Archive for the The Journey Category

Life in the land of bean counters is not always good, but when it’s good, it is VERY good. When all of the beans have been counted and sorted, sometimes it’s nice to sit back and smile and celebrate my accomplishments. Smiling is a very satisfying endeavor when done correctly. It requires facial muscles and good humor, and we should always be thankful when we have facial muscles. Am I right or am I right?

Today was a particularly satisfying day in that I got a visit from the Good Fairy. The Good Fairy granted my wish by giving me magic beans (she cancelled a whole bunch of meetings), thereby evoking exclamations of glee from this sometimes gloomy girl. I asked the Good Fairy if she was willing to grant more wishes in the form of gold nuggets, but alas, she said she was tapped out. Still, I was content. It’s not every day I get the gift of magic beans and we should always be grateful for such fantastic events.

I decided to share my joy by smiling and laughing and making lots of weird jokes to all of the wonderful people I work with. You see, sometimes counting beans can be very stressful and people can get a little grumpy. One problem I have formerly discussed in this space is how the company I work for is a cornucopia of delectable treats. There is usually cake, or cupcakes or cookies or bagels or some other such food decorating the filing cabinets. Since I have compulsive behaviors, I am sometimes prone to snatch those goodies. Unfortunately, I am often the unwilling victim of the Guilt Monster. He usually grabs me somewhere along the way between procuring the tasty vittles and my cubicle, and since I have a terrible time throwing perfectly good candy away, over time, I end up with a fairly sizeable stash of treats.

Today I took advantage of this horrible compulsive behavior and began re-gifting. Now re-gifting candy is not like re-gifting your left-over Christmas socks. It actually makes people happy. Except when they are trying to lose that extra Christmas heft, by which means they passive aggressively hate me after our encounter has concluded. Still, I feel good about sharing smiles. Even my dentist, the venerable Louise First, would be happy to know I have been handing out Snickers bars rather than hard candy. She once told me it is better for tooth enamel that we eat our candy quickly(chocolate vs. peppermints), rather than suck on it for long periods of time. And making my dentist happy makes me happy.

One of the other ways I shared joy was by renaming places I frequent that have—in my humble opinion—boring names. For instance, I suggested we rename the restroom The Vestibule of Relief. The other ladies I met there wholeheartedly agreed and so the matter is settled. The next time I am in a meeting I hereby solemnly swear to refer to it as such when I excuse myself. Cubicles will be called Corners of Quiet (because no one like a loud cube-mate). Elevators shall be called Bliss Boxes, because seriously—only weird healthy people take the stairs and not exerting energy between boring meetings is rather blissful when you think about it. And meetings will be called Kwickie Conventions. Because “I’m going to a Kwickie Convention” sounds much cooler than, “I’m going to a meeting.”

For those at home who don’t have the privilege of working in an office under the title of Bean Counter, don’t despair. You too can rename the boring spaces in your home, or even the children under your care(For instance, I lovingly refer to my own children as beastlets because—as they well know—they are in fact not full grown beasts yet). In fact, I wholeheartedly encourage you to do so in the comments. Because sharing smiles is one of the very most important activities of living a healthy lifestyle. And I might be gloomy again tomorrow so I’ll take all the smiles I can get.

Lastly, I made a quick stop at the grocery store on the way home and saw the largest, the most beau-ti-licious, the most incredibly edible looking cauliflower I have ever set my eyes on. So I bought one. This one is for my sister, the Cauliflower Queen. Smile, Sis! You deserve it!

I believe all our cracked and broken pieces will someday be mended.
I believe all the sorrows and horrors that haunt us will one day be ended.

While I stand in the stale and gloomy cave and wait for the shaft of light
with dripping echoes of sadness resounding through shadows that bite,

I remember my hope. As real as a feather, though blackened, ruffled and worn.
My Anchor is stronger than lightening. I am brave enough to weather this storm.

Let me tell you a secret. It is truer than felt agonies of the soul.
His love is like water flowing through parched ravines and filling the holes.

He will come–He promised–and like a beacon of light,
He will shine through the crevices and shatter the night.

Like vapor on water, the shadows hover and scowl,
but they cannot smother my joy, no matter how they howl.

I am one among many, broken, battered and bruised.
He is my only, the one treasure I can never lose.

These tears are a trifle, the pangs of death, a flickering scene
that will be the beautiful stories I tell at the feast for my conquering King.

The sun is shining, the weather is warmer and I survived the morning. All in all, I’d say it’s been a pretty good day. At the risk of sounding melodramatic, my morning sucked. It sucked like a hot air balloon taking in NOT hot air after being punctured by a stray torpedo. I felt as if I were sinking rapidly toward the ground while the handler laughed, pulled out a parachute, and said, “See ya later, Gator!” and leaped overboard. This is life with depression. Sometimes, it just sucks.

I knew I was in a rough spot when I couldn’t get out of bed. It took my youngest son pleading for food to pull me from my blanket cocoon. And even then I did it mostly with my eyes closed. I couldn’t bear to see the sunny day when I felt like cobwebs and dried snake skins inside. After I fed him breakfast, I stepped on the scale. And then I got mad. Because it’s not bad enough that my jeans are too tight, but the dang scale refuses to lie to me. Where is my willpower? Is it that red balloon I accidentally let go of that sailed off into the clouds–so high its just a little red speck? Because that’s what it feels like. (sorry about all the balloon analogies. If you hate balloons you can stop reading now. I personally like balloons because they make me happy and therefore seem apt, and its my blog so I can do what I want, and if you don’t like it you can go suck an egg — or like I said, just stop reading)

So I began the negative self-talk that is impossible to avoid when my mental faculties are bereft.

“I am a failure.”
“Why can’t I stop eating too much?”
“Nobody will love me if they notice I’ve gained weight.”
“I had better exercise extra hard to burn the calories I ate last night.”
“But I’m too tired to work out.”
“I give up.”
“I’m tired of fighting this battle.”
“I want to die.”

The sane part of me wants to erase that last line and pretend it didn’t happen so people won’t think poorly of me. But that wouldn’t be honest. Sometimes I feel so helpless and out of control that no amount of pep talk can fix me. So I did what I always do, I put on my workout clothes and prepared for a blistering hour of elliptical machine. And then I sat down at the kitchen table(no–I did not work out) and stared out of the window for 3 hours because its all I had the strength to do.

I put left over bagels out for the birds and watched the evil squirrel gobble it all up, all the while heckling me with his beady black eyes. And I didn’t have the heart to chase him away, so I just watched him. Then I put out more bread for my beloved (now-starving) birds and resumed my sitting position, but Tank, my faithless boxer dog, was let out while I was in the potty, and don’t you know that dang dog snuck around and gobbled all the bread up? And then I was just so aggravated! So I kept sitting and waiting to feel better so I could work off the calories I overate last night. Only it never happened.

I began to make a wish list of all the things that would make me feel better. Because that’s what I do when I feel bad. I did not read my bible. I did not pray. Because honestly, I was mad at God for allowing me to suffer like this. Why did He make me this way? As if it’s not bad enough that I feel like the bottom of a goat’s hoof, I can’t even eat myself better because my pants already don’t fit. And I don’t have a lot of money, so I can’t buy a motorcycle and go zooming around with the wind in my hair and my leather chap fringes flailing, or hop a flight to Jamaica to catch up on my repleted vitamin D while I roll around in the sand like a movie star. (I am going to read this later and consider what a whiny baby I am–or as Charlie Brown would say, Good grief! But right now I’m too busy pouting).

So I picked up “Useless News”, the newsletter Dean Koontz sends out to his faithful readers. And do you know what? He is so funny. If you have never read his books, you should pick one up. Start with “Life Expectancy.” You will laugh and laugh, and find hope when you thought you had lost it. But back to the newsletter, “The Crow Shrieker” describes his encounter with a feckless black bird and his decision to shriek at it because, well, why not?

“One night, I imitated their shriek but belted it out at great volume. I was amused when repeatedly my shriek silenced them for a minute. After my fifth or sixth response to them, they were silent longer–until one bird flew down from the tree, to the edge of the patio, and stood staring at me. I stared back, and after a moment, it shrieked. I shrieked in, if I do say so myself, a perfect imitation of it, but louder. The crow flew away, and a second later, a dozen crows in the oak burst into flight and followed it. Two months later, they have not returned. I lack Dr. Dolittle’s ability to speak with animals, but I seem to have the power to scare the hell out of crows. Anna (Dean’s golden retriever) watched all this with interest. My shrieking did not in the least disturb her. But she knows her dad is….different.” -Dean Koontz

It seems silly to say, but Dean reminded me that we can find joy and beauty in the midst of the darkest places. He reminds me that I must not give up wishing(though not for stupid things) and hoping (in Jesus–for the day when He makes all things new and saves me from my brain and my body). And Dean also reminded me that laughter truly is good medicine, even though it doesn’t fundamentally fix anything(except my attitude).

I looked down at my favorite Gerbera Daisy. Its pot is too small and I can’t seem to water it enough. It is always wilting. And it makes me sad. So I made a decision to put one foot in front of the other and not give up. I stood up. I put shoes on. I grabbed the potting soil. And I gently worked the soil from the roots of that plant and put it in a new shiny pot. And now the Gerbera Daisy is happy and so am I am. Sometimes joy is as simple as a funny paragraph and a flower. And that’s good news for me.

If you are reading this and you struggle with depression, or physical pain, or the loss of someone you love, or your weight, or insert-your-problem-here; please don’t give up. Don’t give in to the voices. Take heart. You are not alone.

Right now I am putting down my keyboard and picking up “Spurgeon’s Sorrows: Realistic Hope for those who Suffer from Depression” by Zack Eswine. I’m on Chapter 9: Promises and Prayers. And I have decided tomorrow will be a better day.