Destination Discipline

“I love to movie-cry. It’s so cathartic. I love that heartache when something is so moving, you see yourself in the movie, but it’s not your pain. You empathize so much there is a well of emotion.” – Zach Braff

I was watching a video recently about a family who rescued a young crow. Darling touched the hearts of this family after they rescued her, and she adopted them. You can watch the video here.

The reason the story touched me is because of my own experience. I rescued a baby bird, and she has had an incredible impact on me. When I watched the video of the crow playing with this woman and her dog, I was so delighted. I find so much wonder in watching the birds out of my kitchen window and to see a creature so in love with humans is truly beautiful. Over the years I have formed bonds with the birds at my feeder, but nothing is as special as having a sparrow that loves me and lives in my house. It is a special gift.

“Wonder is a gift that makes the mundane extraordinary.”

I recently stumbled across a podcast that I really enjoy called, “Inside of You” with Michael Rosenbaum. I didn’t realize who he was at first. After a few episodes he mentioned Smallville, and I remembered him as Lex Luthor. I don’t remember him as particularly remarkable in that role (probably because I don’t like bad guys) but his podcast is.

Mr. Rosenbaum has a gift for bringing out the vulnerability in his guests. Maybe that is because he is quite vulnerable himself. This doesn’t make him seem weak or feminine or [insert other negative adjectives here]. He is simply real, and with a gift for generosity of spirit, he asks questions of his guests in a way that suggest they really are his friends, and he really does care for them. It doesn’t hurt that he also asks good questions and listens to the answers.

I always liked Zach Braff as an actor, so I listened with interest to his interview with Mr. Rosenbaum. He said many things that resonated with me, but what struck me the most was his humility–something rare in Hollywood. He too has a generosity of spirit for his fellow actors and directors. But there was a moment in the podcast that struck a chord in my own heart. The men were discussing Mr. Braff’s newest movie, “A Good Person,” which Mr. Rosenbaum couldn’t recommend strongly enough. When discussing why he wrote the movie, Mr. Braff said, “I wanted to write something for her (Florence Pugh) because I was so in awe of her.” The way he said it made me believe he was very much in love with her. Unfortunately, the relationship did not last.

It takes a great deal of time, stamina and perseverance to write a story and execute it well. Mr. Braff did that with “A Good Person”, which in itself is a moving portrayal of the aftermath of an accident and how the people involved rebound and evolve. They were discussing how natural Morgan Freeman was for his role when Mr. Rosenbaum asked Mr. Braff the question, “Do you think if you and Florence had broken up before you made the movie it would have been just as easy?”

Mr. Braff said something very authentic. “No. That would have been hard. I don’t recommend directing someone you’ve just broken up with. I think that would be tricky because it’s so emotional. I mean, it’s so hard and stressful period directing a movie in 25 days. It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Then the idea of folding an emotional hurricane on top of that would have been impossible.” And then Mr. Rosenbaum asked Mr. Braff about also losing his father. Mr. Braff related how dear his father was to him and how he influenced his love of theatre which has resulted in a passion for acting, storytelling, and directing. As I watched it, I ached with Mr. Braff. He had been dealt several terrible blows by grief in a very short period of time.

You can see the interview here.

While telling their stories, both Mr. Rosenbaum and Mr. Braff seemed so raw. I found myself forgetting they are popular actors famous for the roles they played in television and movies. They are just people who have experienced sorrow and grief and walked through it with courage. The candor they offer is a gift that helps others continue to walk when the path seems too hard or too steep. They inspire me, in part, because their stories are stories of hope.

The crow video and Mr. Braff’s personal story have something in common. In both stories, something beautiful has died. And I have so many questions.

How do they recover from such loss? How do they get up the next day and move forward? How do they let go of what was and embrace what is? And most importantly, why?

I have been through devastating break-ups and lost beloved pets, but I have yet to lose a parent so I am wondering how I will get through it. Still, I hope I will remember my faith in God who holds the power over life and death, wonder and beauty. I hope I will trust Jesus to comfort me and give me spiritual and physical peace to grieve and let go. And I hope I will fight forward and tell the stories in such a way as to inspire others not to give up.

I am thankful for Mr. Rosenbaum, Mr. Braff and Caolaidhe. They bravely shared their stories, fostered empathy, and reminded me I’m not alone when I grieve. If you are reading this and feeling sad over a painful loss, neither are you.

Darling

Have you ever dreamed you were falling and then woke up with a shock wave running through your body? Did you sit up in bed and put your feet on the floor just to feel something steady and secure? Did you thank your lucky stars it was only a dream and quickly fall back asleep? Or did you lay awake in fear that you would have the dream again?

The fear of falling ranks right up there with the fear of spiders, snakes–or in my case, bears. When I am afraid, I just want someone to hold me. I want steady arms wrapped tight around my shoulders and a soothing voice to say, “Margaret, you are safe.”

We often live with the illusion of safety.

For instance, I thought I was safe from bears. Sure, I know there are bears in the country by our cabin, but I’ve never seen one. A few nights ago I was searching for cell service near dusk on a gravel road when a neighbor casually mentioned that I should be very aware of my surroundings. She said she recently watched a big, brown bear snuffle around in her front yard and then meander down the road and down my driveway. You could have stuck a fork in me. I was DONE. I said, “Well, I am armed. If any old bear comes charging at me, I’ll just shoot it.” But the neighbor told me it’s against the law to shoot a bear unless it’s within seven feet of me and it is charging. I imagined a large mouth with sharp, white incisors and a murderous look in some big brown eyes walking in my direction. Then I imagined trying to reconcile the notion of not being able to defend myself because of a law written by a staunch, wildlife conservative. Then I quickly walked straight back to my cabin and locked myself inside.

I am afraid of bears, but I am also afraid of the strange dystopian future I am living in. A few months ago, I finally felt I had enough historical knowledge to read Animal Farm. I have done a little studying on socialism, communism, and collectivization. When I finished “the fairy story”, I decided it might be important to read 1984 as well. These are books I’ve heard about for years, but nothing could have prepared me for the actual experience of reading them. The closest thing I can equate it to is watching a car crash in slow motion from inside the vehicle. I concurrently know what is happening, I physically see it happening, I want it to stop happening, but I am powerless to resist the thrall of seeing it through to the end. Neither story had a happy ending, by the way. That was the point. Mr. Orwell wrote them as a warning to future generations.

One of the most interesting components in the book was the telescreen. It is described as “receiving and transmitting information simultaneously.”

“Any sound that Winston made, above the level of a very low whisper, would be picked up by it, moreover, so long as he remained within the field of vision which the metal plaque commanded, he could be seen as well as heard. There was, of course, no way of knowing whether you were being watched at any given moment.” 

Every time I read about the telescreen, I self-consciously felt my android phone listening to me and watching me. Everything I do is tracked by the device “for my benefit” so they can “customize my experience”. And by using the device I consent.

I recently had a terrible scare with a scammer. A police detective told me afterwards, “There is no longer any expectation of personal privacy.” The evil man bent on robbing me got a few tidbits of information and called me on my cell and proceeded to scare the living daylights out of me by pretending to be a Sheriff saying I had a warrant for my arrest for missing Federal jury duty. It was so convincing it took me several hours to stop believing in the lie.

Fear is everywhere all the time. And worse, much of what George Orwell wrote about has come to pass. We make light of “Big Brother” with a television show as if we are immune. I cannot stress enough the impact this book had on me. It was terrifying. There was literally no hope.  (Spoiler alert!) The Party had complete control over the population. End of story.

Except that in real life, that isn’t the end of the story.

The culture we live in is so saturated with a godless ideology that many times we forget the author of life. We fear bears forgetting the One who made them. We fear the government, forgetting the ultimate sovereign power that rules the universe. We fear sickness and death because we have neglected to remember that when our bodies die, life goes on.

I frequently suffer from nightmares. Sometimes they are so real as to cause me intense physical anxiety. This morning was one such morning. First, I dreamed I was in a parking garage watching a maniac stab a co-worker to death. He then began to chase me. Then I dreamed a terrible thing about one of my sons. I woke up in shaking and crying. I felt the fear all over me like a second sticky skin I couldn’t schluff off. It took me some time to calm down, but when I got down on my knees and began to pray, a snatch of a bible verse quieted my soul. It began, “Fear not, for I am with you.” (Isaiah 41:10) And I remembered that God is still God. And with that, I felt tears of relief quiet my troubled heart.

“He is real.” I whispered. “He is good. He is God. And He loves me!”

I am not free-falling. I am never alone. I am His and He is mine. I am safe in His arms.

Tooki

I feel as safe as this little bird does in my hand. She trusts me because I rescued her and care for her. Whenever she is afraid, she flies directly to my hand and snuggles down. I keep her safe. That is how I am with my Father.

I wonder what will happen if I ever meet a bear. I pray the day never comes. I wonder how George Orwell’s books would read if he had believed in a good and loving God. They might have read something like Corrie Ten Boom’s biography after a “bookkeeping” error saw her released from a death camp a day before the rest of the inmates were gassed. Upon release she set out to exemplify God’s message of forgiveness and love – evidenced by her sister, Betsy (who died in the camp).

Today if you are fearful, fly to the One who will make you safe. There is no need for free-falling fear!

I have a squash plant that grew as a volunteer out of my compost bin. I carefully dug up the plant and put it in a safe location where I could water and nurture it. It grew big leaves and even a few fruits – that’s how I know it’s a squash plant. However, none of the fruits have thrived. Soon after forming, they turn yellow and fall off the vine. It’s disheartening, really. The plant has everything it needs but it isn’t able to bring a fully formed fruit to bear.

My son started to give me a hard time about the plant. “Mom,” he said, “it’s got end rot. It has end rot because you aren’t watering it regularly.” I tried to tell him I do water it, but it still hasn’t thrived. He wants someone to blame for its failure and I’m a convenient target. Ater all, I did plant it.  It’s not fair the plant is taking up so much space and not producing anything. It’s like a great big leech, soaking up water and giving nothing in return.

Like so many things in life, my hopes and dreams for the little plant did not turn out as expected. Frankly, I know I should pull it out of the ground and plant something else. But I just can’t seem to let go. There is an idea in my mind that maybe the next fruit won’t fail. Maybe there will be a miracle and one of the fruits will form and grow. Hope dies hard.

Life is full of disappointment. We water our dreams only to see them wither. Worse, there are people in our lives who tell us the failure is our fault. If only we had done this or that, things might have turned out differently. The most difficult thing for me is when the criticism comes from people who claim to follow Christ.

As my regular readers know, I struggle with depression and am prone to periods of melancholy. I don’t choose this and do everything within my power to avoid it. I exercise, eat right, practice gratitude, and regularly stand on my head to increase blood flow to my brain (okay, I don’t do that but if it helped, I might).  I also used to pray for God to take it away. Like, a lot. Recently, I experienced a refreshingly awesome of experience of two-months depression free. Every day I celebrated the feeling of not trudging through mud in my mind. It was incredible. And then, like a bad deja vu dream, it returned. It started with lethargy and then the negative thoughts began and before I knew it, I was crying during my workouts again. It is very difficult to run with depression. And it is even more difficult to do strength training. I simply do not want to attempt planks when I can barely lift my body of out bed.

So, I do it anyway.

Because life goes on. And I always feel better after the workout even if I feel rotten pushing through it.

This morning found me pedaling a bicycle up some extremely difficult hills. But because I make a regular habit of exercising, the hills were only difficult–not impossible. A very vivid memory flashed through my mind of a morbidly obese Margaret trying to pedal a bike up a small hill in my neighborhood after many years of neglect. Before five minutes had passed, I was out of breath and ready to throw the bike in a dumpster. I never imagined I would have the strength to ride 38 miles (as I did this morning). In fact, I put the bike up and didn’t ride it for several years after that. The bike was not motivation enough.

Many people think depression is something someone can simply snap out of. Or they blame the person experiencing it. Or worse, they use God as a cudgel and tell someone they simply don’t have enough faith to be healed. Or that their posture isn’t correct. Or if they only tried breathing in a certain pattern, all their health issues would simply go away. They blame the plant and when that doesn’t help, they blame the gardener.

I don’t blame God for my depression. Candidly, I find Him the nearer when I am suffering. I know He sees my tears and loves me all the more for my faith during the sadness. His love is my warm blanket on a cold day. He gives me the strength to lift my body out of bed and do difficult things for His glory. There is something incredibly comforting about knowing I can pray, and He hears me and loves me–not because my prayers are awesome–but because He is God. It’s in His nature to love.

I have a Savior who loves me just as I am. I am fully accepted and fully loved. If I had to choose between a depression-free life without God and a depressive life with God, I would choose the latter. The richness of His mercy falls on me like spring rains after months of drought. He is abundantly real and supremely beautiful, not because I can see Him with my eyeballs, but because through Him I see everything else.

My little squash plant never ceases to amaze me. Two days ago, I saw a grapefruit sized squash growing. It was still there this morning. I continue to hope in that little plant, I suppose because I relate to it in many ways. I know that it could give up and die. I know that a squash bug could end its life prematurely. I also know that each fruit it makes is a tiny miracle–even if it doesn’t grow large enough to harvest. Its very life is beautiful, even if all it ever does is to produce great, big, wonderful leaves.

When everything in our culture says we have to produce the big, shiny thing to be relevant, remember, we are all just learning and growing the best we can. We can take it easy on ourselves and live one day at a time and accept our limitations and afflictions and thank God for His presence. Or we can keep striving for something that was never meant to be. I have learned to choose the former. And if all I ever produce are big, beautiful leaves, I will thank God that He gave me that ability and praise all my squash-producing neighbors.