crazy travels

Lately, I’ve been wondering if people resent the fact that when I blog it is mostly about faith things. Do they feel mislead, deceived when they come to read my blog which is supposed to, more or less, be about what it’s like to live with a mental illness ?

But when I share my story, it is impossible to separate faith from my struggles with bipolar. For me, they go hand in hand. I can’t share the truth—the whole uncensored truth—without including the very thing that, above all else, got me through some very difficult times—my faith in a loving God. 

It was during this period of my life that I clung to the truth of God’s Word like never before. Whenever I sat down to read my Bible, if I found a promise that God seemed to be whispering to my heart, I would underline that particular verse and write the date beside it. It was like I was reminding God to make good on all his promises and, I have to say, he has not disappointed. 

You see, mine is a story of redemption.  How God took the worst years of my life and created something beautiful out of them. 

Psalm 84:5-6

Happy are those who are strong in the Lord, who set their minds on a pilgrimage to Jerusalem. When they walk through the Valley of Weeping it will become a place of refreshing springs, where pools of blessing collect after the rains.

Pre-diagnosis I had more than my share of days when it took all I had just to trudge through the Valley of Weeping, hoping and praying for better days to come. And the good news is, they did. 

I live in a place now where many pools of blessing have collected at my feet. I’m on the other side of the Valley of Weeping and I can testify to the fact that my whole world has changed—for the better.

I’ll leave you with a quote from my memoir, Pools of Blessing. In sharing it, I hope that it will lift your spirits no matter what you’re experiencing as you travel through your own Valley of Weeping:

“Yes, inevitably the rains come into our lives.  After all rain does bring about growth doesn’t it?  But when the rains have come and gone, the pools that quench our thirst, wash our feet, give us hope, are the very ones formed from the thing we hated most, the storms.” (taken from Pools of Blessing)

the sweetest victory

A few weeks back, the pastor of our congregation preached a sermon that got me to rethinking the whole death thing. You see, both my parents are gone now. Mom passed away two years ago on December 15^th. Dad died eight years ago this coming July. 

My parents died in very different ways. Dad’s was a sudden heart attack—an unexpected-out-of the-blue kind of death. Mom who had been sick virtually her whole life was told that her transplanted kidney was failing, put on hospice and died six months later. 

Neither was easy, as I’m sure you’re all aware of. It doesn’t matter how you lose a loved one, none of it is fun. Absolutely none.

I grieve over the loss of my parents for sure, but the sermon my pastor preached got me to rethinking who really has it the worst, my parents, or myself. As a person of faith, the answer is pretty obvious. I have it the worst. I do. My parents are done, they’ve lived their lives, they‘ve fought the good fight and finished their race. 

I’m not there. So I hurt, and cry and miss them. But in my faith I have to remember something; my parents are on the good side of heaven. You see, when my pastor mentioned that death is a victory for those who die in the faith, my ears and heart perked up a bit. I guess you could call it “a light bulb moment”—oh yea, they’re in a good place now. Somehow, thinking of my parent’s death as a victory lap makes missing them a little less painful.

A long, long time ago (I can say a long, long time ago now that I’m forty) I was a volunteer teacher in a Vacation Bible School class. One day, I was put in charge of teaching the lesson—a story from Acts Chapters 6-8. It’s the story of Stephen—the one who was stoned to death for telling the truth, the whole truth and nothing but it. 

As I read the story aloud, three very simple words caught my attention; [Stephen] fell asleep. Take a look for yourself:

  ⁵⁹ While they were stoning him, Stephen prayed, “Lord Jesus, receive my spirit.” ⁶⁰ Then he fell on his knees and cried out, “Lord, do not hold this sin against them.” When he had said this, he fell asleep.

I think I’ve shared this verse and my thoughts about it before. In fact, I know I have, but luckily for me my failing memory doesn’t recall what I wrote. So if this is a rerun, bear with me.

The story doesn’t say that Stephen died. It says that he fell asleep.  And that’s what I like best about it; Stephen fell asleep. Because, of course, if he’s fallen asleep, he will wake up again.

But I think the story gets even better. Stephen is done. He has fought the good fight. He has finished the race. So too, have my parents. It’s a much lighter burden realizing that my parents are living the good life now, not in Nebraska, but in eternity.

It makes the sorrow a little bit easier to bear and gives me hope for the day I will get to see them again. Sometimes it even brings a smile to my face knowing that my victory lap is drawing nearer, too. 

Coming home to heaven is like crossing the finish line after a long, often painful and grueling run. For those who enter the pearly gates, death is a victory not a defeat. That makes the loss a little bit easier to bear knowing that someday I’ll reach the finish line as well. And I have to tell you—that’s one victory lap I’m really looking forward to taking.

accusations

ac·cuse

verb \ə-ˈkyüz\

: to blame (someone) for something wrong or illegal : to say that someone is guilty of a fault or crime

 So, this past week I’ve been thinking about a post I wrote a few weeks ago called, crazy safe. In that post I had expressed my reluctance to come into God’s presence feeling that I can’t stand in the throne room of God because I’m too, well, guilty.

But that former post just kept coming back to me again and again. And as I thought about how gracious our God is, I realized how crazy I am to be so reluctant to stand in the place where I am safest.

I love it when God gives us glimpse as to what’s happening in heaven. The following verses from Zechariah three got me to thinking even more about how safe it is in God’s throne room:

¹ Then he showed me Joshua the high priest standing before the angel of the LORD, and Satan^[a] standing at his right side to accuse him. ² The LORD said to Satan, “The LORD rebuke you, Satan! The LORD, who has chosen Jerusalem, rebuke you! Is not this man a burning stick snatched from the fire?”
   ³ Now Joshua was dressed in filthy clothes as he stood before the angel. ⁴ The angel said to those who were standing before him, “Take off his filthy clothes.”
   Then he said to Joshua, “See, I have taken away your sin, and I will put fine garments on you.”

There are two things I want to point out about this story; one, there is an accuser, and, two, there is a rebuker. If you’re not sure who’s who, let me clear that up; Satan’s the accuser, God is the rebuker.

The story is truly fascinating to me because I’ve never really thought about what the devil does in God’s presence.Verse twelve, in Revelation, gives even more evidence that one of Satan’s favorite jobs is to accuse. Just in case you’re not convinced take a look at this passage from Revelation Twelve:

¹⁰ Then I heard a loud voice in heaven say:
   “Now have come the salvation and the power
   and the kingdom of our God,
   and the authority of his Messiah.
For the accuser of our brothers and sisters,
   who accuses them before our God day and night,
   has been hurled down. 

Accusing is what makes Satan tick. After all, it says that he stands there day and night to indict us—he never grows tired of it. But I’m thinking he’d better find a new job because the accusations he makes against us are rebuked time and again.

God doesn’t bring us into his throne room of grace to scold, punish, acuse or scare the living daylights out of us. He brings us in because he’s made it a place of safety.

So when you or I enter that throne room of grace, we can enter with confidence. For each and every accusation that Satan makes against us is rebuked by our precious God. He’s dealt with our sins, every single one—taking them to the cross where Jesus bled and died so that Satan can never again accuse us, not of one single thing.

Remember this important truth, today and always. Stop listening to the voice of the accuser. Listen to the voice of God who rebukes Satan’s lies on your behalf. Enter God’s throne room of grace and stand confidently in his love for you. When you do you will discover that being in God’s throne room is truly the safest place to be.

crazy hope

As of late, I’ve been feeling kind of guilty about something. No deep, dark secret here but maybe a little bit of feeling bad for feeling so good.

As I’ve been more candid about sharing my “story” about being bipolar, God’s opened up a lot of doors for me, bringing me into contact with several people who either have the disease itself or a loved one who does.

So many have shared the difficult times they’ve had, and how they continue to struggle with symptoms despite being on meds. And as I listen to people who don’t have many rainbow- colored days, it makes me feel sad and, admittedly, bad because I have it so good now.

Two nights ago, my hubby and I watched a movie on Netflix called Of Two Minds. In it there were a handful of people who were interviewed about living with bipolar. When we’d finished watching the movie, my hubby and I talked about how well it had been done and what our thoughts about it were.

We both came to the conclusion that, overall, it was a pretty sad movie. Only one out of the eight or nine interviewees was doing really well. The rest continued to struggle with this unrelenting disease which was keeping them from living a healthy, “normal” life. 

It made me sad. Why do I have it so good when so many others who struggle with this illness are fighting a daily battle just to stay on their feet? Am I wrong in holding out hope to others who struggle with bipolar because my story is the exception? What if the hope I hold out isn’t enough?

When I explained my feelings to my hubby, his response really got me to thinking. You see, my husband has fought his own battle in life, not one with mental illness, but with being overweight. Throughout his lifetime, my husband’s been on a roller coaster ride of losing and regaining, losing and regaining. 

What he shared with me made things a bit clearer. “Nici,” he said, “What if no one who’s ever lost weight has successfully kept if off? What would be the point of continuing to struggle with this problem in my own life?  If not even one single person has kept the weight off, there’d be nothing to be hopeful about.”

So there it is. Hope. I’m an advocate for the mentally ill because I understand how destructive and devastating of an illness, bipolar is. Yes, I have it really good, and maybe that’s the point. Having been someone who struggled for years before being diagnosed, I can hold out hope to others. Not false hope, but true hope—a hope that keeps me going on even the darkest of days. 

Now that I’m no longer in the grip of this monster, I can point the way and let people know that hope is a good thing and that no good thing will ever disappoint.

Romans 5:3-5

 . . . we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance, perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit whom he has given us. 

http://www.oftwomindsmovie.com/