I've been struggling with a positive self-concept since the day I was born. I probably came out of my mom's womb wailing because I didn't have the perfect nose. So I guess this idea of being perfect is still rolling around inside my brain.
A book of the Bible that I've been thinking a lot about lately is the Song of Songs. Really a hard book to understand, but if you take the time to look into it, it's quite beautiful. One verse that has become a particular favorite is Song of Songs 4:7 You are so beautiful, my beloved, so perfect in every part. (NLT) There's that word perfect again. But for some reason, in this verse, I'm glad it's the word that's chosen - perfect. What must that be like to be viewed by God as being perfect, not kind of okay, not tolerable, not just good, but perfect. Perfect to the very fiber of my being.
In my last post I looked into this idea of perfect versus good, writing about how hung up I get on trying to be perfect. But in this case it's not me who's hung up on perfect - it's God. He's calling me perfect, not just perfect, but perfect in every part. And lest you think me bold to say that God thinks I'm perfect, take a look at another verse. Hebrews 10:14 because by one sacrifice [Jesus] has made perfect forever those who are being made holy. Yes, I'm still a mess in many ways as anyone who reads this blog can clearly testify to, but because of Jesus' sacrifice I'm now viewed by God as being perfect. No, not just viewed; I am perfect.
You know what? That kind of takes the pressure off. It kind of gives me hope. It definitely tells me that I am deeply and dearly loved. And you want to hear the best part of all of this; YOU, are so beautiful in his sight, too. YOU, are so perfect in every part, too. After all, this is a verse to share, not to hoard. It was meant for all of us from the very beginning - to be perfectly perfect. Not just now, but for eternity.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Monday, March 28, 2011
taking off the mask
I'm a perfectionist. Like, I mean to the core. Chances are, once I've finished writing this, I will read and reread it until I've got it to my version of "perfect." Which, of course, it will not be (especially when it comes to commas). But I will give it a valiant effort nonetheless. I've been thinking about perfectionism this morning, wondering why we, as a society, seem obsessed with it. Is it possible that anyone is perfect or are we seeking the unattainable. I know I often look at someone who appears to have it all together. I feel envious and wonder, will I ever be that "perfect"? Well, I have to say that after thirty-seven years of living on this planet I have yet to create the perfect me. Any illusion I give off that I am perfect is just that, an illusion. Much like a magician, I can perform my best tricks. But in the end, I know in my heart that these "tricks" aren't fooling anyone - least of all myself.
When I was in college I lived with a gal who, when we prayed together, would often ask God to help us take off our "masks." I think of that phrase whenever I try to create the perfect me - perfect hair, perfect clothes, perfect smile. Who am I trying to kid? Every other person on the planet knows what I am often reluctant to admit to myself, that I'm not perfect. So if that's the case, why do I keep this mask on? Why not take it off and show myself, warts and all. These days I'm trying to be more vulnerable, share more of my struggles, ask for help when I need it. But it's never easy.
When it comes to this idea of being perfect, I think back to the story of creation - pre-fall, and never once after God had created something, did he ever delcare it to be "perfect". Instead, in my translation, it says that he called everything good. Fascinating isn't it? God is holy, completely without sin, perfect to the core of his being. But he doesn't use perfect in talking of his creation. He calls it good, even very good, but never perfect. And you know what? When I look at a tree I see that, in a pure definition of the word, it isn't perfect. I mean it's not like a tree has perfect symmetry, equal number of branches on every side. But I think it's beautiful because it's not perfect. I like that the branches stick out everywhich way. I like that there aren't the same number of leaves on each branch. I even like the scars that show the tree is a mighty warrior- standing up against the test of time. And it makes me glad, because, ultimately, I don't think God wants me to be hung up on pefectionism. So I think, for now, I'll pursue goodness. I like the sound of that word better anyway.
When I was in college I lived with a gal who, when we prayed together, would often ask God to help us take off our "masks." I think of that phrase whenever I try to create the perfect me - perfect hair, perfect clothes, perfect smile. Who am I trying to kid? Every other person on the planet knows what I am often reluctant to admit to myself, that I'm not perfect. So if that's the case, why do I keep this mask on? Why not take it off and show myself, warts and all. These days I'm trying to be more vulnerable, share more of my struggles, ask for help when I need it. But it's never easy.
When it comes to this idea of being perfect, I think back to the story of creation - pre-fall, and never once after God had created something, did he ever delcare it to be "perfect". Instead, in my translation, it says that he called everything good. Fascinating isn't it? God is holy, completely without sin, perfect to the core of his being. But he doesn't use perfect in talking of his creation. He calls it good, even very good, but never perfect. And you know what? When I look at a tree I see that, in a pure definition of the word, it isn't perfect. I mean it's not like a tree has perfect symmetry, equal number of branches on every side. But I think it's beautiful because it's not perfect. I like that the branches stick out everywhich way. I like that there aren't the same number of leaves on each branch. I even like the scars that show the tree is a mighty warrior- standing up against the test of time. And it makes me glad, because, ultimately, I don't think God wants me to be hung up on pefectionism. So I think, for now, I'll pursue goodness. I like the sound of that word better anyway.
Monday, March 21, 2011
toilets, and potty chairs, and air vents - oh my!
Potty Training - Day 1
6:30 am - Wake up bright and early! (Lay in bed as long as possible dreading the fact that pt-day has finally arrived.)
6:35 am - Take a very soggy pull-up off a little bottom and throw the smelly, disgusting thing in the trash. (Are we finally done with those nasty things?)
7:30 am - First accident in the bathroom (Good, no carpeting, I can handle this.)
8:00 am - First successful attempt at pottying in the toilet. (Yay, high fives all around.)
9:00 am - Drag a screaming, kicking three-year-old to the toilet. (She goes; it was worth the fight.)
10:00 am - Dress the cooperative (not) little girl in her favorite dress, telling her that if she doesn't go in the toilet her pretty dress will get all wet.
The rest of the morning - accident free (woo-hoo) the Pretty Dress Scheme worked! (Yes, I know - I'm brilliant.)
12:00 pm - Fill the girl with chocolate milk hoping her little bladder will cooperate so that she will have to "go" before nap time
12:45 pm - Chocolate Milk Scheme not so successful.
1:00 pm - Nap time. (Yes!)
3:15 pm - Nap time is over. (Boo!)
3:45 pm - Discover that my daughter has just peed into one of our air vents. (I thought it was a little suspicious that she was sitting directly on the vent, but figured she was just enjoying the hot air coming up.)
3:46 pm - Note to self: Keep her away from all vents in the house from now on.
4:30 pm - Go for a bike ride. May as well, it's probably the only time she will get to ride a bike naked from the waist down. (Don't worry, she was wearing a dress so that none of her "private parts" were showing. I'm not that bad of a mom.)
5:15 pm - Fourth accident of the day, in her brother's room no less. (That's all right. He's christened it a time or two late at night when he was too groggy to make it to the bathroom.)
6:00 pm - First bowel movement in the potty chair. (Smells nasty when I dump it, but I'll take it any day over wiping the squishy stuff off her little bottom. Sorry, TMI?)
7:30 pm - Prepare for bed. (Unsuccessful attempt at pottying one last time.)
8:00 pm - Put night-time underwear (that's code for pull-ups) on her (not me), and breathe a sigh of relief that Day 1 is over!
Taking a Break
I may be taking a hiatus from writing this week as I'm beginning to potty train my three-year-old. Will let you know how it goes. Hoping it goes well, but if it doesn't at least I'll have some good stories to share!
Friday, March 18, 2011
Crazy Storms
You will keep in perfect peace him whose mind is steadfast, because he trust in you. Isaiah 26:3
Today was one of those, "Calgon, take me away" days. I had a hard time following my own advice; don't wish your days away. Really, I would be okay if my kids were, say, three or four years older than they are. Oh dear! What is it about preschoolers and toddlers that makes you feel like you're living in the midst of a tornado, clinging onto anything for dear life. And I mean anything. The above verse is one that I've been clinging to this evening. I don't know about you but I have trouble living in perfect peace. Every little worry, concern, event, catastrophe, mishap calls out for my attention all day long. I feel myself being sucked into a vortex of worry, fear, and yes, my favorite - anxiety.
How does one obtain perfect peace; is it even really possible? Well, with God all things are possible so I suppose this state of mind is possible too. One story about Jesus that I love, is the story of when he was asleep in a boat in the midst of a storm. And, I mean, it must have been some storm; the disciples were terrified. (Matthew 8:24a The disciples went and woke him, saying "Master, Master, we're going to drown.") I mean really, was Jesus deaf or something, or was he just that tired? Who could sleep through a storm like that, much less sleep in a storm? Now that's perfect peace.
Matthew 8:24b [Jesus] got up and rebuked the wind and the raging waters; the storm subsided, and all was calm. "Where is your faith?" he asked his disciples. Just like that; "Where is your faith." Okay, who has faith like that? Well, apparently Jesus did. He trusted his Father completely. He had that perfect peace because he knew who was taking care of him. What's more he knew that with a single word, the storm could be stopped.
Yeah, that's the part I have trouble with. You see, in the midst of the storms of life, I struggle to keep my mind off the storm. It's what I think about, stew about, fixate on. But maybe I should take a cue from Jesus, find a way to block out the noise of the storm, and rest peacefully in my Father's care.
Must go now. I think the little tornadoes are tearing our living room apart. Hoping this is one of the storms that can be stopped quickly.
Today was one of those, "Calgon, take me away" days. I had a hard time following my own advice; don't wish your days away. Really, I would be okay if my kids were, say, three or four years older than they are. Oh dear! What is it about preschoolers and toddlers that makes you feel like you're living in the midst of a tornado, clinging onto anything for dear life. And I mean anything. The above verse is one that I've been clinging to this evening. I don't know about you but I have trouble living in perfect peace. Every little worry, concern, event, catastrophe, mishap calls out for my attention all day long. I feel myself being sucked into a vortex of worry, fear, and yes, my favorite - anxiety.
How does one obtain perfect peace; is it even really possible? Well, with God all things are possible so I suppose this state of mind is possible too. One story about Jesus that I love, is the story of when he was asleep in a boat in the midst of a storm. And, I mean, it must have been some storm; the disciples were terrified. (Matthew 8:24a The disciples went and woke him, saying "Master, Master, we're going to drown.") I mean really, was Jesus deaf or something, or was he just that tired? Who could sleep through a storm like that, much less sleep in a storm? Now that's perfect peace.
Matthew 8:24b [Jesus] got up and rebuked the wind and the raging waters; the storm subsided, and all was calm. "Where is your faith?" he asked his disciples. Just like that; "Where is your faith." Okay, who has faith like that? Well, apparently Jesus did. He trusted his Father completely. He had that perfect peace because he knew who was taking care of him. What's more he knew that with a single word, the storm could be stopped.
Yeah, that's the part I have trouble with. You see, in the midst of the storms of life, I struggle to keep my mind off the storm. It's what I think about, stew about, fixate on. But maybe I should take a cue from Jesus, find a way to block out the noise of the storm, and rest peacefully in my Father's care.
Must go now. I think the little tornadoes are tearing our living room apart. Hoping this is one of the storms that can be stopped quickly.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Safe in his Will
Obviously the things that have been happening in Japan have shaken us all I would imagine. I've been dealing with my own personal struggles, nothing compared to what the Japanese people are experiencing, but I guess all things are relative. Anyway, I digress. Here's what I'm really trying to get to. It's hard to understand why God allows these types of things to happen; tsunamis, earthquakes, famines, floods. The age old question lingers in all of our minds, how can a loving God allow so much suffering? I am no theologian and I know there are no easy answers for any of this, but some thoughts have been rolling around in my brain for awhile and I'd like to share them. No, I don't have all the answers, mostly questions like the rest of you, but here goes.
I remember when I was a little girl having complete faith that God would take care of my family, that nothing bad would ever happen to us. This was a particularly comforting thought to me when it came to nighttime fears. You know, the ones that someone might break into your house, or there might be a fire while you sleep, or a tornado might come barreling down on your house. My faith was shaken one day when I woke up and heard my sister report to my mom that someone had been on our back deck the night before and had tried to enter our house. My heart sunk into my stomach. A burglar, or worse had tried to enter our home. I was stunned. I was trusting God to keep us safe. How could he let that happen? And even though nothing came of it, even though it was a failed attempt, I was scared, nonetheless. After some sleepless nights, I put the incident in the back of my mind and refocused my faith on the fact that God would always keep me safe, nothing bad would ever happen to me.
The thing is, though, bad things have happened to me over the years. Not just little bad things, but big ones too. I was sexually molested when I was eighteen, my parents divorced when I was 25, I was put in a psychiatric ward when I was 31 . These are some of the harder "bad" things, but certainly other "bad" things on a smaller scale have happened as well. God loves me, I know he's taking care of me, but then why, why did he allow these bad things to come into my life. Where's the promise that "He will command his angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways. They will lift you up in their hands so you will not strike your foot against a stone." I don't know about you, but I've struck stones both literally and figuratively speaking, and it has hurt like nothing else can. Where is God in all of this?
The verse I quoted above (Psalm 91:11-12) has been one I've meditated on at different points in my life. If God isn't a liar, if he always keeps his promises then somehow, someway this verse has to be true. So here's the deal. Awhile back I started thinking about all the times I haven't "struck a stone." The times I've safely navigated through a minefield of toys without breaking an ankle or falling on my face. The times I've narrowly missed hitting the car that I accidentally pulled in front of. The car accident I was in when our van rolled and none of us wearing seat belts. Every single person in that car walked away without an injury. I think the problem with us is that sometimes we fixate on all the times we have "struck a stone," rather than opening up our eyes to all the times we have been kept safe.
I guess what I'm trying to say is this; I don't think God allows our foot to "strike a stone" unless he wants it to, unless he wills it to. What? God bringing pain into our lives on purpose. I know, doesn't make sense to me either. But throughout my recent health struggle, I've found myself clinging tenaciously to my dear father's hand, and saying 'Okay, I'll go through this because you're allowing it to happen, and I'll try to keep the peace that you want me to have.' And you know what? He has helped me to grow through this experience. Somehow I'm becoming less afraid in the face of this trial, less worried about my life, more focused on his grace than on my pain. I'm not saying it doesn't hurt, but I think there is a purpose for the pain. God doesn't do anything tritely. If something bad comes into our lives, it's come for a purpose. We may not understand it now, but someday we will. In the meanwhile though he may not calm your storm, let him calm you, his child.
I remember when I was a little girl having complete faith that God would take care of my family, that nothing bad would ever happen to us. This was a particularly comforting thought to me when it came to nighttime fears. You know, the ones that someone might break into your house, or there might be a fire while you sleep, or a tornado might come barreling down on your house. My faith was shaken one day when I woke up and heard my sister report to my mom that someone had been on our back deck the night before and had tried to enter our house. My heart sunk into my stomach. A burglar, or worse had tried to enter our home. I was stunned. I was trusting God to keep us safe. How could he let that happen? And even though nothing came of it, even though it was a failed attempt, I was scared, nonetheless. After some sleepless nights, I put the incident in the back of my mind and refocused my faith on the fact that God would always keep me safe, nothing bad would ever happen to me.
The thing is, though, bad things have happened to me over the years. Not just little bad things, but big ones too. I was sexually molested when I was eighteen, my parents divorced when I was 25, I was put in a psychiatric ward when I was 31 . These are some of the harder "bad" things, but certainly other "bad" things on a smaller scale have happened as well. God loves me, I know he's taking care of me, but then why, why did he allow these bad things to come into my life. Where's the promise that "He will command his angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways. They will lift you up in their hands so you will not strike your foot against a stone." I don't know about you, but I've struck stones both literally and figuratively speaking, and it has hurt like nothing else can. Where is God in all of this?
The verse I quoted above (Psalm 91:11-12) has been one I've meditated on at different points in my life. If God isn't a liar, if he always keeps his promises then somehow, someway this verse has to be true. So here's the deal. Awhile back I started thinking about all the times I haven't "struck a stone." The times I've safely navigated through a minefield of toys without breaking an ankle or falling on my face. The times I've narrowly missed hitting the car that I accidentally pulled in front of. The car accident I was in when our van rolled and none of us wearing seat belts. Every single person in that car walked away without an injury. I think the problem with us is that sometimes we fixate on all the times we have "struck a stone," rather than opening up our eyes to all the times we have been kept safe.
I guess what I'm trying to say is this; I don't think God allows our foot to "strike a stone" unless he wants it to, unless he wills it to. What? God bringing pain into our lives on purpose. I know, doesn't make sense to me either. But throughout my recent health struggle, I've found myself clinging tenaciously to my dear father's hand, and saying 'Okay, I'll go through this because you're allowing it to happen, and I'll try to keep the peace that you want me to have.' And you know what? He has helped me to grow through this experience. Somehow I'm becoming less afraid in the face of this trial, less worried about my life, more focused on his grace than on my pain. I'm not saying it doesn't hurt, but I think there is a purpose for the pain. God doesn't do anything tritely. If something bad comes into our lives, it's come for a purpose. We may not understand it now, but someday we will. In the meanwhile though he may not calm your storm, let him calm you, his child.
Sunday, March 13, 2011
In God We Trust
Go ahead. I dare ya. Try to find a coin that doesn't have the quote, "In God We Trust" on it. You might have to look hard at the dime, but yup, it's there too. I know it's on the dollar bill, written in letters a little easier to read. Since I rarely carry cash, can't say if it's on other bills or not. But my guess would be "yes." So ironic, I think, that this phrase was chosen. I wonder if God "inspired" our lawmakers to use it. If that's the case, then he definitely has a sense of humor. Because, is it really true that we all trust in God more than we trust in our money?
Well, all of this brings me to my point. The other day, I was standing in the check-out lane. Pulling out my cash, I just happened to glance at that phrase - that "In God We Trust" phrase. Of course, it's always been there, but in that moment I had a sort of epiphany. Here I was holding the money in my hand, knowing that it would buy me what I needed. So in that moment, was it really God that I trusted in or was it that flimsy little piece of paper? I had to smile, even laugh, because I know that when it comes to money, I soooo put my faith in it above God. I don't care what it represents. Money, in the end, is really just a piece of paper - backed up by a shiny little rock (or bar if you want to get technical about it.) What is it really worth?
Jesus said, "Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they?" (Matthew 6: 26) Yes, we are more valuable to God. But is he more valuable to us? More valuable than our cars, our homes, our jobs, even our money? Look, I'm not saying that we should all just quit working and wait out in a field for God to drop food from heaven. Then again, that's exactly what he did for the Israelites, dropped manna from heaven each day to provide for their needs. I guess what I am saying is this; in the end it's really not the money, it's really not the job, it's really not the grocery store. It's God, our Father, who provides. His every good and perfect gift from above is ours to enjoy, not to worship. If we're loving the gifts more than we love the Giver, maybe our priorities need to change.
Well, all of this brings me to my point. The other day, I was standing in the check-out lane. Pulling out my cash, I just happened to glance at that phrase - that "In God We Trust" phrase. Of course, it's always been there, but in that moment I had a sort of epiphany. Here I was holding the money in my hand, knowing that it would buy me what I needed. So in that moment, was it really God that I trusted in or was it that flimsy little piece of paper? I had to smile, even laugh, because I know that when it comes to money, I soooo put my faith in it above God. I don't care what it represents. Money, in the end, is really just a piece of paper - backed up by a shiny little rock (or bar if you want to get technical about it.) What is it really worth?
Jesus said, "Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they?" (Matthew 6: 26) Yes, we are more valuable to God. But is he more valuable to us? More valuable than our cars, our homes, our jobs, even our money? Look, I'm not saying that we should all just quit working and wait out in a field for God to drop food from heaven. Then again, that's exactly what he did for the Israelites, dropped manna from heaven each day to provide for their needs. I guess what I am saying is this; in the end it's really not the money, it's really not the job, it's really not the grocery store. It's God, our Father, who provides. His every good and perfect gift from above is ours to enjoy, not to worship. If we're loving the gifts more than we love the Giver, maybe our priorities need to change.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Life Means So Much
Just found out today that a friend lost her father to a heart attack -out of the blue, unexpectedly. Hearing the news brought me back to the day I lost my father. The phone call came from my brother early on a Monday morning. I thought he was calling to tell me how he'd done in a tennis tournament he'd played over the weekend. I was not prepared for news of my father's death. Is anyone ever prepared for that sort of call? The call with news that you have cancer, or that your child was in a horrible accident, or that your best friend has passed away unexpectedly. These kinds of things are never easy to take.
Life is so precious, isn't it? But somehow we forget that. We go through our days, living a life that can seem so plain, hum-drum, even boring in its existence. 'Nothing will change,' we think, 'nothing will ever change.' But I think this sort of attitude lulls us into a stupor - one in which we take life for granted. After all, our days are endless, aren't they? We can spend life however we want to. Things will remain status quo. There's just one problem with this theory; there is no such thing as status quo. Life is always changing, however small the increments may seem. The world continues to spin, with or without our noticing it.
One lesson God really impressed on my heart when I was still single, was to not wish my days away, pining for a husband. So I tried to enjoy my singleness, embrace it almost. Looking back now, I realize what a blessing that time was for me. And the thing is, I can never go back. I can never recapture that single, carefree life, much as I might want to, hard as I might try. Life has moved on, and so have I.
Raising two little ones these days, there are so many phases I am tempted to wish away. How about fast forwarding through potty training, or the terrible twos, or having to put on socks, coats, tie shoes, etc. every time we go somewhere? These are phases I would easily skip. But when I'm tempted to do that, I call to mind that important lesson I learned long ago. No day can ever be called back into existence. As the saying goes, "Time marches on, and waits for no man."
Wanted to share a favorite quote that I think is very pertinent to this topic. The quote comes from a bible study I was in several years ago, Becoming a Woman of Beauty. "Thus God works out His own high purposes slowly as it seems oftentimes, but surely and with unerring wisdom, until all things being done, the end is sudden, dramatic, complete."
These slow, humdrum, sometimes boring days, have purpose. They have meaning. Take each one and make the most of it. You never know when your end will come. When it does come, will you be able to say,' I made the most of each day I was given.' My wish for you, my wish for myself is that we are able to answer emphatically, "Yes!"
Life is so precious, isn't it? But somehow we forget that. We go through our days, living a life that can seem so plain, hum-drum, even boring in its existence. 'Nothing will change,' we think, 'nothing will ever change.' But I think this sort of attitude lulls us into a stupor - one in which we take life for granted. After all, our days are endless, aren't they? We can spend life however we want to. Things will remain status quo. There's just one problem with this theory; there is no such thing as status quo. Life is always changing, however small the increments may seem. The world continues to spin, with or without our noticing it.
One lesson God really impressed on my heart when I was still single, was to not wish my days away, pining for a husband. So I tried to enjoy my singleness, embrace it almost. Looking back now, I realize what a blessing that time was for me. And the thing is, I can never go back. I can never recapture that single, carefree life, much as I might want to, hard as I might try. Life has moved on, and so have I.
Raising two little ones these days, there are so many phases I am tempted to wish away. How about fast forwarding through potty training, or the terrible twos, or having to put on socks, coats, tie shoes, etc. every time we go somewhere? These are phases I would easily skip. But when I'm tempted to do that, I call to mind that important lesson I learned long ago. No day can ever be called back into existence. As the saying goes, "Time marches on, and waits for no man."
Wanted to share a favorite quote that I think is very pertinent to this topic. The quote comes from a bible study I was in several years ago, Becoming a Woman of Beauty. "Thus God works out His own high purposes slowly as it seems oftentimes, but surely and with unerring wisdom, until all things being done, the end is sudden, dramatic, complete."
These slow, humdrum, sometimes boring days, have purpose. They have meaning. Take each one and make the most of it. You never know when your end will come. When it does come, will you be able to say,' I made the most of each day I was given.' My wish for you, my wish for myself is that we are able to answer emphatically, "Yes!"
Saturday, March 5, 2011
Anxiety, Part 2
My son is laying on the kitchen floor asking me how long I'll be "working." He keeps asking me over and over, "Are you done yet? Are you done? Is the time up?" With gritted teeth, I respond, "If you keep bothering me, it will take me longer to finish." Aahhh, sweet silence.
2 Corinthians 12:9b-10 Therefore, I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me . . . For when I am weak then I am strong.
I was thinking about my weaknesses of character today. My whole issue with the peeing thing has been resolved, for those of you who were wondering. I've been to a couple of doctors, and there's nothing physically wrong. I kinda had that feeling all along. Basically, I need to relax more than anything and just let it go. (No pun intended.) Okay, I know this a strange way to start a blog entry, but, after all this blog is called craziness uncensored. But, I do have a point in sharing all of this. Basically, I feel like what this whole issue boils down to is anxiety. Anxiety, is a huge weakness for me. Being bipolar, it seems to come with the territory.
One thing I've reflected on, while going through this episode, is that part of my anxiety stems from the anger I feel toward myself - anger for not being able to control my anxiety. I blame myself for not resolving this problem, for not being able to "make things better." And I'm beginning to realize that this (beating myself up) is exactly the approach I should NOT be taking. I think I need to accept the fact that I am an anxious person. It is my "thorn in the flesh" so to speak. And while I can't control it, I can learn to live with this weakness and, in some ways, see it as a strength.
You see, I think we're all struggling with some kind of "thorn in the flesh." Addiction, illness, disease, a handicap of one sort or another - anything that keeps us from being the ideal person we'd like to be, the perfect person you might say. Well, one thing I've come to realize is that nobody is perfect. Sorry for stating the obvious. But sometimes instead of grieving our weaknesses, we need to embrace them. They do serve a purpose, I believe. They're given to remind us that we do need God, we can't make it on our own, we can only be made whole in him. Our God is a God of paradoxes isn't he? When we are weak, then we are strong? Sometimes it's hard to understand how that can be.
One last story to share. When I was a little girl, I'd sit in my Grandpa's lap. He'd play a game that I absolutely hated. He'd take my hands, make fists with them, and with his hands holding mine, he'd pretend to punch me. While doing this he'd say, over and over again, "Why are you hitting yourself, why do you keep hitting yourself." That picture has stayed with me to this day. Why am I hitting myself? Yes, I have weaknesses. Yes, I hate them. And yes, I'm afraid of them. But rather than being afraid, I think it's time to accept myself, weaknesses and all. It's time to stop playing the game; I never liked it in the first place.
2 Corinthians 12:9b-10 Therefore, I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me . . . For when I am weak then I am strong.
I was thinking about my weaknesses of character today. My whole issue with the peeing thing has been resolved, for those of you who were wondering. I've been to a couple of doctors, and there's nothing physically wrong. I kinda had that feeling all along. Basically, I need to relax more than anything and just let it go. (No pun intended.) Okay, I know this a strange way to start a blog entry, but, after all this blog is called craziness uncensored. But, I do have a point in sharing all of this. Basically, I feel like what this whole issue boils down to is anxiety. Anxiety, is a huge weakness for me. Being bipolar, it seems to come with the territory.
One thing I've reflected on, while going through this episode, is that part of my anxiety stems from the anger I feel toward myself - anger for not being able to control my anxiety. I blame myself for not resolving this problem, for not being able to "make things better." And I'm beginning to realize that this (beating myself up) is exactly the approach I should NOT be taking. I think I need to accept the fact that I am an anxious person. It is my "thorn in the flesh" so to speak. And while I can't control it, I can learn to live with this weakness and, in some ways, see it as a strength.
You see, I think we're all struggling with some kind of "thorn in the flesh." Addiction, illness, disease, a handicap of one sort or another - anything that keeps us from being the ideal person we'd like to be, the perfect person you might say. Well, one thing I've come to realize is that nobody is perfect. Sorry for stating the obvious. But sometimes instead of grieving our weaknesses, we need to embrace them. They do serve a purpose, I believe. They're given to remind us that we do need God, we can't make it on our own, we can only be made whole in him. Our God is a God of paradoxes isn't he? When we are weak, then we are strong? Sometimes it's hard to understand how that can be.
One last story to share. When I was a little girl, I'd sit in my Grandpa's lap. He'd play a game that I absolutely hated. He'd take my hands, make fists with them, and with his hands holding mine, he'd pretend to punch me. While doing this he'd say, over and over again, "Why are you hitting yourself, why do you keep hitting yourself." That picture has stayed with me to this day. Why am I hitting myself? Yes, I have weaknesses. Yes, I hate them. And yes, I'm afraid of them. But rather than being afraid, I think it's time to accept myself, weaknesses and all. It's time to stop playing the game; I never liked it in the first place.
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
crazy, random thoughts
Always start an entry thinking I have nothing to say. I think you've all realized that by the time I get into it, something is definitely on my mind. Funny how that happens. Yesterday, I woke up feeling pretty okay, but about an hour or so into my day, depression struck. It just hit me out of nowhere - wham, like a baseball bat to the head. In the whole scheme of the bipolar life, I would way rather deal with a manic episode than a bout of depression. After all, when I'm manic it feels good, I feel good, life feels good. I'm flying high. The only bad thing about these highs? The lows are inevitably going to follow. So I bounce from one extreme to the other, especially when my bipolar is getting out of control. Don 't get me wrong, I am much more stable than I've ever been. Right meds, right dosages, feels good. But even on medication, I have "flare-up days" when bipolar holds me captive to its whims.
Depression, for me, feels like I'm carrying a ball and chain around with me wherever I go. I can do what needs to be done, but it takes so much effort to complete even the smallest of tasks. Sometimes, on days when I'm depressed, it takes all the self control I can muster, to make myself get out of bed, get going, and be productive. On my worst days, it's all I can do not to crawl back into bed, pull the covers over my head, and check out of life for awhile. Depression is tough. I wasn't diagnosed bipolar until I was 31 years old, and in someways I am glad for this. I think all the years of going undiagnosed and still dealing with the illness, made me find my own coping methods. For instance, when I was feeling depressed, I learned to push through and get things done anyway. The ball and chain were always with me, mind you, but I learned to carry them along. In that way I became stronger, more prepared, for life after diagnosis. Now that I'm on meds, the ball and chain don't exist most days. Even on the days when they begin to pull me down, my coping methods kick in. I keep pressing on until, lo and behold, I'm feeling just a little bit better, a little bit stronger. I guess my point is this. Although medication is a HUGE key to my staying healthy, it is not the only one. I still have to learn to fight through the depression, or learn to calm my mind when I'm becoming manic. It's not always easy, but with the right medications I find it is much easier than it used to be.
Should I say anything about Charlie Sheen? The reporter who interviewed him made the comment that some thought he could be bipolar. Watching the few clips that I did, he seemed very manic, but I wouldn't even pretend to think I could diagnose him. Of course, when the reporter addressed this (bipolar) issue with him, he poo-pooed it and said something to the effect of "So if I'm bipolar, then what? Medication? Not gonna happen." If he truly is bipolar, I feel sorry for him. Because if he's not willing to get help, he's headed down a path where he's almost certain to self-destruct at some point. Medications are our friends, people, not our enemies.
Another side note. In my hometown, the local news carried a story about a mother who stabbed her daughter, her husband, set fire to her house, and then stabbed herself. The day before this all happened she'd been doing research on the Internet - two different searches; ways to commit suicide and medications for depression. When I read this story, I thought to myself, 'How sad. She was at a crossroads where she could either get the help she needed, or end the life that seemed unbearable to her.' How I wish she would have chosen differently. And I wonder - why didn't she? What kept her from reaching for help? If you're reading this and you think you just can't live another day, if you're at a crossroads of your own, choose the higher path - get help. Don't end it all just because you think you can't take it anymore. Believe me when I tell you, it can get better, life can be better. Hold on, but more importantly, reach for help. You have two choices to make. Which road are you going to take? Don't be a Charlie Sheen. Don't let pride, or fear, or ignorance be your undoing. Life is too precious for that.
Depression, for me, feels like I'm carrying a ball and chain around with me wherever I go. I can do what needs to be done, but it takes so much effort to complete even the smallest of tasks. Sometimes, on days when I'm depressed, it takes all the self control I can muster, to make myself get out of bed, get going, and be productive. On my worst days, it's all I can do not to crawl back into bed, pull the covers over my head, and check out of life for awhile. Depression is tough. I wasn't diagnosed bipolar until I was 31 years old, and in someways I am glad for this. I think all the years of going undiagnosed and still dealing with the illness, made me find my own coping methods. For instance, when I was feeling depressed, I learned to push through and get things done anyway. The ball and chain were always with me, mind you, but I learned to carry them along. In that way I became stronger, more prepared, for life after diagnosis. Now that I'm on meds, the ball and chain don't exist most days. Even on the days when they begin to pull me down, my coping methods kick in. I keep pressing on until, lo and behold, I'm feeling just a little bit better, a little bit stronger. I guess my point is this. Although medication is a HUGE key to my staying healthy, it is not the only one. I still have to learn to fight through the depression, or learn to calm my mind when I'm becoming manic. It's not always easy, but with the right medications I find it is much easier than it used to be.
Should I say anything about Charlie Sheen? The reporter who interviewed him made the comment that some thought he could be bipolar. Watching the few clips that I did, he seemed very manic, but I wouldn't even pretend to think I could diagnose him. Of course, when the reporter addressed this (bipolar) issue with him, he poo-pooed it and said something to the effect of "So if I'm bipolar, then what? Medication? Not gonna happen." If he truly is bipolar, I feel sorry for him. Because if he's not willing to get help, he's headed down a path where he's almost certain to self-destruct at some point. Medications are our friends, people, not our enemies.
Another side note. In my hometown, the local news carried a story about a mother who stabbed her daughter, her husband, set fire to her house, and then stabbed herself. The day before this all happened she'd been doing research on the Internet - two different searches; ways to commit suicide and medications for depression. When I read this story, I thought to myself, 'How sad. She was at a crossroads where she could either get the help she needed, or end the life that seemed unbearable to her.' How I wish she would have chosen differently. And I wonder - why didn't she? What kept her from reaching for help? If you're reading this and you think you just can't live another day, if you're at a crossroads of your own, choose the higher path - get help. Don't end it all just because you think you can't take it anymore. Believe me when I tell you, it can get better, life can be better. Hold on, but more importantly, reach for help. You have two choices to make. Which road are you going to take? Don't be a Charlie Sheen. Don't let pride, or fear, or ignorance be your undoing. Life is too precious for that.
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