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