Archive for the The Journey Category

4:00am. Pain flashes through the neck and scalp and the heart begins to pump like a herd of galloping buffalo; heavy and hard. The heavy, woolen blanket of depression remains, not so much in thought as in tangible manifestation. It has been smothering me for a few weeks now–like a python slowly digesting a meal. I know it is eating me but I refuse to be consumed.

Few will know because I don’t want pity, or comments that do more harm than good. They want to heal but they don’t know how. I don’t know why “I’m sorry you feel that way” feels like a curse. It’s so much easier to throw my shoulders back and use what little energy I have to smile and laugh. I will cry in private. Especially when I accidentally drop a glass and it doesn’t shatter.

Innocence is a Myth

My husband showed me the video. A mailman lay on the ground screaming while a vicious dog tore and tugged at his body like a wolf murdering a helpless calf. An old woman with a broom tried to beat the dog away but it would not let go. A man threw a trash can on the dog but it would not relent. Meanwhile the mailman screamed. It seems an apt notion of everything wrong in the world.

We may not think we need to take time to deal with the horrors of living in this world, but we do. Maybe we think we can ignore the hawk eating the gosling or the child predator beheading the boy who only wanted to look at toys while his parents shopped. We might think it doesn’t affect us, but our innocence has been slaughtered.

It’s good to be sad about sad things

I think depression is a reminder to stop and process the grief.

We rage against the senseless ache of depression because it interferes with daily life. The email must be processed. The meals must be made. The children must be bathed.

So we settle for another distraction. We binge watch the super heroes destroying the villains. We bake a pan of brownies and eat until we are sick. We have so many treacherous coping mechanisms that do nothing to actually heal us.

We are embarrassed to weep because weeping is a sign of weakness.

I push for healing like a machine pressing out parts. Input steel, output structural beam. I build a fortress of solitude and safety so how come it turns into a prison? The windows have bars but I don’t remember building it that way. I decide to make languishing an art because maybe it’s stylish to pout. But even this is meaningless. A chasing after the wind. Because I remember laughter that isn’t forced; the giddiness of a glad heart. Then I’m just angry.

But this is good! Anger is a wonderful beginning because it forces the heart to push the blood. And we all know the blood carries the white blood cells to the wounds so they can be repaired.

Waiting is Beautiful

I resolve to grieve well while I wait. I allow myself to cry. I invite the sadness to stay until it is done. I know now that I just need to really process all the pain so I can truly heal. No more pressing parts through my machine. Maybe hope just needs to go to hospice…and die.

Jesus said, “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. Not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid. you heard me say to you, I am going away, and I will come to you. If you loved me, you would have rejoiced, because I am going to the Father, for the Father is greater than I. And now I have told you before it takes place, so that when it does take place you may believe. I will no longer talk much with you, for the ruler of this world is coming. He has no claim on me, but I do as the Father has commanded me, so that the world may know that I love the Father.” (John 14:27-31 ESV)

Elisabeth Elliott wrote in A Path Through Suffering, “I know of no answer to give to anyone except the answer given to all the world in the cross. It was there that the great Grain of Wheat died–not that death should be the end of the story, but that it should be the beginning of the story, as it is in all the cycles of nature. The grain dies. The harvest results. The sun must die in the west if it is to rise in the east. The crimson touch must be found even in the fresh shoots of the baby oak–they are destined for death.”

So the seed splits so that new life may grow. And the shoot is lovely.

That is why I love the amaryllis bulbs that I hide in the dark corner of my basement. During the coldest, melancholy months of the year, I pull them out to find the seed has split and a bud shoots forth. The rapturous explosion of color is a reminder that death is the beginning of something glorious. But one would never know that in the fall when one digs the cold, brown bulb out of the dirt to put in a pot.

Right now the months are cold. The sky is dark. The flesh is weak. Sadness is a cloak about which I am inherently swallowed. And while distractions abound, I am not lost in them. Because I think there is something wonderfully hopeful about depression. God is showing me that even when I am sad, the soft touch of new, freshly washed flannel sheets against cold skin is healing. When I am weak, the scent of mulberry candles tickling my nose is a touch of gladness. The little, brown wren flicking his tail in the early afternoon sun sings, “Don’t lose heart!” And the bright blue sky shining like a gem–the most overt prism in existence–is a promise that one day the Son will avenge all our sadness in a burst of glorious light with the heavenly host of angels behind him. And the prince of this world will no longer rule–not even in hell.

Jesus, tender Shepherd, hear me,
 Bless Thy little lamb tonight,
 Through the darkness be Thou  near me,
 Keep me safe 'til morning light. (Mary Duncan)

“Above all else, guard your heart, for everything you do flows from it.” King Solomon – Proverbs 4:23

I sat down next to my friend and put my arm around her. To say that she looked awful would be an understatement. Her blotchy face and asthmatic sounding gasps were only a few of the physical symptoms of her grief. Her shoulders rose and fell with the sounds of sadness and I struggled with how best to comfort her. When I tried to put my arms around her, she flinched. When I leaned away to give her space, she grabbed my hands to pull me close. She opened her mouth to speak but no words formed. It was as if her lips were the gateway to a pit of anguish so deep that not even a single plea for assistance could escape.

A mockingbird has recently taken up residence near my home. She has been visiting the suet feeder that hangs outside my kitchen window. This bird is curious and intelligent, so unlike the boisterous Starlings who fight and screech for a mouthful of food. The mockingbird delicately scoops each bite through her beak even as she casts a furtive glance in our direction. She is wary but wise; knowing exactly when to fly away when we get too close.

This morning I let my boxer dogs out into the backyard before dawn and startled her. But instead of flying away she held her ground. She perched on the chain link fence—well within reach of those dogs—and squawked with all her might. She seemed to say, “This is my backyard and you are interrupting my breakfast!” I stepped back; fearful that she might try to prove her point by attempting to peck out my eyes. I marveled over her feisty behavior. What courage!

In the book, Man’s Search for Meaning, Viktor Frankl writes, “If there is a meaning in life at all, then there must be a meaning in suffering. Suffering is an ineradicable part of life, even as fate and death. Without suffering and death human life cannot be complete.” He then writes about the longing he experienced for his young wife as he languished inside the concentration camp. “Occasionally I looked at the sky, where the stars were fading and the pink light of the morning was beginning to spread behind a dark bank of clouds. But my mind clung to my wife’s image, imagining it with an uncanny acuteness. I heard her answering me, saw her smile, her frank and encouraging look. Real or not, her look was then more luminous than the sun which was beginning to rise.”

He then wrote something I found to be very profound. “A thought transfixed me: for the first time in my life I saw the truth as it is set into song by so many poets, proclaimed as the final wisdom by so many thinkers. The truth—that love is the ultimate and the highest goal to which man can aspire. Then I grasped the meaning of the greatest secret that human poetry and human thought and belief have to impart: the salvation of man is through love and in love.”

Viktor Frankl’s wife perished in a death camp and he never saw her again, but he wrote one of the most important books about finding meaning through suffering that has been written.

My friend confessed to me that she had given up on life and I knew I had to response. I could not say something cheery like, “Now, now. It’ll be all right” or “Come, My Dear. Don’t you know the sun will come out tomorrow?” Her tears were filled not only with salt, but with frustration, bitterness, and despair. She looked to me for an answer and I knew her life depended on what I had to say.

“For while we were still weak, at the right time Christ died for the ungodly. For one will scarcely die for a righteous person—though perhaps for a good person one would dare even to die—but God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.”

Romans 5:6-8

The Apostle Paul wrote the book of Romans on his missionary journey to Corinth with the help of a man named, Tertius. Its main objective was to show that salvation may be procured by the gospel (good news) of Jesus Christ. So what does this mean for my friend, whose heart is broken—seemingly beyond repair?

If we believe the bible is true, we learn upon reading it that Jesus was God. His love for humanity knew no bounds. He had a beautifully perfect, imperishable body, but he gave that up to become human. He walked among us, entered into our suffering, and eventually died in order that we might be saved from eternal death; separation from God forever because of our sin (unbelief). He did this because he knew we could not save ourselves. Put simply; he did this because he loved us.

I often take this kind of love for granted. I think to myself, “Jesus was God. It was easy for him to suffer.” But this is not actually true. It took immeasurable courage to give up an immortal body and to put on a perishable body that got sick, felt cold and heat, experienced pain and sadness, and was eventually tested with the worst kind of physical pain imaginable. Because He did this, we can experience His help and comfort in times of pain, sorrow, grief, and most importantly, death. He knows our weakness and His desire is to save us from it.

I sat next to my friend and tried to hold her while she pulled away. How does one console a friend whose hurts are this tremendous? How does one speak truth when the words are like spitting rain on a forest fire of pain? How does one breathe life into lungs that can’t catch their breath?

We weep and we pray and we tell the truth.

“Jesus said to her, “I am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live, and everyone who lives and believes in me shall never die.”

John 11:25-26

I spoke this truth to her with all the ferocity of the mockingbird. And then I wept and prayed some more.

Vikto Frankl wrote, “We who lived in concentration camps can remember the men who walked through the huts comforting others, giving away their last piece of bread. They may have been few in number, but they offer sufficient proof that everything can be taken from a man but one thing; the last of the human freedoms—to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one’s own way.”

Each of us has a choice to make when the waves of suffering overwhelm us. We can choose death or we can choose life. Many of us choose an anesthetic, thinking distraction will make the fundamental problem go away. Alas, to make no choice at all is to choose death. Because if we do not choose Jesus, we can never truly live.

My friend’s story is still in progress. I continue to watch, wait, and pray. Maybe she will even read this and find courage that compels her not to quit. I hope so. And until then, I will sing like the Mockingbird.

On August 1, 2007, the I-35W Saint Anthony Falls Bridge collapsed during evening rush hour traffic. 13 people were killed and 145 were injured—some seriously. 20 year old Jeremy Hernandez was on a school bus with 65 children who were returning from a waterpark field trip. After the collapse, he kicked out the back window of the bus and made sure the children made it out safely. This wasn’t some run-of-the-mill rescue. The bus was hanging precariously and if it had tipped the wrong way, the causalities would have been unspeakable. Thanks to his fast thinking, they were rescued. When asked what the bridge collapse was like, he simply said, “Terrifying.”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=swgBaZEAs_U

Many things have been written about this accident since it occurred. It was a horror to the families of those who perished, and to those who survived with crippling injuries. For those of us who did not personally experience the tragedy, it may not be much more than a headline we read with sadness. But for the parents of each child who was rescued, the face of Jeremy Hernandez is the face of joy. Because joy is what we feel when someone saves us.

I recently walked into Sam’s Club with a short list of food items I needed for the week. I don’t particularly enjoy Sam’s because I am tempted by their many delectable desserts. I make a point to grab only the things I need and then dash out of the door before I cave to temptation. But on this particular occasion I heard a song that I love and so I slowed down in order to listen to it. The song was “Somebody to Love” by Queen.

“Ooh, each morning I get up I die a little. Can’t barely stand on my feet. Take a look in the mirror and cry. Lord, what you’re doing to me. I have spent all my years in believing you but I just can’t get no relief, Lord! Somebody, can anybody find me somebody to love?”

Queen

Freddy Mercury was an amazing vocalist and his songwriting is incredible. On this particular day I was undone when I heard him. It felt like he had written that song just for me.

I have never shared this publicly but maybe it is time. So please don’t view this as a pity grab or attention seeking behavior. I simply want others to know they are not alone.

My youngest son (10) has several really challenging diagnoses. In addition to juvenile diabetes, he is also bi-polar disorder, has oppositional defiant disorder and a broad characterization of OHI(Other Health Impaired). He was diagnosed with juvenile diabetes when he was 3 years old and we have lived with the additional labels for about 5 years. His mood swings and impulse control issues are nerve-shattering. On top of that, my spouse and I struggle to agree on parenting methods. We have lost control of our tempers in several heated exchanges lately and the cycle of anger, regret and guilt is a club we too frequently bludgeon each other with. Alas, these fresh bruises remind me just how frail I really am.

That is why Freddy Mercury made me cry in Sam’s Club. And candidly, it was just about the worst place for a food addict to fall prey to her emotions. The past few months have been difficult food wise as I have chronicled in my posts about my temptation with brownies. Stress makes the cravings worse and the truth is, I have been slowly gaining weight (about 11 pounds).

I have also burned out on exercise. I’m just sick and tired of the same old routine. When I run, it feels like I am stabbing myself in the eyes with sharp sticks. When I do strength training (core workout and weights) I want to throw my dumbbells through a wall. I took a few days off to rest and collect myself but it did no good. As much as I want to, I can’t run away from my body or trade it in for a new one.

Now is the point in the blog where you would like to ask me, “Margaret, would you like some cheese with your whine?”

Why yes. Yes I would. 2 pounds please! And yes, they do sell my favorite in bulk at Sam’s Club—the less-than-ideal place for an emotional breakdown! But as I stood there crying in front of strangers, I recalled to mind the Bible verse I was memorizing just moments before I walked into the store.

I John 3:1 says, “See what kind of love the Father has given to us that we should be called children of God; and so we are.” I suppose I could take this kind of information for granted except that this love has sustained me more times than I can count. I am His child. He loves me! This love has held me when the ground gave way beneath my feet (Psalm 46:2). It has captured my tears and placed them in a bottle (Psalm 56:8). It has walked with me through the deep waters (Isaiah 43:2) and restored my soul (Psalm 23:2). I was standing in Sam’s Club when I remembered that there is nothing that will truly satisfy my soul other than the love of Christ, my God.

There are many people who question God’s love in the midst of terrible circumstances, not the least of which include the deaths of 13 people during the bridge collapse in Minneapolis, Minnesota. But I believe God demonstrates his love for us in this: Christ died for sinners like me (Romans 5:8) He saves us, not only by the blood of his son, but also by sending brave people like Jeremy Hernandez to break out a window and tacitly save the lives of several dozen children.

I was standing in Sam’s Club when God saw my emotional pain and rescued me. It felt no less magnificent than what Jeremy Hernandez did. Why? The Freddy Mercury song made me feel hopeless but God reminded me through his word that I do have hope. This is why it is so important for Christians to read their Bibles every day! That is how God speaks to us. And if I haven’t written this enough times, I’ll say it again: we cannot trust our feelings at any given moment. We must trust God’s words.

I have often felt like solace was not sustainable but God’s solace is. He enabled me to walk through Sam’s club, pick up the few items I needed, and exit the store without buying any of the desserts that tried so hard to tempt me.

Today, whatever you are facing, please know that there is a God who sees your pain and wants to give you peace in the midst of it. He sees our broken hearts and cares deeply about our sorrows. He will enable us to stop eating brownies, praise Him even when tears run down our cheeks, and stop shouting at our diagnosis-riddled children. He will give us the strength to keep walking or jogging even when it feels awful. He will be our companion when our spouse leaves or our parent dies or we succumb to drug addiction. In short, he is our “somebody to love.”