Noah’s Ark Is Not a Kid’s Story October 31, 2007

I am continuing to love Blue Like Jazz.  I savor every page and am trying to slow my normal word-devouring pace. 

I mentioned over a month ago that we are now home schooling, and we’re using a cirriculum that we have really enjoyed.  There is a fair amount of reading, but Nathan and I love to read together.  The difficulty in all of this is that Nathan just can’t be duped.  I was duped.  I never asked questions but blindly followed the adult in charge of doling out the information.  Nathan will follow only so far.  As soon as he sees an inconsistency or something that hasn’t been fully explained, he digs in and won’t budge until it is explained.  That can be a great attribute, except that the answers are very difficult for a tender-hearted 2nd grader.

But, I digress.  Donald Miller writes in the above-mentioned book, I associated much of Christian doctrine with children’s stories because I grew up in church.  My Sunday school teachers had turned Bible narrative into children’s fables.  They talked about Noah and the ark because the story had animals in it.  They failed to mention that this was when God massacred all of humanity.

This is where home schooling comes in.  Part of the cirriculum is to read The Beginner’s Bible together and discuss it.  I had almost left that part out (due to the cheesy pictures alone), and I now wish that I had.  We’ve already read the Noah part, and he’s already asked the questions.  Of course, he had been hearing the story since birth up until we stopped attending church.  I even decorated his room in Noah’s Ark decor when he was born.  The morbidity!!  The animals were cute, but as he asked me last week, “Mom, what happened to the rest of the animals?”  Ummm….  Nathan has been telling everyone lately that he wants to be an animal rescuer someday.  And here he was asking me about the fate of almost every living animal at the time.  Then he asked about the kids in the flood.  Father, help!  You come down and explain it to him!!

I have to agree with Donald Miller.  These aren’t children’s stories.  You can watch a Veggie Tale remake of David and Goliath and laugh at the silliness of it, but David still chopped off Goliath’s head after that particular confrontation.  And Nathan knows that already.  He also knows that Goliath was actually not a giant pickle, but a human.

So, what to do with the 2-year-old daughter?  For now, I’m going to stick to just loving her. 

The Blue Pill Detox October 30, 2007

Disclaimer: if you or someone you love is on anti-depressants, please find no condemnation in the following words.  I blog for myself and never intend harm toward another.  This is my own personal experience, and yours is most likely different.  I wish you peace and hope on your particular journey. 

A couple of weeks ago, I blogged a little bit about the panic disorder that I’ve struggled with for the past few years.  It really is a thorn in my side.  I had always been one of the most functioning people I knew – working and striving to please everyone.  Trying diligently to earn love and acceptance.  Then I found myself quite suddenly unable to do the most mundane things.  It ruined many of my plans.

I was mostly able to claw my way through the first couple of years after its inception.  Then a setback.  Eight months ago, my grandfather passed away and we moved to a new house – both in the same week.  My grandfather did not time his departure from this earth around our move, so our move did not go very smoothly.  Even our closing date was changed.  His funeral took place where I grew up, near Pittsburgh, PA.  I now live in SC.  My mother, children and I drove up to see him before he died.  I pressed my cheek against his and told him how grateful I was for him.  I said good-bye, drove back, and made the trip again for the funeral two days later.  We came back to SC, threw our stuff together, and moved to our new house.

I was bound to have a setback!!  After a week like that, sitting in traffic and going to restaurants could only freak me out.  However, I was tired.  I was exhausted.  I wanted the blue pill. 

Thank God for doctors.  My life (and the life of our son) was saved by medical intervention when I was pregnant.  Fifty or more years ago, my son and I would have died.  Medicine has achieved astounding feats.  But somehow humanity has come to the conclusion that life can no longer hurt.  Give me a pill.  So they did without question.  They said something about my brain being different and wrote the prescription.

Let me just tell you that when you decide not to take that pill anymore, life really sucks for a while.  It is the fire that I have recently been passing through (well, part of it was that).  I have re-discovered tears, found out that I actually still have TMJ (the blue pill numbed even that), and I am finally just now getting around to mourning my grandfather’s death.  I know that the majority of doctors want to help people.  In the long run, though, this was not helpful.  I wanted to not hurt and they were very willing to make that happen. 

I have felt like Neo from The Matrix in so many ways recently.  It is painful to see things for what they really are.  I had bought into a “reality” that never existed and began to see that 18 months ago.  That one was the “safety” of religion.  So now I shed another bit of the blue pill – one I had literally been ingesting.  It’s almost ironic that this pill really was half blue.  So as my head spins with dizziness, as the nausea comes in waves and I can’t fall asleep at night, I can be grateful that I feel again.

For those of you who truly need this type of medication (I don’t believe that I did – at least not something that strong), my heart goes out to you.  I stand with you in gratitude that we live in a time when you can find something to help.  I have friends taking such medication, and I would never suggest that they stop.  I just knew in the depth of my being that I was trying to escape, and that’s not the same as trying to be well.

Love and wholeness to you.

I Am the Problem October 27, 2007

I just started reading a book called Blue Like Jazz by Donald Miller .  I’m not sure where I heard about it (probably on The God Journey forum), but I was partially drawn to it because of its title. 

I’m not very far into it, but it’s impact is profound.  In light of the things I have posted about recently, about losing myself, this book came along for me at a very pertinent time.  Miller writes:

I think every conscious person, every person who is awake to the functioning principles within his reality, has a moment where he stops blaming the problems in the world on group think, on humanity and authority, and starts to face himself.  I hate this more than anything.  This is the hardest principle within Christian sprituality for me to deal with.  The problem is not out there; the problem is the needy beast of a thing that lives in my chest.

Miller goes on to write: I talk about love, forgiveness, social justice; I rage against American materialism in the name of altruism, but have I even controlled my own heart?  The overwhelming majority of time I spend thinking about myself, pleasing myself, reassuring myself, and when I am done there is nothing to spare for the needy.  Six billion people live in this world, and I can only spare thoughts for one.  Me.

I have nothing really to add what he so piercingly wrote except the following: I was struck that upon reading the parts that I quoted above, I did not feel condemned.  I felt invited.  Invited into more of the only One who really can save us from ourselves.

Losing Myself October 25, 2007

I just had to laugh…

I had not been on Ted Dekker’s web site for quite some time, but I decided to give it a visit after the question posted by Sue yesterday.  I really enjoyed The Circle Trilogy, consisting of the titles Black, Red, and White.  I was just looking around on the site and I clicked on the link for The Circle.  When the page opened, the first line at the top stated, On your journey through life, may you always dive deep.

Considering all of my ruminating yesterday about my fear of water, that was pretty funny.  How does one dive deep into Elyon’s waters?  How does one learn how to drown?  My first and most powerful instinct is self-preservation.  The water is too deep and I might not make it!

Maybe this blog isn’t about finding myself after all.  Maybe it’s truly about losing myself.

My Fear of Water October 24, 2007

There is something that has always scared me about water.  I love enjoying the beauty of the ocean – from the beach.  I might go in a little bit if it’s uncomfortably hot, but that’s about it.  Lakes – no thank you!  I do take my kids swimming over the summer, but I usually don’t get my hair wet except by accident.  It’s not because I’m too prissy.  You don’t grow up prissy when you’re raised on a dairy farm.  There is just something truly scary to me about water.

When I was six, I remember swimming in our friends’ beautiful pool, complete with a diving board.  I didn’t know how to swim at that age, but I had fun.  The other kids had all run in the house for a snack, but I wanted to jump in one more time.  I just failed to mention my plans to anyone.  I was small and skinny at the time, and I wanted to jump into one of those little swim rings that kids wear arounds their waists.  I jumped, missed my target, and ended up straddling the thing.  It flipped me upside down, and my legs were tangled in it.  I remember looking up at the surface of the water, so close and yet so far.  It was peaceful down there except for the fact that I couldn’t breathe.  Just when I was going to start taking in water, an adult grabbed me by the leg and pulled me out.  Thank God!! 

I didn’t breathe in the water, and I didn’t pass out.  People come through much worse only to be swimming like a fish the next time in again.  That wasn’t the case for me.  Something about it creeped me out enough that I never fully recovered.  I did learn how to swim, and there were those summers when I would jump into the deep end just to keep from looking like a wimp.  Diving – well, that didn’t work out so well.  That requires a level of confidence that I wasn’t interested enough in achieving.

This next bit may sound a little odd.  I recently watched some of the Planet Earth DVD’s.  The one titled Ocean’s Deep was so spectacular, but it took me a while to sit still and enjoy it.  I literally struggled to breathe while watching it.  I felt like I was hyperventilating through a snorkeling mask!

So it’s ironic that when I sat down to start this blog, I kept seeing water.  The things that have frightened me about water are similar to what frightens me about really living sometimes.  It’s not safe.  There are mysteries in the deep.  There is beauty there as well, but at what cost?

Oh, and the Learning to Breathe Under Water part of this blog has something to do  with Ted Dekker’s Circle Trilogy.   I haven’t begun to unpack that one yet, but that’s because I’m still trying to get in past my toes!

A Perfect Evening October 23, 2007

Okay, I officially love Over the Rhine!!  They are fantastic live!  I can’t wait until payday because I’m going to be grabbing more of their music!  Have I used enough exclamation marks yet?!!

So, how did taking this “big step” that I last posted about turn out?  Well, it wasn’t perfect, but I am learning to rest in the fact that that’s okay.  I knew right away that I wasn’t going to be able to stay in my seat.  I walked around, stood in the back, and even stepped outside the door when I needed a breath.  I didn’t really miss anything since I could hear them fine outside the door.  Some curious glances were sent my way, but it’s finally not bothering me!!  If they only knew what a victory I was experiencing, even in my apparent flighty behavior!

My favorite part was actually before the concert.  Cynthia, Kim, Katie (Cynthia’s daughter) and I had dinner together.  It was so much fun to get to know each other better.  Finding out how Kim’s God Journey began before there was such a podcast was just so interesting and encouraging.  (Sue, I wish we had had a Star Trek transporter to get you across the ocean to join us …)

In the past, I would have considered dinner a success but the concert a failure on my part.  However, from the example of some wise friends (namely Kent), I am learning to live in expectancy and not with expectations.  The night was full of great fellowship, wonderful music, and big steps taken on my path to freedom.  I rested in valuing the steps instead of punishing myself for not reaching the “end result” all in one night.  That, my friends, constitues a perfect evening!

A Big Step October 19, 2007

Why am I putting this pressure on myself?  I shouldn’t be making this public, but I’m really kind of excited about this.  You see, I am going with Cynthia to see Over the Rhine in concert tonight.  If you knew what my past three years looked like, you would be impressed.

I have suffered from panic attacks since the summer of 2004.  There.  I said it.  It took me many months back then just to acknowledge it.  After all, my first attack hit in church, and during praise and worship, no less.  What kind of Christian has a panic attack in church?!!  To top it off, it was during one of those quiet, reverent moments when they stop playing music and just have us stand there in silence.  All of a sudden, Freak Out!  No one else noticed the meltdown I was about to have, but I was outta there!  I was never able to attend another church service all the way through again, no matter how hard I tried.  Maybe that’s not such a negative thing…  (I did pretend to go to church so that no one would question my spirituality.  I spent a lot of time volunteering in the nursery.  That appeared very spiritual).

Unfortunately, this insidious condition did not only impact me at church services.  It attempted to leave me completely stuck at home.  Thankfully, I’ve been functioning pretty well.  However, there are certain situations that I have not been willing to venture into.  Concerts are one of them.  Movie theaters are another.  But that’s for another day…

So, it is with great excitement that I go to this concert.  The mere fact that I jumped at the chance is quite a milestone.  I am so grateful that Father has brought me to this point.  So, unless Cynthia’s daughter goes into labor today and I can’t find someone to take her ticket, I will be enjoying great live music with a good friend.

A Memory Gift From Father October 16, 2007

Oh, a few days have passed again.  I have a new nephew, and I’ve been spending my time visiting him and my sister.  His name is Joshua, and he is beautiful!  What a wonderful reminder that life is such a precious gift.

I have decided that I need to read The Shack again.  I am certain that I missed a lot the first time through, and my memory of it is already a bit blurry.  While I was contemplating my reading list, a memory came to me that convinced me that a re-reading of The Shack was a must.

I love my earthly dad.  He was always physically present in our home.  He was never drunk, and never physically abused any of us.  However, I didn’t always love him like I do now.  While he was physically there, he never really connected with my sisters and I emotionally.  I never had the feeling growing up that he really cared to know the “real” me.  As long as I made him look good through striving and accomplishments, I knew that he was proud.  Other than that, he was pretty silent.

I have really struggled with this as I have tried to find my footing with Father.  I was pondering this the other day when I was reminded of an incredible gift that Father gave me close to ten years ago.  It was at the beginning of my struggle to relate to him as my Father, and I was desperate for a memory of my earthly dad showing true affection for me.  Suddenly, a wonderful memory broke through my sadness, and I knew that it was a real memory.  It was something that had flitted across my memory banks for years, though I was unable to really grasp it.

I was still in a crib, probably close to two years old.  (Some psychologists would tell you that this isn’t a true memory because of my age, but I know that it is real.)  I woke up in my crib and called out, and nobody responded.  I remember growing increasingly upset, crying for a time, and nobody came.  I was stuck with no one to respond to my cries.

After a time (it probably wasn’t really as long as my 2-year-old mind thought), my dad finally came in.  I remember him being very kind, telling me that it was okay.  He told me that he had just been outside, and that my mom was down the road at my grandparents’ house.  I remember that he put me in the bathtub, and gently cleaned my very snotty nose.  His manner toward me was of a father who was tenderly caring for his little girl.

It has been a while since I dwelled on that wonderful gift.  It is a gift because I have no other memories like it involving my dad.  I is also a gift because Father brought it to mind when I really needed it.  I still cherish it beyond words.

I look forward to The Shack again.  It has been significant in my life not unlike that long-ago memory of my dad treating me like I was his precious little girl.

Another One From the Indigo Girls October 11, 2007

A dear friend of mine pointed me to this song a few months ago while I was reading The Shack.  It has been a balm to my soul.  

The Wood Song by the Indigo Girls 

The thin horizon of a plan is almost clear
My friends and I have had a tough time
Bruising our brains hard up against change
All the old dogs and the magician
Now I see were in the boat in two by twos
Only the heart that we have for a tool we could use
And the very close quarters are hard to get used to
Love weighs the hull down with its weight
But the wood is tired and the wood is old
And we’ll make it fine if the weather holds
But if the weather holds we’ll have missed the point
That’s where I need to go

No way construction of this tricky plan
Was built by other than a greater hand
With a love that passes all our understanding
Watching closely over the journey
Yeah but what it takes to cross the great divide
Seems more than all the courage I can muster up inside
Although we get to have some answers when we reach the other side
The prize is always worth the rocky ride
But the wood is tired and the wood is old
And we’ll make it fine if the weather holds
But if the weather holds we’ll have missed the point
That’s where I need to go

Sometimes I ask to sneak a closer look
Skip to the final chapter of the book
And then maybe steer us clear from some of the pain it took
To get us where we are this far yeah
But the question drowns in its futility
And even I have got to laugh at me
No one gets to miss the storm of what will be
Just holding on for the ride
The wood is tired and the wood is old
We’ll make it fine if the weather holds
But if the weather holds we’ll have missed the point
That’s where I need to go

I was hanging out with Cynthia last night, and she had us doing some writing exercises.  One of them was to write about three things we would like to lose.  Well, I would really like to lose my bad attitude!  The third verse of this song is exactly where I’m at.  Let me skip this part!  I want to get to the end!  It is a futile wish, and one that would not be in my best interest.  But that doesn’t keep me from wishing that it could be!

 The prize is always worth the rocky ride.  What is that prize?  Right now, I have honestly forgotten.  At least, the part of me that could put it into words has.  The knowledge of it is buried somewhere in my heart, and the hope of it keeps me on this ship.   

 

Strange Fire October 9, 2007

Sue posted recently about consuming fire (on Oct. 8), and it really stirred a lot up in me. As soon as I read her post,  this song came to mind and makes even more sense to me. I don’t know what the thought process was when the song was written, but I have taken much from it.

Strange Fire by the Indigo Girls

I come to you with strange fire
I make an offering of love
The incense of my soul is burned
By the fire in my blood
I come with a softer answer
To the questions that lie in your path
I want to harbor you from the anger
Find a refuge from the wrath

This is a message
A message of love
Love that moves from the inside out
Love that never grows tired
I come to you with strange

Fire
Fire

Mercenaries of the shrine
Now who are you to speak for God
With haughty eyes and lying tongues
And hands that shed innocent blood
Now who delivered you the power
To interpret Calvary
You gamble away our freedom
To gain your own authority

Find another state of mind
You know its time we all learned
To grab hold
Strange fire burns
With the motion of love

Fire
Fire

When you learn to love yourself
You will dissolve all the stones that are cast
Now you will learn to burn the icing sky
To melt the waxen mask
I said to have the gift of true release
This is a peace that will take you higher
Oh I come to you with my offering
I bring you strange fire

This is a message
A message of love
Love that moves from the inside out
Love that never grows tired
I come to you with strange fire
Fire
Fire
I come to you with strange fire

God is love, yet He is also a consuming fire.  I had never thought about it being a fire of love before. A love that moves from the inside out and never grows tired.  There is so much to this song that I will be chewing on that I had never seen before.  So thanks, Sue!