feel no good to people or God or anyone.

Faith tells me I'm right where I should be:
1.  In God's capable hands.
2.  In the season of life that He's chosen for me.
3.  Trust the Creator, not the creation.

FAITH:  The other "F" word.

I thought this was cute:  Creator vs. Creation

Old Friends, A Mini-Seizure and A Punching Bag

It was an odd day.  I woke up early for church and ate two breakfasts.  Not sure why other than I was hungry.  I arrived at church to see friends I hadn't seen for over a decade.  I was hesitant because I couldn't remember why we lost touch.  Also because I'd gained 80 pounds since we last saw each other.  I felt self-conscious but that didn't stop me from receiving their surprised greeting.

Lynne used to be an Elder Assistant at my previous church.  It was the first time I'd left my partner and I sought prayer through our Elder Assistants knowing Satan was going to pull on me even harder because I'd left my partner and thought I'd left the lesbian community (If you haven't read this part of my story, read http://godsstoryinmylife.blogspot.com/2015/06/my-story-as-it-relates-to-legalizing.html)  I thought I had put it behind me when in fact, the lure was lurking just under the surface.

So I walk into Elders prayer, surrounded by these spiritual giants, and I utter this prayer:  "God, whoever is meant to be my prayer person, have them tap me on the shoulder."  TAP - It was Lynne.  I told her my story in a brief fashion.  She was wowed and asked the other three pray-ers to join her in praying for me.  We prayed monthly for about two years, even after I went back into the lifestyle and again when I came out of it completely.

I worked for she and Dave, babysat their kids and grew fondly attached to them.  Lynne even helped reconcile two friends and I.  And one day, POOF.  They were gone.  I never found out why even though I left inquiring messages.  So, I figured they'd gotten what they needed from me.

Now all of a sudden they are at my new church.  Not a coincidence.  Lynne was so shocked, happy and shocked all at one time.  She lovingly put her hands on my face a couple of times and the love of my friend and spiritual advisor came flooding back.  I felt so loved and missed.  I gave Dave a big hug, remembering him teaching me about his two businesses.  Both of them are such hard workers.

So I go into church and I don't know if it's from all of the problems with my medications, the self-injury in my mouth, wetting the bed two times, talking to Earl so much which is great, new friends at small group and around my neighborhood, the pressure of getting my car fixed before winter, going back to food pantries or what but now that I think about it, all of the above are connected to emotions.  Let's see.....fear, love, delight from others, pain, embarrassment, anticipation, comfortable, anxious/panicky, sad and perservering.

Right before the service Ann and I connected for a quick hand squeeze and kisses.  Near the end of the service I began to have a seizure.  I down played it as best I could but these ladies were not letting go of me (literally).  They interceded on my behalf that Satan's power would be blown away and off of me like dust.  I felt myself settle down a bit, trying to tell them this is what my body does but Jill was having none of it.  So I sat with them for awhile and yes, I felt loved and guarded against Satan because of these ladies intercession of prayer.  Thank God for discerning women when I'm not giving the right amount of attention to my ailment.

I finally sold the 100 pound punching bag I'd used to get out the anger I felt toward my Dad, Jill and something more recent.  It really does feel like a weight has been lifted off me.  I'm also missing my dad, the one who abused me so badly.  I miss him when I smell leaves burning, being down by the river when I sit or take pictures or fish and I miss him when my friend Carol is grilling.  My Dad liked to do most of these things (except take pictures). 

So, I miss my dad.



(Me as an infant and of course, my proud Dad grilling for us)

When Living Is Difficult

During the last few days I have found living to be a challenge. I'm not referring to suicide but rather the functioning of my brain and my body.  The days are long and seem to be growing longer each moment. Intellectually I know that's not possible because 24 hours is always only 24 hours.

For those of us who struggle with bipolar depression, panic and anxiety disorder as well as PTSD sometimes our perspective can get cloudy and distorted.  When my mind is filled with fog and it's hard to see the light of day I have to remind myself that truth is not always based on what I see. 

Truth is based on truth and there are certain things I know to always be true. I know the sun will rise and the sun will set every day. I know oxygen will fill my lungs every time I breathe in and breathe out.  I know that God created this beautiful world for me to find rest and enjoy even when there is unrest in regions I don't quite understand.  Lastly I know he created me in his image and he created those whom I love and those who challenge me in his image, too.

So what is living all about? I believe it's about trusting in the things I cannot see, trusting in a God I know is there not only because of what the Bible says but because of the way he's changed me and the lovely feelings I have for him deep in my heart.  I know living takes a lot of effort on some days like today but I also know that God rewards that effort by granting me his peace and patience and quietness and love when I feel empty.

Living is loving God and myself. Living is loving my family and friends.  Living is doing what I don't want to do. Living is being who God created me to be and then stepping out in faith and courage and perseverance when it's the hardest thing in the world to do. I do it because I love God and I want his blessings in my life.   I love who he created me to be and I love the calling that he's put in my life.

The bottom line is this:  Living is about change and acceptance.  Over and over and over again.  My ability to live this life is so much better when I remember this simple pathway to peace.  

I hope you find your pathway to peace, too.

Depression At It's Heaviest

There are days like today when it's a real battle to try and function without being properly medicated. I had to reschedule my appointment with my psychiatrist last week because I've been having problems with my wrists, possibly carpal tunnel.  I had a bad fall about six weeks ago so having this looked at was important.  I have a test next week and I'm hoping that this numbness will be identified so that it can be remedied.

But for the last five days my depression has been very difficult. Depression in it's manic state is never easy to manage.  I find the hardest part is keeping my mind from detaching from my body or the surroundings that I am in. What I mean is that it takes a lot of mental energy to do anything. From leaving the house to being afraid of a recurring bed wetting experience to remembering to take my medication to taking a shower and especially to deal with the fear that I'm never going to feel better until I get to heaven.  And choosing what foods to eat is even more difficult when I have no appetite or all I want to eat is junk food.

Some Christians, in my opinion, would say that I need to hang onto the joy of my salvation especially during a time like this. The thing is, I've never let go of the joy of my salvation.  My faith in my Father who loves me stays strong and I fight sometimes minute by minute to make sure that I keep myself safe. So what is one to do when she feels so vulnerable and even afraid of what's happening inside of her mind?

I hang onto the truth that in less than 72 hours I will be with my therapist and psychiatrist who can help make adjustments to my medication. I tell myself that I'm going to be with my small group at church tomorrow morning and hear from Beth Moore about a better way to understand Paul's teaching in first and second Thessalonians.  To remind myself that there is nothing happening to me that hasn't happened to any of God's people throughout the history of creation. He always provides a way out.

So during this time of trial, when I feel I am at my weakest, I reach up and grab onto the hand that created me, who knows me and loves me, and is going to provide health and healing for all areas of my life. And you can have that reassurance as well by coming into a relationship with God through his son Jesus Christ who not only died for our sins but taught us how to have a relationship with the Father.

And that my friends is the only relationship that really matters to me. He will show me the way. He will show you the way. His ways are higher than our ways. There will be joy in the morning.

Press On

       Gen. Stonewall Jackson praying before battle.        

 

There is a sequence of movies, "God's and Generals" and "Gettysburg."  They tell with great accuracy the Civil War:  The fighting men and serving women, the uprooting of families both white and African American, the destruction of homes, livestock and so much more than we'll ever know.

In the last scene of General Jackson, northern army, we see him dying from an accidental gunshot wound by his own soldiers.  The events of his decisions are flashing before him.  An unapologetic Christian man, he tells his troops:  "Press on.  Press on."  His eyes are wide open as if he can see his troops.  He dies encouraging them and then He describes seeing Jesus. And then he dies, in peace.

These movies are in my collection because of the story that is told.  Just like, "Glory," "Pearl Harbor," "Patriot," and several other war movies.  Right now I feel as if I'm fighting a battle of my own.  The only difference is that I don't have troops to rally, rations to portion, tents to hand out when I don't have enough and horses that fall over dead from too much riding.

I feel very down today.  In the trenches I suppose.  Tattered shoes sloshing in the water but walking in formation just the same.  Drenched from the rain that never seems to let up.  Toting my rifle over my shoulder with only a handful of round bullets in my pouch.  Praying to God that I survive the war with all of my limbs or die quickly so I feel no pain.

Thinking of my family.
Thinking of friends.

Wondering what God has in store for me today.

I'm so weary from this journey.
Maybe there will be a truce and I can go home.
Go home to a warm bed, warm clothes and warm relationships.

A fulfilling dream that can come true for all of us.

Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the Lord my soul to keep,
If I should pass before I wake,
Keep my kin folk nice and safe.

Hubcaps and Teenagers

Many of you already know my eighteen year old nephew, Aaron, died from huffing on April 16, 2010.  I was with him most of the time that week and I was the one who went to get his parents after the ventilator was disconnected and his heart beat began to slow down.  I was in the room, the same room I baptized him in, when the nurse was gracious to not let that awful tone sound when he passed into Heaven.

I was there.  Aaron's family were there.  Everyone that could stay, did.  We prayed day and night.  I prayed his parents would be able to make the right decision at the right time.  They did.

Each year our family (whoever is able) gathers on the date he died.  The first year we released helium balloons with our messages written on them.  They were purple and bright green - Aaron's favorite colors.  The last few years we've lit paper lanterns and watched them float up into the night sky until we can't see them anymore.  It's a tradition - it helps our grief.

This is the fifth year without Aaron.  I've done something each year at my house to commemorate his anniversary.  This year I put five white pebbles onto a piece of red rock from Sedona, AZ in my little tomato plant garden.  It seemed okay and I was very conscious when one of the pebbles fell off.  I'd put it right back.

For the last month or so I've been wanting to do something more to remember him by.  Something that would have meaning to my spirit and a little spark of his spirit joined together.  And that's when I thought of it!  Spray painting my hubcaps his favorite colors.  That would be SO Aaron.

This is what I did:

 

I was so jazzed that these hubcaps looked so snappy.  Even my neighbors were stopping by to see what I was doing.  Each one heard Aaron's story, the choice of colors and they walked away a little moved in their countenance.  I was proud as a peacock for the idea of alternating the colors of the hubcap screws.  It turned out better than I ever could have imagined!

And then this happened.  I had to drive to the gas station so that my lawn mower (thanks, Mom!) wouldn't run out of gas.  I began to drive to my usual station.  On the way there were four teenagers, freshmen in high school is my best guess.  They were walking the opposite direction I was headed in but one of them was walking on the edge of the street.  I slowed down a bit and then I thought I heard, "Hey you f'er...."  I immediately looked in my rear view mirror and it was the kid in the white shirt looking back at me and still moving his mouth.

I don't tolerate this behavior from anyone.  I don't care who you are or whether or not I know you.  You better believe I now think you've opened the door for a conversation.  I turned my car around and as God would have it, they had to stop walking at the street I had to turn onto to have a talk with this young man.

I pulled up (yes, on the wrong side of the side street) and they did not know this until I stopped.  I asked, "Do you have a question you wanted to ask me?"  All of them said, "No," so I said, "White shirt?  As I drove by a few minutes ago you yelled something at me and I thought I heard the "f" word."  He immediately backed down and denied it.  So, I apologized and continued.  "What were yelling at me?"  "Nothing."  I said, "It's okay - what were you yelling."  Then most of them asked about the colors of my hubcaps.  I asked them if they really wanted to know about their colors.  I could tell they weren't sure what I was going to say or if they should say anything so I said, "Hey, I'm not a jerk.  Do you really want to know?  Because if so, I'll tell you."

They said, "Yes."  I told them my nephew Aaron died from huffing propane and those are his favorite colors."  They said, "Wow" or "That's cool."  I closed the conversation by looking at white shirt and apologizing again for thinking he used the "f" word (and it's really not important whether he did or not) and then said, "Okay guys - have a great night!"  Then I drove away....choked up.

I pray I said the right things, that they walked away with a reason not to huff or use any drugs and that they'll remember or even retell the story about the lady with the green and purple hubcaps.

Bed Wetting

Something is stirring deep in my soul.

It has a hold of me and won't let go.

Could it be the bible study I'm part of at church?

Or maybe it's an issue too high on a perch?

Whatever the source,

Whatever the reason,

Something is stirring,

Must be the right season.

Not like spring, summer, winter or fall,

A season of healing or growing, that's all.

But the dreams I am having are disturbing at best.

And late Sunday night I was given a test.

As a little girl who had an abusive dad,

I didn't feel worth anything - nothing I had.

The symptoms of abuse were many not seen.

The one that hurt most?  I kept secretly clean.

It wasn't the bruises that changed color everyday,

Or pulling out my hair or running away.

This one came out at night, sometimes I dreamt it.

I'd wake up cold and wet, the smell of urine, I felt it.

I'd be extra quiet so no one would awake,

Clean pajamas from my drawer, a welcome dryness to take.

My sheet and blanket I'd put in the washer,

Depending how old I was, I'd go back to sleep like a 

Plastic on the mattress to protect it from ruin.

Where was my protection from the embarrassment of urine?

I tried to hide it from my Aunt when I was young.

But she woke me up when the urine had run.

I bring up this subject because it's painful to see,                                                     That I wet the bed Sunday night and haven't done that since I was twenty.

I've had so many dreams where I'm urinating in the right place,

I haven't given it a second thought until this morning in my sleeping space.

So here I am, at 48, wetting the bed like I did when I was 8.

I don't feel embarrassed or ashamed like I used to.

I'm approaching this incident as God wants me to.  

Figure out the feelings and what I'm reacting to.

For now, I take of my pajamas, wash my sheets, my mattress pad and wipe down my water resistant memory foam.  I grabbed a dry blanket and my pillows then fell asleep on the living room couch.  It's amazing how quickly old habits seem to work out.

I love Jesus and I love how much He loves me

Maybe this is just a fluke but the timing is interesting, you see.

My book will include this little episode and all my insides.

But it will not hide the shame that bed wetting makes me feel in the sunlight.

Click here to read: Adventures In Bedwetting

God's Precious Promises

This morning I turned on the TV expecting to watch Law & Order when I heard the voice of a pastor I've come to respect and listen to often.  His name is Dr. Charles Stanley, Senior Pastor of First Baptist Church Atlanta,  I've been watching Charles Stanley's preaching for many years.  I've been blessed by his simplicity, scripture references and ability to tell it like it is over and over again.

This morning's message was no different.

Click here to watch the message

The ABC's of God

I have so many things to be grateful for about my relationship with God. Perhaps some of these are the same for you.

1.  Always present in every situation I'm in
2.  Believes in me more than I believe in myself
3.  Christ chose to die for my sin, all of it, so my debt is paid in full
4.  Disciples me through others He's put in my life
5.  Extinguishes many fiery arrows Satan is throwing my way
6.  Finds me when I am hiding
7.  Gives me gifts out of His own goodness
8.  Hold me accountable for my behavior
9.  Instructs me through His Word, the Bible
10.  Jumps up and down when I do something great for Him
11.  Keeps all of His promises
12.  Listens to me even when I don't make any sense
13.  Moves me toward my purpose
14.  Never-ending love
15.  Overlooks my shortcomings to show me new comings
16.  Planned me before I was one day old
17.  Quietly whispers
18.  Reassures me of my preciousness to Him all the time
19.  Sends people into my life and I into theirs for mutual enjoyment
20.  Tracks me on His GPS (God's Protective Services)
21.  Understands what it means to lose someone they love
22.  Vagrants matter to Him - physical and emotional
23.  Worshiping Him makes His Presence real
24.  X-rays show Him my broken pieces and He has super glue
25.  Yesterdays do not define me.  His love and care redefine me.
26.  Z best part of my relationship with God is that He wanted one with me long before I wanted one with Him.  He patiently waited until I was ready.

God is my best friend, mentor, appropriate discipliner, guide, Father, creator of all things in nature that bring joy to my soul, happy prankster, reminder of all the bad things in life that He's going to use for good and most of all....

God is the only one I trust wholeheartedly.

Do you have a list of the important role God plays in your life?  I encourage you to spend 15-20 minutes (with a thesaurus or topical bible) and write them down.

Weight Loss Comments

Weight loss.

A daunting battle since I was in junior high.

It seems those fifty pounds I gained in three years are hanging on.

Only now it's eighty pounds.

Daunting.

It's depressing.  I've lost twenty-six pounds which is fine.

It's good.  It's okay.  It's frustrating.  I ought to be happy.

One time I lost sixty pounds in six months.

I was in my late twenties.

Emotionless.

Right now my appetite is way down.

At the hospital they have you eat three meals a day plus snacks.

I thought I was going to burst.

I gained eight pounds.

Boundaries.

I cannot watch the skinny commercials.

"Take this pill, use this machine, take a yoga class."

None of those work for me.

I like to eat very little but what I eat isn't always the best choice.

Puzzled.

Some protein drink.

Some water, tea or sugar free lemonade.

Some fruit smoothie.

Some ice cream

Truth.

Prayer about it is always good.

Now that I'm in a small group I have hope that I will make friends.

Going to AA meetings is helping.

Talking to my friends and family is new and good.

Hope.

Who To Tell Your Diagnosis To

When I started my GoFundMe campaign, I believed telling the truth was the best decision.  After all, as a follower of Jesus Christ, I am encouraged to be a truth teller so long as I do it respectfully and in His love.  I believed in my heart that saying I had mental illness and more specifically bipolar depression would serve as a reason why I was on disability.  I felt I needed to explain myself so that it didn't look like I was financially irresponsible or mooching off of my friends or the public.

The first couple of days went okay.  I told a little bit of my story and then something happened.  I had a day when the bipolar depression hit my psyche.  I thought, "Wow!  I could record this video so people can see what bipolar depression looks like for me."  I pressed the record button and this is what I said:

I thought it was really good because:

1. I stayed focused on the lens
2. I did not garble my words
3. My message was clear and concise

But that's not what a member of my family and a close friend said.  They didn't like it, each for their own reasons which they freely told me.

I felt hurt.  I felt judged.  I felt embarrassed for having recorded and posted it.  I felt ashamed of having bipolar.  I was encouraged to remove it.   I did and I never should have.

I was asked why I posted that video.  It was to educate people about bipolar depression.  Neither of these people who shared their opinion have ever seen me this way.  No one has.  I stay inside my house on days like this, lay on the couch and wait for it to pass.  It lasts for days at a time so I'm safest by myself.  I don't want people to see me but then again, I have nothing to be ashamed of.

It's my choice who I tell, why I tell and how I tell.  But I have to be wise in each of those.  I tell those who are closest to me.  I tell them because they love me and want to help.  How I tell them is gently as I'm shaking a bit with anxiety.

Maybe taking the video off the GoFundMe page was a good idea.  All I know is that taking it down was taking down a part of me.  

I guess, in some circumstances, keeping my diagnosis a secret is a good thing.

The Water Color Painting and The Tree

I was trying to paint the sunset at a forest preserve that I've grown very fond of.  It's where I go to meet with God, walk with a friend, cast a fishing line or sit on a picnic table on a sunny fall day listening to the wind and watching the boats going by.

What came out was a bright sky, a circle for the river and walkway and a tree.  But not just any tree.

The trees at the forest preserve which is what my painting represents (my safe place) are hundreds of years old.  Their trunks are so thick it would take multiple people to wrap your arms around them.  They have branches that reach out on each side for several feet and then they reach up toward the sky, so high, you have to shield your eyes from the sun.  They are magnificent creations that only the God who formed our earth and formed us could have created and preserved.

My tree has a thick trunk, too.  The branches have a wispy feel to them - not rugged or stiff.  As I was putting branches onto the main limbs, I dropped my paint brush.  I was disappointed because the smudge messed up my picture but then I took a closer look:

Do you see her?  It looks like a little girl with angel wings, kneeling and praying.  She is supported by what I believe is God's hand.  If you look to her left, that's an upside down picture of Peter Pan extending his hand to an angel who is extending her hand.

A little girl praying to her God.  A little boy who never grew up.  And an angel taking that little boy's hand as he flies to his next adventure.  But the little girl - she looks alone but she isn't.  When I turned the painting around in a circle, I saw many images of other people in those branches.  She wasn't alone after all.

When I shared this at group, the therapist asked me, "Amy, what is missing from your tree?"  I starred at it for awhile and said, "Roots."  I had no roots holding me up.  In the past I had deep roots but lately my roots have been brought up in controversy, negated and not approved of.  I realized I was letting others who knew nothing about me steal my roots, one by one.  I had better get them back quickly before I topple over and can't get up.

My roots are Jesus Christ and going to church, my family, my closest friends, my lovely therapist, my smiling psychiatrist, my thorough primary doctor, my AA meetings, taking time out for myself and trying to eat well.

Do you have roots?
Maybe this exercise would be good for you to do as a reminder of your strength and steadiness each time you lean on them.
That's one of my new plans.

Alexian Brothers Still Helps

I made the phone call to my psychiatrist's office.  I'd forgotten they were closed that day.  Nevertheless, I received a call back saying my psychiatrist was on call that night and to go in.  I asked if I'd be admitted into the general psych unit.  She didn't know.  I asked her to call and ask him that question.  I did not get a clear response but in essence to come in today because I had an incident (self-injury).

I started to drive there in the late evening.  On the way I called ABBHH and spoke to someone in the assessing department.  That's where they discuss with your psychiatrist which unit you'll be on.  She couldn't guarantee I'd be on the unit I wanted.  She asked if I could stay safe until the next day when I'd have more clarity from my psych.  I turned the car around and drove home.

His office called the next morning wondering where I was.  I told her the story.  She called back and confirmed I'd be in the unit he and I discussed three years ago.  I drove myself there like I always have and signed the papers.  It's really not that easy.  You usually have to wait anywhere from 2-4 hours to get to your unit but it's a comfortable enough room with others who are waiting so you don't sit there like a dork.

I struggled again and cried with the body check.  "Please remove all of your clothing, including your underwear, and place them on this table."  They hold a gown in front of you to give you some privacy but still, the gown is lifted and moved to check for scars or wounds.  For a sexual abuse survivor, it takes a lot of self-talk to get through it and lots of tears.  The most important sentence I said to myself was, "You are not being sexually abused.  You are being checked for your own safety and those on the unit.  Everyone has to do this and so can you.  Go ahead and cry, feel those uncomfortable feelings and remove your clothes so it can be over soon."

Once that trauma passed, I was able to talk to both nurses about stuff outside of what just happened.  They didn't need nor want to hear my story. I wasn't the first nor the last sexual abuse survivor they've checked.  I needed to lighten the mood in the room so that I could get out of my dissociative state and back into reality.

I attended groups, had three different roommates and my medication was changed.  I went in with a heavy heart and came out in the same condition.  I'm used to coming out happy and my spirit lifted but that was not the case.  This time, I identified the coping skills I'd let go of (AA meetings, talking at a deeper level, getting out of myself and helping others and not allowing people who are ignorant about mental illness to take away my serenity).  

In Expressive Therapy I made a clay piece which I allowed to take shape without any prethought about what it should be.  It turned out to be rectangular/oval in shape with the side view of Aaron's face on the right and a smoothed almost smeared look of his face looking at me on the left.  When I shared in group, I began to cry.  But I kept talking because I have to get past the feeling of embarrassment for crying and honor what I'm feeling for myself - no one else matters.

Another day we were asked to draw/paint a place where we feel safe.  This is what I did in water colors:

I'll share it's meaning tomorrow.