Broken.

I’m striving to JUST BE REAL on here. Full disclosure (with respect for others privacy).

NOTE: I read through this post again and again realizing what a rambling block of nonsense it seems. Hopefully as time goes on and I get used to this blog thing, I’ll be able to be more open in order for things to make more sense for possible readers. This is primarily for my mental health and spiritual growth, so I won’t get consumed with how I tend to ramble; just as I am now. -_-

If I was a true painter (I pretend to be sometimes), I’d paint a pretty picture of my life for all to see – that’s how I want to be seen. But reading about everyone’s achievements and joy can sometimes be an anxiety trigger for me, though it’s not about envy. I realize everyone has their brokenness and few share it on FB (some share it a bit too much, but there may be a reason for that – another story/time). I know this much for certain: Comparison is a dangerous saboteur.

I just finished a response to a friend who’s dealing with heartbreak and needed a shoulder. I’ve felt disconnected lately and have probably seemed to have little interest in anything or anyone, but that’s not the case. I believe because of consuming physical pain and general anxiety intruding my world, which my primary care provider says I try to minimize, I’ve had to stay in my own bubble. I doubt the worth of my advice and comfort I offer to others, when I can’t seem to fix myself.

I was taught that worry is a sign of my lack of trust in God. I can’t bring myself to directly link those two things in that way. Anxiety is an illness; a real one, just like any physical affliction another person may have. Someone opened up to me recently about how sickened she is by the stigma of mental illness. You hear people speak of others using comments like “she’s bipolar”; yet you would never talk of a physical illness in the same manner “she’s cancer”. Good point, friend.

Lately, it’s been close to impossible to concentrate on anything with my level of anxiety. From one minute to the next, I’m not sure what I’m doing. Can we just slow down here? Are we really that busy, or does the busy give us a sense of worth? Are we worried we might miss something? So what if we do?

I strive to use logic in my decision making, rather than my “heart”; but what do I do when the logic doesn’t seem … logical? I need to return to my Creator. I need to CONTINUALLY hand over the control to God. How does this get lost on me nearly daily?

There’s that old saying ‘the definition of insanity is doing the same thing again and again while expecting different results’ thing – which i don’t know whether or not is clinically true BUT I’ve been sabotaging my life by not pulling my head out of my butt and changing. really changing. REALLY changing.

I have been unable to talk about much at all lately. I don’t mean to abandon my friends or responsibilities, though it seems the more important the event is, the greater the anxiety. More pressure.

There are many triggers in my life right now. I’m concerned about the safety of a loved one in their destructive relationship. I’m hurting for a saint of a man whose wife makes life a living hell, though he’d never say so. I’m worried about the priorities of some of the young people in my life, though I realize they’re still growing. I’ve been having early morning nightmares that I’m a kid, and I’m in trouble. Big trouble. Frankly, I need help in resolving (I’d prefer forgetting) problems from childhood school days and home life. It’s time to finally learn what’s eating me in order to find out why I eat. The weight thing is a highly sensitive area and ugly, so I won’t write much on that issue at this time.

So yeah, I’m broken. We’re all broken. All the best are broken, or so I’ve been told. I’m a bad friend right now. I can’t hold up others when I can’t hold up myself. This isn’t a plea for help or sympathy, trust me on that. I am getting the help I need from professionals. But I come back to that word “broken”.

So here I am: panic. anger. pain. in need of mercy. and more unspeakables. Oh, and broken. Don’t forget broken. That’s exactly how God likes us to be…

Psalm 51:16-17 (NLT) You do not desire a sacrifice, or I would offer one. You do not want a burnt offering. The sacrifice you desire is a broken spirit. You will not reject a broken and repentant heart, O God.

Song of the heart at the moment… “Home” ~ Nichole Nordeman

Bright are the stars that shine in somebody else’s sky
Green is the grass that grows some place different
more possibilities more than you offered me
More than I care to see from a distance

I was certain that the Truth would be in a place that kept eluding me
but every stone turned and unturned again would only serve to prove
that I never had to move to find You

And you will always be the only Love I’ll ever know, home
You you have made for me the only place i’ll ever go, home

God for the shameless pride
The times when I rolled my eyes
To laugh at simplicity
show me mercy

Knowing what I now now
Its hard to imagine how
I could feel anything but unworthy

And the mystery of your love for me
Is not as hidden as it seemed to be
Should have known then when you said to me
“seek and you will find”
It was right there all the time

I believe in the quest and the journey
I believe that the answers come in time
And where we begin is where we arrive

Missing Out.

All my life, up until about seven years ago, I had this fear of missing out.  Missing a party, missing a conversation, missing an opportunity, missing the bus…

These days though, with unplanned things slowing me down, I’ve lost my drive to be a part of a lot of things in general.  I do tend to hunker down, lay low, hibernate, be a homebody.  It’s terrible for me physically, but emotionally and mentally I crave silence most of the time.

YET, recently I’ve had some “missing out” fears resurface.  Hey, I’m 41 years old, never married, and have no children.

I have always worn the badge of AUNT JULIE proudly.  I think I’d be a good momma, but I also think that God allows things to happen (or NOT happen) to shape our character.  He knows what I can handle.  He also knows what I can’t.

What if I ended up with less-than-ideal parental traits that I’ve been witness to?  What if something horrific happened to my child that left me drooling in a corner picking paint off the wall?

These are scenarios I don’t have to ponder.  This decision seems to have been made for me.  I fear crossing the line into a pity party, so I’ll put it simply at this time: there are three health factors keeping me from being a mom, even if I were in a happy marriage.  Even still, I have moments when I ache . . . for a baby.  It’s true that 30 minutes in any Wal-Mart cures this momentary ache, but as long as the door is still open to possibilities, I’ve had some hope of being a Momma.

The years tick away so quick now!  In my doctor’s office today, she was reading my chart and yelled, “FORTY-ONE?!?!  How’d that happen?  Just last year you were only 39″.  We laughed at the oddness of that truth.  (Ask me and I’ll explain how that math works.)

If you’ve made it this far and you’re still willing to read, I’ll throw ya some spinster knowledge/advice:

Just because a woman does not have a baby, doesn’t mean she doesn’t want one.  Don’t assume she’s never had one.  She may have at some point.  It also doesn’t mean she’s never had a list of boy and girl names on hand at all times.  It doesn’t mean that she doesn’t have a hope chest full of items saved for baby.  And most important, it doesn’t mean that she isn’t ecstatic when new babies come around – most likely, it’s her opportunity to get that baby fix, and avoid Wal-Mart.

I love your babies.  And I don’t want pity for not having my own, but I know for certain that a little consideration goes a long way when used before speaking assumingly about another woman’s life.

I’m not missing out.  I’ve had lots of experiences, and more to come.  Shoot, I’ll likely be running Heaven’s daycare!

An old friend of mine gave me The Message translation of the Bible as a gift several years ago.  It was like reading the Bible for the first time.  One of the passages where I appreciated The Message version most, is part of Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount.

“If God gives such attention to the appearance of wildflowers—most of which are never even seen—don’t you think he’ll attend to you, take pride in you, do his best for you? What I’m trying to do here is to get you to relax, to not be so preoccupied with getting, so you can respond to God’s giving. People who don’t know God and the way he works fuss over these things, but you know both God and how he works. Steep your life in God-reality, God-initiative, God-provisions. Don’t worry about missing out. You’ll find all your everyday human concerns will be met.”    Matthew 6:30-33 MSG 

Dad gets hot now.

Yeah, my Dad.  He gets hot.  The man who cranked the heat in the car.  The one who reads in his den with a Snuggie.  The one who has always referred to hot, summer days as, “free heat”.  Sitting next to him in church this morning, I giggled as he shed his layers.  I mean, I was sitting there fanning myself; now he makes me feel all normal and stuff with his new thermostat.  I told him it’s the new plumbing.  The six heart bypasses he received in June.

I looked at the pictures I took of him following surgery just the other day.  The reality of what happened this summer still gives me a lump in my throat…and a pain in my chest.  He wasn’t “supposed to” have any heart problems.  Not that active man who hand-plowed his garden the day before his scheduled heart catheterization.  That’s how he rolls.

So, now it’s been five months since his surgery.  The summer flew away.  We missed family camp (his first missed year since birth).  My sister and I alternated staying with them for a while.  (Mom does not drive and Dad was unable to even sit in the passenger seat post-surgery. ) Robyn was a much more gifted caretaker than I was.  Suddenly it seemed like we had two aging and ailing parents.

In August we celebrated he and my mom’s 50th wedding anniversary.  I’ve seen him slowing regain his abilities.  My sister thinks he looks better than before his surgery, but I don’t know.

I’m just glad he’s still here now.  Thankful for a second chance so many don’t get to tell him what he means to me.  I haven’t yet heard enough of his (sometimes startling) “Amen” and “Praise God” exclamations.  I could never tire of hearing his sniffs when he is blessed by a spoken or sung word that praises God.  He’s such an example – one that I need in my life – here with me.

John 14:1-6  Jesus comforted His disciples  ”Do not let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God; trust also in me. In my Father’s house are many rooms; if it were not so, I would have told you. I am going there to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am. You know the way to the place where I am going.” Thomas said to him, “Lord, we don’t know where you are going, so how can we know the say?” Jesus answered, “I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.”

When Dad heard of a lady from their previous church passing away, he wept and said, “Her place was ready”.  Jesus isn’t quite finished with Dad’s house or room, or whatever it may be.  I have the comfort that something REALLY special is being prepared for him, and for me, too.  But not yet.  I am thankful this November to realize how much love and respect I have for the man who has been Jesus to me.

Arms of love.

No doubt, I’ve had my issues with anxiety.  I’m getting better.  Really, I am.  Also, I’ve struggled with putting my beliefs into words at times.  “How can you believe in something you’ve never seen?”, I’ve been asked.  I’ve been given experiences that are making words come more easily.  So I’ll keep trying.  All I know is that I know that I know (yeah, I meant to do that) we have a Creator that loves us, guides us, if we love and choose to follow Him.  Everybody’s following somebody, why not the One who created me?  The One who wants the best of me, for me?  So I’ve named this blog for something else we cannot see, but surely we believe in.

SIDE NOTE:  If you’re reading this, you may, at times, have to put up with my brand of humor, or non-humor as the case may be; with references to cheesey movies and songs.  There’s no guarantee there’ll be any posts beyond this one since I commit to very little.  I am serious about some things – very serious, but I attempt comic relief when I start to feel myself or subject matter is getting too formal.  But for goodness sake!  I don’t care for exclamation points, so you know I mean it:  I need to document experiences like this one.  They are rare and precious.

The night of May 12, 2012 gave me much to be anxious about.  I was riding high following my nieces graduation from nursing school.  Our family enjoyed dinner out following the ceremony in Lynchburg, Virginia.  Feeling very awake, I decided to make the trek home that night.  Leaving at 8 o’clock, I’d be home by midnight – no problem.

An hour into the trip, I realized I had made a mistake.  My vision was getting weird and the oncoming headlights were bothering me.  I looked up and noticed the sky was still dark blue, and I wondered how much worse it might get.  Huge, fuzzy circles appeared around every light and sign.  Trying to follow 29 North, with it’s unexpected detours was going to be tough if I wasn’t able to see the signs.  But I couldn’t see the signs.  Not at all.  I’d get right beside them and try to read them quickly, but my fear began to grow.  Night blindness?  Fog?  Migraine aura?  I didn’t and still don’t know.  Trouble was the only thing I knew for certain.  White-knuckle fear made me sure I couldn’t continue on.  I didn’t know exactly where I was; and desperately following the taillights in front of me seemed more and more like a bad idea.

I called my family.  Trying not to alarm them, I downplayed the severity of my visual problem.  I tried to sound confident of where I was and asked them to go online and search for a nearby hotel.  They located a cheap option for me that was close to the best-guess-of-my-current-location I had given them.  As it turned out, I was 25 miles from the cheap choice they had found for me.  I continued on cautiously with nowhere safe to pull off.

Unable to find the exact place they located for me, I pulled into a place to check rates on my own.  By the time I pulled into that parking lot, I could barely see the entrance to the motel.  I couldn’t get out of the car.  Physically, I. could. not. because of an uneasy, gut feeling that hit me like nausea.  There were people in the parking lot.  I couldn’t figure out if I was being overly cautious at that point, but I needed a breather, and a chance to sigh in relief that I was no longer moving.

With the car in park, I turned off the lights and sat.  Didn’t move.  Didn’t consider getting out.  I still couldn’t.  Just took in the sweet relief of being still.  I’d LOVE to tell you that at that time I prayed.  I didn’t pray.  I don’t know why I didn’t.  I was afraid and alone, yet I didn’t pray.  (But I found out later that somebody did.)

After several minutes, the panic had settled a bit and I decided to move ahead, driving slowly, looking for another place to stay.  I knew I didn’t feel safe where I was so I had to continue on.  I didn’t find another place to stay, but I cautiously continued driving.

Without thought I began to sing, “Lord, I’m really glad you’re here.  I hope You feel the same when You see all my fear, and how I failed.  I fall sometimes…”  As I read a passing sign, I realized I WAS READING A PASSING SIGN.  The sign was clear.  “…it’s hard to walk in shifting sand.  I miss the rock and find I’ve nowhere left to stand.  I start to cry.  Lord, please help me – raise my hands so You can pick me up.  Hold me close, hold me tighter…”

Feeling more confident, I sped to the speed of the other cars around me.  I could see just fine.  “It’s hard to walk in shifting sand.  I miss the rock and find I’ve nowhere left to stand.  I start to cry.  Lord, please help me.  Raise my hand so you can pick me up.  Hold me close, hold me tighter…”

Then, something weird happened.  Really weird . . . and powerful.  No longer could I “see just fine”, but I could see incredibly well.  I looked up to the sky.  “Yep, it’s black as night for sure”, I said aloud to myself.  Looking straight ahead, it could have been broad daylight.  Crystal clarity.  Well lit.  Tears streamed down as I realized that I was experiencing grace.  One could argue that my eyes had finally adjusted to night blindness or whatever, but I knew the Truth.  I felt the presence of comfort and ease.

My relief and comfort built as I passed signs that listed towns near home with the miles to get there.  Adding the miles I realized, I’m 90 minutes from home…now I’m an hour from home…now I’ll be home in 30 minutes.  It was no time – like a vacuum, or a bright, black hole, or, a time warp!

“Storms will come and storms will go.  I wonder just how many storms it takes until I finally know.  You’re here always, even when my skies are far from gray.  I can stay.  Teach me to stay there, in the place I’ve found where I can hide.  It’s safe inside Your arms of love.  Like a child who’s held throughout a storm.  You keep me warm in Your arms of love.”

There are problems I have no solution for.  I need a Savior.  This is how I know what I know and what I believe.  This unworthy, inconsistent, silly woman is loved in a way I can’t wrap my brain around – cuz it’s so big (the love, not my brain).   This is how I hold an unshakeable faith in my Creator and Savior, Jesus.  It amazes me how He loves me.  Me.  Individually and directly.  Personally.  Really.  And allows me to feel it and experience it the way I did on the night of May 12.  Is it any wonder they call it amazing grace?

Lord, thank you for the darkness and for the sweet experience of waking the next morning still in awe of the Truth.  I love You.

“Arms of Love” ~ words and music by Gary Chapman, Michael W. Smith and Amy Grant.  1982.