Swimsuit Shopping With Jesus

I went swimsuit shopping yesterday - the summer quest women dread. I knew this year was going to be extra difficult, as I've gained 2 sizes this year from depression. You never want to be bigger when you go swimsuit shopping, but I had no choice.

Now, when I go clothes shopping for myself, if I'm going to be by myself, I consciously invite Jesus along, because clothes shopping without a friend is a terrible experience. Of course, swimsuit shopping is even worse than normal shopping, and it is so easy to quickly fall into the trap of "My body is all wrong! Nothing fits!" Before I started, I asked Jesus to please have the perfect suit for me, that I would feel pretty in and would fit my body well. That is a tall order coming from a plus-size woman. 

Because money is tight, I went to Walmart first. There is a six item limit in the changing rooms, so I had to undress, strain and squeeze myself into suits that only partially went on, change back into my clothes, go out to the cart, return with a new load, etc. Of course, the only suit that went ON properly was the last one I tried on, and it made me feel very ugly.  I did not feel properly covered, and thought the expanding polka-dot print made me look like a gangrenous, bloated whale. Disheartened, I texted Shannon about possibly checking Lane Bryant. A store considerably out of my budget, but one that I found guarantees a good fit. She texted back that I should *not* get the whale suit (to my relief!), so I headed for the car. 

As I was leaving Walmart, I had a little thought of "Go to Fred Meyer's" pop up. I set it aside for later, doubting that Freddy's would have anything, and went to Lane Bryant.

I hadn't visited Lane Bryant's new location in Valley River Mall, so I wasn't sure where they were located. After driving around the mall, futilely looking for a hint or sign of their location, I parked in the shade behind J. C. Penny, and walked in. Of course, I immediately checked the store directory, but Lane Bryant wasn't posted (they moved in May). I peered down the store aisle before me, craning my neck, but did not see any Lane Bryant sign, so I swung off to the right, through the food court. I thought I had remembered hearing they were by the old Gottschalk's, but they weren't. 

After walking the full circuit of the mall (with a slight detour through Bath & Body Works 75% off sale), I ended up on the opposite end of the aisle I had peered down earlier. There was Lane Bryant! Hips, knees, and ankles aching, I waddled painfully toward the store, and gratefully stepped inside.

I've always loved Lane Bryant. It feels so welcoming, which is not usually the feeling I plus-sized me gets from departments stores. Sadly, THEY WERE ALL SOLD OUT OF SWIMSUITS. =_= All the cool kids go swimsuit shopping in March. I found out I could still order online, and sadly left the store, walking a few steps to reach J C Penny's, and then out to my car. 

Hot, aching and exhausted, I resolved to pop in to Fred Meyer's, just in case, but I didn't hold out much hope. I was a little alarmed walking in to Freddy's, because I could see a lot of clearance items, but NO swimsuits! Dispirited, I wandered past the bright sundresses to the back end of ladies' wear, and TA DA! I found them! Swimsuits!! Hurrah!

Not only were there several suits to choose from, there were a variety of sizes, and many sizes for ME! Every suit I brought into the fitting room (with no silly limit of six items) went on easily, without feeling like I was trying to stuff and squeeze myself into a misshapen sausage skin. I actually got to choose which suit I felt prettiest in, with the color and pattern I liked (hot pink!), instead of being forced to choose between the lesser of two evils. It was wonderful.

I really like my new suit. The hot pink color pleases me. I feel properly covered, and I know I would feel comfortable sitting or walking around after swimming without having to change. 

I should have listened to that still, small, voice the first time.

I Am A Christian With Anxiety and Depression

I am a Christian. I suffer from anxiety and depression.

I struggle to accept that this is not some kind of moral or faithless failing in me.

My first set-too with depression was in college. I was attending university with no friends, no support group, working, taking 18+ credits, no adviser or advocate, the professor in charge of my undergraduate course (choral education) was prejudiced against me because I was home-schooled and a Christian, my mother was mysteriously ill with heart troubles, my grandmother had contracted stomach cancer, and my church at the time did not support or care for me in any way.

I didn't know I was depressed at the time. I thought it was normal to have no interest in life or activities. I thought I was "just tired and stressed" when I drove to school every morning, fantasizing about a semi-truck crashing into me and killing me instantly. I thought it was normal to have a fog around my thoughts and senses. I thought it was normal to wake up constantly tired.

I remember one evening I was in my room, hanging out with my little brother, and we were joking around and I laughed. I heard mom gasp from the living room, and comment to dad, "It's been so long since I've heard her laugh!"

I realized something might be wrong.

I was blessed that my depression was largely influenced by my circumstances at the time. When I graduated, it pretty much disappeared.

For awhile.

After a difficult relationship, I was once again plunged into depression and this time, its paranoid friend, anxiety and their partner in crime, self-harm.

But God has a higher plan, and He works all things together for the good of those who love Him - something I'm so grateful for.

I did not understand it at the time, but Papa-God was preparing my soul for some serious healing.

I continued walking after God as best I knew how. I was still depressed, frequently anxious, and when my emotions would overwhelm me, I would scratch at my wrists with my fingers, or anything sharp at hand until they bled. I did not think this was strange or wrong, it was just something I couldn't help doing, and it made me feel better.

I believed I was worthless and inherently shameful - so it didn't matter if I hurt myself.

God, in His tender (and humorous) wisdom brought people into my life. I don't understand how He did it, but He gave me two friends who were patient and stubborn enough to start living His love into my life.

My concept of myself as a worthless and repugnant creature was directly challenged, and my sanity fell apart.

It would be easy to assume that experiencing people loving me would make me feel better, but instead it made me feel worse. Confronting the negative and contra-scriptural views I had of myself brought them up into the open, and I was overwhelmed with conflicting emotions.

I would become hysterical 2 or 3 nights a week. I had panic attacks, and lived in a constant state of dreadful terror of my friends abandoning me. The emotions were so constant and overwhelming, I began cutting myself much more frequently. I clung desperately to my friends, and simultaneously pushed them away.

There would be times we were hanging out, laughing and having a good time, and suddenly, I would withdraw emotionally. Very shortly, I would make an excuse and lock myself in the bathroom, overcome by terror and a deep repulsion about who I was. I hated myself so much, I would smell a terrible stench that seemed to come off of my skin.

My friends would patiently wait outside the bathroom, knocking on the door and calling for me to let them in. Eventually, I would tremblingly be persuaded to unlock the door, and they would come in, gently wrap me in their arms as I shook with grief about how repulsive and shameful I was. As I cried, I would choke out a "confession" of whatever shameful thing I was thinking of, sure that as soon as they heard this new horror, I would be rejected and left alone with how disgusting I was.

Instead, I would be met with tight hugs, assurances of forgiveness, and often, gentle comments about how what I did was not wrong, and I was not guilty of my imagined crimes.

Months passed, and I wasn't seeming to get better. I realized that I needed more help than my friends could give. At church one day, a sermon on the paralytic at the pool of Bethesda spoke to me in a very personal way. As the preacher read the passage, he came to the part where Jesus asks, "Do you want to be well?" I felt as if Jesus was speaking those words to me, personally. I whispered yes (and cried, of course). When I arrived home, I promptly made an appointment with a counselor, and began the very difficult work of addressing my past.

It is lamentable that there is such a taboo on discussing emotional problems in the church. I have often met with callous misunderstanding and had verses about joy and peace hurled at me like weapons. I have often berated myself with angry recitations of God's promises about peace and joy, and my apparent faithless failure to feel them.

What I have learned is that anxiety, self-harm and depression are symptoms. Sometimes they are symptoms that something is medically wrong with our bodies. Just as we would not deny an asthmatic or diabetic their medicine, and just as Paul encouraged Timothy to take wine (medicine) for his stomach, we should not "tie up heavy burdens" of guilt and shame onto people's back.

In other cases, depression and anxiety are symptoms of deep emotional and spiritual pain that needs to be healed.

One of the things I struggled (and struggle) with was believing that I should be able to "just pray" and be delivered from my "bad" and "un-Christian" emotions.

You know something interesting? There are many recorded healing miracles of Jesus in the Bible. But there were many other people in the world at the time who He did not miraculously heal. One Bible-recorded person who was left un-healed was the apostle Paul.

I've realized that my desire for a short-cut (miracle) may not be what God will do.

And some days, I'm okay with that. There are other days, painful days, where I cry out for freedom from my soul-wounds and the aching, overwhelming emotions that spring from them.

I am learning that His grace is sufficient for me, because His strength is made perfect in weakness. I am learning that my weakness and "failures" in no way change the depth and passion of God's love for me - something my performance-oriented self deeply needed learn. God's love is not earned by my ability to always be joyful, or to be a perfect example, or to be able to accomplish everything anyone needs. His love towards me is not changed by my emotions or how badly I am hurt or not. His love for me is constant, no matter how depressed or anxious I am.

I love that about Him.

I love too that He is patient and persistent.

After I had initially been in counseling for about two years, I (and my counselor) felt that I had accomplished a lot of healing, and ended our sessions. My depression did not plague me, and while I sometimes felt anxious when circumstances were hard, I had effective coping strategies that did not involve self-harm. Most importantly, I had learned that I had worth. I was not repulsive, I was attractive, and wanted.

On a mission trip to South Dakota, God performed a healing miracle on my spiritual heart. Because of my previous relationship, I "learned" that I was not to be trusted with hearing from the Lord. As a result, I completely cut off my emotional connection with the Lord, terrified of making a mistake. During prayer with one of the leaders (on the interminable drive there), God restored my emotional connection with Him.

He's so sneaky.

I enjoyed three months of depression-and-anxiety free living, complete with a precious emotional connection with Papa-God.

Little did I know, He was giving me tools and preparing me for a severe work of healing.

Gently, He brought to mind a memory that I had long, long buried and forgotten, because it was too traumatic and painful to deal with. However, even with someone as tender and kind as Jesus, this kind of intense trauma is cripplingly painful.

I have once again found myself plagued with depression and anxiety. I've experienced terror and paranoia in these past few months that I did not dream possible. Speaking of dreams, my nights have become haunted with the horror of my past and my inability to stop what happened.

But this time is different. I understand that my depression and anxiety are symptoms of the trauma I experienced - I have every reason to feel depressed and anxious. I am not ashamed of these emotions. They do not reflect a meager trust in God, a failure or sin on my part. They are part of my healing process, and unless God chooses to do a healing miracle once again, they are something to be endured.

Consider:

The more I learn the Bible, the more verses cross-reference in my head.

Juxtapose these two verses:

1 Corinthians 13:12
"For now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part, then I shall know fully, just as I am fully known."

1 John 3:2
"Beloved, now we are children of God, and it has not appeared as yet what we will be. We know that when He appears, we will be like Him, for we will see Him just as He is."

(Emphasis mine).

Intriguing implications that I can't begin to wonder about.

For the record, I am extremely comforted knowing I am "fully" known.

Game of Choice

Life is a game of choices.

You don't get to see every consequence of each choice, but usually you can see enough to make informed decisions.

Sometimes though, you'll get thrown a left curve consequence, and end up in the hospital with a concussion and eye patch. (Although eye patches are cool.)

I'm realizing this more and more, and realizing that each choice I make is a choice of consequences.

True freedom, to quote Lord Vetinari, "is the freedom to take the consequences." (Going Postal, Terry Pratchett).

This includes bad consequences.

I know people who seem to think "freedom" is freedom from bad consequences.

This is not true.

A child sticks their hand on a hot stove. He is burned. He has pain. Choice - consequences. (In the case of my nephew, a stubborn THREE TIMES. He did eventually stop choosing to do that.)

Currently, I am choosing to blog about choice and consequences, instead of eating lunch, even though it's far past lunch time, and I did not have anything resembling a decent breakfast. I'm choosing the consequence of writing, and having emotional outlet and satisfaction, and the consequence of I'm going to be ANGRY hungry later, possibly without the physical or emotional resources to make food.

I'll just go start some rice. Excuse me.

Now I feel better - knowing I have chosen a set of consequences that will (most likely) turn out well for me. I have time to finish this blog (rice takes a bit to cook), and there will be food for me when I'm done!

Not everybody has the ability to choose their own consequences. People who were sadly raised without consequences, never seem to grasp the concept that the laws of universe apply to them. People who have endured trauma, abuse, or imprisonment, lose the capacity to choose for themselves, and that has to be rebuilt through extensive work. (I understand this from the inside.)

But grasping the concept that I get to choose is so freeing - and so terrifying.

No one can tell me what to do.

But no one else can bear the consequences.

There is one exception to this: the cross. And I love this.

(I wasn't intending this to be about Jesus, but apparently, I JUST CAN'T HELP MYSELF. One of the consequences of choosing Him over and over. Heh.)

Jesus bore the punishment for our sin on the cross - a consequence we would not survive doing. But the magical thing is: He didn't take away our choice. We can still choose which consequence we want.

Such a respecter of personhood He is.

Things I am currently choosing:
I am choosing to put my emotional health over my physical health.
I am choosing to eat delicious things, and not worry about "calories."
I am choosing to spend time with friends.
I am choosing to serve at church.
I am choosing to be creative.
I am choosing to study the scriptures.
I am choosing to avoid Facebook.
I am choosing to not worry. (This ... is more of a process that I'm TRYING to do.)
I am choosing to take a chance on my creative abilities to support me. (SCARY! ZOMC!)
I am choosing to buy some things, and not buy other things. <- this works way better for me than a "budget." Just a personal thing.
I am choosing to help other people, when I can, which is NOT all the time. <- HARD choice! =_=
I am choosing to accept help.
I am choosing to ask for help.
I am choosing to not confront people at this time. This is one of those rock and hard place choices where you can't see all the consequences. :/
I am choosing to NOT let other people control me, my time, my resources, my emotions. (Still ... practicing this one. I'm getting better!)
I am choosing to spend money on tea, because tea makes me feel awesome. ^_^
I am choosing to avoid people who stress me out, including Facebook. <- WEIRD for me. Usually, I feel it is my "duty" to be kind and sociable with everybody. Nope. I get choices! =D
I am choosing to let this blog post run on for-EVER! <- maybe not everybody will read all to the end. I'm okay with that.
I am choosing to relax today. And it feels AMAZING.

What are YOU choosing?

Lessons In Snow

It snowed here in the Willamette Valley. Last Thursday evening. It is now next Wednesday, and the ground is still "covered in white."

This being Eugene/Springfield, and not Alaska, the snow has heavily impacted life around here.

There has been no school. I know of two colleges that have changed their finals to online, or cancelled them completely. Instead of the Christmas rush, there are few straggling customers leisurely roaming the aisles at stores. People are home-bound, or only venture out for necessities. Christmas packages are delayed in the mail.

Usually enthused by snow, people are beginning to complain, loudly about the delay, their frustration, and the inconvenience. ("Companions, all whine loudly in angst of Christmas cheer!")

I am concerned myself about these continuous closures. I have a choir concert Monday night! My young choristers have now missed the three final rehearsals. Rehearsals that were sorely needed, mind you. I'm not sure what to do.

Many other people are chaffing at the enforced stillness and upset of their schedules. While I by no means wish to downplay the difficulties all this delay and ice is causing, I'm also struck by what this snow can teach us.

Lesson One: Be still and WAIT.

There is a lot to be said about stillness in the Bible.

Psalm 46:10 "Be still, and know that I am God."
Psalm 27:14 "Wait on the Lord, be of good courage."
Isaiah 40:31 "They that wait on the Lord will renew their strength."
1 Corinthians 16:13 "Be on your guard; stand firm in the faith; be courageous; be strong."

And of course, the infamous story of busy Mary and her sister Martha in Luke 10.
Busyness is an American disease. Even our "downtime" is filled with multi-tasking. We'll watch a movie while eating, chatting with people, making phone calls, doing homework, taking notes, playing video games and texting. Sitting still is unheard of. We bring books, phones, handheld games, magazines with us where ever we may go so we never have to endure quietly waiting.

Waiting and being still can be scary. It is so much easier to rush around, doing things that help us feel we are somehow arriving at a destination or solution.

We have taken the maxim, "Idle hands are the devil's workshop," and changed it into a giant practical theology of never stopping. 

I am seeing this snow as a challenge to my patience, and ability to wait. I am learning how to be still in the silence. 

Lesson Two: My Schedule is Subject to Change

Plans. We LOVE plans. Meal plans, shopping plans, diet plans, five-year plans, wedding plans. There are even jobs that are JUST for planning things! Wedding planners, party planners, financial planners, etc. etc. 

"Be prepared" is a motto of not only the Boy Scouts, but of all America, and not just because of the song.

When I went to Taiwan, I learned a very important, and very uncomfortable word: flexible. There were so many things that were different than expected, differently scheduled than expected, and through it all, we had to keep serving. We were flexible.

My choir missed two performances and (so far) two rehearsals from the snow. We have a performance Monday. Now, I could worry and be frantic, or I could be flexible. To me, being flexible means I accept that the vision of a perfectly prepared concert is something I need to let go of. In its place, I accept a concert that may be cancelled, post-poned, or on-time with the limitation of all those missed rehearsals. We can still be the best we can be, but because our circumstances are different, our best is different. 

And that's okay. 

I believe this is more in line with the scripture from James, "Come now, you who say, “Today or tomorrow we will go to such and such a city, and spend a year there and engage in business and make a profit.” Yet you do not know what your life will be like tomorrow. You are just a vapor that appears for a little while and then vanishes away. Instead, you ought to say, “If the Lord wills, we will live and also do this or that.”

Everything we do comes with the caveat, "Lord willing and the creek don't rise."

Yep, it means disappointments happen. (And it's okay to feel disappointed. Embrace that.) It also means we acknowledge that we are NOT God. Which, frankly, is something I'm grateful for.

It also means we have space to be grateful for the good things that come from changes in plans.

I'm disappointed and concerned about the delays and cancellations snow has caused. But I'm grateful for:

<- This Narnia Lamppost.Having five days to REST. Wow. Amazing.
Having five days with my Shannon. What!
Having a snow walk with my Shannon.
Leisurely Christmas shopping with my brother Peter - in the snow!
Time for making Christmas cookies.
Watching ALL the Christmas movies!
How beautiful everything looks in the snow.
The visual reminder that I am washed as white as snow!
That Shani got to take her finals at home. It helped her a lot.
Taking Coco outside in the snow was hilarious. And possibly traumatizing for her.
Wrapping presents.
Making decorations!
Seeing all the hummingbirds swarm our feeder.

This squirrel. (Such a poser) ->
So much cuddle time with our kitties.
Sleeping in late and warm.
Throwing snowballs at my nephew.
Leaving tracks in the snow.
Skyping with my best friend Caleb for more than an HOUR!
Peace that passes all understanding.
Space and time to think about things.
Lots of hot tea.
A new coat for the snow that keeps me warm!
How magical Christmas lights look in snow.
How bright snow makes everything!
The snow happening while I was sick, so I could skip school and rest without feeling guilty.

I'm grateful. Even for the bumps in this road.

Stuff I Have To Remind Myself Constantly

My hope is in the Lord.

My hope is in the Lord.

Some trust in chariots or horses.

My hope, is in the Lord.

Some trust in paychecks and savings.

My hope, is in the Lord.

Some trust in friends and family.

My hope, is in the Lord.

Some trust in church programs and services.

My hope is in the Lord.

Some trust in emotions, promises or moods.

My hope is in the Lord.

Some trust in health.

My hope is in the Lord.

Some trust in strengths, talent, capability.

My hope is in the Lord.

Some trust in elections, governments, power, or money.

My hope is in the Lord.

Some trust in a house.

My hope is in the Lord.

Some trust in time and education.

My hope is in the Lord.

Some trust in possessions and riches.

My hope is in the Lord.

Some trust in plans and goals.

My hope is in the Lord.
The maker of heaven and earth.
The Lord is in His holy temple, let all the earth keep silent.
The Lord is the everlasting. His lovingkindness endures forever. His mercies are new every morning.
Who is like the Lord? The hills melt like wax before Him.
I will remain confident of this: I will see the goodness of the Lord.
Though worms destroy this body, yet in my flesh will I see God.

The Trains

"I had a dream.

In my dream, I was at a train station. There were two sets of tracks, stretching away from each other until they disappeared in the distance. I was standing on a simple wooden platform beside the tracks. A throng of people were pressed together, waiting. Between the steps that led to the two trains stood a man in white with the most welcoming, joyful smile. The people pressed towards him. Some of them wept silently, tears of joy streaking down their cheeks as they reached for his hands. Some of them shrieked excitedly, and leaped to embrace him. Some of them knelt and kissed his feet. He knew the name of each one who approached him, and threw his arms around them, kissing them, and laughing uproariously. He took their right hands, and put a beautiful ring on their fingers. He gave them a dazzling white robe to wear, and sent them to board the train on his right.

But many of the others slunk by him without saying a word. They silently boarded the train to his left. They did not weep, but their faces were a mask of terrified regret and sadness as they boarded the train, and never looked back.

One man boldly approached the man in white. He crossed his arms, and demanded. "I belong on that train," and nodded toward the train on the right. The man in white looked at him, and said, "I do not know you."
The man's face got red, and he angrily thrust out his right hand, showing off a garish ring. "Look, I even have a ring. Now let me on!"

Nobody breathed. The man in white looked at him, and his face was stern. "I never knew you. Depart from me."

The man opened his mouth, and shouted, but no sound came out. His feet turned abruptly, and marched him toward the other train. He disappeared into it, mouthing angry protests.

The man in white turned back to his work, and the angry man was forgotten.

It must have been a long time, but seemed only a moment, and the tiny station was empty. I stood there alone with the man in white. He smiled at me, and nodded towards the train on his right. I followed him into the train.

There was only one car, and inside it were millions and millions of people. I could never have counted them all. They stretched on forever, and at the same time, everyone was near the front, where they could see and speak to the man in white. He sat down in the conductor's seat, and shouted out with a laugh, "All aboard!" and started the train.

As we pulled away from the station, singing, laughing, and shouting. I caught a glimpse of the other train, dark, silent and miserable, pulling away from us in the opposite direction. I looked ahead of us, and saw the tracks rising sharply, like a roller-coaster. I cried out, "Please, I'm afraid!"

The man in white turned and winked at me, "No you're not." he said.

And I wasn't."

The End

Unlike many of my short stories, this really was a dream. It was a beautiful, and somber dream. I woke up crying and really happy. So I wanted to share it.

I Like Who I Am

I do.

I am kind.

I am loving.

I am compassionate.

I cry a lot. For others and for myself.

I feel things deeply - I've always thought that my emotional scale was much wider than everybody else.

I am funny. I love humor. Not unkind, cutting humor, but wit, spark and the just plain sillies.

I smile and laugh a lot.

I have a hard time being serious, even when I ought to be. There's always a part of me that wants to giggle.

I am smart.

I work hard.

I think about things - a lot.

Sometimes, things bother me - a lot - but I keep thinking.

I don't really care about the global situation - I don't feel like I have any control over that, and I just end up worrying. But I care about my neighbor. And that lady on the street. And two kids in Africa. And my family.

I am tall.

I have blue eyes.

My nose wrinkles when I smile.

I am fat. And more days now, I'm okay with that. The people who love me, love me and my body. I could have a sculpted, thin body, but I don't want to pay the price for one. For me, it would cost my self-worth, my relationships, and my focus on who I am in Christ. So I choose to accept my body as-is.

I love food.

I have bad eating habits. I'm working on changing that. And that's good.

I am creative.

I am artistic.

I have grandios, gigantic, over-the-top, Broadway ideas.

I like to write.

I love cats.

I like to cook.

I'm generous.

I'm hospitable.

I'm not very good with money. I'm working on that too.

I play the piano very well.

I sing beautifully.

I like people.

I have a distinct sense of style.

I like my long hair.

I am not very tidy.

It's hard for me to be organized.

I procrastinate.

I love video games!

I don't like scary things.

I love reading.

I like being read to.

I don't know how to dance, but I love to do it.

Thunderstorms frighten me. Bridges frighten me. Lots of things frighten me. But I don't let that stop me.

I am brave.

I am persistent.

I fight for what is right.

I am wise.

I am learning when to keep my mouth shut, and what to say when I open it.

I like myself.

I think I'm pretty cool.

Jesus does too. In fact, He's the one that taught me that I'm pretty cool.

Because He thinks I'm to die for.

Thinking About Weddings & Marriage

I am attending a wedding today. Along with that, I've been watching David Tutera's My Fair Wedding, and it's not inaccurate to say I've been thinking a lot about weddings. For me, that also involves thinking about marriage.

Growing up, I always thought that I would be married around 22 (the same age my mom was), and be popping out babies, and supporting my husband in whatever he did.

I just want to say a quick "THANK YOU, JESUS!" for knowing my best, and not choosing to saddle some poor man with that old me, who didn't even know she could be a person in her own right, and didn't know that she had something special to contribute to the world.

As I've gotten older, and - thankfully! - wiser, my concept of marriage has changed. As I've experienced real relationships, and walked through dark times with people, my concept of relationship has changed.

I no longer see marriage as a 1950's sitcom, where I maintain a spotless house, raise two clean, perfect children, and selflessly and endlessly support my husband in whatever he does. (Don't get mad at me yet, wait for me to explain!)

I no longer view relationship as a one-sided affair of giving to others, ignoring my own needs, and always being "the strong one."

When I used to think about marriage and any other relationship, it was from a point of emotional bankruptcy, and a confused concept of who I was as a person. I was completely empty of love - I loved others, but I could not accept love from others, and frankly, I thought I was worthless.

I didn't approach the idea of "supporting my husband" from the view of "We are two strong people, partnering together to change the world," but from the view of "I have nothing to offer, except trying to make this person a little comfortable so he can do his job."

Do you see how ill that is?

Thanks to the relationships I have had in my life, my best friends, my pastor, my counselors (both professional and simply "wise elders"), I have come so, so, SO far.

When I think of marriage now, and who to marry, I am looking for someone I can partner with to change the world. I am looking for someone who complements my strengths, and vice versa. I'm not looking for a knight in shining armor to sweep me off my feet, I'm looking for another soldier in the same army, who's charging in the same direction!

I had an opportunity to get married, once. I was in a relationship with a guy, and it was not a good or healthy relationship. But how could it be? I was not a healthy person, and I had never experienced a good and healthy relationship of any kind.

I am so grateful that the good Lord in His wisdom spared me from marrying that person. (I'm sure he's grateful too!)

It broke my heart - please do not make any mistake about that. It killed me inside to break up with this person, to say, "I understand now that this is not right, and I have to choose Jesus." Right after that break up, I didn't want Jesus. I couldn't understand how He could "let this happen to me" if He loved me.

But out of that brokenness and emotional death, God brought into my life people who would live out a healthy relationship with me. People who actively loved me unconditionally, people who were determined to fill my crippled, empty soul with love, people who refused to stop showing me "You! Are! Loved!" until I listened.

God, through them, showed me that my perception of relationships was wrong. God, through them, showed me that my perceptions of myself was wrong.

I am not worthless. I am amazing, and I have so, so much to offer the world, it's staggering. There is no need for me to hide behind someone else, "supporting" them. No, I am called to be up front, with them, working together.

Relationship isn't about me being "the strong one" and not having any needs! Relationship is about growing each other toward Christ, demonstrating Christ to each other, and practicing Christ daily.

Because we are both practicing Christ, I serve their needs, and they serve mine. Sometimes, we are the Samaritan, and sometimes we're the beaten up guy in the road. Sometimes we're both at the same time! But the purpose is always Christ in me, growing in me, shining out through me, and being practiced through our relationship.

 I am so blessed to have not one, but two relationships like this. I'm not saying "We're always perfect with each other!" No. No, not at all. But we are practicing Christ. We fail, we forgive, we try again. We get angry, we work it out, we try again. We communicate, we get confused, we understand, we try again

Seeing a pattern? Practicing something doesn't mean you're already good at it. It means you're practicing to get better. Practicing means you don't give up, you don't stop, you keep trying until for one glorious moment, you get it right! And the world explodes in beauty and joy as love pours from you and into you, and all is right with the world.

Then you make a joke that's not funny, or you forget to take out the trash, and you get to try again.

THAT is what I'm looking for in a marriage partner. Someone to partner with, to practice Christ with, and someone who will always, always, try again.

A Choice and a Voice

This morning, I found myself lying in bed contemplating jumping off the high dive this year on PE fun day.

I'm sure those of you who know me are as flabbergasted as I am.

In my younger years, I climbed up to the high dive, trembling in line, at least once every year on PE fun day, only to find myself ashamedly muttering "excuse me, excuse me," and sliding down the stairs.

It was not until late high school that I finally realized I didn't have to jump off the high dive if I didn't want to.

What a wonderfully freeing thought! I didn't have to "prove" my courage to anyone, I didn't have to climb those stairs, and face that terrifying ledge if I didn't want to.

I haven't thought twice about leaping off the high dive since. Until this morning.

I had just finished Lisa Harper's book, Overextended and Loving Most of It. It ends with a scene where a dad and son both take a leap of faith off a cliff into water. She challenges us to live like that - taking chances.

That's how I found myself considering the high dive.

Obviously, I'm not saying that jumping from the high dive is going to make me "level up" in my faith, or move me closer to Jesus. But I do wonder if my new levels of freedom from anxiety and fear could handle me making that leap of faith.

Which brings me to my point: the importance of a choice and a voice.

Relationship where you do not have a choice or a voice is not relationship, it is terrorism and tyranny.

While it is not obvious in the small scale, when viewed large-scale, this is painfully apparent.

For example, if someone suddenly burst into my room with a pistol, and shouted at me to come outside, I would - rightly so - feel frightened! Why? Because I, my safety, my autonomy, and my feelings are obviously of so little value to this person. I don't matter.

When we are consistently deprived of having a choice and a voice, even if it's in small things, like what to wear, what to read, where to go, entertainment preferences, how to spend our time, the message we receive is I don't matter, and this is crippling.

If I don't matter the world is necessarily a frightening place, because nobody will look out for me, except myself. If I don't matter, I am not loved, because you can't love something that doesn't matter. If I don't matter, I have to work really hard to always be pleasing, or I'll be abandoned.

This perception of myself twisted and distorted my view of God. I believed I don't matter more than I believed God loves me. He has brought me to a new understanding of myself though, I do matter. As I replaced that internalized lie with the truth, I began to learn that I had choices in life. God didn't want me to be miserable (Yes, I honestly believed that serving God = you MUST be miserable)! I could make wise choices about serving Him that also brought me joy.

I learned that I could tell Him, "I want this, or that" without feeling guilty about voicing my desires, and knowing that my wants went into His consideration for my best.

As I learned that I matter, I also began to work through my fears and anxieties. Since I matter, other people are looking out for my best interest. Other people care about what happen to me. God cares about what happens to me. Since I'm not alone in the world, the world is not as scary.

I have a choice about what to do, what not to do. I have a choice about what to wear, and what not to wear. I have a voice in decisions about me, ranging from big life decisions to what movie we'll watch on netflix.


Which brings me back to the high dive. I might just choose to jump off it, just to see for myself how much fear has been conquered in my life.

On the other hand, I might not.

It's my choice.

Failure is a Satan Word

I had an interesting day yesterday, with quite a bit of mental strain and stress. I spent $200 on a mattress (a good deal that I think will pay off in the long run, but $200 is not a quantity of money I just spend.) In addition, the fact that my beautifully planned out budget for the month was a miserable failure increased the anxiety I felt about the mattress.

I also went to Walmart and bought some necessities, breaking the budget even MORE, and, in the process, completely spacing out, and walking away from the cashier with my cart to grab an item I had forgotten (sandpaper), and taking several minutes to figure out why my cart was empty.

I'm out of it, y'all.

This morning, I woke up feeling down, tired and depressed. I got up a touch later than usual, and went about my routine, getting tea, feeding the cats, sitting down to read my Bible ... But it all felt off and unreal. If you've ever experienced depression (which I have, and am currently experiencing), you know what I mean. "Life" is more like going through the motions as you try to work around your curled up, miserable soul.

I began prayer time reading Proverbs, and then read some Matthew, not really feeling "connected" to Jesus. Then I began to pray. Usually I sing to Him, but the song felt like sawdust and salt and stuck in my mouth. So I just started talking. I told Him how yucky I felt, and depressed, and the worst part is not knowing why. Just ... down. And as I continued to talk to Him, and ask questions I began to realize and voice: "I feel like a failure."

Failure is a Satan word. I used to own that word, and believe it about myself, and repeat it to myself, over and over. I know now, that "failure" is not me. I wrote in my journal:

"Failure is not a word that describes a child of God. With His words, He brought into being all that is or was (John 1) With His words, He has declared me beloved, (Jeremiah 31:3) [daughter] (1 John 3:1, Galations 3:26), friend (John 15:15), forgiven (Psalm 103:12), righteous (Philippians 3:9), holy (1 Corinthians 6:11),  worthy (2 Thessalonians 1:5), citizen of heaven (John 14:3), complete (Philippians 1:6), beautiful (Song of Solomon 4:7), and good (Genesis 1:31). Failure is a Satan word, and it has no part in me."

I was feeling like a failure because I had "failed" to anticipate and provide for all our financial needs with my budget. How silly!!!!! I am not God! I do not want to BE God, and I am so grateful HE is God, and not ME! I began to praise Him for providing for our needs, I asked for forgiveness for making my budget without asking for Him, and trusting in Him (Thou shalt have no other gods before Me ... This is includes budgets) to provide. The Bible says over and over, God will provide for my needs. God will provide for my needs. Nothing is too difficult for God. If my earthly Papa knows how to give good gifts (and he does), how much more my all-powerful, all-knowing, all-loving Papa knows how to give GOOD gifts!

As I continued to praise God for providing, and for His forgiveness (and forgiving myself, and since I was on a roll, I forgave some people in my past who had hurt me - feel the chains fall off, people! Oh, God is good!) my spirits lifted. I could sing, and laugh and I remembered who I am! I am God's beloved, and precious treasure, and I am so super cool and awesome that God delights in me, and takes joy in me, and He loves me SO MUCH, that He sent His only son to die on a cross so that I would not die, but have everlasting life! Oh! God is good! All the time! All the time, GOD! IS! GOOD!

I share this, as intensely personal as it is, because I want to remind you, failure is a Satan word. It has no part in your life. The next time he comes to whisper that word in your ear, be like Edna Mode from the Incredibles movie:

Upon Silver Hair

I've accepted, made peace, and even decided to enjoy "getting older," and I've discovered that contrary to popular media, ageing isn't all that bad. While it's weird to think of myself as thirty, an age portrayed as the last gasp of breath before the grave, I don't feel very different.

I've accepted that my age has nothing to do with what I can accomplish.

I'm rejoicing in the wisdom that has come with my years of experience.

I've rejected the social expectations and stigma on persons of my size, personality, preferences, and enjoy loving myself as I am. (Because, let's face it, I'm pretty cool.)

While I'm disappointed that my life doesn't look like I thought it would when I was thirty (no blonde children running around a well-kept house and lawn with a handsome husband in the background), I would not trade what I do have; dear, tried-and-true friends, three kitties, mission trips, students that adore me, time for art and reading, baking and gaming, for any bobble-headed, soap-bubble dreams from my sixteen-year-old self, bless her heart.

However, despite my obvious well-adjusted attitude toward ageing (such a word in our culture!), I simply cannot seem to cope with one aspect:

My silver hairs.

Aside from the first one, which my friend Caleb noticed first, plucked out, and shoved under my nose saying, "Look at that!" (thank you), no one except myself and my hair stylist (i.e. cutter of hairs) has noticed them.

This is understandable, as there are only a few of them (6 or 10), and they all grow together in one streak on the right side of my head. Usually, they're covered over by the rest of my hair, but every once in awhile, they decide to gleam in the bathroom mirror, and remind me of their existence.

And it bothers me. Every time.

I can't seem to reconcile myself to these few silver hairs sprouting from my head - gratefully, they ARE silver, instead of gray or white, so I can make some pretense at pretending they are "cool," or possibly the early sign of a comic-book, super-power mutation.

This morning I woke up, and somehow they had conspired with the rest of my head to part my hair while I slept so it centered around them, and they stared back at me from the mirror like an unwanted halo.

I'm not certain why they are so hard for me to accept. Perhaps because every woman I know (my mother and paternal grandmother excepted) dyes their hair. Even men no longer allow their heads to grow hoary with age.

Perhaps because gray hairs are one of the few typical evidences that I'm ageing. I'm blessed with young-looking genes on my father's side (my great-grandfather actually convinced his wife he was 10 years younger than he was. She did not discover his duplicity until his death). While I'm no longer mistaken as a high school student, most people still ask me how college is going, even though I graduated in 2006!

Actually, this can be rather frustrating, as people can find it difficult to take me seriously since I must be so much younger than them. Ironically, I am now nearly in the same age bracket as many of the parents I work with.

I think I will stop cringing when I see those silver hairs. Instead, I will welcome them as a sign of my adulthood, maturity and wisdom. I've worked hard for this age, and I like myself. I will allow that silver streak to remind me of all the struggles I've been through to get where I am.

They're not a sign of ageing. No.

They are, indeed, a badge of honor. Silver threads that lead from my past, and promise victories for the future!

I'm Not Alone

I've been doing better this week! I've wanted to post about this sooner, but - well, you know me, "Busy, busy!" (I'm working on that.)

After I posted my blog last time, something really, really amazing happened:

People called me!

One of my friends called me immediately, and talked with me about my struggles, encouraged me with his friendship, and assured me he would be there for me - I wouldn't be alone.

After that, my favorite sister-in-law (I only have one) texted, and invited me to come along on some errands with her, and my favorite nephew (again, I only have the one), then we went out for tea. (Bubble tea! Whoo hoo!)

I was so encouraged.

It helped me a lot, and now that I'm feeling a bit better, I can have some more perspective on what was happening to me emotionally.

Last year was pretty awful. I was very isolated. I had my children, yes, but my peers had moved away, (Caleb, Peter, Lisa) were enmeshed in their own difficulties (Bry, Amy), etc.

And the thing is, we're not meant to be alone.

I know my blog alarmed some people - especially the people who haven't experienced living with those kinds of emotions. But I'm proud of it.

I'm proud that I shared what I was feeling, because there were two good consequences from it:

1) I expressed how I felt by doing something creative and constructive instead of hurting myself,
2) I found out I was not alone.

I think that is the scariest thing for me; feeling like I'm totally, completely alone with no one to help me, and having to be strong all by myself.

But having people respond to me - show me that they care about me, that was so affirming!

It was also encouraging, because it confirmed that even if I AM busy and stressed out again this year, and even if the financial situation doesn't improve, there is something different, and it's a big thing:

I am not alone.

And that gives me courage.