Not a Spirit of Fear

2 Timothy 1:7 (NLT)
For God has not given us a spirit of fear and timidity, but of power, love, and self-discipline.

The passage above is perhaps one of my least favorites in all of scripture.  Not because I don't think that it's an absolutely incredible promise and statement, because I do.  I don't like it because it has been used as a weapon.

If I had a dollar for every time that someone has quoted that passage to me as a supposed "solution to all my problems", I'd be rich.  The gist of their thinking is almost always along the lines of "Well, don't be afraid, fear isn't from God, you know."


Really?  I hadn't caught that in all those years I spent growing up in church.


That's your big solution to the overwhelming and paralyzing fear I sometimes struggle with?  Just "don't be afraid, it's not from God."  Thanks for that.  No really, thanks for the helpful advice.


Obviously I've never said any of these things out loud to whoever the well-meaning person quoting my "favorite" scripture verse to me was.  I'm polite like that.  And well-trained.  And I might have permanent bite marks on my tongue, too.


When you're buried in overwhelming fear, "stop being afraid" just doesn't seem like an option.  When fear overwhelms whole arenas of your life, you're generally aware that that fear likely isn't a godly thing, and someone reminding you of that fact just feels like rubbing salt in an open wound.


And then, in God's usual way, he used my least favorite thing as an object lesson recently.


I'd woken from a brutal dream, terrified, and trying to pray.


It was one of those moments when God borrows his own words from scripture to speak.


"I didn't give you a spirit of fear, but of power, love, and self-discipline."


There's something different about those words when they're being offered by the original author, and not being quoted as easy solutions to a problem that the person doing the quoting can't quite understand, and quite possibly fears themselves.


When God spoke them into the chaos of my heart that early morning, they carried an instant peace.  A knowledge that I was loved, and the One who loves me was intervening in the darkness that had encroached while I slept, and pushing it back.


That passage will probably never be one of my favorites.  There's an awful lot of cynicism built up in me about it.  But, when Jesus speaks it, I'm going to stop to listen.  Because when He speaks it, something special, something healing, is on it's way.

Waking from Dreams

I forget, sometimes, that often when there is some sort of forward momentum in one part of my life, there is a tendency for backlash in others.

I remembered that reality rather harshly this morning, waking from a couple of dreams.

Often I know that a dream isn't reality, even while I'm having it.  That I'm experiencing something that is symbolic or spiritual or just bad pizza. 

This morning's wasn't like that.  It took me a minute or two after waking to remember that what I'd seen and experienced was a dream.

It's a dream that reflected a fear that's embarrassing to me in a way.

I haven't talked much about the fall out from the last car accident I had in January.

The fact that on the rare occasions these days that I get behind the wheel of a car, panic comes.  That part didn't surprise me, really.  It happened after the previous accidents too.  And in each case, it's usually dissipated simply by time.  By getting behind the wheel over and over again, and praying, and driving carefully, and doing it through the panic. 

And I don't and can't have a car for a while because of the insurance issues, so I didn't expect it to dissipate quickly.

I haven't told many people that even being a passenger in a car similar to mine is hard.  That riding in the front seat of a smaller, low to the ground vehicle is also nerve wracking.

There are a couple of people who drive, and I'm able to relax.  But not many.  If they happen to drive larger vehicles - SUVs or trucks, that helps a little.

This morning I relived my last accident (by far the worst one.)  I relived it in my dreams, twice, though the details were wrong.  The crash, the airbag, the panic over what to do next, who to call.  The sinking sense of dread that now the insurance will be a problem forever, because I'd had even more accidents.

It wasn't the fear that I'd expected to surface.  It wasn't even like I was expecting fear to surface, per say, though, upon reflection, given other things in my life, it didn't surprise me.

It felt like, maybe even was, attack.

And it wasn't an easy way to start the day.

Nearly two hours later, I'm approaching okay.  In half an hour a friend will pick me up, and we're going for breakfast, and I'll ride in her car, and pray a little, and push away the fear for the reality of enjoying time with my friend.

But if you're the praying type, I'd appreciate your prayers right now.  As I walk through some stuff that aches and it stirs all the other fears, I'd appreciate your prayers.  For courage, and for protection, because there was a very real element of oppression, a sense upon waking that this was attack - against the progress I'm aiming for, against the freedom and healing I'm fighting for these days.  I'd appreciate your prayers as I shake off the remains of the dreams, or of whatever else comes.  Because pushing for healing is important, and I'm pretty sure I can't do it alone.

Early

I read this quote on a facebook status for an organization I support a little while ago, and it kind of made me angry.  It read, "At the center of your being, you have the answer; you know who you are and what you want." (Lao Tzu)

If the center of my being has the answers, it sure isn't sharing them with me!

Mostly, it's a reaction stemming from early morning angst.  Early mornings, before conversations begin, and the day starts in earnest, are hard.  Those hours of willing my unwilling body back to sleep, of laying for hours in that place somewhere between waking and dreaming.  Those are the moments when peace is most elusive, when oppression can feel the strongest, and when fear talks loudly.

Lately even the usual "tricks" to hang on to peace and rest aren't working so well.

And so I read a quote like this and it ticks me off.  It makes me mad.  Because if I'm supposed to have the answers, I'm in big trouble. 

Trust has never been my gift, though it's one that God is teaching me.  But at least if I trust I don't have to have the answers within me - that there is something so much larger than me that can be in charge of having answers - then I can ward off the fear, the anxiety, the weirdness of life just a little.  Even in these early morning hours.

Now

I talked yesterday about my brokenness and mental illness soapboxes and about walking honestly.

And then I came across this post from Anne Jackson earlier this week.

She wrote about the story of now.

I don't like my now story.

I talked about story at the beginning of the year, when I was reading Donald Miller's book "A Million Miles in a Thousand Years."  About wanting to write a better story with my life.

If I look at my list, I have to admit that a lot of those plans for the year died when I lost my job and unexpectedly found myself duckless and changing direction in life.  Even U2 had to be indefinitely postponed (though I suspect that Bono's back surgery is not directly correlated to the ending of my employment tenure).

I started telling a different story when I enrolled in some university courses for the summer to begin to move towards a career in nursing.

And God had some story ideas too.

His involve healing and freedom.

And a process to get to those things that is anything but pretty.

Unless of course, you're using "pretty" in a sentence such as this, "It pretty much sucks, actually."

My now story involves a lot of days that are spent in tears.

In an seemingly constant and intensifying battle with fears that have controlled me for years.

Fears that are fighting hard to stay as they surface in new ways and I desire freedom and healing.

It involves stomach aches, and panic attacks, and frustration.

It involves relational tensions and discussions about boundaries and other things that involve my heart and stir insecurities.

It involves insecurities and self-image and self-worth.

And working to change long ingrained mindsets.

It involves identifying lies, and working through the (seemingly endless) process of replacing them with truth.

It involves family, and faith, and friends and sleepless nights and cloudy days.

This is my story of now.

And my gut response would be to go with the earlier statement - it pretty much sucks.

But something in me knows that this is good.

That God holds my hand and walks with me even in this.

That His hands are in these things surfacing now, when I don't have full-time employment to cope with too.

That He is offering freedom at the same time as directing me down this new path towards nursing.

It pretty much sucks.  But it's good.  Dichotomy and mystery.  Healing through pain.  Freedom after the fear really intensifies (and it encourages me, oddly, that the fear has intensified, that it is trying to hang on.  it seems to only do that when there is hope that it will really and truly go.)

This is my now story.

An ugly reality

I am recognizing, lately, an ugly reality in my life.

Panic springs up easily, and it is so often tied to either fear, or to a need to perform, or both.

I'm thinking about this right now, because I'm nervously waiting for my phone to ring.  I'm trying to reschedule an exam that I had booked for tomorrow morning.

The reality of the tight scheduling of my courses this summer means that I booked some exams well in advance of when I began to study the material they covered.

In this case, that means that I've come up to the exam, written the practice midterm this afternoon, and discovered that I have less of a grasp of the material than I thought.  I need to give myself more time to review and learn the material than I have in the next 15 hours (especially given that I very much need to be asleep for at least 5 or six of those hours!)

But, because the school is online driven, it's hard to get a human on the phone to speak with.  I've left a few voicemail messages, and now I wait.

And panic.

What if they don't call me back in time?  What if I fail the exam tomorrow?  What if I pass but the grade is still really bad?  What if? What if? What if?

I have this insane drive to perform.  And when it looks like I can't meet that invisible standard in my head, I panic.

Lately this is especially driven by schoolwork.

I think it's partly because school was always "my thing."  It was the thing that came naturally, and at which I excelled.

In a family of athletes, I was bookish.

But, in a family where school was also a place of high achievement, I excelled, generally without trying very hard.

I grew up hearing about how mom worked ridiculously long hours to pay for university and still managed to pull off a 3.8 GPA.  The only C she ever got was in swimming, and that was because she'd never swam in her life until it was a required course for a physical education major.  And hearing how dad was the valedictorian of his Bible school class.

The thing I remember most about the day I picked up my university diploma is a comment (intended very jokingly, but still striking a deep nerve) my dad made when I proudly displayed it, "How come it doesn't say magna or summa cum laude?"

Anatomy is revealing these insecurities in surprising ways as I cope with grades that are less than what I'd hoped, and the realization that I will need to accept that I've done my best in the limited time available to me.  And, as I work to contain the many spiralling "what ifs" that the final grade in anatomy can stir in regards to my future acceptance to a nursing program.

And so I'm sitting here, in tears, worrying about failure.

Because somehow, in my head, failure, or even a "poor grade" is tied up with my value in the world.

If I fail, it must be because I am a failure.  It must mean that I'm worthless.

It's cliche, these issues of mine with performance, and the very cliche nature of them ticks me off.  (I hate to be a cliche!)

And rationally, I know that my value isn't tied in my grades, or how well I perform, or whether or not I manage to measure up to some invisible, ever-changing, and impossibly high standard.  I know I won't be loved more or less (at least not by people who really matter) if the grade is poor.

But panic, well, it clouds the issue.  And it's an ugly and very present reality in my life right now, as I work through these issues and others.

So I'm sitting here, waiting for my phone to ring, and writing a blog post to talk myself back to sanity.

And I'm reminding myself of a line that Rob Bell repeated over and over and over at the end of his DVD "The God's Aren't Angry".  "You don't have to live like this.  You don't have to live like this."

And I'm determining, all over again, that there will be a day when I don't live like this.  That I don't have to live like this.  That panic doesn't have to rule.  That fear cannot control my life this way.  That it will go, a little at a time, and that by reminding myself that this is not a healthy response, and that I don't have to live like this, I'm taking tiny, infinitesimal, baby steps in the direction of healing.

And I'll take any progress in the direction of healing that I can find.

Between the Eyes

Clearly, choosing to love (whether I want to or not) is going to be the theme today.

I kind of knew that, based on the dreams I'd had, and the actions that seem likely and necessary stemming from them, before I ever opened my eyes this morning, but, just in case I needed some convincing, there were several things waiting for me in my email inbox.

Things like this quote from a daily email written by Richard Rohr:

"...love is not a feeling, but a decision, yet a decision that increases our inner freedom each time we do it.  You will know this only after you act on love. Jesus didn't say when you get healed, love; when you grow up, love; when you get it together and have dealt with all your wounds, then love. No, the commandment for all of us is quite simply, “Love!” Once we know it is not a feeling, but a grace empowered decision, we can all do it. And each time it is a growth in freedom—and flow."

And this quote from here that my friend Jenny posted on her blog this morning.  The first thing I read, after opening my eyes and noticing the email that she had a new post:

"You climb from winding sheets into the opening day. Gently, Love asks to occupy the throne of your heart—the very seat of motivation. The request is so familiar that you risk contempt, forgetting how your world grows rich when Love reigns supreme. As if on cue, Fear counters the offer. Spilling worry like filth from a foul pail, this usurper exchanges timidity for hope and urgency for peace. These bitter enemies meet daily to see whom you place upon your seat of motivation. For this seat fashions the essence of every thought and every action. You decide between Love and Fear when choosing who will rest upon your seat of motivation. Tomorrow will be decided early—as you climb from winding sheets."

And then I realized that my own words were bound to convict me, too.   I'd forgotten what post I'd scheduled to go live today.  Clearly God has a sense of humor.  I can just see Him giggling, knowing what would come within this week, as I wrote that post on Monday night.

I really do want to be well.  It's a sentence I say with an ever growing conviction.

It's also a sentence I'm saying this morning with the following add on.  I want to be well.  Even when it means loving by choice, when it's hard, when fear must be battled, knowing that it will likely hurt.

The theme is hitting me between the eyes today.

Love is a choice.  One with a cost.  And one so necessary to make today.

Start Again

By the time I went to bed last night, I was well and truly done.  Complete emotional and physical exhaustion.

My head is reminding me that I missed so many supplements yesterday, and that they make a huge difference in my ability to cope. 

My heart is reminding me that bad days happen, and that I can be gentle with myself and have a bad day (or several) without panicking that depression is returning.

That was a gift of insight that came over the weekend.  That the pulling inward and the self protection in the face of this hard transition are things I need to keep an eye on, but that having some really hard emotional days doesn't mean that depression is returning, and that I don't need to fear that pulling inward, those bad days.

It's sort of easier said than done.  But I'm trying.

At least I got a bit of sleep last night.  That I'm thankful for.

And our out of town staff is in the office this week, and the company is providing lunch for everyone - that's been nice too.

I visited with one of the wives of those staff members for a while this morning.  A sweet old colony Mennonite lady that I get to see once or twice a year.  It's always fun to chat with her.

This morning I managed to (mostly) set aside the things I've been worrying around in my mind the last few days while I was on the bus and focus on the worship music I was listening to.

So there are a few good things, and I'm choosing to focus on those.

Start again.

New mercies every morning.

That's what I'm reminding myself of.  And that's what I'm on the lookout for today.

Stigma: Being Understood

I was reminded again today, that despite the growing awareness and effort that so many are making, things that fall into the category of "mental illness" are easily stigmatized.

And the reason?  Well, my theory is that it's simply impossible for someone with thought patterns and brain chemistry that are "normal" to understand, and that makes it just a bit weird and scary.

I was thinking about it again because I was talking with someone who did understand.  For five minutes this afternoon I talked about how I passed last night, pushing the anxieties and fears away.  I talked with someone who understood how something that can be combatted quite rationally in the middle of the day becomes incredibly overwhelming, and can't be rationalized away when it is keeping you awake at 3 am.  Someone who understood that well meaning advice like "get back on the horse" isn't really all that helpful because what you're dealing with isn't rational, but that you can't get mad at the person giving the advice either (even though it stings) because you know that they really do care about you, but just can't understand.

It was nice, just for a few minutes to be with someone who understood.

Kick at the Darkness

I woke at 3:30.  Blogged yesterday's daily 5 sometime around 4.  At 5 I rolled over again to stare at the clock, and wondering when the night would come to an end, or sleep would finally return.

In the darkness, all of the rational things that help during the day seem to lose power.  I lay there, panicking, exhausted, feeling helpless, praying desperately.

Somewhere in the midst of the night, a Bruce Cockburn lyric I've often heard quoted returned to me "Got to kick at the darkness until it bleeds daylight."

That's what last night felt like.

Somewhere around dawn I drifted off for a few more hours of restless sleep.

I googled the lyric this morning, and it seems apt, especially when you add the line just before it:

Nothing worth having comes without some kind of fight
Got to kick at the darkness until it bleeds daylight.

Maybe that lyric returning to me was the whisper of God.  I don't know.  But it helps a little.

Because I lay there frustrated and angry that I was feeling the way I was.  It's been months since I've had a panic episode like this, and I was beginning to be able to believe that they were a thing of the past.  I still pray that one day they will.  That like the depression I struggled with for so many years, there will be healing.

It reminds me, in some ways, that line about kicking at the darkness of the phrase from scripture that played over and over in my head the day I was healed from depression a little over four years ago.  That phrase involved kicking too.  And the image it conjured was one of scarred and bloody feet, but not scars that were fresh - scars that were healing.  There is so much more to that moment, and that story.  It can be shared another time.  But the simple conjuring of that memory by a piece of lyric in the middle of the night was somehow hopeful.  Hopeful that this too can end.

"Nothing worth having comes without some kind of fight."

At three and four and five this morning it felt like a fight that would never end.  And really, it hasn't yet.  But daylight is here, and there is some respite in that.  Time to regroup, to remind myself again of truths.  To push back the darkness that overwhelms and entangles, and grab onto truth and light.  To trust that Jesus will somehow bring peace again.

What It's Like... (anxiety and panic)

My roommate stared at me blankly tonight as I tried to explain.

We were talking about the fact that I haven't been behind the wheel of a car yet and I mentioned that the very idea of it is enough to start panic and adrenaline racing through my system.

"Oh, just go to a quiet neighborhood, and I'm sure in five minutes you'll be fine."

I've been through this before.  Twice before.  Each time it took at least a month before I didn't feel instantly panicky on getting behind the wheel.  Manageable panic, but still panic.  Lots of clenched teeth prayers for help - for me, and for safety, and lots of gritted teeth refusal to let the fear win that round.  This was the worst accident yet.  I'm telling myself it doesn't have to be the same, that I am stronger, and getting better at facing and dealing with the panic all the time, but the very idea of being the person in control of a car makes me want to sob on the spot.

"You just need to get back up on the horse."

She can't know how words like that sting.  That a "normal" person would simply hear that as sage advice.  She doesn't know that all week people have been telling me about how God allows the bad stuff as well as the good, and how those words, even though I believe them, are grating on my already raw nerves.  She's smiling, and I see that, teasing me, wanting to cheer me up.  She cares about me, and for all of those reasons I don't say anything in response.  Just a simple "I will."  (And I will, likely tomorrow.  Maybe the next day.  Probably with my mom or someone with me, to help calm my nerves.)

But it leaves me feeling isolated again.  Alone with the pink elephant in the corner of the room.  The one I'd so like to ignore -  that panic and fear that only I can see.

I don't quite know how to describe this reality that is sometimes mine.

I've found a natural supplement that works well to manage it, and it's rarely a daily occurence anymore - it takes something big to tip the balance.  I'm working on controlling it, and facing it.  I'm winning more and more of the battles with that silent pink elephant these days.

But today, today I'm losing a bit.

Ironic, isn't it, that I spent a chunk of the afternoon looking at car ads with my dad?

The triggers are hard to predict.  It was a conversation with my roommate about plans for tomorrow, and for the coming week.  I happened to mention that I hadn't driven yet, and the panic rose up like a monster, and there it was.  The elephant in the room.

So, tonight I'm praying again for peace.  I'm using all of the coping strategies that I know work.

I'm acknowledging that I'm afraid.  And also that I am strong.  That this week I have walked the balance of some difficult circumstances and emotions and needed to care for myself.  That I have coped with the aftermath of this accident (my third, not counting a few serious near misses - got to love icy roads) so much better than previous ones (and this has been the worst.)  I'll get behind the wheel of the car, and I'll choose to find ironic humor in the fact that my prayer life will be consistent, perhaps slightly panicked and very regular for a while.  And I'll choose to remember that it does get better.  I'll drive even more carefully.  And eventually the panic will fade again.

Sleep, panic, and into the week...

Last week was really hard. The weekend was also hard. This week is not looking much better, though there are thankfully quite a few less plans for my evenings this week, meaning it is likely that I will be able to at least hibernate through the evenings to catch up on my mental and emotional drain.

I fell asleep last night amidst tearful whispered prayers. "Jesus I just can't stand in that gap, I can't pray tonight, I can't be that intercessor tonight. I will, you know I will, but can I please just have one night off? One night of sleep without dreaming or hours of waking to pray in ways I don't quite understand?"

I'm thankful that I was, in fact, able to sleep for several hours without dreaming or the intensity of prayer. I would have been okay if it hadn't happened, but I was oh so thankful it did.

The forecast for tonight is similar to Friday night's havoc creating weather. I read that and panic rose within me. I'm still shaky from Friday evening, and I am hoping that tonight will be nothing at all like that. I am still pushing away the panic, reminding myself that I am shielded and protected, and, more practically, that we won't know what the weather will be like until the time to drive home comes at the end of the day, and what will I gain by worrying? Panic is not a particularly practical thing, nor does it respond well to the practical, but I am fighting it with every tool at my disposal today, and the practical is one of them.

And so another week begins. Another week of choosing differently. Of fighting to be joyful. Of choosing life. And it is not at all easy, but perhaps it will grow easier with time, as patterns change and habits shift. And in the meantime, I'll somehow summon the energy to continue to fight for it. To fight for me.

An Icy Drive

I had a pretty rough night, full of bad dreams.

Mostly dreams having to do with icy roads and sliding vehicles and terrible accidents.

At least I don't have to wonder why those were muddled around in my subconsious. The five hours I spent in a vehicle last night watching sliding vehicles, near misses, and a few accidents quite nicely explains that.

I will not be driving anywhere today unless it is absolutely necessary.

We had freezing rain yesterday that coated the roads, and then froze, turning roads into skating rinks, making hills impassable, and generally creating traffic chaos.

I've never liked driving to begin with. I do it because, well, it's convenient, and Calgary's public transit system is so very not.

I got my "learner's license" at 16. (Two years later than you're first legally allowed to obtain it.) I only finally got a full fledged license days before my twenty first birthday, motivated simply by the fact that the learners was going to expire and I didn't want to pay to renew it, and then pay again a short time later for a new license.

My new license was what Alberta calls a "graduated" license. I held that for a full five years, until this past summer, just days before my 26th birthday, where I scheduled a second road test to get rid of the conditions. Again, the motivation was simply that my license was going to expire, and I figured it was as good a time as any to take the test, rather than paying to renew a license and then paying several months later to upgrade it.

Winter driving is definitely my least favorite, and often leaves me shaky. Though I've seen terrible roads, I've not, in the years I've been driving, seen roads as icy as they were last night.

It doesn't help that my first accident ever happened because of winter road conditions. Or, that, months later, when I was finally able to get behind the wheel without feeling a surge of panic, I was driving home from a friend's rural home, hit some black ice at a notorious location on a major highway, and did a 360 degree spin in my rental car, starting in the right lane of traffic, and ending just barely on the road on the left shoulder. It was only by the grace of God that I wasn't hit by oncoming traffic. I drove for two more hours to get home that night, through terrible conditions. And then, last winter, after another heavy snowfall, I again hit some black ice on a major city road, and slid quite nicely into a guard rail, banging up the front end of my car, but again, thankfully, not getting hurt, or hitting any other vehicles.

So five hours (even if I was only the driver for two) on severely icy roads last night wasn't that helpful.

We've had a mild winter so far, and budgetary concerns have meant that I delayed having my winter tires put on. They're going on on Monday (only two days from now!), along with a few other repairs I've been waiting to have done. So I was driving on old, slightly bald summer tires on the iciest road conditions I've ever seen for two hours last night.

And, since Calgary doesn't salt, plow, or sand residential roads, and I live at the top of a hill, I won't be going anywhere by car until we have a bit of a thaw (predicted for tomorrow). My dad managed to get my car from the spot I'd temporarily abandoned it last night, to a safe parking spot in front of my house, and it is going to stay there until the roads thaw. I'll take transit to the one or two places it is absolutely necessary for me to go today. Because anything is better than getting behind the wheel again on those roads. I relived them all through the night, I have no desire to relive them in my waking reality today.

Reminding myself to breathe

I'm very tired this morning, and very close to tears again.

Any of you who've read my blog for long will know that I struggle with fear. The fears (mostly irrational) are strong this morning, and I am pushing panic back as much as I can.

I didn't sleep well last night. Not unusual really, just odd. A conglomeration of dreams, and over-processing conversations, and my pre-exisiting general inability to sleep well.

I'm nervous about a doctor's appointment this afternoon. I actually don't mind going to the doctor as a general rule, when it's just getting poked and prodded and declared healthy for one more year. But seeing my doctor (basically a stranger) to discuss a number of very challenging physical and emotional issues that feel immensely personal in nature is not something I'm looking forward to. (Though I am hoping that we can come up with a plan for me to be well again.) It's not helping my panic levels at the moment that my doctor's practice is actually composed of four doctors who share the practice, and I have no idea who I'm going to see this afternoon.

And, I'm feeling pretty exposed. I shared some the post I wrote last night about being judgmental in a larger, more public forum as well, and I don't like the feeling that comes with having my heart and thoughts on display where certain people can read them.

So, I'm going to get through this morning. And then I'll deal with the doctors appointment.

And I'm going to be grateful that tonight is a night just for me. That my roommate is out. That I can have the house to myself for a while. I'll light candles, and paint my nails. I'm going to treat myself to some sort of take out or nicely home cooked meal (can't figure out yet what I want to eat). And then I'm going to rest. Or at least that's the plan.

I'm not going to think about tomorrow being halloween, and how all of the places I'd normally go to rest and recharge on the weekend will be filled with people "celebrating". I'm not going to think about any of those things. I'm going to get through the morning at work, and then the doctor, and then I'm going to rest.

I'm reminding myself to breathe this morning. And praying it helps.

Coping Mechanisms

I'd almost forgotten what it felt like to have a day like this.

For about 4 and a half months now, I've been taking a huge assortment of natural supplements, three times a day, designed to help me cope more effectively with life, boost my flagging energy levels, and help regulate some hormone and chemical imbalances that were wreaking havoc on my general ability to cope with the challenges of day to day life.

I've known for probably three of those 4 and a half months that the supplements were making a significant difference, particularly in regulating mood and my ability to cope, and I learned through some trial and error that it makes a huge difference when in the day I take certain supplements. That is, my ability to arrive at evening and the end of the workday without being near meltdown is definitely affected by my taking the breakfast and lunchtime portions of my supplements, and taking them around the same time each day.

I forgot (for the first time in probably three months) to throw my supplements for the day into my purse today, so I had none until I got home from work and ate supper.

I wasn't noticing as much of a difference as I'd expected until I was driving home from work, and the adrenaline from a full day at the office had begun to fade.

It's not my favorite thing to admit, but because I was exhausted and run down, and in the midst of constant stressful situations for nearly a year and a half straight leading up to when I began taking supplements, my body had shut down in a lot of ways. I was basically existing in panic mode. In a constant state of physical and emotional exhaustion.

I noticed it again today, as I was driving home. It's that level of exhaustion that takes even the smallest things, and magnifies them, making them huge, daunting, terrifying and overwhelming. It makes the task of cooking dinner seem impossible, or the necessity to drive to a polling station and cast a ballot seem the most draining thing on the planet. It creates panic and anxiety.

Thanks to the supplements, it's been a while since I've experienced that. What was a daily fact of life for nearly two years has become something that happens rarely. I found myself grateful tonight, for the perspective and changing internal dialogue that let me remind myself that I didn't need to be overwhelmed by the week before it had hardly begun. That I could figure out what my roommate and I were eating for dinner once I'd arrived home, and didn't need to spend my commute obsessing about it. I was grateful for the dialogue that reminded me of some good things that also happened today, and not just the shocking, saddening, or frustrating things.

And I'm oh so grateful that I've found something that works for me. That is making a noticeable difference in my ability to enjoy life without feeling anxious and panicked about every moment of it. That I know that tomorrow will likely be more manageable than today was, because the pills I need for tomorrow have already been placed in my purse.

I suppose, if you haven't lived in that constant state of exhausted anxiety, it's hard to describe how much of a relief it is to find it now a manageable thing. To have moments like tonight where I can truthfully tell myself that tomorrow really will be better, and that the things that are feeling large and threatening are feeling that way because I missed out on my coping mechanisms. But oh, I'm grateful that Jesus sent a friend my way who gave me a list of supplements to try. And I'm grateful that they are working for my body and letting me find rest and peace and joy just a bit more easily these days.

On My Mind...

It is my prayer that as I continue to journey through life, my body will learn that it doesn't need to freak out every time we come up against a week or two that are more stressful than normal. Because my body freaking out doesn't exactly reduce the stress level if you know what I mean.

I'm thankful these days that I can recognize many of the symptoms as stress reactions, and ignore them as much as possible. That I can remind myself that this is how my body tends to respond to stress. (These days that is meaning that I'm forcing myself to eat inspite of a dramatically decreased appetite, and a certain degree of nausea.)

I'm still fighting off the terrible cold that kept me home in bed for most of the day on Monday. The sore throat lingers, and the sneezing and constant nose blowing are enough to drive a person batty.

I'm not sleeping properly again (so what else is new when I'm stressed), and the neck and shoulder problems I aggravated about three weeks back are still causing daily headaches.

And yet, somehow, today, I'm coping.

We take possession of our new apartment tonight, and will take the first load of boxes over. We'll also likely take a load or two of boxes tomorrow night, doing everything we can to minimize the amount of loads and moving required for the major move on Saturday, when all of our furniture will move to the new house, and we'll officially be living there.

Unfortunately, because of the debacle with my internet/telephone/television provider that I mentioned on Monday (and let me just say it again, in case you missed it - DON'T EVER get Telus TV), we won't have telephone or internet access in our new home until Wednesday, July 1st. A fact I find incredibly frustrating due to the nature of my conversation with Telus on Monday, but hey... It's only four or five days, right? (Is it terrible that I'm hoping I can pick up an open wireless signal somewhere in our building? If not, I'll likely be making the occasional evening trip to Starbucks to keep up on my emails.)

Tonight I'll also be making a trip to the library (my roommate has books to return) and to the bank, and to some sort of store (any store really) to pick up a roll or two of packing tape. Oh, and after we take a load of boxes and stuff over to the new place, I'll also be spending a bit of time progressing on the packing in our old place.

I'm not actually stressed about the process of moving. At the moment I'm feeling like we have that well in hand. I think I'm simply reacting to the stress of transition. I think I've told this story here before, but I had an adventure-loving friend once ask me, "Don't you ever just feel like you have to get out of your comfort zone?" My answer? A resounding, "NO!" Usually, many months after the transition, I begin to be grateful for it. But mostly, I'm not a fan. I like a pretty staid, boring, routine life. It makes me happy. And so, last night, I was awake much of the night, with the thoughts of transition running through my head.

Like I said, these days I'm thankful that I can recognize the fears and lies. That I can identify them. And I'm praying for the day when they simply won't be there anymore.

Insecure

I'm awake way too early.

Granted, I have to be out of the house by 9:15 on my way to the day's plans, but this is too early.

And I'm feeling neurotic and insecure.

I shared some rather vulnerable thoughts with a dear friend last night (and, to clarify up front, the response was fine).

But, even when the response was fine, the neuroses and insecurities rise up. The voices get loud, and sometimes they gain power.

I always forget that that's going to happen when I share myself, particularly the deeper parts of me, in writing. But it happens every time. I think it's kind of like how they say that women forget the pain of labor so that they'll have another child. If I remembered how strong the voices of insecurity would become, I'd be less likely to share.

These days I'm better at combatting them, and the lies they tell. In fact, I was quite amused as I journaled about one of the lines they were using last night. It was, I wrote, both the most difficult, and the easiest to counter.

They get loud, and for a day or two I'm neurotic.

In any case, I liked this line that Hope posted to her blog last night. You can find it here. I'm praying for my authentic self to appear.

Introspection...

I am feeling deeply introspective this morning.

Thinking about things from my growing up years, and feeling the tug of conflicting emotions that go with them.

Someone I know had a comment on facebook this morning about not sleeping, and wondering how long a human being can go with those sorts of overactive brain, seriously interrupted nights of sleep. I thought about commenting but didn't. I have had two or three or more of those a week since I was at least 12. Which is about 14 years now. Maybe more.

I am thinking about fears. About how they can be communicated. And how to be free of them. About the contradiction in knowing that some have been inherited, but that the person from whom I inherited them is these days largely free from them.

I am thinking about food. And hunger. And life. And how, because of some changes I've been making in my life, and some of the things I've been reading that have ironically enough coincided with those changes, I'm more aware than ever about the connections between food and hunger and life. And more aware than ever of the many, many food related metaphors and descriptions from scripture.

And I'm thinking about those I've known with eating disorders, and about my own concerns about the way my body has handled food this last year.

I'm thinking about loneliness. And how it's a fairly common state for me these days. How I miss being physically close to the people I share hearts with. How I'm wondering when and and if God will provide a church family and relationships (the sorts of people I can call for hugs and prayers) nearby. Or if maybe I need to look at relocating?

I'm thinking about the conversations I'm having with myself these days. The ones where I tell myself that even though I don't care about that thing, or I don't want to do something else, I need to, because they are decisions that should ultimately be life-giving.

I'm thinking about motivation. And how lacking that is in some essential areas of my life. And how ridiculous some of the little tricks and bribes I've been using to create motivation feel. And how I'm praying that even though they seem ridiculous, they'll work.

I'm thinking about how everything is connected. Everything is spiritual. And about a friend's comments about time not being nearly as linear as we tend to treat it. How eating toast with honey for breakfast conjures memories, just because of the honey. How I'm still enjoying the salami I purchased on the weekend, but how, every time I eat a slice of it, I'm switching locations, and sitting again in St. Peter's square, leaning against a friend, feeling the spray of a fountain, and knowing the unsettledness of those moments.

So, I'm introspective this morning, and my mind is wandering.

And I'm praying:

• for the brother of a dear friend who is having surgery today
• for my own brother and his girlfriend, currently touring with their choir
• for friends to come alongside, at just the right moments
• for a community to be planted in for a time
• for several marriages that have begun in the last year, and several that will begin in the year to come
• for the upcoming travels of dear friends and family - to Czech, and to Africa, and points in between
• for connections
• for those who are grieving, and a friend who is grieving, as well as being involved in loving on those who are grieving
• for life
• and breath
• and food (physical and spiritual)
• for love
• and joy
• and hope restored and renewed

Panic (Self-Reminders)

I've been dealing with panic all day today.

That tightness in your chest, slightly short of breath, adrenaline pumping, I'm two seconds from totally freaking out and losing it sort of panic.

I have not been impressed to feel that rising up within me again.

It used to happen a lot. It's hardly happened in the last three years. Not since I was healed.

I had one particularly bad attack about a month ago. Two friends talked and prayed with me and calmed me down.

I've spent most of the day talking to myself. Reminding myself that certain situations, which seem to be partially inducing the panic, are things in which I just need to wait and pray.

Out loud and in my head all day.

And now by blogging (because the panic kicked up again a few minutes ago).

Reminding myself that if God has given or set something aside for me or to me, then it cannot be taken from me.

Reminding myself that even in the things I can't control, I walk with a God who offers peace. A God who stills storms. Even the mental, adrenaline rushing sort of storms.


Reminding myself that no matter the outcome of these situations, I will be okay. That I walk with Jesus, and He's not going anywhere (not always easy for me to believe, but a reminder worth giving myself anyway.)

Reminding myself of Paul's words - to live is Christ, to die is gain. So I win either way. Even when it sucks, and seems more like suffering. If I'm alive, it's Christ. If not, then I get to be with him, and tears and suffering will end.

Crying out for restoration

A dear friend of mine who posts to her blog very infrequently has posted twice in the last two days, and her words are eating at me. They're not directed at me. She is speaking her heart (and it is one that I love). But for my heart her words are carrying a strong message of conviction.

She spoke in her most recent post about some of the little things around her home, the reminders of deep moments and the promises that Jesus has made to her. I've been in her home, and seen those reminders. And while my own tendency to collect those things in my own home was already present, in the time I've known her, she has taught me much about collecting and marking the things the Lord has spoken. She has also given me several little gifts that mark things about our relationship (one that is deeply important to me) or things that she knows the Lord has been speaking to me.

From where I sit several of her gifts are visible. And several other items that are tied to deep moments we've shared can also be seen.

I cleaned my bedroom from top to bottom a few weeks back. In the midst of a day where the wrestle was strong, and I felt the need to simply silence all the voices, I cleaned. I reordered, reorganized, and generally removed chaos wherever I could. I cleaned the surfaces that are prayer "altars" of a sort in my bedroom, and the temptation was strong to remove many of the items sitting on them, to put them away in a box where they couldn't be visible reminders any longer. Where they couldn't sting.

Because right now the reminders sting. They speak of deep places that in some cases I'd rather forget. They call me to things I'm afraid of, and not always certain I want. They speak of what was, and what subsequently seems to have been shattered. There are a few items in particular that I would much rather have stored safely away in a box, than in plain sight, visible each time I rise to look in the mirror.

When I feel like this, I avoid those "altars" as much as possible. I don't light the candles that rest there, or anywhere else in my bedroom. I don't burn incense, or oil, because those fragrances, too, carry reminders. I don't look at the items on my window sill - some gifts from my friend, a stone from "my" spot in the mountains when I met Jesus there and twirled last summer, a heart shaped stone from Indonesia, some strings of shells from Hawaii, a container of rose petals from various special bouquets this last year, and some pieces of driftwood I gathered from a lake shore when I was there with friends last July. I try not to make eye contact with the photos that hang on the wall across from my bed, one of a lake, and one of a spot my heart has been called to visit.

And yet, I can't avoid them either. I have slept for several weeks now wrapped in two scarves, both symbols of prayer and reminders of deep things the Lord is speaking. I tried last night to lay down without wrapping myself in the scarves. I was peaceful, and felt I didn't need them. I couldn't do it. Within moments I was sitting up, and reaching for them, wrapping them around me before laying back down to sleep. I wear a few of those reminders on a daily basis - a ring, and a necklace and a bracelet, each speaking of different deep moments.

And I have felt the tug of all these things scattered around my space deeply.

My friend spoke in the writing she shared on her blog these last few days of finding her feet again, and returning to the promises spoken. Of believing and standing amidst these things.

And I have resented the reminders scattered around my space. Even the reminders I wear each day, or fall asleep wrapped in. I have resented the deep pull of Jesus on my heart and life. I have wanted nothing so badly as to be "normal". I have resented that so many of the deepest moments of this last year, so many of the things scattered around my room also speak of moments of deep pain and sorrow.

The photo of the place my heart longs to go speaks of a dream, and a calling of Jesus to me. It also speaks of a shattered dream. Of fear of traveling to pray with friends. Of a hesitancy and brokenness I don't know how to handle.

The railway spikes on one of the altars speak of a moment when I found family. I found the place in which I belonged, I fit. They also speak of the deep shattering that has taken place within that family in the last year. Of anger and frustration and pain. Of a year of tears and wondering and struggling.

There is a tiny gold camel from Pakistan. A gift from missionaries when I was a child, but also a reminder of a very dear friend who is serving the Lord in that country now. And a reminder of some painful words. Of moments when the direction the Lord is taking my life has been unseen, or judged because it is not understood. (And how can I expect someone else to understand that which I am hardly able to accept or comprehend?)

There are stones and wine corks. Goblets. A tiny rose pin. Three pure white candles. A stone cross handmade into a necklace. A cross from my graduation and a rosary hanging over another photo. Five stones with words etched in them. Bits of wax left from the advent candles I burned and prayed with. Scarves. Palm leaves and willow branches. A tiny oil lamp from Israel. A medal and a tassel from Rome. Coins. Two boxed baptism candles.

And I have been tempted at moments to pack each and every one of them away. To simply move on. To box up a season of my life, and shut it down. To declare something new and create a life out of it. To close off the deepest parts of myself because while they have held the deepest joy, they have also carried immeasurable sorrow. I am tempted to purge these things from my life.

But I can't. And I have resented that too. That in becoming more and more fully myself, I have encountered such shattering, such deep pain.

I have been tired and angry, and haven't known what to do with those feelings.

And reading my friend's words these last few days has caused much of this to surface within my own heart. In part because I love her heart. And in part because of an awareness of how far my own is at times from where I'd like it to be.

I read her words about finding her feet again, and I am glad, because I love her deeply and desire that for her. I also wrestle with jealousy, because in these moments where she is finding her footing, I have been feeling like I have lost what little hope and footing I had left.

Just over a year ago, in an impossibly deep moment, I confessed to the Lord and a friend that I could stand amidst the storms. That I could fight. That I had been hearing him say that to me, and ignoring it, because I didn't want to stand or fight. That I didn't want that to be part of my reality. I haven't regretted that confession, and yet, I have regretted it nearly every day of the year that has followed.

I am discovering that this journey with Jesus is highly confusing and full of paradox.

That joy and sorrow seem far closer together than I dreamed was possible.

My heart is being stretched and tugged and shattered and pierced.

I sat and listened to an African children's choir last week, and fought tears I didn't understand.

I look at the photo on my wall of a place that I know unequivocally that the Lord has asked me to visit. To go to, and pray, and speak some words of scripture, and I remember that same passage of scripture echoing in a hall where diplomats of the world have gathered. And I remember too the division in that moment. I look at it and remember that Jesus told me not to make that trip alone. To have companions for the journey. And I remember how many relationships have fallen to pieces since and because of the last trip where he asked me to travel and pray with friends.

I look at a ring on my finger - a placeholder until just the right ring presents itself, and I remember a moment of deep vows near a lake. And I remember too how quickly those statements of choice were tested.

I see the coin resting on the frame of my mirror and remember a dream I had and a moment to deep to be publicly shared. And I remember how quickly it too became a source of conflict and division

There are moments when I feel as if life has become a ridiculous sort of balancing act, and I wonder if that is healthy.

Abba, I confess that my heart has ached. That I have resented the reminders of the things you've done, and the promises you've spoken that are scattered around my space. That I've been angry that this life that you've offered me has been so marked by pain. I admit that I don't understand, and that that lack of understanding really bothers me. That I have been jealous of those who seem more able to find you in the midst of suffering or more able to find you without experiencing suffering. That I have wanted to have the benefits of knowing you deeply without drinking the cup of your suffering. That I have a hard time trusting you. That at times I am afraid of you. That though you have spoken often to me about joy, I seem to be unable to grasp what you mean by that. That I have hated people I deeply love. That I have harbored anger and unforgiveness. That I have been certain that you cannot be loving, because the life you have offered has been far too cruel for that. That I have hated the things you've said, and feared the things you've called me too. That there have been moments when I've created distance from you and others in an attempt to protect my heart, instead of believing that you will shield and protect it.

And so I ask for your forgiveness. And your voice and your presence and your help as I seek to walk differently. I ask for a heart that loves. A heart that is still willing to believe that you can and will change things that I believe are impossible. I ask for your healing, and your wholeness, recognizing that your definition of wholeness might just look a lot like my definition of shattered. I ask for more of the deep moments when my heart knows that it has met with you, and for you to remind me of those moments even when I'd rather forget and let my heart grow hard. Give me back a heart of flesh, in place of a heart of stone. Let me see you in the gift of a church candle from my roommate, and wine goblets waiting to be used. Let me see you in the scarves wrapped around me. Let me see you, and not the pain and bitterness and questions that so many of the reminders scattered around my bedroom have carried.

I love you. And I long to walk in step with you. (And I admit that I'm afraid of what that could mean.) Ease my fears with your comfort. Remind me of that first verse I memorized as a small child, to say aloud in the middle of the night to combat the nightmares, "when I am afraid, I will put my trust in you." Help me to trust. Help me to want to trust.

I love you. And I desire you.

I remember the vows I made to you. And I remain committed to them. Give me the strength and grace to walk those out.

Remind me that I chose this. That I committed to follow you, even if it meant drinking from the cup of suffering.

Pour out your blessings on those I have resented. Help me to walk daily in forgiveness towards them.

Work a miracle and once again draw together the things that have been impossibly broken.

Bring peace and restoration.

Bring an outpouring of hope and joy.

May it be enough comfort for me that I was where you asked, when you asked me to be, even if others were not. Help me to rest in that obedience. Help that to be enough, to be the thing I remember, not the brutally painful things.

Help me to see beauty instead of the ashes. To remember the deep image of the phoenix that night a few years back, sitting on the floor at epic, next to a friend, while Kirk preached. That was another week and another year that was marked by deep beauty and deep pain walking hand in hand. Help me to remember that so often the beauty came in the midst of the deepest destruction and pain. Help me to look for the beauty and not become focused on and mired in the destruction and pain.

You are good. It's a truth spoken by your word. Help my heart to trust and rest in that.

Bring freedom. Help me to see the places you have offered it, and to walk in it. Help me to be still in those places where I am still bound - to stop thrashing in order to be set free.

Provide in new ways for me.

Restore my health.

Show me the church community that you have for me.

I love you.

Abba, I belong to you. May your will be done in my life.

Amen.

A Heart that's Seen

This has been a hard week.

My heart has been very unseen, and very misunderstood. My integrity has been questioned more than once, because of the unfortunate actions of another who lacks integrity, and with whom I have to work. I hadn't realized just how much of a toll that had taken on me until I arrived home last night, exhausted after spending over 2 hours in winter traffic, and tried to accomplish a very simple task.

My brain and body shut down, and I flew into panic mode. Granted, there were extenuating circumstances which added to the quick shift into panic, but there it was. I was fighting off a panic attack while still working with desperation to finish a simple and necessary task.

In the midst of that, two dear friends found me online. One hung around and talked me through the panic, while the other simply offered a few encouraging words, and promised to pray.

One reminded me of promises spoken, prayers prayed, and love shared.

The other simply told me, "you're a good woman, Lisa."

I needed to hear all of what both of them said.

Both told me in their own ways that I was loved, that my heart was seen, that I would be okay. Somehow, because of the source, my heart began to calm, and I was able to hear their words, and receive them. I was able to allow my heart to quiet enough to hear Jesus whispering the same things. That I am loved. That He is with me. That I will be okay.

I was reminded last night again of the importance and the gift of true friends. The sort who know you most deeply, who've seen you at your best and worst, and love your heart anyway. Who see the heart, and not the surface panic.

To the two of you who hung out with me online last night, thank you. Thanks for being Jesus to me in those moments, and letting him whisper to me through your love. I needed it - your love and his. And I'm carrying it with me today and on into the weekend and the weeks ahead.