Lifting weights

So sometime in December, I was trying to get my daughter in and out of shopping carts and realized I was having a rough time. And then I realized she was only 30 lbs -- maybe 32 lbs. And I thought to myself When did I become such a weakling?

Then my mother noted that I had not been exercising and sent us some money for Christmas to rectify that problem.

I've been lifting weights for 2 weeks now. I saw a couple recommendations for Starting Strength and decided to try that program.

To sum up the program, all I do is lift weights. Squats, presses, and deadlifts. Here are things I'm enjoying in no particular order.

• It's very simple
• No cardio
• I'm focused on moving weights and not how terrible I feel
• Currently, I can finish everything up in 30-40 minutes, and I'm sweating hard within 10 min
• It kicks in enough endorphins to help with the depression
• There's daycare for my kids
• Since I'm shooting for strength (low reps) vs endurance (high reps) there's not a lot of lactic acid and I'm not cripplingly sore
• In 2 weeks, my posture is already better
• Since I keep a log, improvement is easy to see (I deadlifted 118 today!)
• I have been going at a time where there's no competition for the equipment and no traffic on the way
• In the 5 minutes I spend warming up on the elliptical, I've been reviewing a memory verse, currently I Thess 5:23-24

Harshin' my mellow

One thing I've been pondering lately is why I don't always obey God, aka "Do the right thing."

And when it comes down to it, in that moment, I believe my way is better or my way is the only way I know how to do.

The big thing right now is not yelling at my kids. I think there's a ton of insight in the Bible on why I should not yell at my kids. We'll start with the verse I work with my daughter on "Be kind, one to another, tenderhearted forgiving one another even as Christ has forgiven you." (Ephesians 4:32)

So I know that verse and many others, but I still regularly lose my temper with my kids. What's wrong with me?

In my devotional time this morning I read,

The fear of the Lord is pure, enduring forever.The ordinances of the Lord are sure and altogether righteous.They are more precious than gold, than much pure gold;they are sweeter than honey, than honey from the comb.By them is your servant warned; in keeping them there is great reward. 

~Psalm 19:9-11

When I first read this, I wanted to jump up and point it out to my daughter:
See! We're not harshin' your mellow. Obeying your parents as God has instructed you to do, that's gold, that's honey, that's reward. 

(Seriously, she bawls like we killed her fictional, pet kitten and served it to her for dinner. It's ridiculous)

But then, I realized this is ME. I think that God is harshin' MY mellow, that giving up my right to anger at my kids or at whomever will hurt me in someway. No, I've got to explode. I deserve to explode. Can't you see how bad he/she was to me?

But that's not true. And it's not a little bit untrue, it's completely untrue. Angry outbursts never solve my problem and any satisfaction I get from them are so fleeting and never worth the cost.

Keeping the laws of God: gold, honey, reward. Value, sweetness, true recompense.

God, help me to see how flimsy my "mellow" is, like dust in the mouth. Let me see your guidance as gold, honey, & reward.

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.

Jesus for stupid people

Some times life is life, stress is stress and pain is pain.

There's always been a part of me that wants to logic things out, to know causes and their effects, to solve problems, to understand. Over the years and just right now, I'm learning that sometimes what people most need is a hug.

Jesus is for stupid people, for that woman at the well who had 5 husbands, for Thomas who wouldn't believe until he poked his fingers in Jesus' scars, for Peter who denied being Jesus' friend when the going got tough.

My daughter is in a difficult three-year-old phase where she says no to stuff that she likes and is good for her. And by saying no, I mean turns into a screaming banshee curled up on the floor. Where I want to run away and wait for it to blow over, I'm learning to stick by her until she's in a better place.

Sometimes people make financial or relationship decisions that I think are dumb, dumb, dumb. But who cares? I'm learning who cares that it's their own fault they are stressed and crying their guts out? Jesus is for stupid people. He's been for me when I've been tres stupido and I can be for these friends too.

Thank God Jesus is for stupid people. If Jesus only hung out with people who always had it together and always made the right decision, and never made the dumb choice, he'd be kickin' it out in space with the Father and Holy Ghost.

Here in the US, it's another election season and I think this is applicable. Hey, y'all, Jesus is for stupid people. You know, the folk on the other side, the folk who have earned your scorn. I don't know that this would change a vote, but this should change our hearts. We are one of the stupid, loved by God and thus compelled to love our stupid neighbors, the ones with that bumper sticker.

Jesus for 'special' people

My husband and I met at University Presbyterian Church just off the UCLA campus. It was a really different church from the ones I had grown up in. Being oriented to the college campus, most congregants were undergraduate or graduate students with a few people who stuck around after graduation and even fewer who had no affiliation with the university.  Having a Korean pastor, most of the congregation was also Asian; fresh-off-the-boat international students and US-born Asian-Americans. So picture a congregation between 18-35 years old, mostly Asian, with elite university-educated minds.

Nevertheless, what strikes me about my time there is what a motley crew of 'special' people we were. When I say 'special' I think I actually mean odd & needy. I arrived at the church in culture shock after having spent a year overseas; I had very little financial means; I was skeptical of the value of the formal church setting; and I'd had a really bad roommate experience while overseas. I was a mess. And as I think of all the friends at that church, I think about what a mess they were too. Individual, messy stories.

Our leaving LA coincided with our feeling that it was time to move on from that  church. So I'm not saying it was a perfect church. But a distinguishing feature of that community is loving messy people and loving messy people who are supposed to be ok. University elites are supposed to ok, to have succeeded in the past and to succeed on into the future. What I got to participate in for myself and with others was Jesus loving the little child in each of us; the child that we'd hidden away but was scared nonetheless, was hurt and confused.

Now that I've had some time away, I think how small my dissatisfactions were compared to the privilege of being with a pastor and church committed to loving 'special' people.