Some thoughts on Phil Robertson's firing

I don't watch television, apart from football when my husband is home.  I don't have cable, and I have never enjoyed reality tv either, so when I saw headlines about Phil Robertson's "abrasive" comments about homosexuality, I didn't pay them much mind.  Conservative Christians are regularly being lambasted for their opinions in the casual press, and the poorly argued, one sided words of an highly opinionated Yahoo! blogger/journalist aren't exactly the spoonful of sugar in my day.  I figured Mr. Robertson is a nationally famous multimillionaire with lots of guns and a big beard.  He can take care of himself. 

But now I see that the Mr. Robertson has been suspended from the taping of his family show, Duck Dynasty, in direct reference to his statements, and a lot of my friends on facebook are up in arms.  They are calling foul on freedom of speech, on religious freedom, on social equality, and oddly enough, on the religious right for not throwing around as much social pull as the homosexual agenda.  And before we raise a stink up to the heavens, I'd like to raise a few thoughts on the subject.

1.  A & E, the hosting network, is not the government.  The first amendment protects our right to free speech from government interference, not corporate interference or social interference.  If A & E doesn't want to take a risk with an outspoken Christian personality, they don't have to.  And if they want to risk alienating the millions of viewers who liked Duck Dynasty for its distinctly Christian personality, they may.  It's their business.  They make those decisions.  They might lose quite a bit by this decision, but it was their decision to make. 

2.  This move isn't going to hurt the Robertson family much.  They have a very successful business, and thanks to their tv show, they have a high profile in society and will continue to have a high profile in conservative circles.  Shoot, maybe this will free up enough time for him to get involved in politics.  Wouldn't you love to see someone like that speaking his mind on the Senate floor, or better yet, working on the budget committee?

But the real point is that this is not a Hobby Lobby situation.  This move by A & E is not going to destroy their lives and income.  It just takes them out of the public limelight, and given what limelight can do to people, that's a mixed consequence.  If we are going to cry out for justice, then lets focus our energies where lives and livelihoods are really at stake. 

3.  Yes, it does hurt to have good role models removed from television, but why are we looking to television for our role models anyway.  I read an article a while back that asked Christians to consider which parts of our secular culture we have baptised into our Christian way of life.  With that in mind, do we really want to encourage our children and each other to look to the world of media to figure out how we're supposed to live? 

      They're going to see it anyway, you might say.  They don't have to.  We none of us need to watch television.  It's not something that essential for spiritual development and not necessarily healthy for other types of development.  It's entertainment, and therefore a dispensible commodity.  And we don't need to be fully immersed in entertainment in order to be discerning about the parts we do partake of.  We just need to know what we believe, and we need to realized that we don't need to have what everyone else has or do what everyone else does. 

    But someone might have come to Christ through that show, you say.  Entirely possible.  I'm sure many have, just I am sure that Tim Tebow's short NFL career gave a lot of people something to think about in terms of a relationship to God, a righteous life, and a stand against abortion.  However, we also need to recognise that a godly life is no guarantee of earthly fame or career satisfaction.  And God uses many, many ways to bring people to Himself, including the way that his people represent Him when they are under fire.  For instance, there are biblical injunctions against grumbling in the desert spaces.  This is something we should keep in mind. 

4.  Why do we expect fair treatment?  We were warned at the beginning that the world would hate us just as it hated Christ because he exposed its sinful deeds.  The entertainment industry is the world.  The homosexual agenda is the world.  The American government is the world.  They may each in their place be interspersed with Christian persons and personalities, but they are the world, and we shouldn't expect them to advocate our values. 

Christianity has been the modicum of normality in this country for a long time, and before that, the terms Europe and Christendom were almost synonymous.  So when we see social control slipping away from us, we begin to think that something has gone devastatingly wrong.  I'm not so sure.  For one thing, Christendom has never been purely Christian.  There has always been the tendency to baptise some elements of the popular culture into Christian practice and to compromise in the name of practicality. 

So we need to ask ourselves, is our expectation of "fair treatment" based on worldly assumptions?  If it is, then we have some adjustments to make.  If now, we find that the church is exerting less control over society in general, perhaps we also find that the church is finding a purer expression of itself.  And being relegated to a status of freakdom might be good for us.  Now people think they know what we have to say.  If we were as odd to the average American as a woman in a hijab or hippie draped out in beads or an Amish man with his suspenders and beard because we live out what we profess, might that not be a good thing?

Our opponents may make a dogged effort to silence and sideline us, but they cannot destroy us.  As we raise a hullabaloo because the network canceled our favorite programming, let's remember that this is really a 0.2 on the Richter Scale of persecution.  Mr. Robertson was set up.  They knew how he would answer the question. It's nonsensical. It's not fair. It could be a stepping stone to making life a lot harder for a lot of people.  But it's not North Korea.  Let's remember three things to help us keep this in perspective. 

1)The church has been through this before, and much of our body goes through much worse on a daily basis now.  This is straight Daniel in the lion's den type of stuff, people.  And that should encourage us because . . . 

2) God got them out of those situations.  A lot of prophets died under Jezebel, but God provided people like Obadiah and Jehu to make sure the remnant was faithful, and those martyrs all got honorable mentions in Hebrews 11.  I'm sure it was terrifying watching the worship of God melt away in favor of Baal, but it wasn't permanent.  I'm sure Daniel was upset with the decree that he could only pray to the king, but he didn't imagine that God would take less care of him because of it.  So. . .

3)  If we really want to follow the example of the saints of old, we should do less complaining and more encouraging.  If you feel the need to write to A&E and respectfully say, "I really liked that show.  I wish you hadn't canceled it," do so.  Or better yet, send some encouragement to the Robertson family.  I don't follow their show, so I don't know how to contact them, but I'm sure they'd appreciate some kinds words.    Maybe try their business website.  Post something encouraging on your facebook or twitter accounts. 

The important thing to remember at moments like this is that the world judges our Lord as it sees us.  Our response to trouble says as much about our faith as it does about the situation we are in.  We need to "boast in the hope of the glory of God.  Not only so, but we aslo glory in our sufferings because we know that suffering produces perseverance, perseverance, character, and character, hope.  And hope does not put us to shame, because God's love has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit, who has been given to us."  (TNIV) 

The A. family Christmas letter

Greetings to all our family and friends.  Merry Christmas and many blessings in the New Year. 

It's that time when we all dig deep into our memories to relive the blessings and trials of the past year and review our hopes of things to come.  Reflection teaches us gratitude and perseverance.  I didn't really feel like writing this letter/blog until I began reading the letters coming in from the friends and family who have our new address and thought about how much life can change in a year. 

Our year started out with the laying to rest of Seth's mom, who passed away right about this time last year.  She was an outstanding woman, and we miss her, but she would be disappointed in us if we didn't continue to live wholeheartedly. 

Seth moved from the first line response to second line response and training in his job.  He repairs the machines that Intel uses to lay the blueprints on microchips.  Ask him about it sometime.  It's a fascinating process.  His promotion means that for the first time in his life, he is working a Monday through Friday, 9 to 5 (or in his case 7 to 4) schedule for the first time in his life.  It also means that for the first time in our marriage, I have had my husband from Christmas to Christmas with no deployments, training, or duty days.  Go ahead.  Ask me how that feels.  Actually, I'm not sure how to process that. 

When he's home, Seth enjoys putting our house in order, cheering on his beloved Broncos, and experimenting with meat and cocktail recipes. 

I am keeping busy, as of course everyone does.  The role of stay-at-home mom treats me well.  I've maintained my teaching certificate and have made a couple of sputtering attempts to start a tutoring business.  I haven't given up, and in the meantime I tutor people online through a company called Brainfuse.    I've dabbled a little in the domestic arts like quilting and trying out new recipes, but mostly my life seems to be just keeping things rolling right now.  I'm a little restless, but I'm pretty sure that's my fault.  I've been meeting with my pastor to help sort out the complications of being a civilian wife.  I really need to get back to work on my many novels.  Wouldn't it be a blessing if I actually published something before I died.

In July we experienced two big blessings.  The first was that after about a year of looking, we found a house that suits our needs in our price range.  It was a short sale with plenty of work that needed to be done.  The house is sound, but in the process of moving in, we had to clear out 3 tons of garbage, scrub furiously, and paint.  Seth refinished the floors himself.  Never again, he says.  The second blessing was with us only for a few weeks.  In July we discovered that I was pregnant, which was an answer to prayer.  In August, I had a miscarriage, and baby Blessed as we called him/her became another anchor in the world beyond to draw us home.  I learned that losing a child is a common sorrow, and I learned to appreciate my fellow women a lot more.  And we learned to keep hoping after disappointment, which is something everyone needs to really learn at some point. 

Boogaloo finished her year at preschool with glowing reviews and flying colors.  After an energy filled summer, she started kindergarten.  She loves almost everything about school, from the bus ride to the teachers to "my kids", as she calls her classmates.  She started school in one class under a Ms. M., a teacher she adored, and then in October, she had to transition to school in our new hometown.  She managed it a lot better than I had expected, and now she adores her new teacher, Mrs. C., and her student teacher.  The school is providing her with limited speech assistance, but all her grownups agree that she is a joy to have in class and does very well on her own.  She has a few friends in her class, and she can tell me their names.  I'm foreseeing an actual birthday party with kid guests when she turns six, and I'm thrilled.    

When Boogaloo is at home, she spends her time memorizing Calvin and Hobbes  cartoons and reenacting them with her stuffed animals.  She still loves bears, dinosaurs, and Dora the Explorer,  and she has decided her favorite color is yellow.  Really bright yellow.  In many ways, I think she's a lot like me. 

That's where we stand at the close of this year.  We are excited to see what God will lead us through in the coming year.  Each year is a new lesson in faith.    What will we learn this time around?

Much love from the A. family.

Jennifer

House pictures: inside

I've been delaying posting pictures of our new house because it isn't finished yet.  We have done so much, and we still have so much to do. But we have a few rooms nearly complete, and I just can't resist showing off our blessing.  It's a really nice house.  However, the weather lately has not been nice, so I'm only posting pictures of the inside.  The outside can wait until spring. 

 

This is our diningroom.  It's the perfect size for our table, and it has the important added feature of hardwood under the table area.  We looked at so many houses with carpet in the diningroom, and I just had to shake my head.  Apparently those designers didn't have kids.

 

 Making gingerbread houses for the first time.  The wall behind Boogaloo is slated for a flowering cherry tree.  We've asked Seth's sister, who is a graphic arts major, to paint us a few murals. 

 Hey, that's me.  The Boo takes pretty good pictures, doesn't she?

 This is the the rough housing room, otherwise known as the Cedar Room.  (Don't ask.)  SEth has done it up in Broncos colors, and we're going to put foam tiles on the floor in lieu of carpet.  Then in a couple of years, we're hoping to get a projector, and we'll watch football on the wall you can't see from this angle, which is painted white. 

 

 

This is Seth and my room.  Sorry.  The angle is bad.  It really is a lot bigger than it looks.  When we're finished painting, we'll have a winter woods sort of theme going on. 

 This is Boogaloo's room.  We let her pick the color, and she loves it.  She's got more closet space than she'll ever use and quite a bit of floor space too, though she somehow manages to use all of that. 

 Our livingroom is huge.  We've actually divided into several sections.  This is the book section. 

 This is the general entertainment section. 

 And here is a glimpse of the computer/music/business section.  Notice the nice shiny floors.  My husband did that. 

 Our nice big utility room, with more storage than I know what to do with (at the moment). 

 And our kitchen, which also has a lot of storage and counterspace.  Somehow I've managed to fill all of it, but it wasn't easy. 

That's pretty much the inside of our house.  We like it.  It suits us.  If you're ever in the neighborhood, stop by and we'll give you a tour. 

Creeping Christmas (Cookies!)

I abominate Christmas creep.  To me, it resonates with all the problems our society is plagued with: impatience, commercialism, allocation of enjoyment to the inappropriate season of life, and just a general tendency to go over the top.  Buy early, buy often, and don't forget your inflatable Santa Claus!  It's really easy to get riled up about Christmas creep, philosophically.

So in light of all that, I have a confession to make. 

We baked Christmas cookies this past week.   It wasn't my fault.  Munchkin saw an ad for Ziploc containers containing those cute little reindeer cookies with the pretzel antlers and would not be satisfied until we had rolled out the dough and poured on the sprinkles. 

I think it will all work out because Christmas is at my parents' house this year, and Mom specifically expressed a desire to cut down on the sugar in our Christmas munchie tray.  That's a laudable goal, but it also means that some things are going to be left out.  If all of the Christmas foods that we look forward to, the foods without which the celebration seems incomplete, were included with all the  new recipes that we just have to try, then the sugar intake is more likely to grow than diminish.  In spite of the what the advertisers say, it's hard to be healthy without sacrificing some indulgence.  (That should really be a no brainer, but application of good principles is rarely a no brainer.)

So maybe it would be a good idea to spread out the Christmas season, at least in terms of eatables.  If we bake early and bake often, then we'll be getting in the cozy, jovial spirit of expectation that should go with Christmas.  Moreover, we won't be out shopping.  We'll eat our sugar cookies the first week of Advent and maybe peanut butter fudge the second week.  Week three will feature Nana's apple cake.  Week four can be peppermint bark.  Then by the time we hit the big celebration in week 5, we won't be missing the foods that only come out once a year, and we might not feel the compulsion to stuff ourselves with good things since the good things have been here all along.   But I'm not betting on it.  Mom says my sister has discovered a new do-it-yourself truffle recipe. 

Moving out of Apartment Mode

We have been blessed.  We are in our new home!  But no, you can't see pictures yet because we haven't actually finished painting.  We got a huge helping hand from our church that has a special crew of people who come together to help people move.  They helped us finish most of the painting, and they threw all of our partially packed belongings into a trailer and then unloaded them on the on our blessed premises.  Blessing of all blessings, they helped us clean the apartment as we vacated it.  Of all the things I dreaded in moving, more cleaning was highest on the list.

So now we are moved in.  The kitchen, utility room, and bathroom haven't been fully scrubbed, but they are fully functional.  The diningroom and all the trim remain to be painted, and there's a nagging smell in the garage that I would like to find and eliminate before Christmas.  We're trying to replace an out-of-date fireplace insert (540 lbs of metal).  But we are home, and now begins the transition to being home owners and house dwellers again. 

The feeling of being house dwellers manifests itself in different places.  I appreciate the ease of opening the back door and letting the dog out to do his business.  He, I daresay, resents that I no longer have to walk him four times a day, but we're working through that.  And this morning, as I was making breakfast, I thought I'd like to run the dishwasher.  "Oh," said my apartment-trained mind.  "It's not eight o'clock yet."  Then my brain caught up with the rest of me and said, "Who cares? There's no one on the other side of the wall to be disturbed."  That thought was so refreshing that I went to the laundry room and started a load of wash too. 

The first time we bought a house, I was a little skeptical of Seth's need to call his four walls his own.  Now, I get it.  There's a certain blissful freedom in realizing that my daily noises disturb no one.

Of course, with freedom comes responsibility.  Now that the dog can go out whenever is convenient, I also have to go out there and pick up after him.  Personal garbage cans mean remembering to put the trash out.  And that great big beautiful birch tree in the front yard is about to drop a ton of leaves that we will have the joy of raking up of the ground and a little less pleasure digging out of the gutter (actually, my husband has allocated that job to himself.  I might try to salvage some of the saplings growing up there.  I could sell them on ebay.)  And every little thing that goes wrong is our responsibility to fix. 

That reminds me.  Don't let me get through this week without buying some DeCon, two packs of coat hooks, and a new doorknob for the utility door.  And there's mold in the bedroom, again. 

Waiting stinks, but hope smells like vinegar and cedar chips.

There's good news and there's bad news.  Then there's no news is good news, but we are in the interesting position of acting on no news in the anticipation of good news because any news would probably be bad news right now. 

In short, we are in the process of cleaning up a short sale that we hope will be ours by the beginning of November.  The bank has indicated that it is willing to move forward, but nothing is final yet.  We have an apartment until the middle of October.  So we've been hiring dumpsters, bombing fleas,  sorting garbage, killing mold, and cleaning, cleaning, cleaning on the understanding that once a bank has gone this far, it will not withdraw, and the simultaneous understanding that our pre-approval letter is good and will follow through when the ball is in our court. 

Man, am I beat.  I have never seen a mess like this.  We filled two twenty yard dumpsters from the material left behind in  a three bedroom house, its garage, and backyard. There were ten people living at this house.  The neighbors say that the previous tenants never washed their clothes.  They just went to church charity shops and picked up more.  Then they bagged the leftovers and tossed them in the garage.  Amid the wreckage we've found fish tanks, stuffed animals, VHS tapes, quarters, a kayak paddle, a keyboard, all kinds of crazy food,  cushy kiddy chairs, a fridge that could have walked away on its own in a few weeks, insulin bottles, and clothes, clothes, clothes. 

They must have lived without power or water toward the end.  The house itself is filthy.  Mattresses were stuck to the floors.  We put the kayak paddle to work scraping gunk off the walls.  I spent Saturday scrubbing down two of the bedrooms while Seth and a neighbor hauled junk in the rain (and cleaned out the fridge.  Thank you, Love.  I don't think I could have tackled that.), and today, I'm going out to soak the floors with vinegar and cover them with cedar chips to get rid of the cat smell.   The mold is gone.  The scum is gone.  There's one stubborn gummy worm that refuses to come up for anything short of a razor blade.  I'll have to tackle that tomorrow.  I didn't get anywhere near the windows, which are probably original to the house (single pane, wooden frames).  It's not just that I ran out of time.  The spiders wouldn't let me get close. 

Cleaning up this house has been a real exercise in Christian faith because we still don't know that we're going to get it.  We have the reassurance of the realtor.  He says he's never seen a deal go this far without going through.  And there have been sundry little assurances not related to the process.  A coworker has some good used appliances to sell cheap.  A lady at my Bible study said her parents moved into their house before closing fifty years ago and lived there for thirty years. Help shows up at the right moment.  My one ESL student tells me that many of her classmates are looking for a good tutor, and they all go to school three blocks from our prospective house.  Wonders like this are all reassuring enough to keep my eyes on the goal.   

But there have been little discouragements too. We discovered a lien on all the utilities, which keeps us from turning on the power until we have a contract with a signature on it.  The closing costs are about $3000 more out of pocket than we had anticipated.   We had to pay for a second load of garbage to be removed, which puts us a little beyond our budget already, and we haven't even bought paint.  And it all just stays so dirty.   There's nothing to stop the bank from turning around and pulling a Jim Butler* on us and asking for more money.  We've put a lot of sweat equity into a place that's still their house. 

We have an end goal.  We have good reason to believe we will achieve it.  However, the daily certainty of having a deed with our name on it doesn't exist yet.  I'm going to breathe a huge sigh of relief when we come to a point of ownership/residence, but until then, we keep working and cleaning, bringing our house closer to our vision of a home, and hoping. 

Part of the reason that I can't just sail through this period with sanguine hope is that my happy ending instinct took a serious ding when we lost Baby Blessed. 

Is my baby in a better place?  Absolutely. 

Is my salvation secure?  Definitely. 

Will all these tears be wiped away?  By God's own hand.  I have it in writing. 

Are we guaranteed peace and prosperity?  Not a bit. 

Will we have everything we work and hope for in this life?  That depends.  Does it match up with God's will?  And by will, I don't just mean his stated commandments.  I mean the plan for our personal developments into the progress of His kingdom. 

The first part of the answer to that great question is "I don't know, and I won't know until it happens."  It is possible to run along on Kingdom work and miss what God intends for us. (Just ask Phil Vischer, or better yet, read his autobiography**.)   Yes, this that I am doing seems good to me, but maybe I'm focusing on the wrong traits to develop, and I certainly can't see what the future is going to require of me.   I can't just say, "It's good for me, so God wants me to have it."  "Delight yourself in the Lord, and He will give you the desires of your heart" (NIV Ps. 37:4) has to be balanced with "In this world you will have trouble, but take heart! I have overcome the world" (NIV John 16: 33), not to mention the whole book of Job. 

The second part of the answer to that great question is "No matter what happens, God is good."   The grand lesson that all this uncertainty is teaching me (I do not thrive on uncertainty) is that happiness comes not from knowing how things will work out but instead from floating on the will of God, living responsibly, and caring more about seeing and knowing Him than about what happens to this house.  "Let goods and kindred go," says Martin Luther.  Under what circumstances would I be prepared to do that?  Maybe God is using this time to put my hopes in perspective.  "Even if/when all this works out as you had dreamed, remember that this is not the be all end all of my plans for you.  I want you to keep moving forward, to build my kingdom, and if it is necessary, I will take it all away again." 

There is good reason to believe that we will achieve this house, so we keep cleaning, budget revising, some packing, and cleaning some more.  But really, what else can I do?   This is our best and only apparent option.  The house I hope to move into is a mess. If I want it to be a home, I need to clean it up.   And if God deems otherwise, I will freak out for a little while, and then we'll pursue plan B (as in "Be still and know that I am God"  NIV Ps.  46:10).   

Update:  We have the bank's paperwork.  That makes us confident enough to buy paint and begin prepping for move in.  God is good. 

*Garland, Hamlin.  "Under the Lion's Paw."  The Norton Anthology of American Literature, 5ed, vol.2.  ed. Nina Baym.  645-655.  New York: W.W. Norton & Company, 1998.  Print. 

**Vischer, Phil.  Me, Myself, and Bob: A True Story about Dreams, God, and Talking Vegetables.  Thomas Nelson, 2008.  Print or Digital. 

Scriptures from New International Version.   Grand Rapids, MI: The Zondervan Corporation, 2005.  Kindle Edition. 

A reflection on loving ourselves.

Bipolar Annie, someone I follow on Facebook because, like many people who suffer from mental illness, she makes an unflagging effort to encourage the people around her, posted a quotation that made me stop and think. 

 I think I've finally learned the biggest lesson of all. You've got to love yourself first. You've got to be OK on your own before you're OK with someone else. You've got to value yourself and know that you're worth everything. And until you value yourself enough and love yourself enough to know that, you can't really have a healthy relationship.

                                                                                                                                ~Jennifer Lopez

I thought about that for a moment.  The Dour Calvinist in me says that we have a tendency to value ourselves too much, which doesn't always add up to realistic expectations of other people.  But that isn't really what she's talking about here.  She means we shouldn't expect other people to mop up our insecurities.  No matter how hard we try, we can never be someone other than ourselves and be happy, and it isn't fair haul in another person and say, "Make me okay."  However, I would add a caveat: when we learn to love ourselves, we must make sure that the love we have is not merely an acceptance or a self-approval, as I think this quote suggests.  To quote someone whose wisdom I trust a lot more:

Let us suppose we are confronted with a desperate thing -- say Pimlico.  If we think what is really best for Pimlico we shall find the thread of thought leads to the throne or the mystic and the arbitrary.  It is not enough for a man to disapprove of Pimlico; in that case he will merely cut his throat or move to Chelsea.  Nor, certainly, is it enough for a man to approve of Pimlico;  for then it will remain Pimlico, which would be awful.  The only way out of it seems to be for somebody to love Pimlico: to love it with a transcendental tie and without earthly reason.  If there arose a man who loved Pimlico, then Pimlico would rise into ivory towers and golden pinnacles;  . . . If men loved Pimlico as mothers love children, arbitrarily, because it is theirs, Pimlico in a year or two would be fairer than Florence.  

                                                                     ~G.K. Chestesterton, Orthodoxy

Chesterton was writing about one of the great controversies of his day: the question between people who believed that the world was on the fast track to utopia  and people who thought the world was descending into chaos and should be abandoned by the quickest means possible.  His answer was, "We only have one world.  We have to have a picture of what it can be  and then love it properly and make it worthy of our love."  But can't the same be said of ourselves?    

Suppose we are in a desperate situation: medically, interpersonally, psychologically or what have you.  If we merely disapprove of ourselves, then we will give up and devolve ourselves into oblivion somehow.  If we approve of ourselves, then we will remain as we are. I have enough oppressive flaws to convince me that this would be awful, and I'm sure any person willing to investigate his or her soul would say the same.   But if we have truly learned to love ourselves, to believe that that tremulous little thing inside of our heart of hearts that we call a soul is truly "worth everything," as Ms. Lopez says, then we will kick aside anything  that stands in the way of its blossoming into what it ought to be. 

The danger in being merely OK with ourselves is that we might look at some undesirable trait, some unhealthy habit and say, "This is part of me, and if other people don't like it, oh well.  It stays."  Says Mr. Chesterton a few pages later,

If a man loves some feature of Pimlico (which seems unlikely), he may find himself defending that feature against Pimlico itself.  But if he simply loves Pimlico itself, he may lay it waste and turn it into the New Jerusalem. 

Let's say that our lives are not cities but gardens.  Our personalities vary in pH and consistency, and our thoughts, feelings, and experiences lay out the beds and plant the seeds.   The plants grow and twine and blossom and seed.  Some of them may actually be essential and healthy and ought to be cultivated.  By contrast, some, like dandelions, are inescapable in this life, but we can work around them and maybe even eat the greens.   Some features of ourselves may be good or essential, but they've grown a little wild, strangling other good and necessary qualities.  Think strawberries or mint.  And some of them may be toxic weeds that should have been pulled post haste, but they are so wound around the rest of our lives that we can't get them out with anything less destructive than a machete.  To truly love ourselves is to discern the difference, pull out the bad ruthlessly, rototill the earth, cultivate the good, and, above all, grow. 

Mr. Chesterton did not have a very charitable opinion of mental illness. He himself was a large, jolly man of forthright mental energy and a comfortable grasp on humility.  To read his writing is to read a vigorous assertion of truth (His philosophy is sounder than his history.).  I am not that vigorous with myself.  I have neither the patience nor the strength  to love myself the way I ought to.  I don't have the wisdom either.  And no other human being has the patience, the wisdom, or the insight into my inner life  to keep my garden growing as it should.  We cannot manage each other's souls.  We have a duty to dig in and get our hands dirty, but we need someone else,  someone who can see the whole picture and the delicate details, who has an appreciation for each plant and how it grows, the layout and chemistry of each garden, someone with infinite time and patience, and most of all infinite and intimate love. 

The biggest lesson of all is not is not that we should love ourselves.  We should, but that is not something that we can do wisely or safely on our own.  The biggest lesson of all is that we have a radical example of how much someone already loves us, and all we have to do is return it.  God loved us when we were unlovable, when we were literally nothing.  He holds us to impossibly high standards, but he forgives our failures without a second thought because he has carried them all himself.  It is God who ensures our worthiness and dignity as people and gives us that equal footing that we need to approach anyone else with grace, compassion, interest, and unselfishness. Until we are OK with God, the roots of the weeds in our soul will just grow back.  He will root out all the weeds and replace them with honeysuckle and raspberry vines.  He will tear down the slums and build golden pinnacles and ivory towers.  

"He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus."  ~Philippians 1: 6b 

When I am especially discouraged with myself, with my thought patterns or how I've treated people,  I think of the "day of Christ Jesus."  I think about the moment when all the parts of me that frustrate, nay grieve, nay drive me crazy, will be stripped away.  Some of them will be polished and returned to be placed in their proper places, and some of them will be burned to cinders, never to return at all.  I can't quite picture what I will be like then, but I know that I will be the last thing on my mind.  Maybe that's what it is to be OK on one's own.  When everything is strong and clean and vibrant inside, our total focus will be the God who made us that way and the other fantastic creatures that He made in His image.  Those will be truly healthy relationships. 

P.S.  I am finding that St. Theresa of Avila has much  good to say on the beauty and struggle of the soul in  The Interior Castle.  I got my copy from http://christianaudio.com.

Sudden Ends.

What is your only comfort in life and in death?  That I am not my own, but belong, body and soul, in life and in death, to my faithful savior Jesus Christ.  . . . Because I belong to Him, Christ, by His Holy Spirit, assures me of eternal life and makes me wholeheartedly willing and ready from now on to live for Him.

And we know that in all thing, God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.  For those God foreknew he also predestined to be conformed to the image of his Son, that he might be the firstborn among many brothers and sisters.  Romans 8:28, 29

 It took me two weeks to put my last blog post together and another three days to get it posted.  While I was crafting the pregnancy announcement,  unbeknownst to us, the baby is my womb was dying. I spent a long night Friday up with cramping, a panicked Saturday morning in the ER, and a confused afternoon facing the fact that my newest little joy was dying inside of me.  In fact, he/she had probably been dead for a couple of weeks. 

 Now, as I read through what I wrote three weeks ago, I feel like my expressions go beyond ironic to cruel.  If God delays answers to remind us  that we do not compel Him to answer, then why does he answer prayers and then take the answers away?  If answering prayer unexpectedly reminds us that God has a sense of humor, what does unexpected loss say?  And if the joy of being pregnant was right for yesterday, why isn't it right for today too?  As I flopped down on the bed after coming home from the hospital, I pounded my fist on the comforter and said damn for the first time in my life.  "Damn.  Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn." 

But Faith chooses these moments to assert its strength.   Even in that moment, a voice in the back of my head said, "Damn what exactly?", and I had to answer "Nothing, Lord.  Nothing at all."     If my eyes were focused on my own disappointment, I might be tempted to despondency, but faith is a really buoyant thing. In moments of real pain, it insists on looking up at the big picture. I find that when my cynical side digs up a stock question for a time like this, my spirit lifts up my mind and reminds me of what I've always known was true. 

At eight weeks of life, was my child even a person?  Absolutely.  Life is not dependent on the presence of a heartbeat anymore than light required the sun.  There are creatures in the universe that don't even have bodies.  Why should my child be less alive for the lack of being whole?  We named our baby Blessed even as she passed (I say she because Boogaloo expressed a desire for a baby sister.  Of course, at eight weeks, we don't know one way or the other.)  I was conscious of Blessed's soul when she was in me, and I am certain she is in Heaven waiting for me.  One more thread to call me home.   

Why would God wait this long to answer my prayers and then take the answer away?  That's not a question that I can answer without seeing the whole picture, but it's also the question that draws up the greatest response from my faith.  It says in the Bible that sometimes the good are taken so that they may be spared trouble, and Blessed are those who die in the Lord.  I was already unnerved by the changing times when Boogaloo was born.  Blessed is one child I won't have to worry about.   In this world in spite of God's miraculous power, we are still subject to the broken and brutal forces.  Life faces assault on every side, including the mindless biological, and in battle, there are casualties.  I wish my child hadn't been one of them, but so does every parent who loses a child. 

Is my baby really in heaven?   Yes.  I know that for sure.

What does unexpected loss say about God's sense of humor?  That God has a sense of priority.  Much as it aches to consider it, the well of joy can only go as deep as sorrow digs it.  We grow when we hurt.  Loss is cognitive dissonance on a spiritual level.  It can breed empathy, establish bonds, and open us to new possibilities.  And as much as He cares for us and treasures our tears, He also uses us to move His kingdom foreward.  We need to trust that all will be recompensed in the life to come. Faith in the world to come should be our great comfort, along with the hope that everything will be made right. 

Why does God answer prayers and then take the answers away?  To remind us that our lives are not paramount.  He is.  And ultimately, He is our only sure happiness and safety. 

If the joy of pregnancy was right for yesterday, why isn't it right for today also?   We won't know that until we get home.    When I cross the threshold of Heaven, and I'm greeted by all the people I hold dear who have gone on before me,  one of those people will be my little Blessed. 

Does it hurt?  It ripped my insides out.  Physically, it was 16 hours of waiting followed by 48 hours of being wrung by an invisible hand.  Emotionally, everytime someone expresses sympathy I well over with tears. I cringe every time Boogaloo says "I'm a big sister" and asks to hear one of her baby books because of course, she doesn't understand yet. We told her that baby went to Heaven to be with Jesus and Nana, but she's still a big sister because baby is alive up there.  To stand at the gate of life and feel its opportunity opening for someone is the essence of hope,  and I rejoiced in it, but that hope got snuffed for this life.  Snuffed hope sucks the joy out of a situation.  But because of the shocking buoyancy of faith, I still have peace.  After all, my baby has simply been raised to another level of existence.     

Miscarriage

My mind is not at home tonight.
It begs your pardon for taking leave,
but it felt the need to wander a bit,
through sunset downs,
and curl up in the shadow of a twilit tree.

Sometimes the Soul is a prickly bedfellow,
so Mind mindfully slips away to allow Soul
its Space to slowly pack away the unused hopes,
Time to put the possibilities back in the attic,
a Chance to rearrange the living room of life to suit
Life.
Now.

Then, when every tiny finger of a dream is packed up,
and the work-a-day worries and mercies are out for use again,
Mind will come in, look around, and smile at Soul,
go up to the attic,
and grieve.

Because hopes are not things to be thrown away.
They should live in boxes in the basements of our lives
while Mind,
Soul,
 and Spirit
bustle and breathe,
groan and believe
that there is a Reason for all things. 

New Beginnings

"Delight yourself in the Lord, and He will give you the desires of your heart," Psalm 37:4

"Ignoring what they said, Jesus told the synagogue ruler, 'Don't be afraid; just believe.'"  Mark 5:36

This past Sunday, my pastor said something that struck me.  (That's not unusual.  It is his job.)   He said that one of the reasons God delays answers to our prayers is to remind us that we do not compel God to answer.  No matter the legitimacy of our request or the strength of our faith, the ultimate action  of fulfillment comes from God, and He will dispose of His blessings in His time and also for His purposes.  God isn't bound by the limitations that bind human intermediaries, so it's a mistake to get impatient with God when waiting for something you have asked for.  He can take His own time and still make things happen.    

His sermon hit home because we have recently had a prayer unexpectedly answered, and this past week was the day I started mentioning at church . . . that I'm pregnant. 

This felt like a long time in coming.  I know people who have waited much longer than 4 years between children, but there's just something about waiting for a child that makes any period seem just shy of eternity.  Maybe it's the way each monthly cycle holds out the hope of a different result.   We prayed.  We trusted.  Then finally we gave up.  I stopped asking for answers.  I learned to ruthlessly discard that little nagging hope that said, "But it could be different this month."   We gave away all our baby stuff to those less fortunate, and I started thinking about how soon we could afford to start adopting.  We involved ourselves in house searching, in setting up a socially stimulating summer for the Boogaloo, and in trying  to launch my tutoring business. 

Then, out of the blue, about two weeks ago, just as complete though transient chaos hit our house search, I started feeling odd.    I tabulated my symptoms and thought, "That's not just wacked out hormones.  That has to be something substantial."   I didn't want to get my hopes up.  I'd been disappointed too many times.  So I waited a whole week beyond my period date before I took a pregnancy test. 

It was positive, obviously. 

Then began the elation and the mortification and no small bit of silliness. (What if it's twins?!)  But among all those feelings was the strong feeling that we had underestimated God.  Or perhaps pre-empted is the right word.  I won't call the feeling we had been acting on doubt, but we had decided what we could stand to hope for, and a baby had ceased to be one of them.  We shifted our focus (as we probably should have a lot earlier) to the things  that we were responsible for -- when we could get our loans paid off, when we could afford to adopt, when we could buy a house (well, we thought that was under our control.  Now we're waiting on prayer for that one too.). And then, all of a sudden, there was a baby. 

So what should we learn from all this?  We're really not in charge of as much as we think we are?  Never get rid of anything because you never know when you might need it again?  God has a sense of humor? Church people love to help pregnant people? (seriously, all we had to do was ask and sometimes, not even that.  Thank you.)  Perhaps, as the pastor said,  we simply need to trust.  Trust that this is right for now, and tomorrow will be right for tomorrow.  And then rejoice in each blessing with gratitude because God didn't have to give it.  With a new baby on the way, that is a very timely lesson.  

Searching for Inspiration (and a House)

It's too hot to think.  It's not supposed to get this hot in Portland until August.  Everyone is sweltering and altering their daily plans because it's just too hot for Portlanders to function.  I had been going to treat my readers to a prepared rant on the conflict of interests that is house hunting, but the heat wiped out everything I was thinking.  The only thing that's running through my mind at the moment is the Dora the Explorer  theme song, accompanied by the gentle shushing of the fans. 

House hunting, though, that's an experience.  The last time we bought a house, we weren't contending with a designated lease period.  We were living in military housing so we could take our time.  We visited one or two houses at a time, two or three months apart. And houses were staying on the market for two or three months at a time.  If we liked a house, we had plenty of time to consider it.    Leisurely was probably the best way to describe it.  Granted, we bought at a high point in the market, but the point is that our first and only experience with house buying was not a stressful experience.    Now we're caught in the crux of a different situation. 

See, now, the market is hopping.  Houses will pop up briefly and be sold three days later.  It seems like half of renting Portland wants to buy a house, but only a tenth of owning Portland wants to sell.  And we have a lease that lasts until October.  Breaking the lease will subject us to fines and fees in the neighborhood of $3,000, which is simply not feasible.  Likewise, staying after our lease is up and paying by the month would be ridiculously expensive.  However, trying to pay a mortgage payment, a rent payment, and the little bit of extra that we're paying to keep our rental all in one month too is also a financial infeasibility.    The trick will be timing, which requires (forgive me) constant vigilance.   

Every night my husband checks his email for new houses.  Every night, he adds a couple to our ever growing list of houses.  Then we select a few in a common area and email the realtor.  We keep the realtor busy.  I think we've crammed 10 houses into a week.  We put on offer on a short-sale.  They asked us to play back-up to another offer.  "That's good," our realtor said, "but you'd be crazy to count on it."  So we keet looking.

The most interesting part of this process is watching the effect that it has on Seth and myself.  For a while, it felt like our personalities were merging and switching.  He was the manic stress hound, pushing frantically to find some solid ground, and I was telling him, "Love, don't worry about it.  Look at the facts.  New houses pop up every week.  We're not going to be left without options.  We can just look. (How many times has he said that to me?!) God will provide.  (That too.) Really."  That was kind of empowering, actually.  I don't often get to be the level-headed one. 

Something good: http://lahash.org/pathofhope/

At the end of April, I set myself a goal to write about something good in the world either in May or in June.  So far, I'm really glad that I gave myself two months because May and June are turning out to be fuller than I imagined.  We are house hunting, self-educating, school testing, and I am still trying to develop my own tutoring business in a haphazard way. 

But, until I get some time to sit down and do a little research, here is a bright spot on the world radar.  An old classmate of mine is part of a ministry in Tanzania that works to bring education and healing to the poorest of the poor.  They have just launched a new initiative called Path of Hope to help children who have been affected in one way or another by AIDS.  Give them a look and see what God is doing in the world. 

http://lahash.org/pathofhope/

Welcome to the world.

This is for Uncle Jesse, Aunty Abby, and new cousin Zeb.  (The candles and the song were her idea. She needed some help with the pronunciation.)

 

Boogaloo's end of school program. PArt one.

If any of you lacks wisdom, let him ask God, who gives generously to all without  finding fault, and it will be given to him.  But when he asks, he must believe and not doubt, because he who doubts is like a wave of the sea, blown and tossed by the wind.  That man should not think he will receive anything from the Lord.  James 1: 5-7

How many times have I seen those words? But how many times do I decline to ask God for wisdom because I feel like we should really figure it out on our own.  OR how many times do I ask with the firm intention of staying as confused as I am at this moment until the path opens that gives me my way?  I'm ashamed to say it, but that's my modus operandi most of the time.  Confusion?  Cognitive dissonance?  Something new?  Spin around in circles until the situation becomes urgent, say a quick prayer, and push my foot down on the throttle, and hope I'm going in the right direction.  It's not an intentional slight to God.  It's just the way I generally do things when I'm not sure what I should be doing.  (It bugs my husband to  no end.)

However, it turns out that James meant what he was talking about.  It's easy to forget that not only were the Biblical writers inspired, they were also writing from a lifetime of experience and reflection.  James had seen God provide practical answers to intense conundrums.  He had, I assume, felt God's reassurance when he felt like an idiot for asking.  And he had lost out on answers of the moment for doubting when he asked. 

All this goes to say that Seth and I are contemplating buying a house.  In the current economy, buying is much cheaper than renting.  Our area expects to add about 40,000 new jobs in the next two years.  Rental prices are expected to skyrocket.   Add to that the discount on interest rates that a veteran can get right now,  and all the impetus seems to be for buying a house.  Seth certainly felt that way. He's been respectfully insistent. The only way two mortgages would become a burden would be if we had to move again. The odds of that happening were extremely small, and we can always get a renter. By all human measures, we are in a good place to buy.

 I had only one objection:  we already have a house, and the thought of having two mortgages made me extremely anxious.   Anxiety is part of my hardwiring at the moment.  It grabs ahold of me physically and mentally and turns me into an arthritic little soul that can barely move.  God and I are installing some buffeting circuitry, and I hope to be largely rewired by the time my daughter becomes a teenager (can I get a "yeah, right"?), but right now that's how it is. 

I am particularly anxious about money.  Dave Ramsey, noted financial expert, talks about a security gland which women have and men don't.  This security gland warns us when a financial risk is approaching.  My security gland is about half of my endocrine system.  When Seth and I started talking about a second mortgage, I could literally feel something cramping up right above my appendix.    I tried to massage the feeling down, but it didn't work. My whole body tensed up, and I went into a fetal position in my recliner, doing my darndest not to whimper like a puppy (anxiety affects me that way). 

Seth looked over at me and asked, "Love, are you all right?" 

Perfectly.  Thank you.  Taking a deep breath, I replied, "This just makes me really nervous.  That's all." 

"Well, it's not like we're buying anything right now," he replied as he clicked on the link for another house.   No, neither were we buying a car the day we bought one, and while I don't regret that decision, the precedent has been set. 

That night, as I lay awake snuggled under his strong arm (I love him so much.),  I prayed fervently.  "Lord, please give us wisdom, and if you show me that this is good, make my anxiety go away."  Then I resolved to ask the ladies at Bible Study for advice the next day.   There is  a lot of combined experience in my Bible Study group. 

The next day didn't go exactly as I had planned.  I ended up going to the ESL Bible Study instead of what I call the original study.  I shouldn't downplay the life experience of the women in the ESL group.  They all emigrated from other countries, for crying out loud. But I had kind of counted on going with the other group.  I thought my opportunity was slipping away from me.   Still, I had promised God that I would seek out advice, so I asked for prayer, and the ladies told me, "Now is a good time to buy."  Okay, that's one check for the pro's column.

I picked up my daughter from the Little Lambs group and headed out to the playground for some swing therapy (Boogaloo loves swings.  They're very soothing.) .  One of the Boo's classmates was out there with her grandmother, Mary, also swinging.  We pushed the girls on the swings and discussed weather, vacation plans, a trip the lady had just taken, and then, since neither of our girls showed a sign of getting off the swings, I asked Mary if I could run a situation past her.  I explained the position we were in, and my fears about a second mortgage. 

She smiled and said, "My husband and I have fourteen mortgages right now. And now is really an excellent time to buy."   She proceeded to detail 30 years history of being landlords and using rentals as their primary form of investment on a single teaching salary.   She told me how they had started out as newlyweds in a duplex, renting out the other side.  They had sold rentals to pay for their kids' college education, sold everything off in the crash of 2008, and started building their assets again.   "There were years when it was tense," she said, "but in those years, the blessing was that we paid no income taxes."

She gave her granddaughter another push.  "We should really have you over sometime, so you can talk to Dave about it," she said.  "Would you like to come over sometime next week?" 

Can I refuse the hand of God?  I accepted with gratitude and went straight home to tell my husband all about it.  Then we started looking at houses, property, building considerations, all kinds of possibilities.  Seth is an idea man, and I entertained all comers. 

A day later, Seth came to me and said, "Love, I can't believe how radically you've changed positions on this." 

I smiled.  Nay, I outright grinned and said, "Well, I prayed very specifically about this, and God gave me a very specific answer.  I kind of figure it would be an insult to him to keep worrying about it."  

In the palm of His work-worn hand

Testimony Blog

A month ago, I challenged my friends in the blogosphere to put up a testimony in honor of Easter.  Here is one of mine.   Granted, this was a few years ago now, but the moment represented a turning point in a long struggle with anxiety and doubt.  Or perhaps turning point isn't the right word.  Maybe a moment of foundation in what felt like slow free fall.   It might seem a little presumptuous to write about mental illness just after Pastor Rick Warren's son ended a long struggle in suicide, but it should be a comfort to know that God never really abandons us, which is what he showed me.

"I give them eternal life, and they shall never perish; no one will snatch them out of my hand." 

                                                                                                                                                ~John 10:28

Our society once had a notion that the brain was independent.  All we needed to do to acheive health an happiness was insert the proper information.   Modern science, both social and medical, is proving this wrong on a daily basis, but the idea still persists in a lot thought cultures.  Just think about the right  things, and you can't help but be happy and healthy and strong.

In the face of this assumption, I define depression as the incapacity to process all of the information.  It's a screen that keeps the evidence of the positive out of the part of the mind where information becomes part of daily living and believing.  A person suffering from depression can grasp at positive certainties like the love of God, but they never seem as concrete as the ache that sits on the shoulders of the soul and bends the whole body over.  The soul hesitates to touch life because life hurts, with the result that the sufferer is driven farther and farther under the screen of negativity.   A negative mindset will perpetuate itself.  The brain gets used to the negative chemical balance and doesn't want positive thoughts.  They cause cognitive dissonance, and that takes energy. 

Some sufferers cope with addictive substances or  reckless behavior.  Some  commit suicide.  Some people develop a fantasy world, and that was what I did.  My husband was deployed for half of the year I'm an introvert by nature.  The people I relate to naturally/ easily are very few.  I didn't the strength to go out and make myself interact with people and make friends, so I wove a set of protective fantasies and lived in them five or six days a week.  The fantasies I wove were not healthy ones.  I dreamed of slavery, endless toil, exploitation, and defeat.  I knew that I was a mess, and still I clung to those stories, those worlds because they were titillating.  They gave me (the author)  control.  I would sit in them for hours.  I fought it when I was conscious enough, but I never fought it whole heartedly, and I never got close to winning.  I began to want them more than my relationship with my husband, more than my relationships with my church, and more than my relationship with God. 

I remember quite distinctly crying out to  God one afternoon, and he told me, "You have to cut off that hand.  If you want that, it's going to take you away from me."  I looked at my mind and saw it for the squalid mess that it was, and I said to the Lord, "Right now, I would rather have this than You." I recoiled from the idea immediately, but it  was the truth.  I wouldn't let him take it, and I knew where it would go.

                A few months later, I was listening to Martin Luther: In His Own Words.  It's an audiobook (available at www.christianaudio.com) of some of Luther's sermons and writings.  I don't remember what set me off, but suddenly I was in that same place that Luther was before he stumbled on Romans 1:17:   convicted, hopeless, and hysterical.  I literally stumbled around my living room, pulling on my hair and wringing my hands.  It was dark (literally, the only light in the room was from the computer screen.  Did you know that depressed people will avoid sunlight and color?  More of the mindset trying to protect itself.), the house was empty, and I had rejected God to his face.  I paced the room for I don't know how long, and eventually I ended up crawling into a corner and curling up in a ball. 

As I huddled under my arms, facing the thought of the rest of my life and eternity without God, another reality descended on me.  That's the only way to put it.  I was still in my living room, but at the same time, I was sitting in the hand of God. I could see the whorls in his palm.  I could feel the flesh.  The air above me was dark, and everything was lit from below.  I crawled to the edge of the hand and looked over, and I saw the flickering fires of hell.  And God said to me, "If you want over, you're going to have to jump because I am not going to let you fall."  I pushed against the flesh of his hand, and it was solid.  It was the most solid thing in the universe.  I crawled back from the edge of his hand and curled up in the center of the palm and cried. 

That wasn't the end of my struggle with depression.  Even now, five years later, I still have hopeless hours and afternoons.   But I was never allowed to fall that low again. Whenever I came to a point of wondering if God really loves me, I could go back to that moment and say, yes, He really does.   After the Boo was born, I began to get treatment, and the resilience of my mind improved.  I remember poignantly the moment I looked up and realized all over again that the sky was blue.   And in the intervening time, there have been numerous moments when I felt the hand of God.  Sometimes he was pushing me away from a negative behavior.  Sometimes he was reminding me where my thoughts would lead.  I have had further visions of creatures from hell and guardian angels.  I have had checks put on my thoughts through no impulse of my own.  I have had sudden moments of perspective when my focus suddenly expanded, and I could see all the good that I had been ignoring in order to focus on one or two troublesome details.  Yes, God has been very good to me.

                "Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable, if anything is excellent or praiseworthy, think about such things."                                                                                                                               ~Philippians 4:7-9

I suppose at this point, it's natural to ask why God let that happen to me. Like the  psalmist, I could have cried, "Lord, where are you?  What did I do to deserve this?"  Because it did seem like this was something visited on me.  I've always had an anxious, introverted personality.  I couldn't help being alone (or so I thought).    But three pertinent facts convince me that I have no reason to blame God.

Fact #1.  We are responsible for the content of our thoughts.  This pertains not only to things like hatred or lust but also to more "harmless" occupations like anxiety or negativity.  That's not to say that I brought depression on myself, but I did develop a mental atmosphere where depression could grow.  The Apostle Paul specifically rebukes anxiety, even under the most threatening circumstances.  I perpetuated my fears and my isolation.  I believed and repeated lies inside my head, whether the lie was that no one would want my company, that I had to be strong on my own, or that there is a certain romance in dark and destructive things.  And as modern psychology catches up with the Bible, we have discovered that thoughts have physical and emotional consequences.  What I did to my brain was the psychological equivalent of playing with a basket of used tissues.  Of course my brain was continuously sick. 

Fact #2.  We aren't as strong as we think we are, and that again is our fault, not His.  The fact is that no human being can achieve complete  health, and strength in the face of every circumstance.  This may seem like a "duh" revelation, but it was a revelation to me.  We all have an ideal of perfection, but we seem to forget on a regular basis that because of the fall, humanity is constitutionally incapable of and disinclined to maintain perfection.  Total reliance on God is more than an attitude of awe or the practice of living in a godly manner.  It's the constant awareness  that he keeps us together in the best and worst of times.   It's seeing yourself as a leaf of inspirited grass on the cosmic level and rejoicing in the fact that by God's grace you are still growing.  A constant acknowledgement of that fact keeps the mind in constant perspective. 

 Fact #3. Pride is not always indicated by an attitude of superiority.  Sometimes its clearest symptom is a helpless desperation.  Lots of people have died rather than surrender that last shred of  pathetic human dignity and submitting.  Simply put, I could have asked for help a lot sooner, but I thought it wasn't allowed.  That's pride, in an inverted sort of way.  I didn't want to admit how ridiculous I was or how wrong I was.  And when I asked for help, I didn't want to take the advice I had been given, at least not on an extended basis.  I wanted to believe that it wouldn't work.   I had the arrogance (because that's what it is)  to believe at times that my case was beyond even the hand of God. 

On the other hand, just like the man born blind, this didn't come on me because anyone sinned in particular.  I didn't deserve it anymore than I deserve a case of the flu.  My circumstances were difficult.  Military life wreaks havoc on the hearts and minds of service member and spouse alike.  Half of the Navy wives I knew were on some sort of psychotropic drugs.  I am not socially programmed to jump into unfamiliar situations, and I am inclined to hysteria and obsession.  I didn't make myself that way.  It's the way I've always been.  The factors for depression were all there, and I firmly believe that some of it was and is spiritual warfare.  Why did all that come on me?  So that the glory of God could be revealed.  So that I could say from experience that I am weak and he is strong; that I really am a wretch and he really did save me.  So that when I am lifted up on eagles' wings, I know whose power makes me soar.  So that I will be constantly aware of the hand of God in me, around me, above me, and particularly beneath me, and I will stop underestimating his capacity to hold and protect my life.   

 

Note on stress and doubt: It's easy to hold the father of the demon possessed boy  in Matthew 9 up as an extreme of low level faith --"If you can do anything. . . I believe.  Help my unbelief."  But consider what he had been through.  Years and years of watching his son constantly for fear of danger, maybe avoiding fire or water or anything remotely dangerous in order to protect his son.  Long years of dread, worry, and expecting the worst would beat down anybody's faith.  Add to that the isolation that the stigma of his son's affliction would cause, and it's no wonder he was subject to unbelief.  Word of what Jesus could do had probably awakened his last hope again, and he was probably crawling to Jesus with the last scrap of faith that he had.