God's Timing Just Makes Sense

 I've been thinking a lot over the last week about God's timing.

I have legitimately been afraid of my husband dying since before I ever met him.  Until about 13 years ago, I never envisioned growing old.  I never dreamed of my kids growing up to become adults.  I never imagined I would be beautifully broken, unconditionally loved, and truly seen and known.  I didn't know it could happen for me.  I have spent the entirety of our marriage, up to this point, terrified that Kris would die.  That he would abandon me.  And that when he did, I would begin a downward spiral that I would never come out of.  I have always thought that if Kris dies first, I'll never survive it.  We have a long running joke that I have to die first, because we both knew he would handle it better.  This particular fear has haunted me for decades.

Because I am acutely aware of this fear and no longer wish to be ruled by it, I have pressed into the hard work of making a new groove, one in which my first thought during a crisis isn't that he will surely die.  When Kris got Covid during 2021, I came face to face with this fear.  Not because he was dying.  I had no evidence that he would.  But the day I had to take him to the ER because of what was probably a faulty oxygen reader and the fear that was being stirred up by the media, that fear was all I could see.  At that time, we were always hearing about people who went into the hospital and never came out.  So, as I left my husband at the ER and drove away sobbing, I told God, "I'm not ready.  I don't want to do this.  I'm not ready to bury my husband."  It was in that desperate moment when I heard God say that EVEN IF that happened, I would be okay.  It was the first time I began to believe that if my deepest fear was realized, I could and I WOULD survive it.  Within minutes of this realization and just enough peace settling in my heart, Kris called and said they told him to go home.  He was there no more than 15 minutes, checked out and released.  I felt at the time that my obedience in accepting that I would be okay if I lost my husband was rewarded by my husband coming straight back home.  I was literally only 7 minutes into my drive home when he told me to come back.

Does that mean that the fear is completely gone?  

No.  

But the fear no longer has the same hold it once had on me.  I know a truth about myself now that I repeat to myself when the fear comes to my mind: I WILL BE OKAY.  And if the fear persists, I surrender the fear.  And if it still persists, I call on the name of Jesus or if that feels too hard, reach out to a trusted friend who will do it for me.  And then I move forward.  I no longer stay stuck, rooted in fear.  It still visits from time to time, but it is no longer allowed permanent residence here.  One day I'll go completely no contact with fear.  If not in this life (though that's my prayer), then the next.  

Since that event in 2021, Kris has gotten sick or hurt several times.  And every single time, my fear of abandonment is triggered.  The last time was at the end of March, just before Easter.  Kris had gotten Covid and had a tough time fighting it.  As he was still in the thick of it, I got Influenza A.  As he began to improve from Covid, he got the flu from me.  Still coughing a lot and weak from that, he developed Bronchitis.  It seemed like such a crazy 6 weeks!  Who gets three big infections back to back to back?  Looking back, it's clear it was the cancer.  He has probably had the cancer for at least 8 months, and so his body's ability to heal itself was weakened and of course he couldn't get better as quickly.  

Those 6 weeks tested and tried me.  It was very difficult for me to regulate my nervous system.  My safe place was unable to support me in the way I needed.  The patient reassurance I was used to just stopped completely, because my husband was so tired and weak and sick.  And I understood this at an intellectual level, but because I am very much still in a place of just starting to heal (even though there has been SO MUCH healing!), my body and my emotions were completely running on opposite sides and it was all I could do to meld them together and try to keep myself sane.  And while there was growth, and I walked through it far better than I would have in previous years, I still felt like a petulant child at times.  I needed my husband.  I needed his conversation, his time, his emotional support, his physical help around the house, his ability to read my emotions or body language and step in if a panic attack was rising.  He brings so much to the table, and I felt like I was failing at taking care of my husband who needed me.  Often when he is sick, I look at how I handle it and feel that I bring nothing to the table.  It's a struggle not to listen to the lies.

When he finally began to get better, he started to get back to the Kris I knew before.  The one who had worked hard to learn how to tune into my emotions and partner with me in moving through the harder seasons.  So my world began to settle and I could feel my equilibrium return.  All was right with my world.  I felt truly connected to him again and my sense of safety was restored.  But I left that experience disappointed with my "performance."  Shame tried to creep in and lie to me and tell me that I would never be able to put his needs before my own.  That when push came to shove, I would make it about me.  Whether intentional or not, I would somehow be unable to regulate my emotions and that would lead to me having a meltdown, which would lead to Kris having to try to deal with THAT while also just trying to stay alive.

God taught me a lot through that experience a couple of months ago, even though I still felt like I didn't quite get it right.  He continues to give me opportunities to grow in this area.  To learn how to step back, and truly sacrifice for someone else, because he knows that this is my heart's desire.  I have been asking God for the last year, "More of you, less of me."  I wrestle with this need to be seen, and I want to surrender that.  And the best way I can think to do that is to become less.  So I was surprised (and I wasn't) that God gave me another chance so soon on the back of a really, REALLY hard 6 week sickness roller coaster.  It seems to me that God knew it was time to move me a little further...his timing is perfect, and he had been preparing me, leading up to this very moment.  

Shortly after Kris was so sick and I thought he would die in 2021, I began Pain Reprocessing Therapy, where we have really sunk our teeth into trauma recovery, in an effort to also try to manage my physical pain.  I have spent two years working to understand myself, to navigate through life in healthier ways, to grow and learn how to love myself.  Within the last year, through therapy, I finally understood why Kris getting sick or hurt is so disruptive to me (triggers the abandonment fear), and why I treat him the way I do in those moments.  It's like a non-stop panic attack, and like lighting, it would strike at whoever was in its path.  There were many nights during that six week infection spell where Kris would be so exhausted as I had meltdown after meltdown because my safe place wasn't feeling so safe to me.  He found himself having to tend to me, when it  should have been the other way around.  I felt AWFUL.  But God is gracious and has been teaching me, and so ultimately I gave myself extra grace, and celebrated how I had grown, even though I wasn't where I felt I needed to be. And I prayed that the next time I was given a chance to grow in this area, I would do better.  

Well, well, well...if it isn't another opportunity to learn how to give and sacrificed for Kris the way he has given and sacrificed for me for 25 years.  And so far, so good.  😉 Not to toot my own horn (or maybe it is, to celebrate the growth), but I haven't gotten snippy or sarcastic or frustrated with Kris at all through any of this.  God has been controlling my mind, which helps me control my tongue, and God has given me an abundance of patience that I wasn't sure I even possessed.  I'm not naive enough to think that anxious Jamie won't slip out in a moment of weakness (because the exhaustion is real), but God has given me a calm spirit and a quietness in my soul in how I move through this.   Before therapy, two years ago, you would have witnessed a very different approach to this current challenge.

Also in regards to timing, ONE week before we first heard the word cancer, our son moved back to St. Louis from Columbia, MO.  One month before THAT, my sister moved to St. Louis from Kansas.  She (and Kaleb) are now just 6-7 minutes away.  Because of this, both of them have been able to support our family in ways that wouldn't have been possible before.  None of us really understood the timing of the moves when it was all happening, but we all felt like it was the right call for everyone.  As Katherine was moving out of our old home, we would need to figure out what to do with it.  A few months ago my sister and I began talking about her moving here.  I felt it in my bones that she needed to come here.  I didn't pressure her, but I did encourage her from time to time.  I thought it was just because we had connected, truly connected, as sisters for the first time ever, and I wanted to be able to nurture that more consistently.  It turns out that I would need my sister just as much as she needed me.  

Olivia has also been in a summer program that will lead to an internship, and it literally JUST ended the week Kris went to the hospital.  So Olivia's time has freed up considerably.  And I have seen Olivia step up at home, without even being asked.  Making sure the dog is fed, doing the dishes, doing my laundry, washing the pool towels, and just being ready to help with whatever is needed.  I'm so proud.  Maybe it's because Olivia is my baby, but it wasn't until I watched this play out in front of me that I realized just how adult my adult Olivia is.

When we bought our house in 2022, we knew that because of me, we would need main level everything.  So that was a requirement in a home. We didn't know how less than 2 years later, it would be essential for Kris as well.  We closed on our house just 5 days before the church we attend had its first church service.  We knew then that God's timing was perfect, as we moved into the house and then immediately began attending The House.  We had been anticipating it's start for over a year, so to see both things come together at the same time was a beautiful thing to behold.  And I could never have imagined how perfect our house would be for such a time as this, or how The House would show up for us this past week.  Listen: through babies, emergencies, losses, and my 3 neck surgeries, we have always been blessed with support.  But at The House, we have had it in abundance.  All of our kids and many friends have stepped up and stepped in, helping in a variety of ways.  

I'm not a gamer really, but this image of me playing a video game came to my mind.  I've been going through life (this game) level after level.  Trying to learn how to play to the game, working to improve my game play, and after years of crashing my car into a wall all the time, I have finally leveled up.  I have made it my mission not just to study the game, but to get in it and PLAY.  I want to play for that prize that endures, and so I press on.  But like with many video games, there comes a boss level.  This cancer, it's boss level.  It's going to be harder than the other levels.  It's going to likely involve many sleepless nights, playing nonstop, trying to make it through.  But just like with a game, the boss CAN be defeated.  This is boss level, and I have been preparing for this my entire marriage.  I can do hard things.  I can be brave.  I can, because of Jesus in me.  That is what sustains me.  My hope is in the Lord.  What can mere man (or cancer) do to us?  

A Kinda Wild Cancer Ride

When there are a million thoughts swirling around in my head, it's hard to know where to start.  Perhaps letting four days go by without sitting down to really work through it all by way of writing was a miscalculation on my part, but this is the first morning I've felt motivated to get the computer out and commit.  Facebook posts/updates are easier, less intimidating, because I can just quickly spew what is happening in my brain and move on.  Those posts are a band-aid when it comes to the balm that writing is to my soul.  To put my thoughts down by way of the blog requires a lot more energy, time and effort, because this is where I really lay it all down.  It's the place I come when life is too overwhelming and I don't know what else to do.  So I write.  And I write.  And I write.  And I begin to understand what is happening in my brain and I work to bring my body in line.

Not even two months ago, I heard a new song.  Well, let's back up a little.  I've been obsessed with the band Judah and the Lion since I saw the movie The Starling on Netflix, which featured their song "Find Another Reason Why."  That song has significant meaning for Kris and I and our marriage.  It made the list of about 20 songs we call "Our Songs."  So over the last year, I have been obsessively collecting new favorite songs by Judah and the Lion.  

During this same year, I became acquainted and then immediately obsessed with the artist Ellie Holcomb.  Between her voice and deep, powerful lyrics, I can't seem to get enough of her.  So my musical worlds collided recently when I saw that Judah and the Lion did a song with Ellie Holcomb called Kinda Wild.  I shared it with Kris, maybe 2-3 weeks ago.  He loved it immediately as well and life moved on.  I continued to listen to the song several times a week, as I often do with anything new that I can't get out of my brain.  Any time the song would come into my mind, I would listen to it.  I kept thinking there's a real message to grasp onto here, and so I kept filling my mind with it, having no idea the impact it would have in the coming weeks.

That brings us to today, a mere 4 days since the words "blood cancer" entered our lives.  Kris had been experiencing some back pain and other pain in his obliques for a month or so.  He thought it was a strain, and tried to wear a back brace and do less heavy lifting.  Over the last couple of weeks, his low back pain has worsened and on Thursday, he had trouble getting into his car to go to work.  When I got home from working in office that morning, Kris decided to take my car to work (I drive an SUV which sits up higher and it is essential for my own spine issues).  When he was trying to get out at the gas station on his way, he began having excruciating pain while standing.  Prior, his pain was only really bad if he tried to transition (sitting, bending, etc...), but because it became nearly unbearable while standing also, Kris drove himself to the chiropractor.  He had called to try to get in to see him a couple of hours early, but when he got there, and he spoke to the chiro on the phone, the chiro told him he needed to go to the ER or urgent care.  Kris then called me to get my thoughts on ER vs. urgent care.  Of course having experienced no shortage of back/neck issues over the last 2 decades, I told him to go to the ER, knowing that whatever was going on would be easier for an ER to handle, as they have access to more equipment and treatment protocols.  So, he drove himself to Mercy and some time on Thursday afternoon our world suddenly came into focus in a way it hasn't before.

Tomorrow, Kris will have a bone marrow biopsy done to verify that he has the most common blood cancer, Multiple Myeloma.  This cancer eats through the bones/spine, leaving little holes everywhere.  The bones are weakened and the person with this cancer is highly susceptible to bone fractures.  So, in addition to the cancer itself, the likely cause of Kris' back pain is at least one (possibly more) compression fracture at T11/T12.  He was able to get up and move around, take a few walks using a back brace on steroids and a walker, which was significantly better than the day before.  Finally having the ability to move around a bit more was a relief for Kris, and he has been able to alternate between laying in the bed and sitting in a chair.  Big events happening for the Bishops this weekend-so much excitement between bed and chair.  I say that in jest, but since he was bed-ridden and frustrated at the confinement before, now at least he can add a little variety into his day.  You have to find a way to celebrate during the infinite hours of boredom that are the reality of any hospital stay.

While they keep saying they will be able to give us more information and a treatment plan once the biopsy confirms it is Multiple Myeloma, they keep saying he definitely has this blood cancer.  The prognosis is good, and they keep telling us this is a very treatable cancer.  After 3-4 months of meds and weekly visits with a hematologist, he should go into remission, at which point he will need to have a bone marrow transplant.  They have come a really long way because it sounds like they won't use a bone marrow donor--they will take Kris' own stem cells to do it.  I am fascinated when I think about the medical advancements we are able to experience.

So what does any of this have to do with a song by Judah and the Lion and Ellie Holcomb called Kinda Wild?  Stay with me--I promise I'll get there.

Yesterday morning while I was driving to the hospital (I have to come home and sleep in my own bed out of necessity and kindness to my spine), I was listening to the Bible and heard this from Philippians 1:

18 But what does it matter? The important thing is that in every way, whether from false motives or true, Christ is preached. And because of this I rejoice. Yes, and I will continue to rejoice, 19 for I know that through your prayers and God’s provision of the Spirit of Jesus Christ what has happened to me will turn out for my deliverance.] 20 I eagerly expect and hope that I will in no way be ashamed, but will have sufficient courage so that now as always Christ will be exalted in my body, whether by life or by death. 21 For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain. 22 If I am to go on living in the body, this will mean fruitful labor for me. Yet what shall I choose? I do not know! 23 I am torn between the two: I desire to depart and be with Christ, which is better by far; 24 but it is more necessary for you that I remain in the body. 25 Convinced of this, I know that I will remain, and I will continue with all of you for your progress and joy in the faith, 26 so that through my being with you again your boasting in Christ Jesus will abound on account of me. 27 Whatever happens, conduct yourselves in a manner worthy of the gospel of Christ. Then, whether I come and see you or only hear about you in my absence, I will know that you stand firm in the one Spirit, striving together as one for the faith of the gospel 28 without being frightened in any way by those who oppose you. This is a sign to them that they will be destroyed, but that you will be saved—and that by God. 29 For it has been granted to you on behalf of Christ not only to believe in him, but also to suffer for him, 30 since you are going through the same struggle you saw I had, and now hear that I still have.

I have always loved this passage, and Kris and I both have had discussions about this.  While we are here, we have a job to do.  As long as God chooses to give us breath, we know that we are called to love God and love others.  To live is Christ, to die is gain.  Words like cancer bring the reality back that we are not promised a long or healthy life.  The Bible assures us that if we follow Christ, in this life we WILL have trouble.  So Kris and I have been pretty accepting of trials and trouble in our lives.  No, it's not enjoyable to go through hard things, but we do try to welcome the troubles, because we understand that they are going to mold and shape us, and give us opportunities to deepen our faith.  So while we are here, we will learn and grow and love and show grace.  But let me tell you, we look forward to the day when our faith becomes sight and our pain is taken away.  

And then I heard this, from chapter 2:

25 Meanwhile, I thought I should send Epaphroditus back to you. He is a true brother, co-worker, and fellow soldier. And he was your messenger to help me in my need. 26 I am sending him because he has been longing to see you, and he was very distressed that you heard he was ill. 27 And he certainly was ill; in fact, he almost died. But God had mercy on him—and also on me, so that I would not have one sorrow after another. That last line, "so that I would not have one sorrow after another," really struck a chord with me. And I found myself intensely grateful for God's timing. I have told several people over the last few days how grateful I am that I had two years of therapy under my belt before cancer entered our world. How our God loves us and knows when we are ready to face the next challenge. Just like God did with Paul, God has mercy on us, giving us time to breathe and heal in between sorrows. I know sometimes it can feel like you are being hit by one thing after another, and maybe that's true, but a time of rest does and will come. So, in a lot of ways, I feel like this was the right time for this particular adventure. I was not surprised by this diagnosis, and while I would prefer this not be our new normal, today I do not feel overwhelmingly burdened by the reality of it. Perhaps I am still in a little bit of shock, but overall, I am simply at peace. In thinking about the realities, in talking to people, I have a faith that has given me a peace I cannot explain. And yet, when I am alone, especially in the car driving, I have felt the heavy burden of the enemy's attacks on my mind. Rapid-fire, incessant thoughts fly by, trying to take me out. A different Jamie wouldn't recognize that they were happening. I would just follow the rabbit trail until I had planned out a funeral in my mind and envisioned what the grief would be like. Now, I am able to see what is happening in my brain, and while I haven't been able to fully hold onto the peace at every turn, I have been able to speak the name of Jesus over these mental attacks that want to keep me held in a place of fear. His perfect love drives out my fear and while one day I hope to just live in that consistently, for now, I will claim the victories he has already been giving me. And now to bring us full circle... Once my Bible reading plan finished, I turned on the song Kinda Wild, because the urge was so strong. I hadn't actually listened to it since sometime last week, so I turned it on, not knowing how it would all collide.

This time, I heard the song with new ears. The first thing I heard was how loved I am: Are you singing

Cause I love your melodies

Are you dancing

Wrapping your arms around me

Are you laughing

Cause I like to make you smile

Is it just a whisper

Cause that tends to be your style

Are you screaming

This love with you it can be kinda wild

As those words poured out of the speaker, I felt so much comfort and I felt love.  I felt seen and known by the God who saved me.  It felt like a hug.

As I listened to the chorus, I thought back to the conversations Kris and I have had about this song, and about all the ways it has impacted my life.  

Come and change my focus

I don't notice where you're going near enough

Come and change my focus

Help us know what you've been doing over us
Come and change my focus.  How many times do we need to pray that prayer?  And imagine if we prayed that prayer often how different things would be?  So many times we simply need a shift in focus.  We need reminders of the bigger picture.  This one horrible thing we face doesn't even scratch the surface of all the blessings and good experiences that are all around us.  We just have to have our focus changed.  We need to be reminded of where God is going, not where we WANT him to be going.  We need to beg for God to reveal what he has been doing over us.

Kris and I are acutely aware of the growth and work God has done in our lives and marriage over the last two years especially.  I know I keep going on and on about therapy, but it is an absolute game changer.  Being able to understand yourself and why you do the things you do, and then being given tools to grow and mature emotionally is absolutely essential if you want to begin to feel peace.  You have to understand your story, and then be able to engage with it, so that you can move forward, heal, and grow.  My therapy process has in turn impacted my marriage in big ways.  It has given us an opportunity to learn to speak to each other different.  As I understand what I need, I can speak up and Kris is able to have clear direction on how to best love and support me.  And as I learn to give myself grace, I am learning to give those around me grace as well.

So while we are indeed surprised by the cancer, we do not feel ill-equipped, on a spiritual level, to battle it.  There's a line at the end of the song that says "Are you calling me out of my mind?"  Come, Jesus come  Call me out of my mind.  My mind is a mess and a minefield littered with generations of fears and anxieties that don't belong.  I need my focus to shift off of the what ifs.  I need to be called out of my mind into the mind of Christ.  I need to run into the arms of a God whose love for me is, in fact, kinda wild.

Therapy MIrrors The Ocean

I've been thinking a lot this week about how much therapy mirrors the ocean.  It makes sense, considering I have spent the week in Panama City Beach, celebrating my anniversary.  I haven't been to the ocean since BEFORE I began therapy, and I found myself flooded with thoughts all week, as I enjoyed the time spent by and in the water.  Water is soothing and healing for a lot of people.  For some of us, while all forms of water are powerful for our brains and bodies, the ocean brings us into a deeper connection with ourselves, our Creator, and the world around us. 

In terms of nature itself, my husband feels and sees God's beauty and power most intensely in the mountains.  And while I can connect to God and his beauty through nature in the mountains, it isn't as deep.  For me, it's most deeply felt at the beach, surrounded by the sound of the waves crashing against the shore.  There is something magical and therapeutic about simply watching and listening to these sounds.  I think of the contrast between the power of the ocean, mirroring the great power of God, and sometimes the stillness of it, mirroring also a Father who loves us deeply and wants to swim with us through this life.  

At the beach, there is a flag system: blue, green, yellow, red and double red.  Each one of these flags serves as a warning, a gauge you can use to know what you are getting yourself into, should you choose to venture in.  And as we have watched these flags change throughout the week, the picture of how therapy and the ocean are related has been ever-present in my mind.  Therapy is hard work.  It is dangerous work.  It is unsettling at times, risky at others.  It can be filled with all kinds of danger, especially if you have never let yourself feel what is happening in your body and brain as a result of trauma.

But, on the other side of that spectrum, therapy is beautiful.  It is liberating.  It is powerful and can carry with a force that can change the trajectory of your life.  I don't claim to know a lot about the ocean, or really therapy even.  I know very little about how the tides work, but I do know that they ebb and flow.  And like the tides, when you throw yourself into the work of therapy, there are ebbs and flows.  And it is in thinking about this, that the flag system has cemented itself into my brain.

Let's start with the blue flag.  When this flag is flying, there is a higher chance that you will see or be affected by stinging marine life, such as stingrays, jellyfish or man o' war.   You can get in the water with this flag present, but you have to know that there is a risk.  The flag doesn't mean that you have to avoid the water.  It simply means that you need to pay attention and be on guard, so that as you venture forth, you are not unwittingly impacted by these potential dangers.  Stingrays, for instance, are usually only a threat when they feel threatened.  You can coexist in the ocean while they are present.  But if you do not move carefully and stay on the lookout for them, you could inadvertently cause harm to yourself or them.  

Those who have experienced trauma in their life oftentimes have triggers and PTSD or, for some of us, Complex PTSD (c-PTSD) from trauma that impacted us over extended periods of time, especially during childhood.  For some, the simple act of stepping foot into a therapist office poses risk.  Risk of being triggered by a memory.  In and of itself, being triggered isn't necessarily dangerous to the individual feeling it, though at times it can seem that way to us.    One of the safest places to feel triggered is in that very office, with someone who sees you and knows how to help you navigate through it.  It can feel scary to enter therapy with a blue flag, with things present that can cause us very real physical pain.  But like the stinging marine life, you can coexist with this danger.  The risk to you physical body is low.  Yes, getting stung by a jellyfish can hurt, but in the grand scheme of things, the pain is lower and the danger/threat to your life is not as high as say, interacting with a shark in the ocean.  The threat to your life and well-being remain low under blue conditions, and in most cases, you are unlikely to be impacted negatively by this threat.

A green flag means that there is low hazard and while the conditions in the water are calm, you should still exercise caution when entering the water.  There are times during the therapy process where you will feel relatively calm and safe.  You should still be on the lookout for the conditions to change at any moment, but you can usually rest better and experience higher degrees of healing during the green flag.  You can relax a little more and really enjoy the beauty around you.  But because the ocean is not fully known and it's power is vast, you still need to be aware of what is happening around you, so that you can maintain the same level of safety.  A green flag during therapy for me typically means that I am able to clearly understand and then articulate how I am feeling.  I can be curious about what is happening in my body and brain, and I find this to be the most productive in terms of forward momentum in the healing journey.

A yellow flag indicates medium hazard, which means that the surf or currents are stronger, though still mild enough that the threat is low.  During this flag, you can move through the water or against the current and make progress.  While here in FL this week, we have experienced yellow and red flags.  As happens with the ocean when you are in it, if you float or simply try to stand in place, you will be moved.  You can set your sights on where you began, by affixing your eyes on a certain building or where you staked your claim on the beach.  But without moving against the current at all, you will continue to be pulled further back or further away from where you began.

This, to me, indicates that in therapy, we are responsible for the movement we make.  As Kris and I knew we would be moved by the force of the ocean, we would forcibly move ourselves against the current, keeping our eyes fixed on where we started.  In yellow flag conditions, it was not difficult at all to keep the forward progress going.  But if we didn't move against the current at all, we would be pulled in a direction we weren't trying to go.  With therapy, if you don't put in the work to move against all the things that hold you back, it will be difficult to really make progress towards your end goal.

Most of our time in the water this week was during red flag conditions.  This means that there is a high hazard for high surf and strong currents.  During these days, it almost felt like a losing battle to try to move against the current.  We would take a few steps, only to feel ourselves pulled back the way we came.  We would swim and try to get closer to where we started, or where we were trying to go, only to look back at the beach and find we had made little to no progress.

Here's the truth though about proceeding with therapy during a time when the waters around you feel turbulent.  It's okay.  It's okay that you don't make a lot of progress.  It's not a race and it's not about reaching your goal in an instant.  We have to understand that therapy and healing take time.  A LOT of it.  And if you want to move through the ocean against the current during a red flag, you have to understand that it will be harder and at times you will have to FIGHT against what is holding you back.  And when you do that, you will find that you DO indeed make progress, however slow. Even tiny bits of progress are worthy of being noted and celebrated.

The last flag is a double red flag.  In these conditions, the water is closed to the public, because the risk to self is too high.  It's too dangerous to venture in, even if you want to make progress.  In my therapy sessions, if we touch on a topic that just feels too dangerous, I don't run from it.  HOWEVER, there is wisdom in WAITING to uncover it.  It's okay, if it's too hard or too heavy, to allow yourself time out of the water.  It's okay to wait until the conditions and threat are lessened before you get back in the water and continue forward.

And you might wonder, "Well, why do I have to go against the current anyway?"  I suppose you don't.  But in terms of relating this to therapy, many of us have spent our lives going in one direction.  And that direction is usually away from the person we were truly created to be.  We build our identities in all things that are unhealthy or unsafe.  We engage in behavior that is meant to protect us, but oftentimes, is harmful.  We put a mask on what is really happening inside of us, and we let the currents pull us wherever they may.  If we are not aware of what is going on around us, doing this can lead us into situations that pose very real danger to us.  While just letting the current lead us, we get caught up in addictions, affairs, self-loathing, hatred of others, selfishness and pride.  While floating in the water is relaxing and enjoyable for a time, we cannot be content to just stay where we are.  Many of us are carrying around wounds, some decades old.  And these wounds blind us to the fact that the flag is double red and we shouldn't even be in the water.  We are fooled into thinking that this is the right way, because it's the easiest way, all the while we are losing bits of ourselves to a harsh and dangerous ocean.

So what is the point here?  It's this:  therapy has many different layers and healing is not linear.  There will be days where the ocean you are in will feel calm and you can take many steps forward.  There will also be days where you need to be more cautious, days you have to work harder to gain forward momentum, and days where you actually have to get out of the water and just wait for conditions to calm enough for you to step back in.  It's not always wise to move full speed ahead as you go through this journey.  It's okay to acknowledge that there are times where forward progress is slowed or stalled completely.  Be kind and give yourself grace, because ALL of these different things are normal and necessary.

Therapy, for me, has become an act of worship.  Because it is through therapy that I am becoming everything that God has called and created me to be.  It allows me to experience a closeness with my Creator that I never imagined possible.  As I understand myself better and learn all the things that led me to the dark places I have gone, I am more aware of the wind and waves around me.  I am able to choose for myself if I want to get in the water or not.  I am able to look at the flags and understand that it won't always be one step forward and two steps back.  

But I am also able to understand that it's okay if I have setbacks.  It's okay if I don't feel strong enough to push against the current on certain days.  Every day is not a double red flag day, and the more I engage with therapy, the more I am able to see the beauty in all of the different phases/flags of life.  The green flag days feel great and should be celebrated.  But when the flag is yellow or red, I am more equipped now to remind myself that this ebb and flow is normal, and it will not always be this hard.  Sometimes, yes, it will be hard.   But other times, I will be able to see the progress I am making.  Even slow progress is progress.  And sometimes our brains and bodies need the days where we make NO progress.  Because sometimes we just need to rest.  Sometimes we just need to get out of the water until it is safe to keep going.  We just have to remember to watch the flags.  Because they will not always be double red.  And if we are aware of when it is safe to keep moving against the current, that is where we can begin to truly heal.

Get Your Hands Dirty

From the time we are little, we are taught to wash our hands (most of us, anyway).  There is this constant message about keeping our hands clean.  So, from a young age, we are conditioned to wash our hands.  To get all the dirt and grime off, so that we can move freely through life without that mess holding us back.

But, what if I told you that sometimes you have to get your hands dirty?

I feel like I am on the tail end of months of depression.  I have known I was struggling, but I have kept my eyes fixed on the horizon, knowing that rescue was on the way.  It would have been easy to slip under the weight of the heaviness I have been carrying around, but because God is good and has helped me to grow in this area, I didn't give in to the despair.  I felt the despair and the heaviness, but I bore up under it-I didn't let it drown me.  Because I KNEW that it would not last.  I knew that God would bring relief and comfort in the weak moments and lift me up out of it, once I had faced what had led me there to begin with.

In the midst of my depression, I have been incapable of keeping up with the beautiful garden and flower beds that the prior owners so lovingly cared for.  At first, the weeds were small and sporadic.  But with more rain than feels usual for the Midwest in summer and complete inattention, the weeds very quickly multiplied.  They grew taller and thicker until there were some places where you couldn't really even see the plants anymore.  And they just kept growing.  As they grew, I became more and more depressed.  It was a metaphor, really, for what my summer has been like.  It got to the point where I really didn't even want to go out onto my top deck, because just looking at it made life feel 10 times harder.

The state of the weeds has been hanging over my head, threatening to overwhelm my garden and my mind.  I have, over the last several weeks especially, felt a lot of shame in not being able to get out there and deal with it.  I have felt frozen in place, unable to take the step I need to just start clearing them.  It is too much.  It will take too long.  It will be too hard.  It will be putting my body through something that will take me DAYS to physically recover from.  It was just too big.  Because of my neglect, and partly because of much unexpected rain this summer, the weeds began to take over the garden.  You could still see the flowers and they were actually still growing and some even thriving in their harsh environment.  But you could tell that they were being choked out. 

It has been a source of great stress to me this summer, knowing it needed to get done, but feeling completely defeated just from looking at it.  It's not that I don't know how to weed, or that I physically can't do it.  I CAN do it.  It is incredibly hard on my back and neck, and it will take days to get the pain levels down, but I am capable of doing the work.  But there is something about starting.  Taking that first step. 

I freeze.

Every.

Single.

Time.

I will stand there and look out, and all I see is a mountain.  And I have climbed a mountain.  It's a BIG commitment.  Once you start, there's oftentimes no turning back.  So, just like you have to gear up for a hike up a large mountain, I always feel like I have to gear myself up to tackle these types of projects, especially when I have let them get out of control.  I feel a desperate need to be prepared and know the outcome before I take that first step.  But that's not the reality we live in.  Most of the time, we do not get to know the outcome.  That's the whole mystery of life--we have no idea how it is going to turn out.  And for those of us who like things neat and tidy and to always be prepared for any eventuality, it can lead to a lot of uncertainty, which in turn can lead to high levels of anxiety as we pass through this life.

But sometimes you have to just start, even when you can't see a way through.  Even when you don't really know how to take the first step.  Oftentimes we think the first step is the actual movement towards whatever the "thing" we need to do is.  But really, the first step is making the decision to do it.  I haven't wanted to commit to the weeding because I have known the sheer amount of hours and physical beating it would take to get it all done.  I'm not the kind of person who can start a project and just put in 50% effort.  If I am going to do something, I am going to wholeheartedly do it.  I don't know any other way to live, and I know after a year of therapy that a big part of that is a fear that I will not be enough if I don't give it 110% percent.  It's simply where I am right now, but it is not a place I am planning to camp out in for any amount of time.  A time will come when I learn to balance wanting to give 100% in any situation or relationship not out of fear but because that is what God asks of me.

In the Passion translation, Colossians 3:23 says, "Put your heart and soul into every activity you do, as though you are doing it for the Lord himself and not merely for others."  For much of my life, I did tend to put my heart and soul into my activities, but it has only been in the last year that I have been learning that my motivation was for myself or others.  I wasn't giving my all because I was motivated to please God.  It was done out of desperation, to prove that I am worthy of love or acceptance or praise.  It was a survival technique I picked up early on in my life.  And it has served me well, honestly, this ability to jump in and tackle a big project.  That perfectionism has made me good at my job, and good at craft projects, taking a lot of pride in a job well done.

Knowing how I tend to throw myself into projects--meaning once I start I will not stop until it's done well--regardless of the motivation, I knew how hard weeding the garden was going to be, and so I kept putting it off, and it just kept becoming more and more unmanageable.  If I was going to take back control over the weeds, it meant one thing:  I was going to have to get my hands dirty.  I was going to have to get down on the ground and begin pulling up everything that didn't belong.  And I also knew it was going to take a significant amount of my time.  

So two nights ago, I began.  I made the decision to just start somewhere.  I picked out a small section of the flower bed and got to work.  With the break in heat, the temps even cooperated to where I wasn't unreasonably angry by how hot I was while doing a chore I didn't want to do in the first place.  I only did a small section of the beds that day.  Yesterday, I took advantage of another burst of energy and drive and did almost ALL the rest of the beds on the deck, leaving one large section.  Then last night, with the help of two great friends, we finished the back and made significant progress in the front. 

Not able to leave a big project unfinished, especially when so close to the finish line, I turned on some worship music and got down in the dirt again this morning.  Being too lazy to go get gloves from the back though, I decided I would just do without.  I never used gloves to weed growing up so it certainly wasn't going to hurt me, right?

And the first thing I noticed is how quickly my hands got dirty.  Sometimes, simply put, you have to be willing to get your hands dirty.  Life is messy.  There's no clean, painless way through it.  You have to be willing to get a little (or at times, a lot) messy.  And with weeding, you can't just bend over and pull the weeds up.  If there are only a handful, maybe you can sustain that.  But if there's a lot of work to do, the best way is to sit down right in the middle of it and just start clearing the path.  So, that's what I did.  I got down on the ground, in the middle of the weeds, and just started pulling.

It's kind of crazy to me how many different types of weeds I have encountered over the last 3 days.  Some weeds come up easily.  We have a lot of wild violets or clover or something in the front and you can just gather up the stems and pull them up by the root without too much effort.  There were some tall thick-stalked weeds that looked like they would be really difficult that proved to be easy.  And then, there were some really thin, long weeds that simply would not pull up at the root.  They would break off in my hand and it would be difficult to get them out by the root.  

I see my therapy journey through this metaphor with the garden and the weeds.  I have spent the last year weeding through all the things in my life that are unhealthy or could use pruning.  Some of the things have been easier than others to move through and uproot from my life.  And then there are these lingering things: fear of abandonment, speaking to and thinking cruelly about myself, a desperate desire to be SEEN by others that has a lot of pride tied up with it.  Those are the deeply rooted things that I can't do on my own.  I have tried.  I have pulled and dug at them, never finding their roots.  And if you don't pull something up by the roots, it WILL reappear.  It might take some time, or it might come back overnight.  But it will come back up and you will have to deal with it again.  You have to find the root and then completely remove it.

As God always does, he has been bringing me songs and images and lessons, and right now, as I dive deep into healing, he has sent them cascading over one another.  While weeding last night, Sara, Bre and I talked briefly about the metaphors for life and weeding and gardens.  We didn't delve too deeply into it, but we all agreed there was a lot of dots to connect there.  Sara wrote briefly about it on Facebook last night, and included this picture with a line I have always loved from Who Am I (NEEDTOBREATHE). "You grow your roses on my barren soul."

Then, Kris and I went in for a marriage counseling tune up this morning to talk about something that, like the weeds has been immobilizing me for months, keeping me held in a place of fear.  It was a good visit and I came away with a couple of tools to try to help me navigate through it safely.  As soon as we got back in the car, I did the cursory peek at Facebook to see if anything interesting happened in my one hour absence and I saw this.

And if that wasn't enough proof from God that I am seen and known, as I finished up the weeding, this song was playing.  It brought me immense comfort that God saw me in the midst of the weeds (both literal and figurative) and reached down to tenderly care for my soul.

Come out of hiding, you're safe here with me

There's no need to cover what I already see

You've got your reasons, but I hold your peace

You've been on lockdown and I hold the key

'Cause I loved you before you knew it was love

And I saw it all, still, I chose the cross

And you were the one that I was thinking of

When I rose from the grave

Now rid of the shackles, my victory's yours

I tore the veil for you to come close

There's no reason to stand at a distance anymore

You're not far from home

I'll be your lighthouse when you're lost at sea

And I will illuminate everything

No need to be frightened by intimacy

No, just throw off your fear

And come running to me, woo-ooah

'Cause I loved you before you knew it was love

And I saw it all, still, I chose the cross

And you were the one that I was thinking of

When I rose from the grave

Now rid of the shackles, my victory's yours

I tore the veil for you to come close

There's no reason to stand at a distance anymore

You're not far from home

You're not far from home

Keep on coming, aye

And oh, as you run

What hindered love

Will only become

Part of the story

And oh, as you run

What hindered love

Will only become

Part of the story

And oh, as you run

What hindered love

Will only become

Part of the story

And oh, as you run

What hindered love

Will only become

Part of the story

Baby, you're almost home now

Please, don't quit now

You're almost all to me, yeah

Baby, you're almost home now

Please, don't quit now

You're almost all to me, yeah

Yes, you are

Now, baby, you're almost home now

Please, don't quit now

You're almost all to me, yeah

  

Thoughts on Another Good Friday

Another Good Friday has come and gone.  It has been eleven years since my world was turned upside down by the Cross, a symbol that I grew up with.  While I always knew the stories and the verses, the Cross simply did not make sense to me.  I get upset when things don't make sense.  Well, that's perhaps an understatement.  Nothing will disrupt me more than presenting me with something that I do not understand.  It's why I don't like riddles or word problems, or practical jokes.  There is something inside of me, a switch that gets flipped, when I am confused.  

I couldn't reconcile my sin with the hope that the Cross offered.  I had spent over seven years running from God.  Not just running.  I was up to my eyeballs in filth and darkness.  I was rushing through life, mostly dead.  Everything was clouded by despair and shame.  Sin breaks God's heart because he knows how shame will take root in our minds and how that will separate us from Him.  He knows that shame keeps us in the darkness.  Shame keeps us from confession.  Shame keeps us trapped in the shackles that have held us down for too long.  

God understands that the shame sin produces in us will only keep us from him.  He is a jealous God, and he loves us in ways we sometimes don't even know we deserved to be loved.  And for no other reason than he is an artist and we are the work of his hand.  He took time and skill and crafted each of us, from our heads to our toes, and everything in between.  Our hearts were shaped and molded by perfect hands.  We were filled with all of these good things, and God wants us to know him, so that he can show us all the wonderful ways in which he has created us.  He has good things in store for us, but sin interferes with those gifts.  Our shame keeps us from seeing who we truly are and what we were created for.

I'm the kind of person who is a skeptic, until I'm not.  I was skeptical about the Cross and the love and freedom it offered.  I knew all the right things.  Not only was I raised in the church my entire life, but I also attended Bible college to learn more, and I have never not gone to church for a significant period of time.  Church and God have always been a fixture in my life, even when I was actively running from God.

But knowing about God, studying God, it's not the same as actually connecting with God.  For many years, I lived my  life thinking I had to do the right things to please God.  I had to go to church regularly, read my Bible, pray all the time, help the orphans and widows.  In the worst years, I was going to church.  That was it.  And then when I started living a double life, hiding in sin, betraying my marriage vows, church wasn't going to be enough to assuage my guilt.  I was participating in the godly things, without letting God close to my heart.  And since I wasn't completing my list everyday of all the things that would make me holy and bring real peace, the amount of shame that engulfed me was overwhelming.

So, honestly, Grace came in and surprised me eleven years ago sitting in that counseling session, completely filled with grief and shame for all the evil things I had done.  I was skeptical that God really loved me more than he hated the lies I had been perpetrating for years.  I was doubtful that the Cross held enough grace and power for me, after what I had done.  I could not understand why I didn't need to be punished for the magnitude of my sin.  The counselor's words weren't fancy and they weren't revolutionary in many ways--but they were to me and to my heart in that moment. 

God had been preparing me for that moment for who knows how long.  He had been stripping away the lies, though I didn't realize it then.  He was able to chip away just enough that I could hear these words: "What if, just for today, on Good Friday, you let Jesus take the punishment for your sin?  Because he already did 2000 years ago."  That was the pivotal moment for me.  That was the moment that my skepticism turned to faith.  That was the first time I truly believed that the Cross was a place of grace and forgiveness FOR ME.  That the Cross came to do away with the punishment we deserved.

It's not a lie to say that my sins deserved punishment and death.  But it is a lie to tell myself that Jesus can't love me after all I have done.  Because we have a Cross that tells us otherwise.  I deserved punishment and yet, Jesus loved me so much that he chose to step in and stand in my place.  He took the punishment that should have been on my shoulders and he bore it all the way to Cross.  And he nailed it to the Cross, where it remains.  He ushered in grace in that moment, and my life has never been the same.

Do you know what changes skepticism?  It's faith.  It's taking a leap off of a cliff where you can't see the bottom and you don't know if you will actually land safely, and trusting that even though you can't see the bottom, you will be okay.

It took two months for me to come home to Jesus, after coming home to my husband, because he had a lot of work to do in my heart, to prepare it for the truth of the Cross.  He had to chip away the shame and fear and lies that had been my constant companions.  He had to diminish those lies just enough that I could see the glimmer of light on the horizon.  And he did that through my husband patiently loving me and holding me while I grieved the life I had lived.  He did that through songs that would come on, that I didn't fully embrace, but I was at least listening to.  God was with me every step of the way, bringing me to that counseling appointment on Good Friday in 2012.  He was orchestrating things behind the scenes, putting words into the counselor's heart and mind and then prompting the counselor to speak those words at the exact moment that God knew I would finally be able to hear him.

I didn't come into that counseling appointment less skeptical of the Cross.  I came in terrified of it.  When I say terrified, I don't even think that's a strong enough word for the fear that was welling up inside of me.  All I could think was punishment.  And I realized that day that I was ready to take the punishment.  I honestly think that's why I was able to hear and finally understand.  Because I was ready to be brave and face what I had coming to me.  I had hurt a lot of people, deeply.  I deserved punishment and I deserved to be held accountable for what I had been doing.  I didn't expect it to turn out the way it did.  God completely upended everything by loving me and showing me that the price for my sin had already been paid.

Listen, all God wants is a willing heart.  He can handle the weight of what we have done.  He is strong enough to carry our messes.  He is filled with enough grace that he can see beyond all of that sin and into the heart of his creation.  He can see all the things he created us for, and he is simply waiting for us to give him a chance to show us what he made us for.  

God didn't create me to chase after love and affection in any place I think it resides.  Those desires are still within me, and they are very real.  I long to be loved and to be truly seen for who I am, even with the loudness and intensity of emotion I can often bring with me.  And when God didn't line up with how I thought he should be, when he didn't play out in my life the way I expected him to, when he didn't protect me from the harm of others, I quietly erected a wall around myself and taught myself to believe that I didn't deserve anything but pain and death.  

Jesus simply says come to me.  

We don't find Jesus and the truth of the Cross through striving.  

We find it through surrender. 

Jesus said in Matthew 11:29-30 "Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.  Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.  For my yoke is easy and my burden is light."

Are you weary and burdened?  There is a place of safety and rest you can drop your cares and just be loved and held.  But God won't force himself upon us.  He will simply wait.  And when you find yourself as I was, burdened under the guilt and shame of everything you did to try to prove you didn't need God or that you didn't deserve God, Jesus tells us he wants to trade that heavy burden for one that is lighter and easier to carry.  He doesn't say we won't have to bear pain and hard things in this world--but he does promise that if we bring those hard and painful things to him, he will take them and replace them with loads that we can actually carry. Because his yoke is easy and his burden is light.

When Jesus was on the Cross, he was placed between two criminals to die.  The Romans had perfected crucifixion and this was a standard death sentence.  So three men were crucified, and both of those criminals were impacted by what happened that day.  One mocked.  And one believed.  And one ended up with a promise that he would be joining Jesus in paradise.  That's the end game and I get excited thinking about this story in Luke 23:40-23, because I desire to be with Jesus in paradise.  And if there was hope for that thief on the Cross that day, there is still hope for me and you today.

'But the other criminal protested, "Don't you fear God even when you  have been sentenced to die?  We deserve to die for our crimes, but this man hasn't done anything wrong."  Then he said, "Jesus, remember me when you come into your Kingdom."  And Jesus replied, "I assure you, today you will be with me in paradise."'

Jesus, thank you for remembering me when you came into your Kingdom.  Thank you for loving me and choosing me, in spite of all the ways I despised you and your Cross.  Thank you for chasing after my heart and pursuing me, simply so that you could hold me and love me in ways I never thought I deserved.