Give Me Your Eyes

This song has been on my heart a lot since the threat of COVID-19 became real to our country. It's a scary thing to be in lockdown against a disease that's so easily transmitted. It's a new thing for most of us, I assume, to have to wear masks and gloves and sanitize everything we touch and and wash carefully after everything with which we come into contact. It's nerve-wracking, at least, to not know how long the restrictions will last, and it's terrifying when faced with the real possibility of losing loved ones.

Still, I think of those who were already going through serious trials in their lives, and now they're even further cut off from their network of support. A family with whom I share some mutual friends unexpectedly lost their 3-month old baby. A friend of mine passed away this week from early-onset Alzheimer's. Another friend was recently diagnosed with cancer again; the treatment this time is not expected to rid her of cancer, but to slow the progression. People are still hurting, and now are hurting even more without the social contact that comforts them.

Here, I'm going to give my praise for technology. So many people rage about how it's not good for relationships, but my heart absolutely breaks for those who can't travel to see the new babies in their lives or to attend a family member's funeral or just to be with those who need practical help. I know it's not the same as a physical person to hold and love, with whom to grieve, but we can see the faces of loved ones, hear their voices, and we can share those sufferings in a way we couldn't even just a few years ago. Hopefully it's enough to get them through to when they can physically be together. (By the way, this is my attitude towards technology and social media even outside of quarantine - I'm connected with friends around the world and I would never have the same opportunities to continue my relationships with some people without Facebook and FaceTime.)

Anyway, I just wanted to share this song and video as a reminder that, even as we are all struggling and suffering right now, we can still look outward to the needs of others, we can still ask God to help us to see with his eyes. No copyright infringement is intended in posting the lyrics here, but I always like to have lyrics available when digesting a song. And I happen to like this artist's writing style as well.

"Give Me Your Eyes" by Brandon Heath

Looked down from a broken sky
Traced out by the city of lights
My world from a mile high
Best seat in the house tonight
Touch down on the cold black-top
Hold on for the sudden stop
Breathe in the familiar shock of confusion and chaos
All those people going somewhere, why have I never cared

 

Give me your eyes for just one second
Give me your eyes so I can see,
Everything that I keep missing,
Give your love for humanity.
Give me your arms for the broken-hearted
The ones that are far beyond my reach.
Give me Your heart for the ones forgotten.
Give me Your eyes so I can see.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah

 

Step out on the busy street.
See a girl and our eyes meet.
Does her best to smile at me.
To hide what's underneath.
There's a man just to her right
Black suit and a bright red tie.
Too ashamed to tell his wife he's out of work, he's buyin time.
All those people going somewhere, why have I never cared.

 

Give me your eyes for just one second
Give me your eyes so I can see,
Everything that I keep missing,
Give your love for humanity.
Give me your arms for the broken-hearted
The ones that are far beyond my reach.
Give me Your heart for the ones forgotten.
Give me Your eyes so I can see.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah

 

I've been there a million times
A couple million lives
Just moving past me by, I swear I never thought that I was wrong
But I wanna second glance so give me a second chance
To see the way you've seen the people all along

 

Give me your eyes for just one second
Give me your eyes so I can see
Everything that I keep missing
Give your love for humanity
Give me your arms for the broken-hearted
The ones that are far beyond my reach
Give me Your heart for the ones forgotten
Give me Your eyes so I can see

 

Give me your eyes for just one second
Give me your eyes so I can see
Everything that I keep missing
That I keep missing
Give me your arms for the broken-hearted
The ones that are far beyond my reach.
Give me Your heart for the ones forgotten
Give me Your eyes so I can see.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah

Written by Brandon Heath and Jason Ingram. Performed by Brandon Heath. Reunion Records label. 2008.

September 11

If you're over the age of twenty, you likely have some memory of this date in 2001.

I suppose it's similar to the people who remember the attack on Pearl Harbor or the assassination of JFK. Those moments are seared into our memories because, in a way, the world stopped. We all froze in horror, wondering how such a thing could have happened.

My  mother said she remembers doing the ironing on November 22, 1963 when she found out that JFK had been shot. My dad was in the Air Force and my guess is that she was ironing his uniforms. My parents had barely been married for three months when the president was assassinated.

I spoke to my grandma about the Pearl Harbor attack. She told me a very simple story, but it demonstrated how her 1941 world reacted to it. My grandpa sat up in bed - perhaps it was after a Sunday afternoon nap - and turned on the radio. After hearing the somber news, he muttered, "Them sons of bitches." I can hear my grandpa's voice in those words, even though it was years before I was born.

I watched some of the September 11 footage again today and my kids asked me, "Why are you watching that? It's so sad! It makes me sick to my stomach." It is sad, but I'm not afraid of sadness.

I'm afraid of forgetting.

The morning of September 11, 2001, I was home with a baby and a toddler. I turned on some TV for them to watch morning cartoons while I got ready for the day. As I flipped through the channels, I caught sight of footage of an airplane that had crashed into a skyscraper. Assuming it was a tragic accident, I briefly thought, "How sad," and kept flipping because toddlers don't tend to be interested in current events.

A few minutes later, my husband called from work and said, "Turn on the news now. There appears to be some terrorist attack on the World Trade Center." In just those few short minutes from seeing that one plane engulfed in flames, embedded in the North Tower, most the world was probably with me in thinking it was a terribly unfortunate accident. Then suddenly we were all plunged into horror as we slowly, sickeningly realized that this was a terrorist attack.

I numbly went upstairs and found my father-in-law, who was staying with us for a few weeks, and told him, "Apparently, there's been a terrorist attack on the World Trade Center."

For the next several minutes, we sat and watched the gut-wrenching footage unfold. We watched the South Tower collapse in real time, as did millions of other Americans - and thousands watched it in real life. We sat there, speechless, until he finally mumbled, "All those people." Then the North tower went down. What else could we do but sit there and watch in dread as thousands of people died before our eyes.

Eventually, I realized that the kids also had their eyes glued to the television. Even though they were very young and couldn't really understand what was happening, it didn't feel right to sit there and let them watch. I called a friend and we got our three girls together at McDonalds PlayLand for lunch. The kids played and my friend and I sat there, numb. I kept thinking things like, "I'm sitting at McDonalds and thousands of people just died." Or "I'm shopping like it's a normal day and our country is under attack."

It was the most terrifying day in my life.

I might be tempted to say that the day Al had his stroke was the most terrifying - and there were certainly moments of intense fear in those first few days - but we were swept up by a wave of grace and had an inexplicable trust in God's goodness in spite of what was happening to him.

On 9/11, however, I literally felt like the world had just crumbled under our feet. It felt like evil had won. And it felt like God had abandoned us.

I was afraid of what was going to happen next: Were we going to war? Was our country being invaded? Were there more planes that were going to be hijacked? Were there terrorists planted throughout the country, waiting to strike? Where else had the terrorists infiltrated our borders and our security?

I was frightened of what my children's future would look like. Would they live in a war-torn country when I'd grown up in a predominantly peaceful time? Would there be another collapse of the country's economy due to war and hardship?

My terror gradually dissipated as I remembered, "God is still here. He's still in control."

A friend of mine spoke to my broken heart as I thought of all those fathers who would never return to their families, daughters who would never call home again, sisters, brothers, friends and co-workers simply vanished from the earth. She said, "We just have to remember that Christ was there, in each of those places, when those people died. He was with them, giving them courage and strength."

I think that simple reminder did something in my heart. God never leaves us or forsakes us. He promises that! In a moment of fear or terror, we are not abandoned. He reminds us of this in Deuteronomy 31:6, as well as all throughout Scripture. "Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified because of them, for the Lord your God goes with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you." 

I experienced that in a very tangible way when I faced the very real fear of losing my husband. God was there, right in it with me, not far off and unavailable. I have to choose to believe that the same was true for all who came face to face with terror on 9/11. 

For those grueling hours, watching the chaos unfold, it looked like the terrorists had won. Nineteen men led an attack that killed thousands. But what happened in the midst of chaos and for days and weeks afterward was a testimony that while we were shaken, we as a nation, as a people of God, were not defeated. God lived and breathed in the rubble as people risked their lives, even after escaping, to look for survivors. God gave firefighters and police officers courage to do their duty, even as many of them perished in doing so. God inspired many with a spirit of kindness and generosity around the world to create a new solidarity, one that said, "We will not be terrorized."

After Jesus had died on the Cross, it looked to his followers like evil had won. It seemed like what they were living for had indeed died. But it wasn't long before they saw the Risen Christ and what that told them and all of us was that Jesus Christ indeed conquered death! Once and for all!

Evil didn't win on September 11, 2001. Yes, it was an incredibly tragic event that shook our foundations. I believe that every single person who perished was given the opportunity to accept Jesus somehow in the moments before their death. Christ is always victorious; he will never let evil overpower Him. I think of all the acts of courage, selflessness, compassion and hope that came in the days, weeks and months following 9/11, and I can see that God is still alive in us.

That's why I don't shy away from the footage of that day. It was indeed terrifying.

But because of Christ, I refuse to be terrorized.

Steadfast and Pure

If you're like me, you might get a little bored of the same Scriptures for Ash Wednesday and Lent, the ones we read year after year, like Psalm 51. Just reading that probably prompted the words to start scrolling through your brain: Have mercy on me, O God, according to your unfailing love; according to your great compassion, blot out my transgressions. Wash away all my iniquity and cleanse me from my sin.

(By the way, if you don't read Scripture regularly, you should check it out. It's not nearly as boring as I just said it was...*laughs nervously*)

I feel fairly confident that I could recite the entire psalm from memory. Let me clarify my earlier statement: At first glance, it may seem boring. But the Word of God is living and active (Heb 4:12), which means that, even if I've read the same passage thousands of times in my life, I can still hear something new from the Lord when I read it again.

This morning, I decided to focus on verse 10, right in the middle: Create in me a pure heart, O God,  and renew a steadfast spirit within me. I usually read over this like a rote prayer, not paying much attention to the meaning of it. Today, I pulled out those two words and just did a little study on their definitions. (In case you haven't noticed, I'm an avid logophile, a lover of words.)

First of all, PURE. What exactly does that mean?

Here are the definitions I found on Dictionary.com: Free from anything of a different, inferior, or contaminating kind; free from extraneous matter, as in pure gold, pure water. Unmodified by an admixture; simple or homogeneous. Free from foreign or inappropriate elements. Clear; free from blemishes. Straightforward, unaffected (of literary style). Abstract or theoretical (as opposed to applied): pure science.

The part of the definition that caught my attention was that it's free from anything inferior. How often do I give inferior things a place in my heart? What kinds of things would be inferior to God's purposes? Well, pretty much everything: my favorite TV shows,  my obsession with YouTube, Buzzfeed, Vine, Pinterest, and Polyvore, trying to make my house look perfect; my inordinate concern for my weight and appearance, my worries about my personal (and often selfish) desires, a crush on that certain celebrity (ahem, that was directed towards my kids because I don't have any celebrity crushes), my fear about the future, my anxiety about how my children will turn out, longing for the day when one of my books will become a bestseller, and on and on and on and on. All of these things are inferior to God's purposes for me; while most of them are not inherently evil, still they're just not as good, and they take up a ridiculous amount of space in my heart and mind. Why fill my heart and my life with a bunch of inferior things when I have access to the best, the purest, the finest in all of creation? And (pay attention, you penny-pinchers), it's absolutely free!

Another definition says that pure means free from foreign or inappropriate elements. Wow. I could go on about that all day long. And that only addresses two of the definitions that I found. I think it will be enough to start with weeding out the inferior things that take up space in my heart.

Dictionary.com's definition of STEADFAST is this: Fixed in direction, steadily directed as in a steadfast gaze. Firm in purpose, resolution, faith, attachment; as a person: a steadfast friend. Unwavering, as resolution, faith, adherence. Firmly established, as an institution or state of affairs. Firmly fixed in place or position.

In terms of vision or focus, it means to have my thoughts directed towards God at all times, to let that be the guiding force for my life, not focusing on wealth, fame, or anything else.

But the word that really captured my imagination was unwavering. When I hear the word wavering, I always think of strands of seaweed, being tossed around by the current at the bottom of the ocean, bending whichever way the water flows. It goes in almost every direction except straight up. Unwavering would be solid, straight, not bending to the influences of the world around, like a tree, the analogy that God uses repeatedly in Scripture. A tree stands straight and tall, and the stronger it's trunk, the less is sways in the wind. Sure, the leaves and branches move about, but the tree itself is steadfast, unwavering, solid.

Well, I think that just working on becoming more pure and steadfast during Lent will be enough to keep me occupied for 40 days. Most likely it will be much longer than that, but it's good to start during Lent, the time of repentance and reflection, grace and sacrifice. If you read yesterday's blog post, Do Not Dwell on the Past, you will remember that I'm expecting God to rebuild me from the ground up. 

Purity and steadfastness of heart seem like a good place to start.

Do Not Dwell on the Past

If you read my last post, "Happy" New Year, you will know that I was crazily overwhelmed during the months of December and January, with Christmas preparations, children going berserk, the house catastrophe and subsequent remodel. God is good and He always brings good out of challenging situations. But that doesn't mean I can handle it all. More likely, I handled it incorrectly. In any case, by the end of January, I. Was. Fried. My brain and my emotions were completely overloaded. I felt emotionally drained. Dead. Lifeless. Unable to take one more step.

What do you when you feel like that? I'm telling you, folks, this definitely wasn't a pull-yourself-up-by-the-bootstraps type of situation. This was complete and utter brain failure in a way that I've never experienced before.

It took me a few weeks to recover, but when I first hit rock bottom, I cried out to God, begging him to please show me just one thing I could do to move forward, to fight my way back. As I prayed, one phrase from Scripture popped into my head: "Behold, I am doing a new thing." God almost always speaks to me through Scripture. People wonder how to hear God; for me, it's almost always through God's Word.

I looked up the chapter from which that one little sentence was taken, Isaiah 43. I read through the entire thing, carefully, and two things jumped out at me.

First, Do not fear, do not be afraid, (verses  1, 5).  

Okay, easy enough. God wanted me to not be afraid, and to not dwell in the past. The problem was that I'd finally admitting to myself that I was pretty ticked off at God. I mean, think about it: In the past four years, my husband was taken away in a sense. I've struggled painfully with depression and self-pity, and often left our children to fend for themselves or take more responsibility than they should have had to, and subsequently the kids have developed some behavior and emotional issues for which they need a counselor. We filed for bankruptcy, and we literally live paycheck to paycheck, sometimes just barely squeaking by. (For the record, God always, always provides! Did I mention that He always provides?) I lost my job and Al has had short periods of employment. I haven't found a new job yet because, as always, I took the time to get on top of some health issues - fibromyalgia, crippling depression and anxiety, and I got my gall bladder removed right after I was let go. I've also tried to use the time to break into my dream career of being a bestselling author. My first book has sold maybe 150 copies, so hey, it's a start. But this is while many family members and friends have made subtle (or not so subtle) remarks about the fact that I don't have a job yet, and, hey, wouldn't it be fun to work here or there? To top it off, during that period of a few weeks when I truly felt dead inside, a relative sent me a series of messages that all had some truth to them, but the delivery of those messages was extremely harsh. That caused me to spiral a bit into my lifelong struggle with self-condemnation.

Wow, okay, enough whining! My point is to say we've been dealing with a lot, not to throw a pity party. Seriously! Please don't have pity on me. I've had plenty of pity on myself to last a lifetime.

For anyone who says, "But your husband is still alive," I would respond, "Yes, he is and I am very grateful." But imagine this - your spouse or other close family member has suffered a debilitating illness or injury. Then, on top of the physical effects (which are both internal and external), he has altered brain function. It's kind of like my husband's brain had a "factory reset," meaning he still has some memories, although short-term memory is compromised in a big way, and he still has his same corny sense of humor. His emotions have been weakened and his personality is just...different. So, in a way, we've started over from the beginning, trying to figure out his deficits and treating our relationship as if we're each falling in love with a new person, choosing to love a new person because we're both vastly different than we were when we first fell in love.

Okay, rambling again, sorry. Remember, NO PITY! I'm just giving you the whole picture.

So, when God told me not to be afraid, I was challenged. I shot back at him (sarcastic, snotty little me), "Why would I be afraid? Because You've already taken away everything I loved, everything that gave me security?!" Thank God He is merciful because I am a spoiled brat sometimes. I always end up going back to Him and telling Him I'm sorry and asking for more grace to see things through His perspective. The idea has slowly been creeping up on me that my life seems like a heap of ashes right now; everything I planned or expected for my life has been snatched away. But that is okay, because now the rebuilding begins. God's purpose is to re-form me into what He desires and not simply to give back all of my wishes and dreams from before. It's extremely scary when neither my husband nor I have jobs or careers and the future looks really blank, as in completely unknown. He is having us walk step by step, moment by moment, day by day.

Rock bottom isn't such a bad place to be, in reality. I know (at least I pray and hope) that God will create someone better and stronger than who I was before. If I can't rely on what I wanted for my life, I can still rely on God's most perfect plan. (I kind of hope His new vision for me includes losing about 50 lbs. Nothing is impossible with God, right?)

"Do not be afraid; do not fear." Yeah, that makes sense now. Does it mean I have no more fear? Hell no! Does it mean I have to remind myself from moment to believe God and His Word? Absolutely.

On to the second part of God's reminders for me:

18 Forget the former things;
    do not dwell on the past.
19 See, I am doing a new thing!
    Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?
I am making a way in the wilderness
    and streams in the wasteland.

I take this as a challenge to let go of my self-centered expectations for my life. To not cling to the pain of the past four years and allow it to make me bitter and resentful. He is willing to walk through it with me, healing it and helping me to let go.

Challenge accepted: This could be exciting, a new adventure. It will probably be difficult and I'll most likely want to quit and go back to my old self-pity. But God is pretty tenacious. I suspect that He won't let me give up. And He hasn't given up on me yet.

I'll leave you with this song from the late, great Rich Mullins, a man whose music was truly inspired.

"Happy" New Year!

Yes, I realize that it's February, so it seems a little late for a post about the New Year, but it's not my fault that time keeps traveling faster and faster as I get older!

It's been far too long since I've posted here and I really want to become more faithful about posting. Because God is at work in my life, and I've always felt it would be selfish to keep His amazing work all to myself!

It's been a tough couple of months. Summer and fall of last year were good – I was happy to be at home, having more time to write and to self-publish a book on Amazon (yay me!). But as the holidays rolled around, money was extremely tight and cabin fever set in, our family was on edge, in an extreme way! I'm talking about unprecedented bickering, fighting, name-calling, slamming, and even some slaps and kicks. And that was just between Al and me.

Just kidding, of course, but our children's feuding was at an all-time high and I could hardly stand it.

As much as I try to avoid it, Christmas, unfortunately brings its own bit of stress with shopping and cooking and traveling. I didn't do very well this past Christmas. I had a few breakdowns and panic attacks, one of which kept me home from Christmas Eve Mass.

Christmas Day was peaceful, and the days following when we traveled to my parents' house, 400 miles north in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. There were sixteen of us crammed into their little house on the weekend and it was great fun; the grown-up cousins went outside and played in the snow with all of my kids, and my sister even joined in, being the snow-lover that she is. We cheered for the Packers from their cozy living room and celebrated Christmas together just like the good-old days.

But, after five days in close quarters, everyone was just a little more tired out and certain teenagers with our last name were ready to snap. We began the trek back to lower Michigan, only to be greeted with this news when we were about 40 miles from home: my good friend and neighbor, whose son had been looking after our cat and getting our mail, called me on my cell phone and gingerly explained, “There's a problem with your house.” She proceeded to tell me that the upstairs toilet tank cracked and had been running water continually into a large portion of our house for at least 24 hours, since that was the last time her son had come in to check on the cat. (When he told my kids about finding the leak, he said, “It was raining in your kitchen.”)

Naturally, I turned to God in prayer and calmly said, “Lord, you are good and faithful and I know You can handle this.”

Ha! I wish! What I really did was freak out and cry and hyperventilate a little and then freak out some more about the $500 deductible, which isn't too much, but it's a lot for a family with two unemployed parents right after Christmas. My neighbor prayed with me over the phone and then got to work. I continued to pray with much anxiety, saying, "God, you MUST have a way for us to get through this!"

By the time we reached home, our neighbor had called our insurance company and she had also telephoned our good friend who is a builder. They were both waiting in our front yard when we drove up, and shortly thereafter, we were greeted by a man from the restoration company that our builder friend had called. Another few neighbors were on hand to help with whatever they could, and the advice of others in my mind-numbed state was priceless: “Keep track of whatever you throw out so you can get reimbursed, move this stuff over here, find another place to stay.”

What?

We were tired out and we just wanted to hang out at home with our cozy little Christmas tree and enjoy the remainder of the holidays. It hadn't even occurred to me that we would have to temporarily move out, but the extent of the damage was slowly settling into my brain – the kitchen ceiling had fallen in, the wood floor in the dining room was saturated, along with the upstairs stairway carpet. All along the walls that the water traveled, there was bubbling and peeling paint and parts of the drywall were simply caving in. And of course, the offending bathroom was unusable. That night, the restoration crew tore out our dining room floor and put in twelve industrial fans and three gigantic dehumidifiers. It was LOUD, to say the least.

We rushed to moved things out of the affected areas so that the work of drying and restoring could take place quickly. Then we put our cat and her food and her litter box into our bedroom, which was one of the few dry rooms. She was a bit shell-shocked to say the least and would hardly come out from under the bed. It must have seemed like the apocalypse to her with rain pouring down from the ceilings and pieces of the house literally falling down. But ultimately, she survived and doesn't seem any worse for the wear.

Kitchen ceiling (I didn't even manage to get the corner that completely fell)

Kitchen & Dining Room - the contractor put his finger right through the dry wall!

Kitchen in progress

Kitchen in progress

Dining room floor saturated

Dining room subfloor

Living room crammed with items from wet areas of the house!

(My son was attempting to play his new wii game from Christmas.)

  

 Pretty bathroom! 

But hark, there were blessings to be had.

ATTENTION: God Moment!

As we picked through the sopping wet mail that had been on our kitchen counter, I came across a simple envelope, similar to ones we've received in years past around the holidays. I carefully opened it and discovered a check for (remember how much our deductible was?) $500! It was from a lay brotherhood of men who are living single for the Lord. They've blessed us financially each year and prayed for our family in a special way, but this particular check was so perfectly timed that I laughed out loud and told God, “Okay, you can stop showing off now!” I paraded the check around to everyone in the house – neighbors, restoration crew, etc, because God's goodness should be shared and proclaimed, amiright?

It was then that I became excited about the fact that we were going to have a "forced renovation," even though I knew it would be very inconvenient for a while.

Anyway, that first night, which happened to be New Year's Eve, we stayed at our neighbors' house. They had plans, so it was just our little exhausted family sitting in their family room, eating whatever random snacks we could scrounge up without being too nosy, and drinking wine straight from the bottle.

The next few days were a blur, but we managed to get in touch with our insurance company over the holiday weekend and they made arrangements to put us up in a hotel. Now, I cannot complain whatsoever about the hotel – we had two apartment-sized suites, complete with separate bedrooms and kitchenettes. So the teenage girls got one suite to themselves, and it was a bit of fun for them to play house for a few weeks.

We ended up staying there for three weeks, which was a bit longer than we had first anticipated, even though the construction crew was quite expedient. Those weeks also blur together between meetings with the contractor and the insurance adjuster, and to make things more interesting, several trips to Urgent Care. The first one was on New Year's Day, and after that, everyone seemed to fall ill with this nasty upper respiratory virus that ended with a persistent ear infection and lots of coughing, and at least two cases of strep. There have been snow days and sick days aplenty since the beginning of our ordeal.

But now, we are finally back in our house with new walls, new paint, new carpets and hardwood floors in the kitchen and dining room, and life is starting to become “normal” again. Well, as normal as it will ever be.

So, I'll leave you with some fun pictures of the "new and improved" Yarrington house:

Kitchen looking into dining room - I am in LOVE with my new hardwood floor!

Upstairs bathroom with a new and hopefully long-lived toilet, and a new decorating scheme

We have new paint in our living room as well, but I'm not in love with it, so I won't post those pictures. Perhaps we'll pull out the paint brushes in the spring or summer and start over. Until then, we have much to be thankful for!

God is good.

Living in the Moment

They say you learn something new every day.

Well, let me share something I learned yesterday. First of all, let me share where I learned it.

I learned it in therapy.

Hey, at least now the title of my blog makes sense again. I haven't been in therapy since before Al's stroke. So, it was about time that I sought some kind of counseling again since I've been through just a little bit of trial and trauma in the past four years.

Without even mentioning the stroke and the myriad of appointments and interventions and therapies for my husband, I can compile quite a list of stressors that have invaded my life:  depression, anxiety, PTSD, fibromyalgia, osteoarthritis, sleep deprivation, a nervous breakdown, multiple changes in jobs and insurance, and now, for the first time since the stroke, both my husband and I are unemployed, which means we're living just above the federal poverty level.

Oh, and did I mention that three of our children have been violently plunged into puberty, and one of them is currently learning to operate a motor vehicle?

You would think I'd have a therapist on speed dial.

But no, sadly, I haven't made time for therapy since the onset of these tremendous changes in our life almost four years ago.

This will be a story for another time, but I was unexpectedly thrust back into therapy yesterday. And I've already learned a lot.

You might think I should have known this already since I'm very well acquainted with depression and anxiety. But here's the wonderful little nugget of wisdom I learned today and I want to remember this, putting it into practice as much as I can:

Depression is dwelling on the past; 

Anxiety is dwelling on the future; 

Contentment is living in the moment.

Well, that seems easy, doesn't it? I suspect it will be harder to put a plan into practice according to this truth than simply absorbing the profound realization of that statement.

But it makes so much sense, doesn't it? When I get depressed about my life, it's almost always about my mistakes and seeming lack of ability to deal with all that life has thrown at me. However, Scripture tells me:

Forget the former things;

    do not dwell on the past.

19 

See, I am doing a new thing!

    Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?

I am making a way in the wilderness

    and streams in the wasteland.

Isaiah 43:18-19

God is always, always doing something new. And He is never surprised about our situations, our reactions, or our disobedience. He is always one step ahead of us (or maybe a thousand steps?), working it all together for our good and for His glory.

And if anxiety is worrying about the future, then what is my problem, exactly? Really? Okay, so I really do want some things in our life to change. And it is really scary to think about the lack of definition for our future when neither Al nor I have jobs. 

Of course, the answer to my anxiety is in God's Word as well:

Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, 

by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, 
present your requests to God. 

And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, 
will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. 
Philippians 4:6-7

So now, as I accumulate the proper tools, I will work on cultivating contentment.

Gratitude.

Trust.

Living in the Moment.

The Hardest Thing God Will Ever Ask You To Do

Do you ever wonder what God will ask you to do if you really say yes to letting Him be the Lord of your life?

I think I've held back all of my life because I'm afraid of what He'll tell me to do if I let go of all control. What if He asks me to do something really scary like going to a war-torn country to help fugitives escape? Or what if he asks me to approach a complete stranger to tell them about Jesus? (I don't know about you, but I might actually choose the war-torn country over trying to evangelize a complete stranger.)

What if God wants me to give up something I really love? What if he wants me to give up coffee as a sacrifice, to fast for someone's salvation?

This is me without coffee. Seriously.

The thing is, we've all heard stories where God asks people to give up beloved habits or possessions - or even people - or where He has asked them to do difficult things.

At the retreat I attended this past weekend, one woman shared that, when she was a newlywed, she and her husband were asked to open their home to have some young single people live with them...during their first year of marriage. She said it was one of the hardest years of her life. When God asked her to consider a second year, her automatic reaction was NO!!! But her husband asked her to reconsider (i.e. pray about it some more), she was able to say yes to the Lord and she felt much more peaceful about entering a second year of the situation that had been so stressful the first time around.

This past year, a dear friend's father had an unfortunate accident and fell into a coma. His wife, while praying for God's hand to be upon her husband, ultimately said to the Lord, "your will be done." Her husband died a few days after the accident. Of course, she went through the normal grief of losing someone so suddenly. But she had peace to accept God's will, and grace to see her through a very difficult time.

Neither of those situations is fun or easy, but God will always, always, always meet us with grace when we say yes and accept His will.

God really drove this point home for me this weekend:

The hardest thing that God will ever ask you to do is to say, "yes."

As soon as you say yes, His grace flows in and gives you what you need to handle what he places before you. Saying yes doesn't mean it won't hurt, or it won't be difficult, but saying yes opens your heart to allow all of the grace God has for you to get through the circumstance to which he has called you. Life is so much harder when you're struggling against God's will, against what He has put before you in your life.

Sometimes, when God asks us to do something for Him, we can say no. He gave us the free will to do that. But sometimes, God simply allows something to happen to us without asking us first - I mean, He is God, after all - and then asks us to say yes anyway, to peacefully accept what has come to us and not try to run away from it and not try to fight against it.

Another friend of mine has a mantra that I love to remember. When going through a hard time, she says, "Lean into it." Instead of pulling the other way, as in a tug of war, lean into the direction God is leading you, and trust that He will be enough to pull you through.

The Boundary Lines

Many years ago, I had an inspiration to claim Psalm 16 as my "Life Psalm," the psalm that would define, dictate, and comfort throughout my life. (In retrospect, I should have chosen 2 Chronicles 9:13, "Every year King Solomon received over twenty-five tons of gold." I'm just kidding, of course, because the Bible is always quick to tell us that money is the root of all kinds of evil. But I wouldn't mind finding out for myself!)

About six months ago, I had a revelation. For all of my life, I had thought I really trusted God. Probably because my life was relatively easy until then - no major health issues, I had a decent education, I got to do a little traveling before getting married and having kids. I found a good husband and had some pretty cute kids. Sure, I got all hot and bothered when they were little, thinking that I was failing as a mom and not trusting that God was using me to my full potential. But now, I can see better in hindsight, that God has given my children grace to grow in spite of my failings and my weaknesses. 

I usually trust God with money and material things, too. I just know that He knows our needs and the money usually shows up when we need it. I'm not saying I'm perfect in my trust for this area, but even when I get myself to worrying about it, I'm usually soon reminded of all the ways that God has been faithful in the past.

After Al's stroke, almost four years ago now, I felt the presence of God like I had at no other time in my life. He literally carried me through the darkest time in my life; when I felt I could hardly get out of bed because the weight of life was so heavy upon me, God gave me the grace to get up and go to work for yet another day, when some days, I honestly just wanted to give up and die. Somehow, over the past four years, my trust in God began to wane, and I blame that in large part on self-pity, when I started thinking, "Woe is me, God has left me to do this on my own." I felt very much alone, raising a family, paying the bills, working outside the home, with limited help from my husband due to the physical and mental damage done by the stroke. Basically, I felt like God promised me something, a happy life, an ideal family, and always enough to make ends meet, with maybe a few run-of-the-mill challenges thrown in to make me stronger or to help me train my children. But, as my priest once said to me, I felt like I'd been the victim of a bait and switch, and I felt like I had the right to be angry with God. And that's where my trust began to fail. God didn't give me what I thought He promised; he didn't live up to His end of the bargain, so why should I trust Him?

This past weekend, I went on a women's retreat, where I experienced a lot of grace to deal with this junk. Now, God is always giving us grace, but we aren't always in a position to receive it. For example, when I was folding my arms and stomping my foot like a little child, there wasn't a lot of room for me to receive His grace. So I repented. A lot. And then I asked God to just come in and do an overhaul in my heart. I felt like I had strayed so far from Him that I wasn't even sure how to get back, so I need Him to tug on my leash to bring me back to where I could at least hear his voice. (and yes, I did just compare myself to a dog.)

During a personal time of prayer, I was reminded of Psalm 16, my "Life Psalm." I began to read. I was stopped at verse 2: "I said to the Lord, 'You are my Lord, apart from you, I have no good thing.'" And again at verse 4: "The sorrows of those will increase who run after other gods."

There was my grave mistake: not living and acting as if God is enough. Not letting God be enough. I get impatient very easily, and I didn't want to wait for God to act anymore. So I just started taking matters into my own hands. The problem was that I didn't really know how to run my own life, and I certainly didn't know how to do it better than the Lord, so instead of living, I just escaped. I escaped into writing, surfing the web, reading, sleeping. I was trying to live an imaginary life vicariously through stories instead of trying to live the life God wanted me to, and being the woman He created me to be.

Verses 5 and 6 brought me to weeping: "Lord, you have assigned my my portion and my cup; you have made my lot secure. The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places."

The heart of the matter was that I didn't like where the boundary lines had fallen. It sure didn't seem "pleasant" to me that I was trapped in struggling family, with both my husband and myself out of work and barely living from paycheck to paycheck, neither of us having any peace or direction for our future. I kept saying to myself, "Lord, this is not what I signed up for."

But while I was on retreat, God gave me the grace to accept the boundary lines. I also came to the realization that, as I've gone through periods of grief where God has gently forced me to come face to face with the pain, I've actually gotten through it, and now, hallelujah, I've arrived at the final stage of grief, the stage of acceptance. This is where He has planted me and expects me to serve. And He wants me to serve joyfully, peacefully, with a willing heart, not grudgingly. And here's the wonderful thing about the Lord - when He gives you grace to do something (and when you open yourself to actually receive the grace), He gives you the peace to do it as well. 

So, now the game has changed. Instead of grudging the fact that I realistically have to do more to carry our family along than most wives would have to do, I am choosing to trust that God is giving me what I need to do it, and that He is also giving my husband what he needs as well. My tasks won't be any different. My service to my husband and family will be the same. But hopefully, they will be done better and more cheerfully than it had been done before. Because I have made peace with living inside of my boundary lines. I have accepted my portion and my cup.

Verse 11 says, "You have made known to me the path of life; you will fill me with joy in your presence, with eternal pleasures at your right hand."

This is the path that God has set me upon, the place where He deemed fit for me to serve and to grow in holiness. 

This is the boundary outline of my childhood home, 

where my parents still live. This place is the epitome of peace for me. 

My prayer is that I will grow to find the Lord's boundary lines

 for my life to be just even more delightful than this place.

#depressionlies

I posted this on my other blog, Jenny Sue Got Married in March, but it bears repeating.

I recently discovered this hashtag on Twitter: #depressionlies

That. Is. The. Truth.

Depression is a dark, ugly insidious creature that lives inside some of us. Well, maybe inside most of us at one point or another. But for some of us, depression has a permanent residence somewhere deep inside our psyche. We may need medication for it. We may need counseling. Sometimes, we may just need a scream-fest, an exercise-fest, a chocolate-fest, or in some cases, a good old-fashioned sex-fest.  (Sorry if you border on the prudish and I offended you with that comment. However, I do only recommend this approach with your husband or wife.)

The hardest part about depression is the feeling of being completely alone. This is where the lie comes in:  that voice inside our heads that tells us we're freaks, that “normal” people can deal with their problems, that we are the only ones who have these feelings and that it's best to not share any of our innermost turmoil with anyone else because they will immediately distance themselves from us because we are, I remind you, freaks.

The second hardest part about depression is encountering people who just don't understand it. The people who will tell us to pull ourselves up by our bootstraps. The ones who say, “Look at the bright side” or “Count your blessings” or “Things could be worse.” These are the people we want to punch in the face because they are, pardon my French, complete morons.

Depression is a real, medical, chemical condition. It is not just “the blues” which we all encounter from time to time. It attacks us when we least expect it, and it will often abuse us as the delicate balances of life are often thrown off; things like sleep, blood sugar, medications, exercise, sunlight, and yes, sometimes, circumstances.

I am almost constantly aware of my blessings: An amazingly patient and understanding husband, pretty cool kids who also happen to brilliant, creative and funny, extraordinary friends who help me in physical, practical, emotional and spiritual ways. Those blessings are only the tip of the iceberg.   However, I can be keenly aware of my blessings and still fall into depression when the chemicals in my brain get thrown off.

Sometimes, it only takes a few good nights' sleep to shake off a depressive episode. Sometimes it takes much longer.

One of my favorite songs ever is Demons by Imagine Dragons. If I could have played this song before my husband and I were married, I would have used it as a warning to him: “Don't get too close, it's dark inside.” But I'm blessed that he married me and has been an absolute rock in spite of the violent turbulence that sometimes shakes our life as a result of my depression.

If you suffer from depression, please remember #depression lies. And you are NOT alone.

Where Have I Been???

So, it seems I've all but abandoned this blog, but have no fear! I do intend to come back and continue writing about the process of my husband's recovery. In fact, he's gone for another 6-week intensive therapy stint a the hands of his parents in sunny Florida! We're hoping and praying that this trip will help him get back into the routine of exercising and hopefully make some further forward progress.

But here's what I've been up to. I travelled down a different road for a while and wrote THIS BOOK:

Strong

In a whirlwind romance, Kate falls in love with Chase, who has been partial paraplegic since a horrific car accident at age 17. Kate and Chase quickly make plans to spend their lives together. But when Chase decides to pursue a risky, yet promising, procedure that could potentially heal his paralysis, Kate has to wrestle with her faith in a God that she holds at arm's length, and confront her fear to find out where her strength ultimately lies. Set in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan.

 



Most of you know that my husband was disabled over three years ago by a stroke. I've dabbled a little bit in fiction writing, but I feel like this story was inspired by what we've gone through together. I have another book already in progress, and I have plans for writing more about people with disabilities.

It would mean so much to me if you could check out my book on Amazon, and if you're interested, please purchase a copy, although I know it may not suit everyone's interests, so there's no pressure. It's only available for Amazon Kindle for now, but if you don't own a Kindle, you can download the free Kindle app for your computer, tablet or phone.

Thanks so much for checking it out!

Positive Platitudes

I like to think that I am an optimist.  I always want to believe the best in people and situations.  I believe in the Truth:  "And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose." (Romans 8:28)

However, I become cynical when positive platitudes are thrown about too freely:

"The night is always darkest before the dawn."

"What doesn't kill you makes you stronger."

"God won't give you more than you can handle."

While the speakers of these phrases mean the best, the words become so trite that they can seem mocking or even hurtful.  Why?  Because they downplay the real pain that people are going through.  Sure, there comes a time in every circumstance when it's proper to look for the silver lining.  But the silver lining doesn't seem so beautiful if you haven't experienced the abject suffering of having the blackest, heaviest cloud suffocate you for what seems like an eternity.

There is suffering in life.  It's unavoidable.  

A dear friend of ours is suffering right now.  His father passed away yesterday as the result of a freak accident.  There is no way I would consider walking up to this friend and spouting off a platitude.  I will go to the visitation and cry with his family.  I have already cried.  I can feel the heaviness of their loss in my own heart.  I simply cannot say or do anything to make the situation better.  So I will simply walk with them and help them to carry the burden of their grief.

Grief

I won't blame you if you're getting sick of reading about grief.  I'm getting sick of going through it.

I can't write about Al's grief.  I don't understand it. 

All I know is my own grief.  I touched on it in my last post.  But it's becoming more intense now, so I'm trying to process it more fully.

It may seem odd to some people that there is still grieving to be done three years after the stroke.  Some of it is new grief.  Some of it is continuing grief.

Within the past few months, I've had an incredible new inspiration to write.  I started writing a book in January.  I am very much convinced that it is inspired by God.  I believe that He has given me a talent and unique insight to be able to write effectively.

But what I also discovered was, that the more I wrote, the more I got lost in my writing.  This has been a classic defense mechanism for me all my life:  escapism.

Let me clarify here:  Writing is not a bad thing.  It is especially therapeutic for me.  In fact, my dear friend who is a social worker tells me regularly that journaling for 15 minutes is equivalent to one half hour of therapy.  However, when I choose to live in my fantasy world, then it becomes a problem.

If I wasn't escaping into my writing, I would be escaping into YouTube videos or funny Vines or even senseless sitcoms on TV.  I sometimes escape by sleeping.

When I have any presence of mind to face what is really bothering me, I sometimes turn to self-pity instead of actual, healthy grief.

This past week, I had a wonderfully cathartic conversation with one of my closest friends.  I told her that I was escaping too much, indulging in self-pity, and giving in to jealousy about everyone else's seemingly perfect lives.

All I wanted to do was to fix my sin and move on.  I didn't want to get to the root of it. 

But, God in His mercy, finally revealed this to me:  I have to face all my hurt and walk through it with Him.  I have to grieve, and now is the time to start a new season of grief. 

So, what is it that causes me so much grief, you may wonder?  Al's alive, our kids are excelling in school, we're continually provided for, financially, spiritually, materially.

But it still hurts when this realization sinks in:  Al will never, ever, ever be the same as he was before the stroke.  Barring a miracle, Al will never go sledding with us again.  He may come to the beach, but he won't swim.  Our favorite vacation spot ever is the Great Wolf Lodge in Traverse City.  We could go back, but it won't be nearly as much fun for Al if he can only wade in the kiddie pool.  We might go to the mall together, but we won't walk very far. (This was one of our regular "date" activities, to go out to eat, and then just wander the mall, window shopping.)

Al's brain is being challenged to recover and work on problem-solving in his job.  This is a very good thing, and I think it will provide a lot of therapy in its own right.  But his short-term memory has been compromised.  I don't think it will ever be the same.  I'm slowly figuring out how to be a team with someone who forgets much of what I tell him. 

Our relationship is quite different than it used to be.  Granted, most married couples will say their marriages change over seventeen years, so some of it is due simply to the passage of time.  But some of it is obviously stroke-related, since Al's realm of emotions was compromised by the damage to his brain.  Some physical things were also impacted, aside from his arm and leg.  There are serious repercussions on our husband-wife relationship.  That. Really. Stinks.

In the last post, I said it would be hard for me to write about the things that were too personal.  This is the tip of the iceberg.  I'm starting somewhere, and I don't intend to share every ugly, painful detail here.  But besides the fact that I have to take God at His word when He says He is near to the brokenhearted (Ps. 34:18), I also think the Lord wants me to share some of my struggle openly so that others can take heart when they suffer a loss.

I want to convey the message, "You're not alone.  You can get through this with God's help."

I am longing for the day when I can look back and write a book about all the wisdom I've gleaned during these challenging years.

But for now, I have to be content with facing the issues and stumbling through them, no matter how ungraceful I am or how humbling it is for me.