A look back over 2014

Right before bed last night, I was trying to remember 2014 before it slipped away. For me, it was hard to get back further than our fall family crisis. The aftermath of that felt like it had sucked up so much recent oxygen. But thankfully N has a better memory than I.

I started off the year writing daily in preparation for a new paper. I did well for 2-3 months which should have established a habit, but then I got depressed in March while tapering off my winter antidepressant (for the 2nd time). That threw a wrench in a lot of things. I had also up until then been extremely consistent with my weightlifting which had moved from a gym into my garage. Both writing and lifting fell off, writing more than lifting.

About that time, I also agreed to begin leading the women's ministry at our church. That was really exciting in many ways and allowed me to exercise some of my gifts that had lay dormant for a while. In particular, I enjoyed developing a mission statement for the ministry and some thoughts on undergirding pillars to guide making choices. I also enjoyed mentoring my team that led various parts of the ministry.

In the late spring, our daughter was diagnosed with some mild developmental delays which was honestly, shocking to me. I think as a newbie parent, I never suspected a thing about our oldest. But we have a good pediatrician and a good preschool teacher. So we went off to speech and occupational therapy. That took up most of what was supposed to be a laid back summer. During the less laid back summer, our son decided to potty train himself which was a GODsend. Love it.

Despite falling off the writing wagon, I was able to pull together a conference paper and traveled with the kids to the Pacific Northwest in August to escape the late summer heat and deliver the talk. It was great! The kids also got to see their older 2nd cousins and loved it. They continue to ask to return to hangout with them.

A few weeks after our return, our oldest started kindergarten, eek! She attends a half-day afternoon session while our son attends a morning preschool a few times a week. Our minivan is getting a workout. But kindergarten has been better than we anticipated. Specifically, she loves her daily dose of PE and her main language arts/math teacher is delightful and attentive to making accommodations where L needs it and providing extra challenges too. I was generally the freaked out mom sending her first to kindergarten, but our family crisis came the second week of school and effectively squashed my brain space to fret about that. This is probably better for everyone. Now that life is slightly more stable, I'd like to meet with her teacher about 1st grade. We'll see. As a reference point, our dear L read Charlotte's Web yesterday. I can't keep up, but hopefully her teachers can.

While I don't really want to discuss our family crisis, here are a few random highlights from the fall. In September, I started attending a small women's group. I think they call it mentoring. I call it my Jesus group where we encourage one another to allow Jesus to be the center of our authentic (read messy) lives. Love that time; love those ladies. Also in September, one of N's college friends came out to visit us, and it was great to be able to reconnect with him.

Our family minivan lost its AC over the summer (bad timing), but we muddled through and looked to replace the 14-year-old van by April 2015. We were able to get a great, nay superb deal, on a 6-year-old, low-mileage van in October. I feel like the Beverly Hillbillies driving this enormous van with all its bells and whistles. The kids still don't know it has a DVD player with two screens that fold out of the ceiling.

 In November, N's project released to the public, Halo: Master Chief Collection. The project was panned soundly by critics, but the ship should right itself soon and fanbois around the world can rejoice.

In mid-December, my mom came to visit for the holidays which was great for us, although my dad is alone overseas while she's here. However, they say they are moving back to the states next year. I'll believe it when I see it.

On a more sobering note, I had my severest episode of depression to date a few weeks ago. After talking with a psychiatrist, I'm moving off an antidepressant to a mood stabilizer. The transition has not been particularly smooth, but I am generally hopeful that we'll land on something that will help me avoid another debilitating episode like that one.

At the end of 2014, I'd say I was weary but hopeful, and perhaps most of all grateful for the way God gently teaches me His sufficiency in all things.

What suffering reveals

In the last week of reading Calm My Anxious Heart, we're covering our If Onlys and Whys. I think we come to these questions when we are dissatisfied with our current lives. It can be a mild dissatisfaction that gnaws away at our contentment or a deep festering pain--physical, mental, social or all of the above. So I'd actually like to use this last post reflecting on Calm My Anxious Heart to kick off a new series reading through an essay on suffering ("Formed through suffering" by Peggy Reynoso in The Kingdom Life).

I tend to not like to think about God and suffering because I end up questioning the justice and power of God. Like many people, I wonder how could a good, powerful God be loving and not end suffering?

Now a very common response from Christians is that God can bring good out of suffering (Romans 8:28). Reynoso starts her essay confronting this by saying, "...the misfortunes, illnesses, deprivation, and cruelty that cause our pain are still intrinsically bad, despite how God may use them for good." We must start there. The death, destruction, and despair that can feel too near are bad, it's ok to hate that stuff, to stop in the darkness and say it's dark.

Our church small group has been making its way through the New City Catechism and we've been stuck in a long series of questions about God's law, sin and the effects of sin. Frankly, it's depressing. Week after week, we're confronted with our limitations, our sinfulness, and the consequence of sin--death. I want to throw up may hands and say, "I GET IT! We suck, we suck, we suck and we earn suckitude (Romans 5:8)."

But do I get it? I want beauty and sunshine, I'd rather gloss over sin. It can't be that bad.

But Reynoso writes, "We err when we look to suffering to reveal whether God is just or unjust because what it best exposes is the destructive nature of sin." 

In my first encounter with depression, I lived in a lot of If Onlys and Whys. I played those tapes over and over in my mind. I would curl on the floor of my room in storms of inner pain while I clung to ugly conclusions based on lies. And I remember at some point feeling like God was saying, "You have an opportunity here. You can keep doing things your way or you can try my way. Your way is leaving you on the floor in darkness and pain." Well, I couldn't deny that. In the end, part of the way out was medication, but a bigger part was choosing God's truth over my lies. Sin is wildly destructive.

If you're fixing water damage in your house, you need to know how far the problem goes. It doesn't do any good to slap a new coat of paint over the rot because the rot's still there. Before we apply the grace of Jesus to sin, we've got to know how far the rot's gone. So we read the news, talk to a friend, visit a family member in the hospital. Suffering reveals the rot of sin to be pervasive, unavoidable, undeniable despite out best attempts. Stew on that a bit.

How to eat an elephant

Back in college, I studied Russian. Actually, I should say I studied Russian grammar or even Russian linguistics. And then, I went to Russia. And surprise, surprise, I couldn't speak Russian. I felt ashamed that I knew so much and could use so little. But I wanted to learn how to speak Russian.

So I decided that each day I would apply one new grammar rule. I gave myself permission to ignore every other grammar rule except the rule I picked out for the day. With time and a lot of trial and error, and the patience of the kids I was working with, my Russian improved.

This reminds me of one of my husband's jokes: "How do you eat an elephant?...One bite at a time." The elephant was speaking Russian, the bites were one grammar rule at a time.

When I think about the Christian life, I feel we get a lot of "Once, I ate an elephant" and a lot less, "One bite at a time."

We imagine what a holy life looks like and we think, "if only I prayed more and did that Beth Moore Bible study and got an accountability partner and served in the children's ministry and volunteered for the upcoming service project with my husband and kids and...who am I kidding? This is never going to happen"

When it comes to life with Jesus, I think that the big picture, the whole elephant is important. Becoming holy is what God asks of us. But we need to live in the one bite at a time. We don't like bites because they are mundane and even doable, but I think that's where trusting Jesus flowers.

So in one relationship that went off the rails, the elephant was a healthy relationship, the first bite was not being in bed together. Not sitting, standing, and definitely not lying down. Other bites later on would include an evening cutoff time for phone calls and a complete break from communicating for a while.

That was the last of a my string of inappropriate relationships with other women. So on this side of things, the elephant is not only a healthy relationship with that woman, but healthy relationships with other women in general and with my husband. But if you only see where I am now, you don't know how small that first bite was and how it was a miracle empowered by the Holy Spirit.

Maybe you've always been impressed by people who memorize scripture. Well, once, a roommate and I decided to memorize the book of Philippians. That sounds like a huge elephant. The first bite was Philippians 1:1. That's it. We added one verse a day, six days a week. It really helped to do this with a friend to smooth over the times when I just wanted to throw in the towel. Anyways, lo and behold, about four months later we were done.

But to the more mundane, I'm not a star housekeeper. It's easy for me to feel like if I can't get it all right, it's not worth doing any of it. So I'm learning to live in God's grace and accept cleaning by bites. One year, the big accomplishment was mopping once a week. Later, I added cleaning the bathrooms. And more recently, I put all the bedsheets on a schedule instead of whenever I remembered them. (I know all you neatniks are freaking out, but Jesus loves me even in my grossness.)

I'm a big picture person, so it feels strange for me to be the one to say this, but I think we need to think about individual bites more often.

If you're a wife, what if the next time you see your husband, you just smile and choose not to air the complaints of the day? Add a kiss for flair.

Or what if the next time you're lonely, you stay off the internet, just this once, and you pick something healthy or even neutral to do? Rearrange a closet, go for a walk, pick up a project you never finished, get gas for your car, change the batteries in your smoke detector. I don't know. Anything. Even a 5 minute thing.

I've been at war with depression lately as my medication has been changed. My bites are

1. not skipping exercise 
2. adding two cups of milk a day--it's a long story 
3. reciting John 6:68-69 over my dark thoughts. 

It's not magic. I haven't finished this elephant, but the alternative is to lay down and die. And I'm not ready for that.

So how do you eat an elephant? One bite at a time.

--
Watercolor by Fritz Ahlefeldt, hikingartist.com

Morally deficient

Sometime last week, someone on the internet wrote in passing that depression was on the list of ailments that was associated with the morally deficient. Normal people get headaches, the morally deficient get depressed. Ain't that a peach?

Having experienced the pits of depression these past two winters, my doctor and I decided to treat the issue as if it were seasonal affective disorder, and two weeks ago I started taking a low dose of Wellbutrin which is an anti-depressant (and smoking cessation aid, I learned). The point of this is to blunt or avoid completely another winter nosedive. Depression entails a lot of collateral damage.

But let's talk about my morally deficient self. First of all, I don't know that I feel morally deficient. But I admit that since reading that little throw away line, I haven't been tempted to wear a t-shirt proclaiming the ever present specter of depression in my life.

Then again, my daughter's recent memory verse is Romans 3:23: "For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God." That's a universal accusation of moral deficiency if there ever was one. And in a recent famous interview of the new Pope when asked "Who is Jorge Mario Bergoglio?" answers, "I am a sinner." At the end of his elaboration on the point, he concludes,

"I am a sinner, but I trust in the infinite mercy and patience of our Lord Jesus Christ, and I accept in a spirit of penance."

 I find this summary very powerful. It allows me to accept my moral deficiency whether through depression or the lack of patience with my family or judgmental stance toward others. I don't need to pretend that my mess doesn't stink. It stinks. AND Jesus is mericful; I'm not thrown out because of my mess. AND Jesus is patient; he's not tapping his toe, looking at his watch as I fumble around trying to clean up. Instead, he is with me, the morally deficient, with me in love.

It is very uncomfortable to stop there as an American protestant. After Jesus loves me, I'm supposed to clean up my behavior, no? But what if I focused on the present risenness of Jesus in my life? On that infinite mercy and patience? And if my behavior cleans up, it does. And if it doesn't, it doesn't. But what I have done is to train myself to laser in on Jesus and whatever he does or does not do in my life.

Minor update

For the half dozen people who might still read what I write here:

I have spent every day of this new year with some combination of a migraine & vertigo. The docs think I should be better soon, and I hope they are right.

I have switched my medication -- from Celexa to Welbutrin, in case you want specifics. I had been on Celexa for the year leading up to this recent round of depression.

I have also gotten in touch with a new therapist whom I will see this upcoming Wednesday.

Clinging

Ever since my first experience rock climbing outdoors, the word cling conjures up an image of white-knuckled fingertips tensed on a thin rock ledge. And this image has become a metaphor for my spiritual clinging. I think of holding on to the solidness, the trustworthiness of God with the last bit of energy that I have. As spiritual metaphors go, it isn't terrible--although Jesus is on belay* is an important corollary.

Lately, my son has been teaching me a new image to go with cling. My son is a Cling-on**. He's a sweet, enthusiastic hugger, and when he's distressed he pastes himself to my shoulder.

As I've been processing my current pain, I've been thinking about this image of clinging. Two things come to mind: First, that my son's immediate reaction to pain is to look for me. Even though I can't do a thing about the pain receptors firing away in his brain, even though I can't make his blood clot, he wants to snuggle up on me. Second, as his mother, I am so pleased that he turns to me. I am so happy to have him rest on my shoulder. I can't fix anything, but I can be near.

This new image encourages me to focus less on how much energy I do or don't have to cling or when my energy is going to run out and I'm going to fall off the rock. Instead, I imagine that God is equally and more pleased that I would tuck up on his lap. I have very few answers, very little understanding of what is going on in my wreck of an emotional world. But the solid presence of God as my refuge is a beacon of hope in this period of darkness.

*The person on belay is the person holding the rope and catches you when you fall.

**That's a bad Star Trek pun. Klingons are an alien race in the Star Trek world.

Sink in

I am in the midst of another season of depression. This is the third time I've been aware of. It's not as bad as last time and certainly not as bad as the "first"* time.

One verse that has been illuminated for me has been from what's known as the Beatitudes in Jesus' Sermon on the Mount.

Blessed are those who mourn,
for they will be comforted
~The good news according to Matthew, chpt 4

This verse has always been a throw-away verse to me. Yea, yea, God promises comfort to those who mourn, how comforting.

As I experience this round of depression without a therapist or psychiatrist, I've been reflecting on my interior life. Like what the heck am I doing when I sit in my favorite chair, staring out the window, "petting my pain" like a black cat in my lap? I mean that's kind of weird.

Depression scares the crap out of me. I hate it. I hate how dark a space it is. I fear drowning in the pain. But in this blessing, the promise is conditioned on mourning. What I'm hearing is, "press into the pain and don't fear the sorrow because I, God, am there to be your comfort."

I don't know if I'm hearing this right, and I don't know if I can sink into the dark place trusting the comforting presence of God. But honestly, this is the most hopeful thing I've come across recently.

*I likely had bouts of depression before my "first" time but didn't know it. What I count as the first time was the first round that I needed and got help for.

Disciplined Helplessness

One of my favorite summertime memories from childhood is swimming lessons. The lessons followed a Red Cross curriculum, so in addition to learning strokes, we also learned water safety stuff.

One thing we did in every class was the survival or dead man's float. All you do is hold your breath and put your face in the water. The air in your lungs keeps you floating and you relax all your limbs to conserve energy while you wait for someone to rescue you.

One reason I stopped writing blog entries the past 10 weeks is that I've been relearning my spiritual dead man's float. Last fall was really rough and after months of telling my husband I wasn't depressed, I had to admit that I probably was.

Depression isn't a new thing for me. I'd say it's kind of like my right hip. At the tender age of 26 I had hip surgery to smooth out a cartilage tear. After almost a year of physical therapy, I'm generally out of pain, but it's a weak joint that requires extra attention.

At 25, I had a major bout of depression. After a lot of counseling, a year of antidepressants, exercise, sunlight, the whole nine yards, I've been generally ok, but it's a tendency I have and I have to be vigilant about it.

What I learned the first time and what I'm learning this time is what I call disciplined helplessness. When I find myself sucked down the toilet bowl of depression, I live in general helplessness. Life sucks and it will always suck.

Disciplined helplessness is different. I am tired; Jesus can give me strength. I am grouchy; Jesus knows and helps me to be gentle and kind. I don't know what to do; Jesus has wisdom for me. I am not enough; Jesus is sufficient.

The mental script is different and I have to fight for it to play louder than my general helplessness. The fight isn't an overcoming fight; I'm not trying to win. I'm not able to win. It's about consistently falling in the direction of Jesus. Falling into his hope, falling into his strength, falling into his love.

The spiritual dead man's float is about not thrashing in panic, but staying afloat, and waiting for Jesus's sure rescue.

Why do you believe in God?

Her father had committed suicide over a decade ago, when she was a teenager. Shortly after that, her grandmother had a stroke and was placed in a nursing home. That was the last time the young woman had seen her. Today that changed. After more than ten years, she had driven several hours to visit and finally face all the emotions, now rising up and choking her like fine dust from the place she had tamped them down for so long.

She asked me a little more about myself, and my ministry. Then, these words: “I don’t mean to offend you, but may I ask you a question?”

“Sure,” I said.

Looking me directly in the eyes, she asked the most basic question, “Why do you believe in God?”

~From Chaplain Mike on The Internet Monk

I read this today and I did a gut check, asking myself how I would answer this question if I was standing eyeball to eyeball with this woman. And my answer would be, "Because I have faced death and God has given me life."

Whew. That took my breath away and took me by surprise. It's a little dramatic. But it's actually true. There was a time in my early twenties when I was suicidal. I was depressed and thought about ways to kill myself. It's hard to remember that time not because it's painful to remember it but because it is so far from my current reality. At that time, I could never have imagined the fullness of life that I have now. In grade school, I learned a verse that says,

The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I [Jesus] have come that they may have life, and have it to the full.

~The Good News According to John, chpt 10

When you boil it down, I guess I believe in God because I see the truth of Jesus in my life. I have seen how the thief (Satan) comes to steal and kill and destroy. But I am currently experiencing the full life that Jesus promised. And this is true even though I struggle in my new role as a mom.

My daughter took her first steps yesterday. I thought my heart was going to burst out of my chest; I was so stinkin' proud of her. She's on her way to exploring the world in a whole new way. (Watch out, World!)

The road out of depression was long and hard. I won't deny it. But I wonder if God felt similarly as I took those first shaky steps toward a new and different life.

If you believe in God, why do you believe in God?