I will be thirty in approximately a month; November 10th to be exact. I am excited and dreadful all at the same time. Excited because I will no longer be in my twenties-Hooray! Dreadful because I look back on the last thirty years and begin to wonder if my life has counted for enough.
If you know me then you know that I am a Type A personality. You know? One of those get-it-done type of people. I can't do a half-assed job at anything and I usually take on way too much all at once. Though these days I have learned the word "no". So then you will also understand my dread at turning thirty and having the sinking feeling that I have not accomplished enough.
I have not accomplished obtaining a degree. I have not given birth. I have not been out of this country but only once to Wales and England. I have not been arrested for protesting.
But then I take a less self-deprecating look at my life and realize that I have accomplished quite a lot. At the young and tender age of 19 years old I moved halfway across the country, away from my parents, and ventured out on my own. I eventually landed a good-paying job and have worked diligently to amass enough experience to support myself. I managed to steer clear of marrying a loser and instead married the love of my life. I have made unique, special, meaningful and cherished friendships with quite a few people that probably know me better than I know myself. I have faced a lot of my demons, stared them down, then walked passed them...leaving them behind me.
There is a country song out there called "In My Next Thirty Years" by Tim McGraw. He talks about doing some things differently and better in the next thirty years. I hope that I can do just that in my next thirty years. At the same time, in my next thirty years, I'm going to cherish the progress that I have made and relish the journey, even the pain, of getting there.
10.14.2010
10.04.2010
It was on Saturday, on a metro train, under the ground
This past Friday night I boarded a charter bus with about forty other people from the Immigration Solidarity Committee. Our destination was Washington D.C. for a march telling Washington that we are one nation standing together, demanding the changes that were promised to us. We became united and lived out our duty as the people for the people.
I was thrilled upon arriving to see all the different people huddled together with their friends and families. The Spanish language was spoken all around us and I felt so excited to be among the Spanish speaking population of Charlotte, NC. Although I felt some anxiety in attempting to speak Spanish myself, I knew this trip would prove to be an awesome opportunity to spruce up on my skills.
For some time now I have felt a deep spiritual emptiness within. My daily struggle to bring about meaning in my days and be productive through action based on my beliefs has become exhausting. The many various illnesses that I suffer from have also impeded some of my zeal and I feel as though I am not doing enough, though the desire is there. My time so far here at Hyaets has also been very trying. My expectations have not been met, though not necessarily through the fault of anyone at Hyaets, but rather through my own desires and the cultivation of what God is doing within me and where he is leading me. So, it was with excitement and also weariness that I boarded the bus to D.C.
I will write more on the rally/march later however, I am compelled to relay an experience I had on the metro going back to the buses to come home. It was myself and Jacob along with about seven other members of ISC (Immigration Solidarity Committee). The metro train was overstuffed with people. It was stuffy and overwhelmed with the smell of hot and sticky people. There were conversations going on all about. After about five minutes sitting on the metro the train came to a halt prematurely and we were stuck waiting for it to continue for about ten minutes.
It was during this time that Gizella, a lovely woman I had met through ISC, and whom I had told of my physical ailments, decided to pray for me. She placed her soft warm hand on my shoulder as we sat side-by-side on one of the benches, closed her eyes and began praying out loud for me. I closed my eyes too and my ears zeroed in on what she was saying. She began by praying for healing of my body. This I expected as I had told her about my physical ailments. She fluidly spoke the freeing and beautiful Word of God out of her mouth into the stuffy and smelly air. Her words surrounded me and my mind and soul. I breathed them in. As she continued she spoke to me in the Spirit of God and set to rest many worries and troubles of my soul. She confirmed that where I am and what I am doing is where and what I should be doing, but only for a season. Then she began to pray and say things to me that opened the emotional flood gates that I have had locked for some time. As she continued to pray I had the sense that it was the Lord speaking to me, giving me words of encouragement and affirmation. It is these words that I will keep secure and hold tightly to and ask the Lord to confirm again.
It has been quite some time since I have had a spiritual experience such as I had on the metro yesterday. It has been quite some time since I have been poured into such as Gizella did on Saturday. Me, a mere acquaintance to her, she took time to listen to and pray for and then speak into words of life. It was on Saturday, on a metro train, under the ground, in the dark, that the Lord brought me into His light and lifted me up. He has given me strength to continue and even more, hope!
I was thrilled upon arriving to see all the different people huddled together with their friends and families. The Spanish language was spoken all around us and I felt so excited to be among the Spanish speaking population of Charlotte, NC. Although I felt some anxiety in attempting to speak Spanish myself, I knew this trip would prove to be an awesome opportunity to spruce up on my skills.
For some time now I have felt a deep spiritual emptiness within. My daily struggle to bring about meaning in my days and be productive through action based on my beliefs has become exhausting. The many various illnesses that I suffer from have also impeded some of my zeal and I feel as though I am not doing enough, though the desire is there. My time so far here at Hyaets has also been very trying. My expectations have not been met, though not necessarily through the fault of anyone at Hyaets, but rather through my own desires and the cultivation of what God is doing within me and where he is leading me. So, it was with excitement and also weariness that I boarded the bus to D.C.
I will write more on the rally/march later however, I am compelled to relay an experience I had on the metro going back to the buses to come home. It was myself and Jacob along with about seven other members of ISC (Immigration Solidarity Committee). The metro train was overstuffed with people. It was stuffy and overwhelmed with the smell of hot and sticky people. There were conversations going on all about. After about five minutes sitting on the metro the train came to a halt prematurely and we were stuck waiting for it to continue for about ten minutes.
It was during this time that Gizella, a lovely woman I had met through ISC, and whom I had told of my physical ailments, decided to pray for me. She placed her soft warm hand on my shoulder as we sat side-by-side on one of the benches, closed her eyes and began praying out loud for me. I closed my eyes too and my ears zeroed in on what she was saying. She began by praying for healing of my body. This I expected as I had told her about my physical ailments. She fluidly spoke the freeing and beautiful Word of God out of her mouth into the stuffy and smelly air. Her words surrounded me and my mind and soul. I breathed them in. As she continued she spoke to me in the Spirit of God and set to rest many worries and troubles of my soul. She confirmed that where I am and what I am doing is where and what I should be doing, but only for a season. Then she began to pray and say things to me that opened the emotional flood gates that I have had locked for some time. As she continued to pray I had the sense that it was the Lord speaking to me, giving me words of encouragement and affirmation. It is these words that I will keep secure and hold tightly to and ask the Lord to confirm again.
It has been quite some time since I have had a spiritual experience such as I had on the metro yesterday. It has been quite some time since I have been poured into such as Gizella did on Saturday. Me, a mere acquaintance to her, she took time to listen to and pray for and then speak into words of life. It was on Saturday, on a metro train, under the ground, in the dark, that the Lord brought me into His light and lifted me up. He has given me strength to continue and even more, hope!
9.20.2010
Path to Peace
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| Drawn Picture of Via Dolorosa (Way of Suffering) The path Jesus took on the way to his Crucifixion |
Right now Jacob is struggling to find a job that he not only qualifies for but that he is not over-qualified for; nevertheless, he is willing to take either. He begins a temporary assignment tomorrow (er today) at a paper factory where he will be stuck in steel toe shoes that are one size too small for his feet. We looked hard for some used ones at various thrift stores and were not able to find a pair other than the ones that were one size too small. So, as he works the next three weeks, his poor feet will be mutilated. He is my hero!!!
Though our refrigerator is not barren or our pantries barren, we find ourselves struggling to create meals from what we have. We were blessed with a grocery donation about two weeks ago from a dear friend, Keith, who runs a non-profit food donation site called the Common Place. If it were not for him we would not have gotten as far as we have with our groceries, and for that I am thankful and appreciative. However, we find ourselves in the same boat once again. Jake tried to make a Hamburger Helper beef straganoff but we had no milk and no money to buy milk. In these times it is helpful to remember the Lord's Prayer, that God does not instruct us to pray for weekly bread or monthly bread but rather for daily bread...and seemingly, we have not yet gone hungry.
Oh and bills...I cannot even begin to explain my exasperation over bills. With my short-term disability only paying me 60% of my normal pay and Jacob not having steady work these past months, we have barely met the demands of rent, phone, electric, groceries, and other necessities. However, I must give God praise for we have yet to come up short for our rent or have our electricity cut off. And in the end, I remember that Jesus had no where to lay his head, no place to call home. Honestly, the worse that could happen is we are evicted and would then enter into the blessed experience of homelessness, relying on the generosity of others to shelter us, just as Jesus did. Guess if you want to be more like him, what better way to do so.
It is through these struggles that I have found a deep cord of commonality in the frailty and humanity of those who I live next to. I no longer seem so different from them and them from me. We have all jumped into the same boat and are doing our best to row through the rocky, and at times tumultuous, waters of life.
In the midst of the storms there are occasionally those who calm the waters and offer their friendship or resources to help us out. Jake's mom, Penny, has been a huge help. She has allowed Jacob to work with her some days and pays him generously. That has been quite a saving grace. Then, there has been the gift card to Bi-Lo from Hyaets which helped out to provide a meal. Keith, who has given us a load of groceries. And many others who pray for us and those who struggle with us and give us reason to laugh and remain joyous.
I am thankful for these struggles though I may not necessarily like them so much. The way of suffering is the path to peace...just maybe I'm beginning on my journey to a peace that surpasses all understanding.
9.04.2010
Forms to get a form? Really? How the Social Service System is keeping people down!
So yesterday I had my first experience at the Social Services department in Charlotte, NC. I parked my car and walked in through the automatic sliding glass doors and a cool wind hit my face. Yes! It is nicely air conditioned in here. That would be about the very last thing I was grateful for during my time there.
The first stop I had to make was to the Information Desk where I asked for a form for Food Stamps. The young lady behind the counter handed three forms and advised me to go make an appointment with one of the receptionist staff to the left. So I got in line and waited. There were four lanes to choose from, but not knowing which one was going to be open next three of us were just hanging back for the next one to be available, very much like at a bank. So about ten minutes goes by and then a Security Officer decides to assign the two ladies behind me to two different lanes and leaves me hanging. I had a hard time not believing that this was not a form of discrimination against me because I was the only white person in there.
Finally I get to the head of the line and a very sweet lady behind the counter explains to that in order to make an appointment I would need to fill out the forms that I already received plus she gave me three more forms to fill out. She advised that I should go sit at one of the tables in the back, fill out all the forms, and then come back to schedule my appointment with her so I can receive the actual Food Stamp forms.
Huh? You mean the six pages you have already given me aren't the Food Stamp form? Uh, no!
Well, thankfully I'm a quick form-filler-outer. I finished the forms and took my place at the back of the line for the same woman who I had just spoken with. This began another fifteen minute wait. All the while I would try to strike up conversations with others in the line but I would be ignored. Folks would act as if they did not hear me and turn their backs to me. I again felt discriminated against for being the only white person in the building.
So, I just kept to myself the whole fifteen minutes, waiting patiently, as people's children screamed and hollered. One ladies son even came and stepped on my toes multiple times, each time I would say "watch out sweetie" and she would say nothing to him to correct his behavior.
Once I got to the front of the line the woman took my forms and then handed me a ten page packet to fill out. I would need to fill this out at home and then come back sometime next week between Tuesday and Friday for a walk-in appointment. Yes, a walk-in appointment. They don't schedule appointments until you get there, so you inevitably have to wait some more once you are there for your appointment.
I got to thinking about this ridiculous process and all the implications it could have on various situations and people. The forms are tedious and time consuming. They could be difficult to read for someone who has a reading disability or lacks the skills necessary to fill out the information they are requesting. The fact that you have to fill out a form just to get the form you need to get the help you need is in itself very oppressive. I also got to thinking of those that might have a job. They would have to take off twice from work; once to come down and fill out the forms to get the forms and then again to come back for their walk-in appointment. Often folks applying for these services cannot afford to take off from work nor do they get paid-time off from work.
My other observation is that there is some misunderstanding between cultures I believe. I think that I was ignored and somewhat discriminated against simply because it does not seem many white people come to Social Services for assistance. At least in this office. All the employees where black and all but me asking for help were black. I think it is a misunderstanding between cultures that white people do not need help when in fact, we are often in the very same boat as many other people, regardless of race. Poverty does not discriminate. It will get whomever it can and it is hard to get out from under it.
I pray that God would see the injustices that exist in our systems and in our cultures. I pray for his healing and wisdom amongst all peoples and within social assistance programs.
Where is the dignity in all of this? Where is the respect for the human in it all? I am not some form to be reviewed but rather I am a human being, who is hungry...that's all.
The first stop I had to make was to the Information Desk where I asked for a form for Food Stamps. The young lady behind the counter handed three forms and advised me to go make an appointment with one of the receptionist staff to the left. So I got in line and waited. There were four lanes to choose from, but not knowing which one was going to be open next three of us were just hanging back for the next one to be available, very much like at a bank. So about ten minutes goes by and then a Security Officer decides to assign the two ladies behind me to two different lanes and leaves me hanging. I had a hard time not believing that this was not a form of discrimination against me because I was the only white person in there.
Finally I get to the head of the line and a very sweet lady behind the counter explains to that in order to make an appointment I would need to fill out the forms that I already received plus she gave me three more forms to fill out. She advised that I should go sit at one of the tables in the back, fill out all the forms, and then come back to schedule my appointment with her so I can receive the actual Food Stamp forms.
Huh? You mean the six pages you have already given me aren't the Food Stamp form? Uh, no!
Well, thankfully I'm a quick form-filler-outer. I finished the forms and took my place at the back of the line for the same woman who I had just spoken with. This began another fifteen minute wait. All the while I would try to strike up conversations with others in the line but I would be ignored. Folks would act as if they did not hear me and turn their backs to me. I again felt discriminated against for being the only white person in the building.
So, I just kept to myself the whole fifteen minutes, waiting patiently, as people's children screamed and hollered. One ladies son even came and stepped on my toes multiple times, each time I would say "watch out sweetie" and she would say nothing to him to correct his behavior.
Once I got to the front of the line the woman took my forms and then handed me a ten page packet to fill out. I would need to fill this out at home and then come back sometime next week between Tuesday and Friday for a walk-in appointment. Yes, a walk-in appointment. They don't schedule appointments until you get there, so you inevitably have to wait some more once you are there for your appointment.
I got to thinking about this ridiculous process and all the implications it could have on various situations and people. The forms are tedious and time consuming. They could be difficult to read for someone who has a reading disability or lacks the skills necessary to fill out the information they are requesting. The fact that you have to fill out a form just to get the form you need to get the help you need is in itself very oppressive. I also got to thinking of those that might have a job. They would have to take off twice from work; once to come down and fill out the forms to get the forms and then again to come back for their walk-in appointment. Often folks applying for these services cannot afford to take off from work nor do they get paid-time off from work.
My other observation is that there is some misunderstanding between cultures I believe. I think that I was ignored and somewhat discriminated against simply because it does not seem many white people come to Social Services for assistance. At least in this office. All the employees where black and all but me asking for help were black. I think it is a misunderstanding between cultures that white people do not need help when in fact, we are often in the very same boat as many other people, regardless of race. Poverty does not discriminate. It will get whomever it can and it is hard to get out from under it.
I pray that God would see the injustices that exist in our systems and in our cultures. I pray for his healing and wisdom amongst all peoples and within social assistance programs.
Where is the dignity in all of this? Where is the respect for the human in it all? I am not some form to be reviewed but rather I am a human being, who is hungry...that's all.
8.30.2010
What if?
I feel at a loss right now honestly. I have recently felt quite unsettled and disturbed at all the conflicts in Iraq and concerning the Palestine-Israel conflicts and the U.S. Military violence in countries all around the world, specifically within Iraq.
8.16.2010
Diversions on Sabbath
On Sundays, all the houses of Hyaets are closed to the neighborhood unless there is an emergency. Hyaets consists of three couples (Greg and Helms, Jason and Joanie, Me and Jacob), and Anna. Each couple has their own home and Anna stays with a roommate in a duplex around the block. We are all in very close proximity to one another, able to see our homes from our windows, except Anna who lives just a short walk around the block.
The folks that are part of the intentional Christian community and ministry of Hyaets practice the Sabbath on Sundays. We close our homes to our neighbors so that we can each rest in our own ways. For most of us it involves attending a home church and then lunch with our immediate families and spending the day unwinding at home, maybe catching up on a few emails and such, but mostly just spending the day with family.
I really value this time of rest and regeneration. I think it is a practice that is not practiced enough within the Christian community.
However today, with the absence of my husband off working, I felt quite lonely. I was here with all my thoughts and emotions and only the diversions of the internet and the t.v. to keep me occupied. And that is just what I did. I used those diversions to keep myself from thinking and feeling. Now I have reflected on this and wonder just how often I do this. I use the noise of this world, whether it be the visual or audio noise, to divert my attention from myself, from others, and from God.
I spent time in prayer this evening while Jacob was writing. During that time I sensed this deep connection to God and to myself. It has been a while since I spent individual time in prayer, other than my short one line prayers throughout most days.
I wonder how different my days would be if I spent a little more time in active prayer and reading of God's word or the words of others who have lived out holy lives? I wonder how much further I would be in my emotional life if I stopped diverting my attentions and paid attention to myself and shared these emotions with God.
It is so much easier to ignore myself than to really pay attention. It is easier to ignore the reality of life. Unfortunately, as I ignore myself and life, I miss out on many joys and beautiful moments. I know this. I want this to change in my life. I am thankful that I have been able to grab a bit of this understanding today and hopefully, with this insight, I will move a little further along the path to loving myself, to loving God more, and loving others more.
The folks that are part of the intentional Christian community and ministry of Hyaets practice the Sabbath on Sundays. We close our homes to our neighbors so that we can each rest in our own ways. For most of us it involves attending a home church and then lunch with our immediate families and spending the day unwinding at home, maybe catching up on a few emails and such, but mostly just spending the day with family.
I really value this time of rest and regeneration. I think it is a practice that is not practiced enough within the Christian community.
However today, with the absence of my husband off working, I felt quite lonely. I was here with all my thoughts and emotions and only the diversions of the internet and the t.v. to keep me occupied. And that is just what I did. I used those diversions to keep myself from thinking and feeling. Now I have reflected on this and wonder just how often I do this. I use the noise of this world, whether it be the visual or audio noise, to divert my attention from myself, from others, and from God.
I spent time in prayer this evening while Jacob was writing. During that time I sensed this deep connection to God and to myself. It has been a while since I spent individual time in prayer, other than my short one line prayers throughout most days.
I wonder how different my days would be if I spent a little more time in active prayer and reading of God's word or the words of others who have lived out holy lives? I wonder how much further I would be in my emotional life if I stopped diverting my attentions and paid attention to myself and shared these emotions with God.
It is so much easier to ignore myself than to really pay attention. It is easier to ignore the reality of life. Unfortunately, as I ignore myself and life, I miss out on many joys and beautiful moments. I know this. I want this to change in my life. I am thankful that I have been able to grab a bit of this understanding today and hopefully, with this insight, I will move a little further along the path to loving myself, to loving God more, and loving others more.
8.14.2010
That's A Nice Peace
I feel a new sense of peace recently. I am not certain when it really arrived but sitting on our couch downstairs today, with the light streaming through the cracks of the blinds, I felt the sun coming over the horizon of peace and hope within my soul. For once in a good long while I did not find myself worrying over and obsessing about money, the bills, or Jacob's job situation, my job situation, my friends or relationships or how God sees me. I felt a sense of acceptance and peace about all of these and it felt quite good. I felt like a child of God, resting in his ever strong and capable hands.
Peace has never been a very easy thing for me to fall into and stay in. Peace is scary for me. I have lived my life constantly worried about the worst outcomes. I have spent years telling myself that something bad is going to happen so just be prepared for it, all the while I miss the beauty of life that is right before me. I miss out on the beauty of spending time with friends, neighbors and family. I miss the beauty of a peaceful sleep. I miss out on the beauty of a messy house and cleaning it up, even though my husband will certainly twirl through like the tazmanian devil and leave it in a terror of mess again...and yes, I miss the beauty of that too. I miss the beauty of my husband's intellect, his deep wisdom that he has to offer me and to those around him and the beauty of his goofy antics rooted in his deep sense of trust in God.
Jacob has truly exemplified for me what trusting God should look like. He doesn't worry too much about many things. He doesn't consume himself with knowing how much is due when or thinking we might have to pack and live under a bridge. He just trusts God that it will all work out and if we do end up under a bridge somewhere, God too will be there with us and it will not be for nothing.
I have even began to feel a sense of peace about my physical medical problems. I know that no matter what, I'll be okay, if even not necessarily out of pain, I will have the support and strenghth I need to get by from my husband, from God, and from my family and friends.
I thank God for this peace for it is from Him and Him alone. I thank those who have prayed prayers of peace for me and asked God to move in me in this area. I hope that I can only pass along my peace to others and not hoard it all for myself...though I wonder if in giving peace you lose peace...which I suppose is quite silly to think. I suppose if anything, to give peace will only multiply my own peace because the economy of God is oh so different from ours.
With love to myself
Peace
Peace has never been a very easy thing for me to fall into and stay in. Peace is scary for me. I have lived my life constantly worried about the worst outcomes. I have spent years telling myself that something bad is going to happen so just be prepared for it, all the while I miss the beauty of life that is right before me. I miss out on the beauty of spending time with friends, neighbors and family. I miss the beauty of a peaceful sleep. I miss out on the beauty of a messy house and cleaning it up, even though my husband will certainly twirl through like the tazmanian devil and leave it in a terror of mess again...and yes, I miss the beauty of that too. I miss the beauty of my husband's intellect, his deep wisdom that he has to offer me and to those around him and the beauty of his goofy antics rooted in his deep sense of trust in God.
Jacob has truly exemplified for me what trusting God should look like. He doesn't worry too much about many things. He doesn't consume himself with knowing how much is due when or thinking we might have to pack and live under a bridge. He just trusts God that it will all work out and if we do end up under a bridge somewhere, God too will be there with us and it will not be for nothing.
I have even began to feel a sense of peace about my physical medical problems. I know that no matter what, I'll be okay, if even not necessarily out of pain, I will have the support and strenghth I need to get by from my husband, from God, and from my family and friends.
I thank God for this peace for it is from Him and Him alone. I thank those who have prayed prayers of peace for me and asked God to move in me in this area. I hope that I can only pass along my peace to others and not hoard it all for myself...though I wonder if in giving peace you lose peace...which I suppose is quite silly to think. I suppose if anything, to give peace will only multiply my own peace because the economy of God is oh so different from ours.
With love to myself
Peace
8.09.2010
In The Shadows
I was sitting on the couch this evening and I was just relating some thoughts to God. One of them was this apology for the sake of not offending God. Then I took it back. I told God that I wasn't sorry really, because honestly I really wasn't sorry, and that I knew He knew that and that really I was sorry for being disingenuous. Then I got to wondering just how often I am disingenuous for the sake of appeasing the angry god on a throne, that I often picture as God, waiting to strike me down at any moment . Not to mention all the implications of this belief and my response to this belief and how it so deeply impacts my life in so many different ways.
I also got to thinking about how it seems folks all around me seem way more spiritual than me, as if I am constantly in the shadows of spiritual giants. I'll bring up a topic that may be a bit uncomfortable or not commonly spoken of and I'll either get silence or a variety of other responses intended to close the conversation down. And usually the responses are phrased in such a way that I am left feeling a tad less spiritually advanced. Phrases like: "Oh, well, I've already asked that question before but it is so neat to see you grow in that area" or "That isn't the point of being a Christian" or "Maybe you're asking the wrong question or dwelling on the wrong thing". Then there's the whole other side of the more spiritually advanced person. The person who seems to turn everything into a praise and a blessing. This is the person who turns becoming a quadriplegic at age 26 in a car accident on their way to the Olympics into an awesome blessing; how they wouldn't be the person they are today had that not happened. Well, sure they wouldn't be the person they are without certain events, but is that the means by which we measure our spirituality and how we gauge a blessing? This is a person that never complains or if they do, they then apologize for it and pray to God in prayer time to have a heart that is more thankful.
Since I'm not one of the people that is spiritually advanced in the aforementioned ways I have to admit that I am quite disgusted with those sort of folks. Each person leaves me feeling inadequate or simply bad about myself. Maybe I do focus on things that I shouldn't, spiritually speaking. Maybe I am not asking the right questions. I guess I think that as long as I am asking questions that is better than not. And I'm not a person that can take everything in life and turn it into a praise or consider it a blessing. I have been called a cynic and told I do complain too often. Honestly, sometimes I don't think I complain enough. I think people are just content to live in some fantasy land where they never have to face the tough questions that I struggle with every damn day.
Maybe I struggle with my faith in such a raw and real way that I leave people feeling uncomfortable. I really don't know.
Maybe it isn't me, maybe it is them. Maybe I just need not compare my spiritual state to others' spiritual states. Maybe, as the Al-Anon program suggests, I should mind my own business.
But I do think that I bring about another point of interest in all of my blabbering here. What is the point of we Christians gathering together to share our lives if we never get down to business? What good is it if we never work out together our frustrations, our fears, our anger, our sorrow, our hopelessness, the struggle of relationships, and the struggles within ourselves, and our never-ending grappling with a being that we can neither see nor hear or feel but that we are to serve and love and worship and ultimately die and live for?
I also got to thinking about how it seems folks all around me seem way more spiritual than me, as if I am constantly in the shadows of spiritual giants. I'll bring up a topic that may be a bit uncomfortable or not commonly spoken of and I'll either get silence or a variety of other responses intended to close the conversation down. And usually the responses are phrased in such a way that I am left feeling a tad less spiritually advanced. Phrases like: "Oh, well, I've already asked that question before but it is so neat to see you grow in that area" or "That isn't the point of being a Christian" or "Maybe you're asking the wrong question or dwelling on the wrong thing". Then there's the whole other side of the more spiritually advanced person. The person who seems to turn everything into a praise and a blessing. This is the person who turns becoming a quadriplegic at age 26 in a car accident on their way to the Olympics into an awesome blessing; how they wouldn't be the person they are today had that not happened. Well, sure they wouldn't be the person they are without certain events, but is that the means by which we measure our spirituality and how we gauge a blessing? This is a person that never complains or if they do, they then apologize for it and pray to God in prayer time to have a heart that is more thankful.
Since I'm not one of the people that is spiritually advanced in the aforementioned ways I have to admit that I am quite disgusted with those sort of folks. Each person leaves me feeling inadequate or simply bad about myself. Maybe I do focus on things that I shouldn't, spiritually speaking. Maybe I am not asking the right questions. I guess I think that as long as I am asking questions that is better than not. And I'm not a person that can take everything in life and turn it into a praise or consider it a blessing. I have been called a cynic and told I do complain too often. Honestly, sometimes I don't think I complain enough. I think people are just content to live in some fantasy land where they never have to face the tough questions that I struggle with every damn day.
Maybe I struggle with my faith in such a raw and real way that I leave people feeling uncomfortable. I really don't know.
Maybe it isn't me, maybe it is them. Maybe I just need not compare my spiritual state to others' spiritual states. Maybe, as the Al-Anon program suggests, I should mind my own business.
But I do think that I bring about another point of interest in all of my blabbering here. What is the point of we Christians gathering together to share our lives if we never get down to business? What good is it if we never work out together our frustrations, our fears, our anger, our sorrow, our hopelessness, the struggle of relationships, and the struggles within ourselves, and our never-ending grappling with a being that we can neither see nor hear or feel but that we are to serve and love and worship and ultimately die and live for?
8.07.2010
Where is my voice?
I have recently decided that my voice should be heard. That I am not just a whisper in the wind. I have also decided that I deserve to be respected. I deserve to be seen for who I am and not for what people think I am or want me to be.
No easy feat I will tell you. This decision requires more than merely saying what I think and feel or insisting that someone look me in my eyes or give me the respect that should just be given for the mere fact that I am a human being.
To have my voice heard, to be seen, requires that I believe enough in myself to speak up and be seen for everything that I am. It also requires personal honesty with myself about who I am, where I am at, what I like and don't like, and what I want in relationships with others.
I feel that this decision that I have made has been a huge step in my personal healing and growth and is one more step closer to loving me and not hating me.
Take for instance this scene: I am situated at a dinner table with about ten other people. I ask my husband if there is a spoon for the mac & cheese. The person with the said spoon, a 20 year old (10 years my junior), chimes in "If you will just wait a minute!"
Before I made the decision in my life to speak up and be heard and seen I would have muttered something to myself or bitched about it to Jacob later on that evening when we were alone. Instead, I told her that I didn't realize she had the spoon and that I'm not sure I liked her tone. Some spectators at the table made it a bit more of a scene than I would have wished and the young lady tried to excuse herself from the responsibility of being disrespectful. Nonetheless, I made myself heard and expressed my feelings, set a personal boundary in no uncertain terms. I am still mulling it over in my head how I could have still yet handled it better...as I was a bit exasperated at the level of disrespect that I felt. But I am proud of myself for speaking up and letting this person know that what they did was not acceptable in our relationship.
Take for instance this scene: I am at a new physician's office. He comes into the room where I am waiting and examines me and asks me a multitude of questions. He then goes on to advise me he will stop giving me opioid pain medications as they don't really help Fibromyalgia and up the Ultram. I am not okay with this as I am not just a Fibromyalgia patient. I have RA, and OA as well as nerve pain. I struggle with pain all day every day. I do not sleep at night. This doctor whom has never met me, who talks to me for ten minutes, decides what is best for me. I did not speak up because I feared being viewed as a drug-seeker (someone addicted to pain medications).
The above scene has taught me a valuable lesson. I do not have to go along with a physician's treatment plan because it is my body and my treatment plan. He does not live my life or in my body. So, next time, I will express to him "Dr. Siar, you do not live in my body or deal with the pain that I deal with every day. I do not believe that you have accurately heard me or seen me. I do not care that your MRI says I should not be in pain...I am. Do you treat MRI's or do you treat patients? Have you heard me and seen me?" I will not just sit there and let him run my medical care.
I am thankful for my new found strength in myself and the confidence to carry out this conviction. I am not a victim or someone that can be walked all over. I have the right to be seen and heard. Doesn't everyone?
No easy feat I will tell you. This decision requires more than merely saying what I think and feel or insisting that someone look me in my eyes or give me the respect that should just be given for the mere fact that I am a human being.
To have my voice heard, to be seen, requires that I believe enough in myself to speak up and be seen for everything that I am. It also requires personal honesty with myself about who I am, where I am at, what I like and don't like, and what I want in relationships with others.
I feel that this decision that I have made has been a huge step in my personal healing and growth and is one more step closer to loving me and not hating me.
Take for instance this scene: I am situated at a dinner table with about ten other people. I ask my husband if there is a spoon for the mac & cheese. The person with the said spoon, a 20 year old (10 years my junior), chimes in "If you will just wait a minute!"
Before I made the decision in my life to speak up and be heard and seen I would have muttered something to myself or bitched about it to Jacob later on that evening when we were alone. Instead, I told her that I didn't realize she had the spoon and that I'm not sure I liked her tone. Some spectators at the table made it a bit more of a scene than I would have wished and the young lady tried to excuse herself from the responsibility of being disrespectful. Nonetheless, I made myself heard and expressed my feelings, set a personal boundary in no uncertain terms. I am still mulling it over in my head how I could have still yet handled it better...as I was a bit exasperated at the level of disrespect that I felt. But I am proud of myself for speaking up and letting this person know that what they did was not acceptable in our relationship.
Take for instance this scene: I am at a new physician's office. He comes into the room where I am waiting and examines me and asks me a multitude of questions. He then goes on to advise me he will stop giving me opioid pain medications as they don't really help Fibromyalgia and up the Ultram. I am not okay with this as I am not just a Fibromyalgia patient. I have RA, and OA as well as nerve pain. I struggle with pain all day every day. I do not sleep at night. This doctor whom has never met me, who talks to me for ten minutes, decides what is best for me. I did not speak up because I feared being viewed as a drug-seeker (someone addicted to pain medications).
The above scene has taught me a valuable lesson. I do not have to go along with a physician's treatment plan because it is my body and my treatment plan. He does not live my life or in my body. So, next time, I will express to him "Dr. Siar, you do not live in my body or deal with the pain that I deal with every day. I do not believe that you have accurately heard me or seen me. I do not care that your MRI says I should not be in pain...I am. Do you treat MRI's or do you treat patients? Have you heard me and seen me?" I will not just sit there and let him run my medical care.
I am thankful for my new found strength in myself and the confidence to carry out this conviction. I am not a victim or someone that can be walked all over. I have the right to be seen and heard. Doesn't everyone?
8.05.2010
8.04.2010
Angels Bestowing Hope
I have had an emotional day today. Tears come strolling down my cheeks without notice and without permission. I cannot contain all this emotional turmoil any longer. It has been two years now that I have dealt with ongoing and progressive chronic pain. I do not know why I have it or where it exactly it all comes from. I just merely know that I am in pain nearly every minute of every day. I do not sleep because of this pain, at least not well. I am moodier because of this pain. I have been to doctor after doctor trying to figure out the source of the pain and each have their own answers with their tunnel vision due to being specialists. I have lost hope and faith in doctors and Western Medicine altogether quite honestly.
The problem with pain is that it is subjective. No one can really understand my physical and emotional pain because no one is me. My body is unique. My mind is unique. And in that, I have a body that has its own way of responding to the pain and a mind that handles it uniquely. So to be seen by doctor after doctor that simplify my dilemma to bunch of numbers on a pain scale or circling faces that match how I feel is belittling and frustrating. I am so depressed at this point about my physical situation that I just want to give up.
However, this evening, my friend Evelyn (an angel from heaven no less) reminded me that God is here with me and that he has it figured out. She reminded me that I have to stop trying to control every thing and give all this over to God. For me that is a really hard thing to do, Type A personality that I am. She also reminded me to remember all the times in the past where it seemed hopeless but in the end hope prevailed and it all really was okay.
Maybe every little thing will be alright. Maybe it won't. However, hoping for the best is better than fearing the worst.
I pray that I can give all my worries, my anxieties, my frustrations and anger to God above. At times this involves some yelling and shouting and fist shaking at Him...because sometimes that's all I have in me to do. Other times it involves crying my eyes out into my pillow on my bed holding my dog or my husband. Other times it means throwing it all into some canvas with some paint and then walking away with a new found reassurance that all the things that seem so big and monstrous will eventually seem so little when looking at them from years from now.
I don't have it all figured out. I don't know exactly how, in these circumstances, to give it all over to God or exactly why that is required of me. It seems a little absurd really. But maybe it is in the absurd that hope is realized and found and eventually practiced.
Hope Wrapped Up In Love
I spent most of my day worrying about financial burdens. I kept trying to tell myself that I have to take it one day at a time. That I have to "let go and let God" and "easy does it"...all Al-Anon slogans. But mostly, I spent the day sighing heavily, then throwing up all over my husband (verbally that is), then arguing with him about money, and then trying to occupy my time by cleaning this house. I do not rest. I cannot rest. Things that are wrong in my life keep me in a constant state of worry and fright. My therapist says that I sit on the watchtower, waiting and looking for disaster to strike. That I must come down from this imaginary, but oh so very real, watchtower and learn to have fun.But how? How do I have fun when things are so f'd up all around me? My checking account is nearly on the brink of zero. Every day there is another collection bill that comes in my mailbox and then into the trashcan because I know I can't pay it. We barely make it. The job situation with Jake is so hopeless (aw...that word again). He has the brains to do any job yet gets very few responses from potential employers. He sits paralyzed by anxiety to even apply for jobs so I apply for him. I'm so burdened and overwhelmed with more than my fair share of responsibility.
While one person in my household tries to relax all day and calm their anxieties through playing any and all video games he can, I spend my days trying to resolve my anxieties by making phone calls, doing more chores around the house, and working numbers out on the calculator. Two very different ways of handling anxiety and worry...both not very effective because they rarely work to calm the person and resolve the issue at the same time.
Not to mention the constant and nagging pain that I have wracking my body all day and every day. It is so aggravating to be riddled with pain and it is exhausting.
And so my hope for rest...any hope that I have for fun all relies on many things that I cannot control. Not having control is very scary for me. It means that I must trust, or rather have faith in God, hoping he will pull through for us. I must hope for the best...in essence, I must choose to love because hope is wrapped up in love.
I must choose to love myself through all this...which honestly is a whole 'nother story (let's just say loving me isn't easy). I must choose to love my husband through this time of trial, supporting and encouraging him to persevere himself; to not let his worries, his fear and self-doubt get the best of him and to believe the best of himself-to love himself. I must also choose to believe that no matter what happens, we're going to be okay. In so choosing all of these things I am choosing hope. Not an easy feat for one so inclined to choose defeat and the plight of the hopeless.
8.03.2010
Hope for Faith
Hope. Just as overwhelming a word as my very name, Faith. Both seem to be required to hold on to either concept. I can't hope without faith, and well, faith without hope doesn't seem to really be any sort of faith worth having.
As I struggle with monstrous personal internal demons I have found that I despise my very name. In that realization, I have discovered it is because I have let go of the hope of ever living up to the profoundness of my name. My name comes with deep and weighted expectations of spiritual greatness. A greatness that I seem to fall short of and fear will never fulfill.
I cannot understand why I was given such a grand name. I realize that both my mother and father must have had some of their own reasons, reasons that to me, really do not help me with my struggle. Because regardless of their reasons, Faith is now mine. It is not theirs. I must struggle to sort it out. I must find the faith to hope that one day I will be all that I am meant to be and that my name will not have been attached to me in vain.
This struggle with my name is at the center of my struggle with who I am and who I want to be. Who I am ashamed of and who I hope I can forgive one day. Each day I dip down into the depths of deep and dark valleys of hopelessness driven by intense feelings of abandonment; by God, by family and friends. In this state of paralysis I have come to realize that I must push through and not abandon myself. I have been abandoning myself for years now, neglecting my needs and desires and wants...wishing and hoping that others would do for me, feel for me, and give to me what only I can give to myself.
I hope this blog will allow me to express those feelings...openly and honestly. Sometimes with such a rare rawness that it may be offensive, however, hope is not always pretty. In fact, I would venture to say that hope is found in the ugliest and darkest places of the human soul and psyche...at least, that I think is where my hope is and where I must go to come out on the other side with a hope that is laced with joy and beauty.
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