a crazy race

Psalm 119:32 I run in the path of your commands for you have set my heart free.

I am not a runner. It is a serious desire of mine to be one, but there are physical reasons for why I cannot. I have to tell you, though, when I have a dream about being a runner, I feel this exhilaration that can’t be described. Then I wake up and it’s, bleh, when I realize it was all just a dream. 

The verse I quoted at the beginning is an interesting one. First of all it’s tucked away in the longest psalm in the Bible—Psalm 119. 

Psalm 119 is a tough one—lots of talk about rules, commands, laws, decrees, statutes. Not that any of those things are bad but the author of this psalm seems to be struggling with the same thing I do, wanting to do the right thing all the time and failing miserably.

Admittedly, in the past I haven’t cared too much for Psalm 119. That’s because when I think about the laws of God, I feel so guilty. I can’t measure up to God’s standards and I know it. So Psalm 119 just pretty much depresses me. 

But in the midst of some of the psalmist’s strongest pleas, ‘I long for your commands’, ‘[I] put my hope in your word,’ ‘your law is my delight,’ there is this one little verse tucked neatly inside:

 Psalm 119:32 I run in the path of your commands for you have set my heart free. 

Are you as amazed as I was to find this gem in the midst of a psalm that focuses so much on God’s commands and decrees and obedience to them? 

Shortly after I came upon this verse, it became the quiet prayer of my heart, ‘God, I want to run in the path of your commands, not stumble, not walk, not limp, I want to run.’ Over time I kept praying and praying it. The problem was, I didn’t know how to get there. How does one run in the path of God’s commands? 

And this is what occurred to me a few days ago; I am the one keeping myself from running. God isn’t. Instead of slowing down because I’m afraid I’ll mess up, God is waiting for me to take off fearlessly and run the race with all my heart.

It’s not my job to keep myself on the right path. That’s God’s job. And if God does his job as well as I believe he does then I need to trust that, as any good coach would, he has prepared me for this race.

Sanctification. We don’t talk about it enough in the Christian Church. The Holy Spirit, yea, we tend to set him aside forgetting that it is through his power that we are equipped to run the best race ever.

1 Thessalonians 5:23-24
  
May God himself, the God of peace, sanctify you through and through. May your whole spirit, soul and body be kept blameless at the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ. The one who calls you is faithful, and he will do it.
 

You see it’s not so much about me in this race—whether or not I do the right thing every time, consistently walking the narrow way. God is my sanctifier; the God of peace wants me to run a good race. Mostly, I think he just wants me to run.

And when I do go astray, God’s not surprised, he’s not caught off guard. No, he just picks me up and continues to teach me to stay on his path, even when I’m in full sprint mode. What’s more, when I do stray God’s there to guide me back.

Isaiah 30:21   

Whether you turn to the right or to the left, your ears will hear a voice behind you, saying, “This is the way; walk [even run] in it.”

God is for me, what do I have to fear? Starting today, I’m going to do something I never thought I could, I’m going to run—the best race of my life. Because I’ve finally learned to get out of my own way.

why depression sucks

I have made mention of the fact that despite having the bipolar diagnosis, I have been doing well in life. For the last six years or so, I’ve been very stable—experiencing very few bumps in the road. 

Ironically enough, though my blog is titled craziness uncensored, I have never actually sat down and wrote about why I call it that. And that got me to thinking that I have never actually written about what the bipolar disorder is. Let me clear that up.

Bipolar is a state where one’s mood can swing from mania to deep depression. It used to be referred to as manic depressive disorder (personally, I prefer this label because it defines the disease from the get-go.) So you fluctuate through this mood from mania to depression back and forth like a pendulum swinging from high to low to high to low.

As far as my experiences go with it, I’ve gone through the highest of highs (mania) and the lowest of lows (deep depression). The depression I’m writing about isn’t like a normal depression. It doesn’t really depend on what situation I’m in. It’s not about being upset, or discouraged or frustrated with life. 

To describe it so that it makes more sense, being deeply depressed is like carrying a ball and chain with me wherever I go. Whatever I do is made ten times more difficult. In fact, just getting out of bed every morning is a chore. Quite frankly, it sucks—like nothing else I’ve ever experienced. 

So can I be quite honest here? I used to love being manic. Mania felt so good, like I was on top of the world, invincible, and in the happiest of moods. But I’ve learned there’s a dark side to the mania. I know that when I’m manic, depression is just around the corner waiting to pounce—dragging me back into that all too familiar pit of despair.  

As I’ve written above, I have been very stable for the last six years. Very few extreme highs or lows. I credit that stability to being on the right “cocktail” of meds. 

But a couple of weeks ago, an unwelcome visitor arrived bringing with it all kinds of baggage. It punched me in the gut out of nowhere—depression. And when it set in, I began to worry. It had been so long since I’d felt this poorly. This bout of depression scared me. Just the thought of heading back down that road of deep despair made me want to weep.

So I went to see my psychiatrist and she upped one of my meds to “bump me out of my depression”. And boy, did it ever bump me up. For a couple of days, I felt great. Life was amazing. But all good things must come to an end, and the expected crash happened reminding me of why I hate my diagnosis. 

You see, these days I’m not looking for mania so much. No, now, I prefer stable. No high highs and no low lows—just middle of the road is all right by me. Simply put, I do not want to go back to pre-diagnosed days. It was hell. Honestly, I know no other way to describe it. 

In the end, I know I must trust the God who holds all of my days in his hand and wisely gives them one by one. I have to remember the promise that God’s power is made perfect in my weakness. And, quite frankly, I need to carry on the best I can waiting for the day when I will get back to the middle of the road.

1 John 4:9-10 This is how God showed his love among us: He sent his one and only Son into the world that we might live through him. ¹⁰ This is love: not that we loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son as an atoning sacrifice for our sins.

Yesterday, Katie and I got into a discussion about a little boy at school who “kept bothering,” her. We agreed that the best way to handle the situation is to walk away or find an adult who can help. 

Realizing that this was a teachable moment, I told Katie that she should pray for this little boy, because Jesus told us to pray for our enemies. Katie remained silent, but I could tell she was processing what I’d said. My hope is that a little seed of forgiveness will take root in her heart and teach her how to be a merciful person. 

Forgiveness reminds me of another “f,” word that is offensive. The above verse really touches a nerve on this whole forgiveness issue. Especially the last sentence; ¹⁰ This is love: not that we loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son as an atoning sacrifice for our sins.

It reminds me of a story from the Bible when Jesus teaches a lesson on forgiveness. 

The gist of it is that a man owes a rich man a great sum of money—a sum he can never repay. So this man goes to the rich man and begs to have his debt forgiven, and because the rich man is a very benevolent person, he agrees to forgive the debt. 

Unfortunately, the man doesn’t offer the same kind of mercy that’s been extended to him. He finds a man who owes him a pittance. And because he’s missed the point of how forgiveness works, he throws the man into jail until he can pay back every penny he owes.  

When the other servants realize what this merciless man has done, they go to their master and tell him everything. In his anger, the rich man throws the man into jail until he can pay back every penny he owes. 

I think about this story a lot when I’m having trouble forgiving. The debt that I owe God for my sins is astronomical. I can never repay it. God knows this and from his benevolent heart he chooses to forgive me. If God can forgive me for every sin I’ve ever committed, who am I to hold on to an unforgiving spirit?

When I’m holding a grudge, I think about this parable and remember that Jesus has paid for each and every sin I've ever committed—even my “little” sins or my reoccurring ones. Every time I ask for forgiveness, God chooses to forgive me. Every time. 

Don’t hold grudges. Don’t hang on to anger. Unforgiveness doesn’t alter the situation—it can’t change what’s in the past. 

Remember that God loved us first, he forgave us first. Then turn around in mercy and do the same for your neighbor. It will help you let go of the past and move on in to the future. And a future free from bitterness sounds pretty good to me.

An excerpt from my memoir, Pools

This fall I had set a goal to finish the first three chapters of Pools of Blessing, my memoir, by the end of September. And today, Whoop! Whoop! I got ‘er done.

Below you’ll find a little excerpt from the newly finished Chapter Three; To Be or Not to Be—A  Daddy’s Girl. 

A little background here; Growing up I was a Daddy’s girl. I followed him everywhere—many times to my own detriment. This excerpt from Pools shares two memories I have of spending time with Dad. Hope you enjoy it. 

There are many good memories I have of working with Dad, though at the time, they seemed anything but good. One Saturday, Dad wanted help cleaning out our backyard shed.  This shed also served as a dog house , though no pampered dog of ours ever actually lived there. Since I was deathly afraid of spiders and mice, it took Dad awhile to convince me to help.  

“Nic, there’s no mice in there.  You’ll be fine,” he assured me.  

I trusted him, mostly.  So I set out to sweep the inside of the pen. Thirty seconds later I was screaming at the top of my lungs, “Dad it’s a mouse, it’s a mouse! Help!”  

The little rodent and I were trapped in the same small space. I panicked. Backing myself into a corner, I held the broom in front of my face—staring the little pest down. Hearing my scream, Dad came to my rescue. He chased the mouse out of our shed, and I begrudgingly continued sweeping.   

You’d think after awhile I would figure out that working on Dad’s projects wasn’t always in my best interest.  

 

I found other ways to spend time with Dad.  In fact, following him around became a full time past time. I even went so far as to go hunting with him. 

It was dove hunting season and, when Dad asked me to go, I decided it would be fun. Well, if you can call laying in a field at  five am in the morning; peeing behind trees every thirty minutes, (hey, I had to drink something to stay warm); and watching poor helpless birds fall from the sky then, yes, I had fun.

But my sensitive side couldn't take the carnage happening all around me. When I saw the soft, warm, fuzzy little things lying helplessly on the ground, I had this fleeting idea to try mouth to beak CPR. Needless to say, I never went hunting with my dad again.

It feels good to have reached a goal that I set for myself. I’m hoping to stay on track. My goal is to have the book ready in the spring--to be professionally edited. Wish me luck!