To Fall... To Be...

The months between October and January held an organic plan for themselves.The rhythm of the holidays carried me one event at a time. I didn’t need to generate one. All I had to do was follow the prescribed social agenda. It was distracting enough to make it look like I could function.  

 In constant contact with the kids, Ase, Zany, and KJ were all sorting through the same shattered pieces as I was. The four of us held an open space as we navigated the shards gently. We relabeled some holidays and let other ones rest for a while. It was lovely to collectively agree to simply rest and heal.

As for KJ being home from college, she and I held an arrangement that we understood what was going on. Other people didn’t need to agree or know. This was her life and her decision. I respected her ability to stand up to me and tell me what she needed. I wish I had her strength at 19. To stop and figure herself out on her terms. 

My Dear Friend held space for me in the months of August to October when I was scrambling for some sanity to hold onto. They simply needed a space to heal. When they were asked for a medical plan, I was invited to be a part of their process. All they needed was a place to stay. It was incredibly healing to be a Human Being in my Dear Friend’s life instead of a Human Doing. They sorted themselves out, found the help they needed and worked through the issue. 

The holidays passed and January came. Only one personal holiday left, the four of us renamed it. The month was a quiet hurdle. January typically is a Fibro Flare month anyway. I quit talking to everyone. I simply didn’t have any words. I am grateful for the people who consistently called and showed up. Some helped to paint kitchen cabinets. Others sat and sipped tea while we built jigsaw puzzles. The regular dinner theme night kept my food on track.  Leaving the house was still overstimulating. The random text or call shed a beam of light here or there. It was enough to keep me moving forward.  

I had to let go. 

I had to stop trying.

I had to no longer Live In Spite Of…

I wasn’t strong. I was very, very weak. I needed to rest in a quiet place and heal. I needed to feel safe. I had to learn how to hear my own voice. After 51 years of taking care of everyone else, I had to discover how to take care of myself. It was time to admit that I had nothing to give anyone else. 

 I was a Human Being

I was not a Human Doing.

I didn’t know what that looked like. The only way to discover it was simply

To Be…

I Fell Down

A year ago, I had a plan. 

KJ (aka Girly) was to leave for college. I would spend the first half of the year researching tutoring companies and after school programs. I had a few options for library positions in local schools. My plan was to look into online opportunities and finish my undergrad, hopefully get my certificate as an interpreter for the deaf.  I was going to explore what my art capabilities were, develop an art history/art curriculum and find a way to market, then sell it. 

That was the plan I worked towards for two years while KJ finished high school. I built up my resume building through volunteer work in a local school classroom and theatre projects. I made appointments with the local colleges to see what was necessary to become an interpreter. It was a slow process, between Fibro flare-ups and week long Migraines. I was proud of the slow, but steady progress I was making. 

You see, every moment of my life since December 1, 1987 has been on purpose. I lived “In Spite of…” what happened in my life. I was told I was strong. I needed to get my shiznit together. Keep going. They told me I was a survivor. They said I was inspiring. I heard I was to be admired. I was challenged that I couldn’t give up. They chided me with, I shouldn’t be a martyr. 

“Don’t play the victim.”

“Don’t be codependent.”

“Don’t ask for help.”

“You’re fine.”

“Quit complaining.”

“Don’t make a mountain out of a molehill.”

“Be brave. You’re strong!” (oh, right… I said that one).  

AND wash, rinse, repeat. 

Then Life happened.

Last year I felt, yet again, forced into another person’s narrative. 

I felt pushed out of an airplane without a parachute. 

I asked for help like I was supposed to. I stayed strong like I was supposed to. I held my shiznit together as best I could. I kept checking off each goal box at a time.

Get KJ to school

Get home.

Start over.

All the helpful advice focused on one basic sentiment: “Now you get to do what you always wanted.”

Problem was, I had what I always wanted. I now needed to invent something I never imagined for myself: Alone.

I kept up appearances adequately. Checked all the “you should” boxes. Until...

In September, KJ told me she needed to come home from college.

In late October, a dear friend of mine had a medical emergency that checked all my Senior Year death boxes.

The holidays loomed.

Everything began to crumble. 

I had no plan for when life turned to sand and disintegrated in my hands. I did have a choice. I could either drive myself insane making it stick together…

OR…

Let it run through my fingers.

It was terrifying beyond all imagination. What would everyone think of me? Who would stay by me? What would happen if I was alone in all of it? One fact I knew about myself.  No longer could I be strong. I had no shiznit to hold together anymore. I had no idea if I could survive this, actually I knew I wouldn’t. I knew that I had to let go of all those shattered pieces of myself I held together since December 1, 1987. 

It was time to let it all fall apart. 

I had no plan for the first time in my life. I understood that not everyone who was in my life at the time would be able to walk with me down the dark road before me. It was alright. It was a darkness I avoided for far too long. I could not pretend anymore.

It was time I faced it and healed correctly.

Quarantine Sunshine Part 1

This is a really rough season on all of us. I felt like we were stuck in the Muppets Treasure Island scene, where the ship is stuck in the doldrums. Just like the seafaring Sailors of old dealt with it all the time. 

The wind would stop. 

The ship would stall, and the only thing the sailors could see for miles around was the ocean horizon. 

The human brain is engineered for connection and learning. To be trapped in the same environment for days or even weeks to months on end traps our biology in a hell of our own making. These poor sailors would cope by telling tales, and sometimes by seeing mythological creatures like Mermaids that would call them into the sea.

Sailors, feeling trapped and helpless, looking for connection, novelty and adventure would jump into the sea deceived by their own delusions. They believed their feelings over the facts of the situation they were in. 

Muppets Treasure Island, of course, has a brighter solution. The instruments come out and they all sing a song. The fantastic musical number is complete with a conga line! 

During the Homeschool years, often the four of us would be stuck at home. Either I was having a fibromyalgia flare, stuck in the Mom taxi driving kids to their usual round of commitments, or a kid or two was ill with the current trending virus. Sometimes, the weather would be a factor.

All of us cooped up.

Feeling trapped. 

As if we couldn’t go anywhere. 

Arguments would start. Tempers would shorten. Problems would magnify.

My antidote? 

Play.

We would start with a list of possibilities. Things I knew we were able to do. They could be preposterous. However, if we really wanted to do them it was possible.

This list of fantastical things then became a brainstorm of How To accomplish those things: 

Blanket Fort

Ice cream for Lunch.

Picnic on the floor

Movie 

Walk outside

Wear a crown.

Call a friend

Raid the pantry and look up recipes for the ingredients you have.

We mixed the Fun with a list of To-Dos. Music was our measurement of time. We would race to finish the Job, THEN the game began.

Now the kids are adults, I practice the same thing for myself. Sometimes it is just a song or a single task with a fun To Do at the end. It is a Practically Perfect in Every Way Self Care Habit. 

 

For daily practice, to keep my sour attitude in check, I keep track of what I am grateful for. I either keep a journal, a jar with a stack of paper. Anytime something good happens, no matter how small, I write it down and put it in the jar. When I am feeling disconnected and melancholy, I look through the journal or reflect on what is in the jar. 

Sometimes I need a little bit more. The Isolation feels overwhelming and no matter what I “do” to lift my own mood, I plummet like a lead balloon.

I begin to the Big Practices out to deal with myself.

First, I remind myself:

Feelings aren’t facts.

Just because I feel

Lonely

Isolated

Disconnected

Abandoned

Trapped

Held hostage

On the edge of economic collapse

Facing financial ruin, etc.

It doesn’t mean I am. I take a step back from what I am feeling and make a list of the facts of the situation I am in.

Fact:  

A highly contagious respiratory flu virus. 

So new, science is having a hard time collecting data about it. 

New discoveries are being made every day.

It is difficult to treat.

It is unpredictable.

It could kill my neighbor.

The medical system is asking that I help stop the spread,

Fact:

Staying home and protecting myself WHEN I go into public is a service to my neighbor and myself.

When I take a step out of my feelings and look at facts, I am able to put my feelings in perspective. This allows me to ask the right questions: 

What do I need? 

I need connection

How can I get what I need?

Make a phone call/facetime.

Write a letter.

Start a theme, photo, favorite song, movie, etc.  on social media to get people talking.

Check in with neighbors and add their items to my list when shopping. This simplifies community marketing visits. Check in with your neighbors. See who is vulnerable and offer to run errands for them.

For those of you who are well and wouldn’t put anyone at risk of exposure, look into volunteering in our community. 

These are small practices that ease daily tensions. Tune in tomorrow for my Big Practices that I use to anchor me in long, agonizing seasons like the one we are in.

Quarantine Sunshine Part 2

Our emotional health in the situation of Chronic Isolation, Social Isolation or Quarantine is important. Another HUGE challenge is how to anchor ourselves in this monotonous loop of time.

Have you ever wondered:

Have we as a Human Race always been this way?

Why do we even have a calendar or a clock?

For Centuries the Human Race measured time by an intrinsic rhythm. Different cultures, villages, people groups, even our pioneers created their own systems of tracking time as a community. At that time individuals of the community produced products at home then traded with others for mutual benefit. Communities agreed on systems based on the seasons and for an ability to relate with one another. It was all cooperative. 

The initial wave of The Black Death hit the world in 1361. The last outbreak of The Black Death in 1665–66 created a final shift in how we did things. As farms stood empty, famine was rampant. The economy was devastated because of the massive loss of life. People gathered together to create a solution. Villages formed into Cities and the services of the Local Tradesmen became obsolete as their product became mass produced. 

This created room for a revolution. An Industrial Revolution. 

Necessity was the Mother of Invention and birthed machinery. Which provided jobs. This, in turn, created a more affordable product. More products needed more workers, this created more jobs. Away the Revolution went!

Of course, it was destructive to the surviving status quo. Farmers revolted against factories. Tradesmen attacked laborers. Over time, the reason to get out of bed and work was no longer intrinsic.

The reason to get out of bed became extrinsic; people left home for a job. The entire cultural motivation shifted from inward to outward. When people finish their careers and retire from this Extrinsic Industrial Machine, they struggle with what we are facing now. 

Stuck at home. No “purpose.” No way to tell the days apart. No motivation to create a What’s Next.  So how to regain this Intrinsic Motivation?

Create our own rhythms.

 Housewives did it for Centuries. I remember how my Grandma talked about the Days of the week:

Tuesday was Garbage Day.

Wednesday was Laundry Day.

Thursday was Market Day.

Saturday was Yard Day.

Sunday was for Church.

Well into her 70s and after quite a few strokes,  according to my Uncle, she was never wrong about what day Tuesday was. It was Garbage Day. She didn’t know much other than that.

For me, when days blurred together, I create a schedule. When the kids were schooling, it was a chart. A timer was used for each subject, when the bell went off we moved on. Some days were more flexible than others. That simple chart and annoying bell created a rhythm for me to mark time in my day.

I have a self-employed Work Schedule now. I am struggling just like you to figure out what works. I schedule the projects like appointments, and yes, I am using a timer.  I do not allow interruptions, just as if I was in an office. My time is mine to do with as I decide is the most productive. Interruptions need to take a number and wait for their turn.

For the Household Chores schedule, I use it to mark the days of the week. Acting like I am working a full-time job in my home, I paced out the house chores. I broke them up into Everyday Morning and Evening. Once A Week, about 4 days, and Once a Month-which is a “swing day” 5. The nice thing about this efficient schedule is if it doesn’t happen this week? Not a problem. I’ll catch it next week. Cleaning doesn’t take me more than an hour to an hour and a half total at most in an entire day.  Remember, there is no right or wrong way to do a schedule. It’s important to figure out what works for you. Where your sweet, comfortable spot of sanity is. 

The great thing about this season of Quarantine is all of the things we get to put into practice now we are able to and take into the future when “life gets back to normal. The practice of  gratitude, community, having your own time, rhythm, and adventure? 

This is what Tenacious Optimism looks like.

Finding Sunshine Through Fog

The last life battle happened a few weeks ago. It really was more like a brain cramp than a real suicidal episode. I was super annoyed as I ran through my protocols for the night:

Messaged what meds I was taking to sleep, how much and where I put them.

Messaged when I woke up.

I was getting really exasperated with constantly tattling on myself.

Then I looked at the corner of my room. I realized what happened. The day before I was working through Divorce things. I felt peaceful about it all day. No issues of attachment or wishful thinking. Simply working through the business of conscious uncoupling.

In the corner was a picture. A view I once looked at with inspiration. A cat in a garden with a tree. It reminded me that if I would be okay alone. There was plenty around me to fill me with beauty, love and meaning. To chase things that did not reciprocate was an unhealthy practice. It was healthier for me to sit alone, in a peaceful garden surrounded by beautiful flowers and a tree.

But now.

I needed a new source of sunshine. I needed something to look forward to each day. I hadn’t really taken time to create what that image could be for myself yet. Being a very visual person, I realized I was ready.

Ready to take my “What do You Want To Be” idea and first apply it to me.

Aside from my reason for living, was what I could do for a living. I was exactly what I wanted to be. 

A Wife and Mom. The last kid theoretically off to college, the nest would be empty. I would be able to contribute financially to retirement and travel. Having a job is challenging with Chronic Health issues, so it was going to take some time to figure out what I could do. I never finished my Undergrad. Somehow it ended up being on the “Later” list.

Now the constant question from Well-Meaning friends was, Well NOW you get to do what you’ve always wanted! What do YOU want to do.

I had no answer for them. Many of them struggled with my reply.

My ideas at the moment are, writhing, art, teaching, tutoring, life coaching, social media, a handful of online things. Possibly finding a way to fast-track finish my degree. However, I know the most important rule about change.

That is, that it MUST begin with me.

I found my sunshine.

So, I Arted for myself.

This is now the corner I wake up to every morning.

From this fresh corner flows, a growing inventory in my Frog In Paris Etsy shop.

The ability to write my journey.

The ability to sit and art or write a little every day.

I can hear my own voice. 

I can share it without fear. 

I am able to let mistakes in what I make go and allow them to be part of the work. 

My hope is, as I heal and move forward, I can contribute to the conversation about normalizing Mental Health issues. To help build a bridge of communication between those who struggle and the people who love them.

To continue and share my Experience, Strength and Hope. I look forward to continue learning in this adventure we call life.

Help For Me In The Shadows

The lovely thing about the time we are living in now is how Mental Illness is handled. The stigma remains, but overall, the conversation is changing. Social Media is a huge part of that metamorphosis.

In my personal life, PTSD, CPTSD, Anorexia, Suicide, Depression, and Anxiety along with the physical ramifications, Chronic Fatigue, Fibromyalgia, Migraine, etc.  are part of my daily vocabulary. Similar to someone dealing with diabetes or a heart condition. I am aware daily of the ups and downs. I am conscious of the tole it takes on my inner circle. They are not my cure or the source of my self-care. I am. Those of us who manage a chronic physical or mental illness know we are A LOT to handle. We can be draining people to be around. It is a source of shame often for me and can keep me from asking for help.

However, the relationships I had cultivated over the years understood my shortcomings. The Coping Mechanisms I developed and practiced kicked in. Anne and My Old Friend could not win this time.

This is what asking for help looked like for me over the past six months:

The house was purged of the evidence from my former life with the help of an ever-cycling team of people within a week and a half. All of it was lovingly boxed up in the garage to rest. In the bare walls and stark shelves, the trauma anxiety was able to find some calm.

A friend slept with me the first night. Holding my hand and listening to me try and fall asleep between sobs. We reminisced over our 30-year friendship. Other people helped and I tried all the solutions, but after four days of PTSD night terrors and no sleep I asked for help. I gutted the bedroom, put a small mattress on the floor next to a window. Every night Jupiter and the Stars said goodnight.  A group of friends pitched in and bought me a new bed. Slowly peaceful sleep returned.

Anne made eating difficult. With help, I asked friends to help create a nutritious simple food strategy that I could follow. I asked friends to bring me meals. I asked people to watch me eat.

When I couldn’t finish, they would say in a loving parental voice, “Yes. All of it.”

I would eat it all. With all of that nourishing love, slowly I was able to plan and feed myself again. It wasn’t perfect, but I could be consistent on my own without fear.

I asked for help in staying connected to my body. CPTSD, Anxiety, Anorexia and such often come with a side of Dissociation. In the peak of my Anorexia, I didn’t feel anything from my neck down. I never felt hungry or tired or pain, really. I always felt numb. I went to a friend for yoga sessions to work through connecting my trauma brain to my physical body again. To heal and balance the Amygdala (fight or flight gland). In healing and finding balance quickly I would be able to offer my healthiest self to my kids, who were suffering too.

Within this Sacred Circle of friends, I would message them every morning and evening at first. 

Checking in so I knew they made it through the day and I reminded myself I wasn’t alone. I still check in with them regularly.

 I threw myself a Birthday Party.  I asked my treasured people to Art my New Life. I filled my empty spaces with reminders of the people near and far that I cared about and cared about me.

Slowly the Trauma Brain eased up. CPTSD night terrors eased. Flashbacks during the day ebbed away.

I’ve learned that in order to move forward in life,

 I have to stop.

I have to let my brain heal whenever a sudden major life change happens.

I have to allow my psyche find a new equilibrium and orientation.

This is what help looks like for me. If you are struggling, please ask for help. You are not alone. You are worth a vibrant, love filled life.

My Old Friend

One Sunday when I was five, dressed in my best, I waited for the grown-ups to be ready. The usual hustle and bustle to leave for church on time was in full swing. I sat on the floor in the kitchen playing with the dogs. A Parental came in, swooped me up. He laid me over his knee and began spanking my bum.

Of course I began to make noise.

A GrandParental came in and scolded the Parental. The Parental put me down, straightened my dress and they went on with their hustle and bustle. Dazed and sore, I sat down with the dogs and solemnly waited.

That night the Parentals and I arrived at our home. I went to my room and readied myself for bed. The Parental came in and gently began to explain how my punishment was interrupted. Authority had been usurped and we had unfinished business. I had been on the floor in my Sunday Best with the dogs and that was unacceptable.

So They said, “Let us resume.”

I was picked up and placed back on that knee. The “spanking” commenced. However, it was different. It hurt. I began to wriggle, say NO and try to get away. I began to kick and squirm. The spanking turned to hitting. I heard a metal watch snap. My body stopped fighting because the pain was too great, and I just sobbed.

Parental gently and compassionately lifted me from the lap, looked me deep in the eyes and said, “Now, honey. I’m sorry I lost control. I’m so sorry I hurt you. BUT you broke my watch and that really hurt me. You need to learn how to accept consequences when you are wrong. When I get that angry I just can’t control myself, you can’t let me get that angry. I’m simply not responsible for what I do.”

My Five Year Old logic heard, “I cannot ever say No. I cannot ever fight back. If I fight back it will always be worse. That worse will always be my fault because I asked for it. If something unpleasant happens, I need to accept it and never fight it. My body doesn’t belong to me”

A little over a year later the Parentals and I went on a Christmas trip to meet family. I stayed the night with a part of the family I had never met and something mysterious happened. When I came home, sleeping was never again the same.

The terrors first tickled my feet in the middle of the night when I was around 6. They would reach up from under my bed, grab my ankles and drag me down to a dark, hot flaming place filled with screaming and pain. I could hear a laughter that made my skin peal from my muscles. I would get out of bed and run to my parents. They would pat me on the head and arm me with verses like:

“Jesus came to conquer death and heal, so we have nothing to fear.”

“God is greater than he who is in the world.”

They would instruct me to go back to bed and fight these spirits myself because Jesus gave me the power to conquer all of this myself. I was fine. I was silly to be afraid.

My little girl logic heard, I had little faith. Jesus shamed the disciples for having Little Faith. Jesus didn’t have any power to do things if I had Little Faith. So, I had to have Big Faith all the time.

So I prayed, and cried and worked my Big Faith until I fell asleep. Perfectly in the middle of that bed, wrapped in the sheets and blankets. That way I was maybe protected from anything that might try and reach up from underneath.

We first became friends when I was very small. He was known by a different name at that time. I was told stories about the place he lived. How it was a wonderful place, filled with glory and grace. There were no tears or torment. No fear. He prepared a place for me. God was there. Jesus was there.

The Bible said the Days were Evil. We were to Watch for the Signs. Jesus was coming and would catch us all up in The Rapture. Jesus was going to rescue us from all of this pain and torment. Jesus was going to wipe away our tears forever.

That sounded wonderful to me.

When I felt insecure and I asked Parentals about that Thief in the Night. About my dreams of having a family and a future, I was told that it wasn’t to me. I shouldn’t plan for vain things like that. God was in charge of that. I was to look forward to being caught up in the clouds. To that wonderful place of no more suffering. Then the chastisement of my rebellious and sinful heart wanting selfish things like a future would inevitably follow.

My Childlike Faith honored, just like the Bible told me to do, my Parentals. I began to focus on that Wonderful Place.

That meant I would have no more nightmares. I would be able to sleep the whole night through and feel rested. I would never walk through a door and tremble wondering what was waiting for me on the other side. I could wake up every morning and not worry if I would have a house to live in at the end of the day. No longer would I worry about if there would be enough food for my sisters and I.

I would be free to tell the truth all the time. If I felt sad, I could say I felt sad and I would be comforted. If I felt afraid, I would be heard. If something was wrong, I could ask and help would be given. No longer would I have to say things were fine when they weren’t. No longer would I have to “protect” the Parentals so God’s power could work in the church. I would be free from the daily suffering of an ever-shifting reality and unpredictable abuse.

I really like the sound of that.

Then at 14, he took on a different name. He offered the same comfort. The same release. The same secrets. Only I didn’t have to wait for it to happen.

Really, what was the concept of Heaven and the Second Coming/Rapture really at it’s core?

Death.

Why did I have to wait?

I see through another day of pain. By this time, I was invisible to most people anyway. From my perspective, being unseen made everyone the happiest. My opinion didn’t matter to the Parentals at this point. They told me often I was rebellious, awful, lazy, selfish, nagging, self-absorbed, proud, etc. The only time I achieved approval was when I was silent and fulfilling duties. I focused all of my energies on doing as well as I could in school and making life as loving as possible for my sisters.
I stood in the kitchen at 14 with a serrated stake knife at my wrist. I could hear my sisters playing outside. I felt Death’s warm comforting arms wrap around me. The numbing silence absorbing the pain that filled me. Then a small shaft of logic light played out all that would happen next: who would find me. Could I be at peace with that being their las t memory of me? How could I guarantee I would be gone? No mistakes. This wasn’t an attempt. This was a guarantee.

My sisters were in enough pain. I couldn’t contribute to their burden. I put the knife back. Death warmly hugged me and said it was ok. We’d work it out some other time. The Light of Logic said it was Ok. This pain was unbearable.

So, I focused on choosing to live every day. Reminding myself of those I would disappoint if I didn’t.
Heaven and the Second Coming/Rapture however no longer held hope for me. They made my heart sick with longing. I got to the point where I had to stop listening. I made myself stop believing. It got in the way of my ability to live and grow through all the pain that came next.

In college I met someone. He wanted the same future I did. A family who laughed and love. To work together. Go on adventures together. Love fearlessly and simply. He wanted a simple life too, at the time. A family, memories, grandkids, happy holidays, gatherings, adventures, warm quiet nights, etc.
That was the only future I ever wanted. That was the life I chose to stay alive every day for. To build, work through pain. Walk away from unhealthy practices. End toxic relationships. It was a simple, quiet, stable future.

This summer, after almost 30 years, that future told me I needed to find a new future and it walk out the door.

For the last six months I have found myself back in that 14 year old’s shoes. Standing in the kitchen staring at the serrated steak knife wondering what now.

 Slowly, with lots of help, I choose to live each day. I say good morning to Death and we make a list of things to accomplish. I have a list of people who would miss me. Logic Light reminds me that they really would, they aren’t just pandering. I no longer have a conventional family. My future is a huge unknown. People try and encourage me with “do whatever you want.”

Logic Light says, I’m 51.

I had what I wanted.

The best I can do is take the pieces of what is left and be content with making it all good enough. To create a space of light and peace where I am.

All of it in hopes that when Death naturally comes and gently takes my hand,

I am not leaving anyone disappointed.

April Truth Set Me Free

It happens every time.

In high school, it was rock music. The debate about whether the subliminal messages or the ruckus beat interfered with a Christian’s spiritual growth. In junior high I watched as my mom smashed her Beatles, Monkeys, The Carpenters and a few miscellaneous others all for our spiritual protection.

At church our youth group was filled with musicians. Some even became professional in adulthood. They listened to rock music and played it during jam sessions. When I worshiped alongside them, I felt Holy Spirit’s presence. It was just as strong as when I listened to my Mother play and lead worship in corporate service.

To say I was confused was an understatement.

Then came:

Abortion.
Sex before marriage.
Cohabitation.
Divorce.
Dress codes.
The correct way to pray.
Interpretations of Revelation.

I could go on…

Each and every time a culture war erupted, my heart would grieve. Like a black hole in my chest, I could feel God cry.

Mourning the hate.
Lamentening for those who were the focus of the anger.
Angry about how God was being portrayed.

AND most important, how God’s redemptive story compromised for absolute rules.

Last week was no different. World Vision and the Noah movie left me feeling like I had been kicked in the chest.

Monday I woke up under a cloud of depression. I forced myself to walk the dogs. To eat. To fulfill my chores around the house, then that afternoon, a cry for help.

Molley at A Mother Life began sharing a potential injustice. She, an immigrant, was facing investigation from Homeland Security. It consumed my afternoon. Checking her Facebook and Twitter, my heart found a new focus of lament.

My imaginary interweb friend faced being ripped from her family. I began to pray. With breathless hope I prayed,

For justice.
For mercy.
For our divine Mediator to bring peace.
For confusion to become clear.

With these prayers in my heart I fell asleep. My night filled with nightmares of myself being abducted by aliens. The Mutant standing by helplessly as my kids were ripped from my arms. Aliens taking me in their ship to Ayers’ Rock and depositing me in the middle of that wilderness. The rest of the dream was filled with my crawling back to my family and home.

Throughout the whole dream I knew it wasn’t about me, it was about Molley. I continued to pray through the whole night.

Next morning first thing I did was message her to tell her about my prayers for her. Not something I usually do.

She messaged me back right away with a Thanks and a link: The Truth Shall Set Me Free.

It did.

In ways she never intended.

You see, the whole thing was a rouse. An April Fool’s prank.

I sat on my bedroom floor and felt: angry, relief, exhaustion and finally JOY. With tears I laughed. I giggled all day long. The cloud of depression was cleared away by my tears of relief and laughter. I realized it all works for good. God’s Good.

If I focus on my calling-to love my neighbor-God takes care of the rest.