Una Caja de Sorpresas (Y Recuerdos)

I found my Spain box yesterday. When I got home from Sevilla I made a scrapbook (no, it was three scrapbooks, but still....) and put a lot of things in a photo storage box. I didn't want to cut them up and I wanted to be able to hold them in my hands, so I put them in the box to keep them safe. When I moved out of my parents' house, though, I left it behind somehow and hadn't been able to find it since. I was devastated. We're talking about some really precious and valuable things, and I had no idea where they could be. I asked my mom if she had seen them anywhere in my room, which has since become her craft room and home to her parakeets. I looked in the attic, more than once. I looked all over their house and couldn't find it anywhere. It was one of those things that I desperately wanted to find but didn't want to think about, because it literally broke my heart to think that I had lost it.

I found it in their attic yesterday, though, and was ecstatic. It was in this trunk full of stuff that I had left in my room - old teddy bears, stuffed animals, and the like - sitting right on top, waiting for me to find it. I don't know how it got there or if it had been there the whole time, and I don't care. The important thing is that I found it.

As soon as I found it I rushed back down from the attic and sat in my parents' living room like a little kid opening her stocking on Christmas morning - I had the contents of the box strewn all over the floor, reading over every note, every napkin, every brochure. I held every Spanish coin as if it were solid gold, and noted the details of each as though I had never seen them before. Notes from my senora, napkins from literally all over the world (well, pretty close), sugar packets, receipts, bus tickets, train tickets, plane tickets, travel itineraries..... I was right back in that period of my life for a little while. Best of all, the whole box smelled just like Spain. Don't ask me how, but it all smelled just like my room and my apartment when I lived there. My room and my apartment on el Calle de Radio Sevilla, right by el Rio Guadalquivir, right around the corner from La Plaza de Armas..... I was there again, just from the smells and the sights I found in that box. It was una caja de sorpresas, as Alejandro says, and it was wonderful. I'm so glad to have it back. When it was missing, I felt like someone who had lost a section of her memory but who was told there was something important she was supposed to remember and cherish. One of those sad scenes from the movies where people say to the woman who just awoke from a coma, "You don't remember?" and then they turn sadly to those around them and say, "She doesn't remember. I'm sorry." But I knew there was something important and special I was supposed to remember, but I couldn't remember it in its entirety and its fullness because it was, literally, missing. Now that it's back, though, I have it all back, and I can cherish and hold onto it all and discover it all anew. I knew it's really materialistic and probably kinda shallow to feel that way, but Spain was, for me, such a time of self-discovery and enlightenment, and I wouldn't trade the experience, the memories, or the trinkets for anything in the world.

Pity Parties --> Depression --> Insanity

Here's what I'm thinking: Pity parties are overrated and pointless.

This morning I got up, still completely and totally exhausted from the hectic-ness of last week, and decided I was just too tired to do another day of it. Everyone talked last week about how exhausted they were and how they wanted time off after White Christmas and how it would ease up on Monday, so I thought it might be okay for me to do it.

I stayed home again.

And while it might have been okay for others to do it last week, and while it might have been okay - as far as AUM is concerned - for me to do it today, it was NOT okay for me to do it today, as far as I am concerned. It's not okay for me to stay home, feeling tired or whatever, because then I feel sorry for myself, I get scared about going back to work tomorrow because I know people will ask me what was up today, and I get worried about facing the things I should have faced today a day later than they should have been dealt with.

Basically, my pity parties lead me into worse anxiety and then depression than I had before, and I need to realize that no matter how badly I'm feeling when I get up in the morning, it's nothing compared to how bad I'll feel if I indulge that feeling all day long. The results are never good. Now, on top of feeling tired, I feel guilty and ashamed and weak and like I lost another battle. The war is far from over, and another battle was just credited to the enemy.

How is it so easy for rational thought to just cease? My mom always told me it didn't do any good for me to sit around feeling sorry for myself, but somehow I convince myself every so often that it'll help. It never does, and I have reason to believe that it never will, so I need to give it up. You know, I've heard the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again, but expecting different results. The last thing I need to add to my list of symptoms is insanity. I've got to get over this and learn my lesson.

It just hit me.

It's Monday again, and this one looks brighter. I'm at work - and have to be here all week this week since it's the week of our huge Christmas distribution - and not only is it getting me out of the darkness and isolation of my own bedroom, but it's also getting me into the Christmas spirit. I needed that, since with only two weeks until Christmas I hadn't really given it a whole lot of thought. We have our tree up and I've bought some gifts, but it has still seemed like it was so far off that I didn't need to consume my thoughts with it. It's funny - with Christmas everywhere and the music playing incessantly, you'd think I'd have nothing but Christmas on the brain, but I've somehow blocked it all out so that I don't get sick of it long before I should. It's sort of a defense mechanism, I guess you could say.

We have a Christmas party tonight with the "old gang" that used to have Bible study together for several years. I'm looking forward to it and dreading it at the same time.....I can't wait for social interaction and I'm scared of it. I'm such a contradiction.

I'm at work, so I need to get out to the warehouse and help unload the truck. There are more toys than I've ever seen in my life. Yea, Christmas!

In spite of it all...."I Will Rest In You"

Lord, I'm in the dark

Seems to me the line is dead when I come calling
No one there, the sky is falling
Lord I need to know
My mind is playing games again
You're right where You have always been

Take me back to You
The place that I once knew
As a little child
Constantly the eyes of God watched over me
Oh I want to be
In the place that I once knew
As a little child
Fallinto the bed of faith prepared for me
I will rest in You
I will rest in You
I will rest in You

Tell me I'm a fool
Tell me that You love me for the fool I am
And comfort me like only You can
And tell me there's a place
Where I can feel Your breath
Like sweet caresses on my face again

Take me back to You
The place that I once knew
As a little child
Constantly the eyes of God watched over me
Oh I want to be in the place that I once knew
As a little child
Fall into the bed of faith prepared for me
I will Rest in You
I will rest in You
I will rest in You

The Thoughts of Anxiety

I'm scared of always dealing with this. I'm scared that I'll become one of those people on the antidepression medication commercials who look so pitiful and lost. I'm afraid of living with this feeling for the rest of my life, and I'm afraid of being so weakened by this that I don't fulfill my purpose in life. I'm scared of staying hidden because of this but I'm scared of coming into the light. The depression leads me to anxiety leads me to disappointment leads me to depression....and on and on it goes. I'm afraid of the cycle. I'm afraid of never coming out of this, and I'm scared of being swallowed alive. I'm afraid of losing my grip on reality and on God. I'm afraid that eventually, even He will get frustrated with me. I'm afraid that no one - not even Him - understands, and that no one - not even Him - will be able to help me. I'm afraid that I'll lose this grip on hope that I have right now. It doesn't sound like I have hope, but I do. I have the hope that He'll deliver me from this, and I have the hope of a life without this feeling. With hope, though, comes the fear that my hopes will not be realized. Does that show a lack of faith? Does that mean it's not really hope?

Tight Shoes

This was the conclusion from my session with Karla last night: I'm wearing shoes that don't fit.

That actually makes a lot more sense than it looks like at first. The thing is, I'm still wearing old perceptions, expectations, attitudes, etc. that used to work but don't anymore. They used to fit perfectly - they were genuinely who I was and they worked to help me function in the world - but I've changed and the things I'm letting dictate how my life goes aren't consistent with who I am. Does that make sense? I'm still living in this old skin. It's like shoes that fit at one time and looked great - everyone saw them and thought, "Ooh...those look nice," but now they're all scuffed and ragged and not looking so great. They hurt me. Even though they make me uncomfortable and aren't right for me any more, I still wear them every day. I let them give me blisters and cramp my feet and keep me from moving like I want to simply because they used to work.

My shoes are too tight.

It's so easy to do that, isn't it? It's so easy to fall into this little routine of who we are, and then it's like we wake up one day and realize, "Wait a minute. This feels weird." I'm in that place right now, I think. I'm married and trying to create a life with my husband, but I'm still living under the same rules as before. I'm still trying desperately to make my parents proud, to keep everyone happy, to hold things together, to pursue dreams that I'm told I should have. I don't think those things are bad, but they aren't who I am, maybe, and they're keeping me from being able to be me. I have to find me before I can be happy in this skin. I have to figure out what it means to be Jess, not Jessica who is the middle child and the honor student and the chorus member and the crew captain. I have to find Jess, the follower of Christ and wife and social worker. I have to stop allowing myself to fall into old patterns and find out what it means to create and live my own life. I think this is a normal part of development and growth, but I - who hate change so much that I refused to be born until 3 weeks after my original due date - haven't handled the necessary transitions very well. I just need to alow myself to flex and see what it feels like to let myself not do what I've always done. It might feel good. I might like it, and who knows? It might make my parents proud, keep everyone happy, hold things together, and point me toward my dreams. That would be nice. In the meantime, though, I have to tear myself away from these old shoes.

Monday, Monday

Monday morning again, and back at work. It's so weird how when you go out of town, even for the weekend, when you get back you feel so discombobulated. The trip to Columbus was decent, though there was - as expected - a fair amount of familial drama. It was good to see my grandparents, though. Neither of them are doing fabulously due to their health, and they're both looking at surgery in the very near future. Say a little prayer for them if you think of it.

My spirits are high today, even though I'm discombobulated. I listened to some uplifting music this morning, thanks to someone who understands, and that is running through my head and keeping my focus on the right things. I have another appointment with the counselor tonight, and I'm a little nervous about that, just because last time we talked about some things that hurt and that I hadn't expected to talk about again and it left me kinda shell-shocked for a little while afterwards. Lots of tears are shed during these sessions, but they're cathartic and cleansing tears. Hard to explain, but it's a good thing. Nonetheless, I'm nervous. I have to wonder what direction our conversation will go in tonight.

Where I Am Today

Imagine this. Imagine that you're in this old, musty castle. Somewhere in Europe, maybe, or maybe it's the remnants of a great old lighthouse on the Atlantic coast somewhere. You're standing in it, and you're almost overwhelmed with the history of the place. You can feel the history - the worn bricks under your feet, the smooth handrails, the cracked window panes, the broken brick walls. You can feel the cool breeze as it wafts in a glassless window, and you squint in the brightness of the sunlight. The distant roar of the ocean and the laughs of children playing outside fill your ears. It is a sensory experience like few others, and although you have your camera, you know it would never begin to capture this moment.

Now imagine that you're in that same place as it is being renovated. You stand in the same spot, breathing the fresh air and marveling at the blueness of the sky. You close your eyes and run your hands along the worn railing and cherish the moment....only to open your eyes and have a man in a hardhat standing in front of you with bricks and mortar. A far cry from the regal historic figure you were imagining, he startles you as he pushes past you to replace the broken bricks. As he works, you can do little to stop him from closing in the "window" you so enjoyed and from replacing the dangerously rickety handrails you loved so much. It looks less and less like the same place the longer he works. The old and worn replaced by the new and perfect....the priceless stories replaced by the cheapness of modern industry. Worst of all, the breeze is blocked. The darkness is closing in on you, and as you stand by the diligently working construction worker, all you can do is remember what you once cherished. The cool, refreshing breeze. The sharpness of the sunlight as it broke through the darkness. The peaceful and joyous sounds from outside. You can only remember what it was like and hope that maybe you can find that again somewhere, sometime.

That's where I am. I had such a clear view of God - who He was and what He's like - once before, but somehow I've lost that picture. I've lost my unimpeded view of it all and I can only remember what it was like. I remember the cool breeze on my face and the warmth of the sun. I remember the joy and the hope of a moment that would never end. I remember that, but I can't get it back. It's like I have to somehow find another precious spot, another way to get to Him now. I can't go back the way I came, and I can't find Him in the same place I did before. I've changed and it has changed and it wouldn't be the same anyway. I find consolation, though, knowing that when I find Him again...when I again feel that closeness to Him...HE will be exactly the same. I'm a different person and we'll meet in a different place, but He, at least, will be the same as He was the last time we met.

Broken By The Fall

A beautiful woman.
Precious and loved.
She has it all, and she has the One.
She runs, laughs, and loves.
Her eyes are filled with beauty and freedom
as she lives the life intended.
She lives with the One
and the first
and with disbelief.
Believing what He says is too much.
Her disbelief is her weakness, and she strives for truth.
She strives for more.
She strives for a life of her own.
So she climbs.
One offer, one acceptance, one bite.
One lie, one belief, and one life changed forever.
Striving has left her with nothing,
and her empty hands reach for more.
Cast out, punished, scorned.
Still in disbelief,
she runs, covers, and flees.
Her eyes are filled with shame and tears.
Naked and vulnerable, hiding and afraid.
She is broken by the fall.

There is another.

A beautiful woman.
Precious and loved.
She lives a life with it all.
She runs, laughs, and loves.
Her eyes are filled with beauty but she dreams of freedom
and of living the life intended.
She lives with disbelief.
A disbelief that is not unique to her.
A disbelief passed down.
A disbelief that enslaves her.
She strives for more.
She strives for a life of her own.
So she climbs.
A little higher, a little more, a little different.
One lie, one belief, and another life changed forever.
Striving has left her with nothing,
and her empty hands reach for more.
Still in disbelief,
she runs, covers, and flees.
Her eyes are filled with shame and tears.
Naked and vulnerable, hiding and afraid.
She is broken by the fall.

Here We Go Again

This week is off to a bad start.

I got up yesterday morning with the full intention of returning to work with the rest of the world, following a great Thanksgiving weekend that should have left me rejuvenated and refreshed. However, after being up for a little while, I felt that same old feeling again. The feeling that makes me think, "What am I doing? I can't do this." So I didn't. Scott left for work, and I stayed right where I was, hidden under the covers in the security of my bed. I stayed there most of the day, waking up only long enough to start feeling bad again and then falling asleep again, to a restless and dreamful sleep. Lots of bad dreams, about things I should have done and regrets about my entire life. The bad thoughts I had when I woke up, though, were bad enough to make me want the dreams again. I don't know what's going on, exactly, but I know I don't want this again. I don't want this anymore.....yet I've relived yesterday again today. And tomorrow? We can only hope that I'll be lured outside of these walls to face the world.

Thanksgiving was great, though. Lots of family time and lots of laughter. I needed that.

Guilt, Not Shame

That's my new mantra. The difference between the two was explained to me yesterday, and I think it really makes sense where I am. Guilt is feeling badly - disappointed, embarrassed - about something that was done, while shame is feeling badly about yourself. That really resounded with me. I can feel badly that I did something, which will hopefully lead me to confession and repentance, or I can feel bad about myself for something that I did. What I do is not who I am, as Paul is so wonderful to explain, and it doesn't make any sense to think of myself as a bad or unworthy person simply because something I did was less that wonderful. I think it comes back to the idea that when we refuse to forgive ourselves for something, it's like we're saying that yes, sure, God can forgive us, but He doesn't know the whole story. If He did, He certainly wouldn't think of forgiving us. That makes me laugh. That's essentially saying, "I'm worthless, but I know more than God." Ha! I do that all the time, and it's probably the most contradictory thing I could do. Place myself in a position of lowliness, but in a position that's somehow higher than God. Ridiculous. So guilt is a good way to think, as long as it's holy guilt that brings us closer to the Lord and leads to conviction in our hearts. Shame is another story. Shame says, "God doesn't know what He's talking about. He can't love me, because look at who I am." Guilt remembers that our actions and our identities are separate. Guilt remembers that God loves us for who we are, not what we do.

One Giant Leap

You'll never believe it....I'm actually at work today. It took me several hours to get here, just thinking about things and reassuring myself that it's going to be okay and that I can do this. I feel good, too. I feel good getting back to the place, at least, where I should be, even if I'm not fully with it yet. My boss told me to take it easy today, to get back into the routine by checking and returning the bazillion emails and phone messages I had waiting for me, and then tomorrow I'm going to start working hard again. It's going to be okay.

Today is Scott's birthday, so we have the family coming over for dinner tonight. I made his favorite chicken dish and a huge banana pudding last night so all I have to do is make the rice and salad and bread tonight. Hm....that still actually sounds like a lot.

I'm going to get going on ny emails and phone messages. There are a lot.

More Random Thoughts

Let's see......today I feel....strange. I got up this morning with every intention of going back to work. My intentions meant nothing to my mind, which devided about halfway through my getting dressed that I was unworthy to present myself to the world and that work was not such a good idea after all. So I'm at home. Again.

The weird thing is that I really WANT to go back to work. Once I go back, though, I'll get tired...and will wish for time off...and will all too soon forget this month-long sabbatical I've been on.

And I've definitely decided that scrapbooking is for me. I've been backing up ALL of our digital pictures and putting them on disks, and in the process I look at all of them and relive memories and want so badly to go ahead and get copies of them all made so that I can get my library of albums going. It's going to be great. You inspired me to do this, Becca, by the way. Even if I don't use *snap*<><.

This weekend I have to get my house ready to have Scott's whole family come for his birthday next week. They all live here in town, so it's not like they're going to be spending the night here or anything (good thing, since the only bed we have is our own). They're all coming for dinner, though, which I'm cooking myself. I've done it for my family, and I threw a bridal shower with lots of tasty treats, but dinner is different....especially for his family. His mom and sister are great cooks, so I'm a little intimidated. I've always been told, growing up and all, that cooking isn't exactly my forte, especially since my little sister is just about a culinary genious and I melted one plastic bowl (ONE PLASTIC BOWL) when I was like 7. I have it in my mind now that I don't belong in the kitchen, so it's scary to put myself on the spot and make a whole dinner for people I'm trying to impress. They like me fine.....but cooking for them is different somehow. Anyway, that's going to be Monday night. If anyone has a dynamite recipe for banana pudding, let me know.

I have a bridal shower to go to tonight, for a couple from our church. It should be interesting. She grew up in a tight-knit Catholic community but has pretty much left the Catholic church, from anything I understand, but some ladies from her church where she grew up are holding the shower. A bunch of us Quest-ers are going to stick together, lest we stick out too badly. Safety in numbers. (Does that sound bad? We just don't know what to expect.)

I think that's pretty much it. Not to mention that my poor cat has gotten extremely restless laying on my lap. I think she's trying to tell me it's time to get up. Inspired by Becca once again, I have written a completely random and probably not very interesting post for you. Sorry about that.

Bad Day

Today is a bad day. Different things happened this weekend to make me down on myself again, when I had been doing well and had completely intended to return to work this morning. I wanted to go and needed to go and almost looked forward to it....but then I got hit again with the same doubts and fears and self-loathing and couldn't bring myself to face the world. Knowing, somehow, that I wasn't expected to get up and go made it easier to NOT get up and go, so I stayed in bed after Scott went to work. I feel guilty when I do that, but I still somehow can't make myself get up. It's that hiding feeling again, and I hate it. I hate that when my phone rings I ignore it and when I know there's a voicemail there I don't listen to it. I hate that I cringe when I check my email because I'm afraid there's going to be a message from someone wanting me to get together with them. I hate that when I'm surrounded by people the only thing I can think is how I'm not as _____ as someone else or I'm not _____ enough or how everyone is thinking that I'm ____. I hate that. I know my thoughts are too centered in what I feel and not enough in what I know, but sometimes the things I know to be true are still so uncertain. I don't know what I know. I need some help with this. I actually really prayed yesterday afternoon. I was driving back from somewhere that had brought on an onslaught of negative thoughts about myself, and I just finally turned off the radio in the car and talked to God. I was honest with Him about my fears and my doubts and all of the reasons I'm mad at myself and the world.... It felt good. I got home, though, and got a headache and lay down for awhile....for a restless nap filled with those dreams that are irritating and panicky and so real that when you wake up you can't separate dream from reality. My mindset for the rest of the evening was all off. And it's still off today. I'm so restless. So fearful and so negative. This isn't me, and I don't want to be like this any more.

Not Much To Say

I'm feeling so....blah....today. Groggy, like I haven't had enough sleep, but I know that's far from the truth. It's been dreary and kinda rainy here the past couple of days, so that might be part of it. There's also the dread of re-entering the world.....

I've decided I need a hobby. I worked on a little scrapbook the other night of the letters people wrote me from when I went on the Walk to Emmaus, and that was so cathartic for me. (I love and cherish those letters, by the way. As I re-read them, I started feeling all warm and loved and so grateful for the relationships God has placed in my life.) I told Scott that I could get very much back into the scrapbooking thing, and he was like, "That's okay, it'll be good for you," and then I explained that I'll have to get copies of all of the pictures we have stored on our computer. He's not really sure about the Snapfish thing, in case you're wondering. He's leery of credit card information being on the internet, which I can kinda understand, but I also have to think about all of the millions of people who do it every day with no problem. I'm working on him, though, so maybe we can get on there soon and have all kinds of pictures in hard copy for me to work with. (And for you all to see!)

My friend Melissa called me last night, and it was so, so good to talk to her. She was in my wedding, and neither of us have been really good about keeping in touch since then (shame on me) but we talked and talked as if no time had passed. I love that. Why do we take our friendships for granted? It's like we forget how hard it is to make good friends and we think that we can just go out anytime and find a perfect match for our souls. Not so, and I need reminding of that so that I don't get lazy and let things slide.

On an unrelated note, please pray for me. I'm having an issue, which I'll spare you the details of because it's not really for general audiences, but I need reassurance and peace. I'll leave it at that.

Up and Down We Go....

....or at least, up and down I go, and I'm afraid I drag Scott and all of you along with me for the highs and lows. For what it's worth, thank you for being there. =)

It's been an interesting couple of days since I wrote last. My weekend was okay. Spent the day just hanging out with Scott on Saturday - ran some errands, had lunch with my parents, had a long sleepy nap on the couch. It was really nice, and Sunday morning I actually felt good. No panic, no stress....just anticipation of a great service at church and just worshiping the Lord and resting in Him for a little while since it's so hard for me to do that at home somehow. It was great, and afterwards Scott and I were supposed to go to the fair with my mom, sister, and brother in law. Well, it took forever to get everyone together to leave church. (I call it Smith inertia - as in, an object in motion stays in motion and an object at rest stays at rest. It takes my family forever to get going to do anything, but then good luck getting us to stop. It's a weird and frustrating phenomenon.) When I say forever, I really mean only like 45 minutes, but still - that's a long time. I was in the lobby area and there were still tons of people there and everyone was talking and crowded around and I needed to get out so I headed for the door for some fresh air and waited for everyone else outside. They finished up what they were doing and came out, and my mom said something about figuring out where we were going (to eat) so that we could get moving. I said, "Well, I'm going CRAZY." They looked at me funny, and I kinda flipped - I said I had to get out of there and needed to breathe and just couldn't stand being there anymore and that I could feel a panic attack starting. My sister and Mark (her husband - it's easier to write about people by name!) started going, "UhOh.....better back up. I think I'm going to get away from this...." and were walking backwards away from me and kinda laughing kinda...... Scott walked outside at that moment and I kinda rushed him - took my stuff from him because he had been holding it - and said "I NEED TO GO HOME." He was all confused, because he had been inside and knew nothing of the situation I was in, and chased me kinda out to my car, with me saying, "I want to go home. I just want to go home," the whole time and him saying, "Jess, can you just talk to me please?" over and over. We got to my car and I told him what Ashley and Mark had done....he got all mad because he said it wasn't my fault for getting upset at all because they are the people I go to and depend on for support and then they almost make fun of it and in any case, even if that's not what they intended, they were pretty careless in their treatment of me in that moment. We came home and I curled up in Scott's lap and cried for the longest time. The thing is, that was just so much worse than it seems. It would have hurt anyone, I think, for someone to be made fun of in that way, but it did me so much more. I've been working for the longest time now to get myself to a place where I can be real about this with people - where I don't feel like I have to hide it and can talk about it and get it out in the open and ask for prayer and really let people know what's going on and, basically, stay out of the stained glass masquerade. It's taken me so long, and I was doing so well with it. I told people at Bible study the other night and have been more open in how I talk about it....and then they do that and the message I hear, whether it's what they intended or not, was, "Don't talk to people about this. It's too private and personal and they're going to laugh because no one can understand because no one has this problem but you." Truly, knowing Ashley and Mark I know that's not what they intended. I know they were probably trying to lighten the mood and were probably trying to get me to smile....never having witnessed one of my attacks they probably didn't know what to do or how to handle it. I understand that. I just wish they had done something else. I wish their words had been more along the lines of, "What can we do to help you right now?" I know they meant well - I don't believe that they intended to send me away weeping and crying and to make me miss the trip to the fair that I had so been looking forward to and so needed..... I know that. And still, it hurt. I'm not mad. Just hurt, you know? And now I have to move forward again, because in that one moment, I moved backward, away from what I've been working toward for awhile. I felt bad, too, because that was the first time I had one of my panic attacks in public....I felt very vulnerable and a lot of people saw me....my pastor thought I was mad at Scott from the way I was kinda talking sternly and walking away from him. (Not away from him, but away from the situation.....) I hate to think what they think now..... The stained glass masquerade comes into effect now, too, as I fear the repercussions of letting the real me show.

I had my first appointment with my counselor today, though, and that has me optimistic. She was really, really nice, and I think I'm going to like her a lot. She's going to be tough on me, though, just because she has to be to get me better, because she told me that I do need to go see a psychiatrist because the way I describe my panic attacks sound, to her, almost like little seizures and that my medicine I'm on now obviously isn't working if I'm still having those episodes and haven't been to work in so long. (Long sentence. Sorry.) She's going to be on my side, though, to help me work toward healing.... We talked about so many things and I feel like she hit on a lot of my problems. I'm defintely going to keep going to her, but I know that real progress won't be easy unless my medicine is right. So I guess I'm going to make a psych appointment....I'm still scared about that, but Karla (my counselor) told me that I don't necessarily have to mention anything spiritual in nature to them if I'm afraid of how they'll hear it. She said my attacks are so physiological that I can keep my description on that stuff and they'll know plenty to be able to help me. I still don't want to go, but I trust her and I trust Scott and they say it's going to be okay.

Scott and I went to my office for a little while after my appointment. I talked to my boss, who has been so wonderful about all of this, and everyone there was so glad to see me.....I cried as I hugged them all. It's so wonderful to work in a Christian place with people who are so genuinely caring and loving. I don't know if I could work anywhere where faith had to be in the background after having this kind of experience. And I know God had me going through this particular valley now, while I'm "working" there, for a reason. They're perfect for me now. I may even be able to go back to work soon.

Things are up.....but they're down, too. Aren't they always? I'm still so confused. Whenever I feel good, I feel so fragile, too, like that's subject to change at any moment. It's all so up and down. I have hope, though, that it's going to get better. Hope is all I can ask for.

On One Hand....But On The Other Hand..... Contradictory Thoughts from Jess

I'm sitting at the computer with my sweet Kitter on my lap. She cried at the door until I let her in, and since then has been discontent anywhere but on top of me. It would be annoying if it weren't so sweet. (I know somewhere in my mind that she's probably just cold, since it's like 40 degrees outside and we don't have our heat on yet. I still choose to believe that she just wants to be close to me and loves me for who I am......and not because I'm a warm lap.)

I'm feeling okay today. I'm a little pensive because I know the day is coming when it is no longer okay with my boss to recuperate at home and I'll have to return to work, and I know that day will bring anxiety and stress. I do have an appointment on Tuesday with a counselor - a Christian family counselor who is also a Presbyterian minister - and I'm tentatively excited about that. I know it's going to be good for me, but I have to expect that it's going to bring some self-discovery that might not be easy. I know I need to do this, though, and I'm glad to have a professional on my team.

Last night I taught our Bible study on the 5 love languages - if you haven't read that book, you should. It's great. Anyway, I taught the lesson for all of us and will continue to do so until the book is finished. When prayer time came, my brother in law asked if they should all still be praying for me and my issues.....I told him thanks for asking but I was trying not to mention it since we had some new people at the group and I wasn't entirely thrilled about getting that real quite yet.....but I told them all what's going on (pretty much everything, but I spared them gory details) and asked them to pray for me. As I was talking about it I realized they were all probably confused because what I'm dealing with doesn't manifest itself in times like that....it rears its ugly head when I'm alone at home or facing some sort of a public excursion. It occurred to me that it probably always looks like I'm making it up since it doesn't look like that to people who see me. I do try to put on a pretty public face and truth be told, a lot of times I do feel great out like that. I get to laughing about things and forget what's going on, but then I get home and it's like it's waiting for me here. It's strange. Scott said that's why no one saw it coming for me to struggle like this and why people like his dad are having such a hard time understanding - because it doesn't fit with the "me" they see and how I always seem to be when they see me. It's a weird thing. I asked Scott last night why I'm two faced - halfway joking but halfway serious - and he assured me that that's not what I am. I don't get quite what's going on with me, but I'm eager to figure it out and be able to talk about it as a past victory.

I'm excited about the weekend. Supposed to go to the fair with my sister and her husband, so that'll be fun, and church Sunday will supposedly tell me how I can know God's will for my life. It's going to be a good weekend, and I'm not going to think about what next week might bring.

Strength and Confusion in Weakness

Another day. Yesterday I was bold - I went out, alone, which doesn't happen much anymore. I think one of the hardest things about this whole struggle is the feeling of lost independence, of a new weakness that I always prided myself I didn't have. I want to be independent. I think there is always this image we want others to have of us, regardless of how close it is to reality, that we maybe allow ourselves to believe is true. Mine was of strength and independence. I wanted people to think I was strong. To see me as a picture of faith and feminine strength. That's who I want to be, and that's exactly who I feel that I am not. I am weepy. I am delicate, like a flower, and crush easily. I need people, and I often depend on their strength to carry me. This is not who I want to be. I know there is a certain strength that is implied by someone who admits their own weaknesses and is willing to address them, but I feel like I am somehow beyond that. I feel like everyone looks at me and shakes their heads, wanting to say something to me about what's going on but not wanting me to break and for it to be their responsibility when I become a sniffly mess. I just want to be strong again. I think I was there once, and it's been lost in this crazy maze of darkness and confusion. I asked Scott the other night if he thought I was weak or crazy, and his answer touched me so because I felt like he saw my heart.... He said, "No, I think you're confused. I think you're hearing a lot of different ideas of who you are and you need to pick one and believe it. I think you need someone to help you make that decision." It was so true, so real, and so refreshing. Someone saw me....and as it turned out, he didn't think it was weakness he saw but someone confused and mystified by a choice that we all have to make. He saw me. That was nice, and I think that's a big reason I married him. He gets me. He doesn't ask questions because he doesn't have to. He gets me and loves me the same. That doesn't happen every day.

Unless you count Jesus. He does just that. Why is it so much harder to get that? Why can I adore Scott and be so grateful for the way he loves me and take it for granted that the Lord loves me even more than that? Ugh. Sometimes I cringe at my humanity.

The Real Me

Foolish heart looks like we're here again
Same old game of plastic smile
Don't let anybody in
Hiding my heartache, will this glass house break
How much will they take before I'm empty
Do I let it show, does anybody know?

But you see the real me
Hiding in my skin, broken from within
Unveil me completely
I'm loosening my grasp
There's no need to mask my frailty
Cause you see the real me

Painted on, life is behind a mask
Self-inflicted circus clown
I'm tired of the song and dance
Living a Charade, always on parade
What a mess I've made of my existence
But you love me even now
And still I see somehow

But you see the real me
Hiding in my skin, broken from within
Unveil me completely
I'm loosening my grasp
There's no need to mask my frailty
Cause you see the real me

Wonderful, beautiful is what you see
When you look at me
You're turning the tattered fabric of my life into
A perfect tapestry
I just wanna be me

But you see the real me
Hiding in my skin, broken from within
Unveil me completely
I'm loosening my grasp
There's no need to mask my frailty
Cause you see the real me

And you love me just as I am

Wonderful, Beautiful is what you see
When you look at me

-Natalie Grant

Baby Steps

Last night was hard and wonderful at the same time. When Scott came home I didn't even have to tell him that I didn't go to work yesterday (again)...his dad had stopped by my office to make a donation or something and saw I wasn't there...he called Scott and asked where I was...Scott was a little flustered because until that moment he didn't know I was at home... I had wanted to keep Scott's family blissfully unaware of what is going on with me, just because I feel kinda like I'm still in the phase of trying to make a good impression and trying to fit in with them. I don't know how they'll understand or how they'd react if they all knew...but I guess I'm going to find out soon enough. In all reality, it'll be fine and it'll probably be some sort of a relief to have them all know, so I don't have to be all plastic around them, but at the same time I don't want everyone treating me like I'm weak and sick and fragile. I don't want to be pampered. Anyhow, Scott knew I couldn't stay there in the house last night or I'd keep thinking about it all and would probably cry all night, which is obviously not very helpful. He made me put my shoes on and took me out on a little date, just like nothing was wrong. He took me to Putt-Putt (miniature golf, for those of you without Putt-Putt) and to IHOP.... It was so sweet. It got my mind off of it for a while, which was much-needed, but then as we waited for our French toast I started thinking about it again. I'm really having a hard time with this, y'all. I'm going to get over it, I know, but until then.... I sent an email to my boss last night and explained things as best as I could, just because I needed her to know as much as she could and I needed her to know that I'm not making this up somehow. She sent me the name of a Christian counselor she knows and also the name of a lady she knows who's a psychologist and prays with people for healing.... I've called the counselor already. Left a message, so the ball is at least out of my court now. I guess this is progress. I don't feel like I've done much, but I know it's going to take a lot of little baby steps to climb over this mountain.

Hide and Seek

Do you remember playing hide and seek when you were little? Scrambling to find the best spot to cram your little body into, trying to be the first to discover the best hiding place ever, and waiting in excited silence while you were sought? I remember feeling like being found was the worst fate that could befall me.....as if my friend or sister who, moments before, had been my most trusted confidant in the world, had suddenly become scary and dangerous. They mustn't find me! I remember a contradictory fear, too, as I would hide for increasingly long periods of time. Had I found such a good spot that they couldn't find me? Had they gone on with the game without me? Was I, in fact, the only one still playing, while the others had moved on to another pursuit? The fear of not being found was greater, at times, than the fear of being found.....the fear of being forgotten stronger than the fear of losing.....the fear of being left behind more powerful than the desire to win the game. The fear would often drive me out of my hiding place, drive me out into the light, muscles cramped and heart racing, as I looked around the yard for the others. I needed to know: had I been forgotten about, or had I succeeded in concealing myself from everyone?

Today, I'm hiding again. The one who seeks me is a little harder to explain.....I'm hiding from the world and from myself at the same time. When the phone rings I jump, knowing that someone is trying to find me. Someone is looking for me, but I don't answer. Hiding is more important. Hiding is better for me now, as it will let me avoid everything else. Hiding has brought me to a place of fear and dread, and by continuing to hide I can avoid it all...though my logical mind knows the dread will only get worse. I ignore my logical mind. Hiding has become the most important thing for me today. I peek out the blinds at the world outside. I reluctantly check email. I constantly fear that someone will discover that I am, in fact, hiding, and that I'll have to talk. I'll have to tell them why and how and what's going on. I'll have to uncover myself and be vulnerable again. I have to keep hiding here in my house, hiding in my bed, hiding in isolation. Only here am I safe. But what if they stop looking? What if they give up? What if so much time passes and so many calls go unanswered that they get bored with the pursuit and figure I don't want to be found.....? What if they become content to leave me here in my self-made isolation? What if I am forgotten? I've heard them talk about others who hide....others who run. "She has to want to help herself. If she doesn't try, there's only so much we can do." I have a choice to make. Which is worse - being found and having to unveil myself, or forcing myself into prolonged solitude? Which is really worse? Somewhere in my mind I know people will keep looking for me - they'll keep calling, keep inviting me out, keep asking me to talk - but I'm torn. I want them to leave me alone. I want them to let me be, and to let me keep hiding. This works for me. At the same time, though, I want so badly to be found. I want to be uncovered and rescued from this darkness and this fear. I don't want to be sick and I don't want to be weak. I don't want to be overtaken and I don't want to fall victim to this anymore.....but the moment of my being discovered is so scary. It's scary to be vulnerable. It's scary to come out of hiding.

Changing My Mind

I'm supposed to write a devotional for my church today on angels and demons.....kinda strange, I know, but our sermon this Sunday is going to be on whether angels and demons are real and what role they play in our lives. I'm pretty interested to see how my pastor answers it in a sermon. As for my devo I'm supposed to do, it's kinda hard because I believe pretty strongly in spiritual warfare and the fact that the battle we fight is not one of flesh and blood....but it's a pretty intense topic and I don't want to scare people. I think it's interesting, though, to group angels and demons together, since they're obviously so different but both so obviously spiritual and other-worldly. I think it's good for me, too, because I've thought so much about the negative aspect of the spiritual realm with the struggles I've dealt with lately that I think I've neglected thinking about the power of the Holy Spirit. I think our culture likes to think of one and not the other - that either we have the goth people who believe in dark angels/demons and stuff like that, or we have the touchy-feely "Touched By An Angel" folks who think angels walk around with radiant halos. (I loved that show, don't get me wrong.) We don't usualy think about the fact that both exist and both impact our lives.... It's weird. I don't know about angels and how they play in our lives, and I feel like I know more about how demons mess with me than those who are on God's team. Does that make any sense to you? I don't get how as a follower of Christ I can know more about the ways the enemy plays with me than I do about how the Spirit enpowers me. That's sad, and I never thought about it before. You know how you can become so bogged down in a problem that you can't see anything else? Nina and I talked about this some the other day - how sometimes when you're dealing with something you need to radically change your perspective and focus on something completely different in order to see how to get out of it and how to finally let the chains fall. Kinda like with those brain teasers and puzzles you'd play with when you're little. I'd work on those forever and get so frustrated and become convinced that there was no way to do it, get up and go to the bathroom, and come back and fix it in no time. I just had to stop thinking about it. I wonder if being sick this week has been kinda like a trip to the bathroom in the middle of a brain teaser for me. Being sick plus going out of town last weekend has kept my mind on completely different things than what I had been thinking of, and I have to say I like the way things have been going. I could say that it's because I haven't been going anywhere in awhile or because I haven't had things like work to deal with or whatever, but I haven't had a panic attack all week.....and because my schedule has been so off with sleeping all day and being up all night and all, I haven't even been taking my medicines like I'm supposed to..... This has all just hit me. Strange. I think I'm onto something here. My pastor told me that maybe to pull myself out of this self-conscious depression I should do something for other people and Becca and I talked about how certain things might not be painful if we didn't think they were supposed to be and Nina and I talked about handing things over to God and being real instead of being happy plastic people dwelling on ourselves.... I feel like I've gotten some sort of weird clarity here. I need to stop focusing more on the power of God instead of my own weaknesses.....more on the strength I have in the Holy Spirit than on the constant attack of Satan.....more on what it means to live in the light than on how it feels to be drowned in the darkness.....more on the rope that can puul me up out of the mire than on the coldness and isolation of the pit. Whoa. I had no idea where I was going with this blog, and I feel like God showed me something huge. I'd glad it's captured in words so I can't lose it. Though I still don't know what I'm going to write in my 400-word devotional. And yet the power is so strong....I'm feeling dizzy and kind of overwhelmed by what I've realized just now.....it's so simple but it took me so long to get it.

Aunque Corras, Escondas, No Puedes Escapar

I need an escape. I need to get out. I'm bogged down in the mundane, I think, and need a serious change of scenery. This could just be today talking - which, thus far, has not been a particularly good day. No reason to be bad, really, as it is gorgeous outside and the weekend is coming, which brings with it a visit with my grandmother and a short jaunt out of town. I feel so yuck, though. The same kind of yuck as comes with PMS, though that's not what it is. Had a panic attack this morning, getting ready for work, and haven't quite recovered from that. I'm still kinda shaken....and work is hectic today (though you wouldn't know it, since I'm blogging from my desk) with grant applications that won't go through by fax, other grant applications that need information that our corporate office can't seem to get for me, unexpected visits from church reps who need materials that I may or may not have, bounced checks (not mine, but work ones, which are actually worse), and on and on..... Do you know the feeling I'm talking about? I look around me and think, instead of "Wow I love my job and my life and yay the weekend is coming and life is good" as I have been lately, I'm thinking, "This AGAIN? I NEED TO GET OUT OF HERE!" Stress and anxiety and lots of pressure are bringing me to a point that I don't think I like...a point at which I fear I might break....a point at which I feel like there may be no turning back from once I'm headed there. I need a sabbatical. I need an excursion from the ordinary. I need to do something weird and unusual and exhilarating. This is the kind of day when it's really tempting to tell everyone here that I'm leaving, going away for a few days, and will be back a different person. It's the kind of day that makes Pennsylvania seem more tempting and appealing than normal. Where does this feeling come from? Even as I type that question, I am thinking of the two answers that always come to mind. 1)God. He tells me I need a Sabbath, and I haven't done that in a while. No resting. No breathing. No inhaling, as I think only Becca will understand, and lots of exhaling. I need that. God knows I need that. 2)The enemy. When I panic and get myself all in a tizzy, as my mom calls it, I'm of no use to anyone, especially to myself. I can't work, I can't think.... He knows that and likes to get me to this place. I always think that it'd be better to take some mental health time, like my friend Vickie always tells me, than to push myself to a point of breaking and cowering in a corner, but how can I do that when my boss is on vacation and everyone here needs me to do this and that and the other thing? I don't know how to step back and say, "Listen. I'm struggling. I need a break. I need a day off. I'll be back later, and I'll be able to handle all of these things you need from me then." Somehow that's not so okay in the working world - even in a Christian working environment. But I need it, so badly, and I have to figure out a way. I feel like I'll snap pretty soon. And like I said, this could just be today. This could just be my mood. It could pass. It might be completely better tomorrow, with or without a break. But then again, it might not. (The title, by the way, is from an Enrique Inglesias song on a CD I got in Spain. I always liked that line.)

Just Breathe

Are you ever so invigorated by church that you don't want to leave? That happened to me yesterday and I truly did not want the service to be over. For the first time in a long time, I really got into worship - I felt the Lord's presence there with me and I just wanted to sing my heart out to Him. It was one of those services that spoke to me, you know, more than others and that reminded me what this whole "Christian" thing is about. Ironically, the sermon was entitled "God, why can't I feel your presence?" The main point was that we don't feel God's presence because we don't stop long enough to feel Him. We give and give and go and go and never slow down, when all He wants from us is to slow down and spend a little time with Him, and while it won't happen the first time we spend time with Him, collectively, over time, we'll come to know what it means to be in His presence and to really feel Him there with us. He kept saying how we have a spiritual life rhythm, and that our spiritual lives have a rhythm very much like a heartbeat or our breathing. His thought was that when we spend our lives going and going and giving and doing, we're breathing out - exhaling. We never take time to breathe in....which spiritually kills us. We have to breathe Him in. We have to fill ourselves back up and we have to give ourselves the opportunity to feel His presence. It all just really spoke to me, because I know I'm so horribly guilty of that and I don't slow down and every time I sit down to have quiet time and really spend some quality time with God I get distracted or sleepy and it never happens. Why does it have to be that way? Why can't I make it happen? It's not that I don't want to or don't think it's important, but it's just that I guess I don't think it's important ENOUGH or I would do it. I feel like I need to be held accountable for this....but if I lie to myself about how I'm doing in my spiritual life I know I'll lie to someone else.... I'm such a fake sometimes! I heard that Michael W. Smith song on the radio where he says, "This is the air I breathe....Your holy presence, living in me..." and I just stopped in the middle of getting ready for work to think about what He was saying. I want to be there. I want it. And you know what? My tendency when I start thinking like this is always to go to one of the Christian bookstores and find me a new devotional book or something else to read or some other workbook, like I think that's going to magically make it happen. I know it won't, and what I need is more JESUS...not more busy work to do to get me to him. I need Him, plain and simple. No fluff, no distractions, nothing to make it more complicated than it is..... Just the basics of a relationship with Jesus.

Friends Rock

I'm realizing more and more that isolation is a tool of the enemy to get us right where he wants us. In my darkest times, I've been convinced that I don't need anyone, and I act on that belief - shutting myself into a hole, not returning anyone's calls, not emailing anyone, etc. For one thing, I didn't want to burden anyone with my junk, but I didn't think I needed them to help me get through it in the first place. Lately, though, it's becoming so crystal clear to me that God defiitely created us not only for a relationship with Him, but for relationships with each other.
Here's the thing. I've had this....shall we say....struggle on my mind for awhile, and since it's not really for everyone to know I'll spare the details here. I hate this thorn in my flesh, and because it makes me feel so awful, I don't like to tell people about it. I hate the way that they might think of me if they knew, and I hate tearing down all pride and just putting something so ugly out there. That's pretty much the nature of sin, I think, and any weapons of the enemy. But when I get brave - when I get really brave - I can actually tell someone about it. I had lunch with a really good friend of mine yesterday, and it was so, so good. I had no intention of talking to her about this particular problem over lunch, because I didn't think it was really appropriate and I didn't want to bring it up (out of sight, out of mind, you know). As we were finishing, though, she said, as she always does, "How can I pray for you?" Then, in that moment, I literally slumped down in the booth at Village Deli and covered my face, because 1)I can NEVER lie to Vickie, and 2)there was this voice in my head screaming, "TELL HER!" So I did. Actually, she guessed the nature of it and I didn't have to say the word, but then I actually started elaborating on it because all of a sudden I felt that rush of relief that comes with getting a weight lifted off my shoulders. It was incredible, and she told me someone else I should talk to about this problem because she deals with it, too.... I've felt so encouraged and so uplifted since then, and though I know I'm a LONG way from being healed of this aggravating nuisance of a problem, I feel hopeful that as long as I remember it's not necessarily something to be ashamed of, I can beat it. So that's my point: that God wants us to talk to other Christians about what we're going through so that they can encourage us and hold us accountable and get us through it, but Satan wants us to hold it in, because as James says, sins and things like that grow really well when they're kept in the dark and can't survive when they come into the light. And this is my other point: friends rock.

Something About A Storm

I open my eyes to a new day.
The possibilities are endless, but the sky is dark.
Gray clouds in the distance as another storm rolls in.
Yesterday, the world was sunny.
Bright. Optimistic.
With the sun my memories of the last storm seem to fade. What was it like?
Violent. Out of control. Scary.
I see the clouds moving, feel the wind blowing, and hold out my hand to prove the first heavy drops of rain.
The next storm begins today.
And the day will go on.

I could change my plans. I could just stay inside.
I could hide, unwilling to face it and fearing the worst.
Afraid of the darkness.
I could curl up here, alone, weak, and scared, excluding myself from the day.
One storm could kill me and make me disappear.
I could hide.
I could be afraid.

But God, I remember something about a storm.
How You'd be here with me when thigns look dark and scary.
How You'll never leave of hurt me.
How there's always a reason and a plan, and
How if I'll let You, You'll change me and carry me and make it okay.
That's Your promise, Lord...but I can't see You and the darkness is real.
So is my choice: listen to You, or hide?

Or I could brace myself, dressing for the weather.
Grab my raincoat, my umbrella, my rubber boots.
I could struggle and fight, unwilling to get wet.
Afraid of the water.
The drops are so cold and the thunder is so loud.
The winds is so strong and the lightning so bold.
I could fight it and run and resist the storm's power.
I could brace myself.
I could fight it.

But God, I remember something about a storm.
How You'd be here with me when things look dark and scary.
How You'll never leave me or hurt me.
How there's always a reason and a plan, and
How if I'll let You, You'll change me and carry me and make it okay.
That's Your promise, Lord...but I can't see You and the darkness is real.
So is my choice: listen to You, or fight?

Or here's an idea. This would be different.
Why hide from it? Why fight it?
The water is from above where alll good things are...
I could run headlong, full force, high speed.
At peace with the water and embracing the wind.
Laughing at the thunder and admiring the lightning.
Soaked through and through, somehow different outside and in.
The clouds are so dark, with a strange beauty, wonderful mystery.
So I could take off. Take the plunge.
Refuse to hide and refuse to be afraid.
No need to brace myself and no need to fight.
I could let it all happen.

Because God, I remember something about a storm.
So be here with me, because it's dark and scary.
You'll never leave me or hurt me.
Even this has a reason, a part of your plan, and
So I'll let You change me, carry me, make it all okay.
That's still Your promise, Lord, even though the darkness is real.
And that's my choice. I'll listen to You in the storm.
And as I open the door I think how there's something about a storm that makes me believe.

Amazing Jesus

I was reading in Matthew the other day about the story of Jesus and the man who wanted healing for his servant. I'd read the story dozens of times before, but one thing stood out to me this time. In the translation I was reading from, it actually said that Jesus was amazed at the man's faith, and then he healed the servant. The servant basically told Jesus that he knew who Jesus took his orders from, and he knew that when he told his servant to do something he'd do it, so he knew that Jesus could heal the servant. Jesus was so astounded by that man's faith because he hadn't seen anyone else who believed like that. That just got me thinking how amazingly cool it would be to have a faith that amazed Jesus. That's like a hundred times better even than the "good and faithful servant" accolade, isn't it? Like, to have Jesus look you in the eye and say, "Wow. Your faith just amazes me." I've told people that before, and I've even had other people say that to me, but somehow - just somehow - it would be so much more incredible to hear that from Jesus. Wow, you know? I want to be like that.

Stigmas

I'm struggling today. I don't think it's common knowledge out there that I'm on some different medications for depression and anxiety, despite - as the nurse told me at the doctor's office the other day - the fact that I'm only 25 and am "too young to be depressed." Let me assure you, I am NOT too young to be depressed. Anyhow, the doctor has done some changing around with my dosage, which has been great for my mood (much less irritable and generally thinking more rationally, which is always a good thing) but has made me SO SLEEPY I CAN HARDLY THINK STRAIGHT. The medication has made it hard to concentrate before, but he upped one dosage and told me to take half of the other one at night and the other half in the morning. Given those changes, I'm pretty much useless. I've even contemplated - prepare yourself - drinking some caffeine to get me in gear. Remember, now, that I have been decaf for like 9 years, since 10th grade. Yeah, that's how tired and groggy I am. I can't function like that! This morning, I've been at work for almost 2 hours already and I've done NOTHING productive. I'm supposed to help conduct a focus group for a low-income housing committee I'm on in like an hour, and I'm not sure how on earth I'm going to do that. Somehow I've got to get my brain in gear or I'm going to be sleeping and drooling all over myself during the focu group, which will probably not convince the real estate developers coming that they need to build low-income housing in the 30901 and 30903 ZIP codes, which is our basic purpose of the whole thing today. Maybe I can sit in the back and look like I'm in total agreement while Beth does all the talking. She and Sharon know more about this stuff anyway, but I don't want to be the tagalong committee member who comes to the event and sleeps with her eyes open.
Wow. That was rambling. See what I mean? My brain is not with it.
Anyhow, I do feel good, in spite of the grogginess.
My doctor wants me to go see a psychiatrist to help me deal with this anxiety and depression business. What do you think about that? Part of me says as a Christian, I should be able to get myself through this by leaning on God and letting Him take care of this for me, but on the other hand, I do believe that things like this are caused by a chemical imbalance and if medicine and counseling help, I should go for it. My pastor and his wife told me to go for it, when I talked to them last weekend, but I still feel funny. It's weird because I was going to go into counseling as my profession for awhile, so I was all about getting rid of the stigma that comes with mental health issues and making people aware that there is nothing wrong with having one of those problems and that it actually takes strength to reach out and get help. Now, though, being on the other side, I dread people finding out that this is going on with me and that I'm seeing a "shrink." It could be a cool testimony if I'd let it, I think, and if people's minds would be open to it, but I'm feeling more like people wouldn't understand and would judge me. (The "people" I'm talking about are mostly the people at my church, who most of the time make me feel like I have to be perfect.) It's hard. Counseling will b good, I know, because I did that in college, but I think it's the combination of seeing a psychiatrist and being on medication and all..... I want to get better, I know that much. And if this will work, I'm going to go for it. I think I need to stop worrying so much about what someone else might think. I've known that my whole life.

Adrift in Life

Weird title, I know, but I'm having a day where I really wish I knew where I'm heading. I wish I had some grand dream that I've been pursuing all my life and that I'll continue to pursue until it's finally accomplished in some climactic moment of my life. I wish I knew what I'm supposed to do with my life. I wish I had more of a sense of direction. I wish I knew that to tell people when they asked me what I'm going to do when my year of VISTA service is up. I want to know where I'm going and when I'm going to get there. I want to know what I'm meant for and where I'll find my ultimate occupational purpose for my life. I know there are just some things I'm not supposed to know - like what God is going to do with me, and why He does things how He does them - but I feel like there are some things I should know, because if I don't know those things I'm just floating along letting life happen to me instead of steering it where it's supposed to be going. I trust God to take me where He wants me to be, but I think I'm so afraid of waking up one morning and realizing that I'm like 45 and still having no more sense of purpose than I have today. The psychologist who works in our office here at AUM was talking to me today about his job adn what he likes and what he doesn't, and I told him I almost went in that direction with my life. He asked me why I didn't, and the only answer I had for him was that I got intimidated by all of the school, which is partly true but partly not. I tried it a little.....two semesters of seminary for Pastoral Counseling.....but when I hated my counseling class, I thought that might be a sign that maybe I'm not meant for that. If I can't picture myself doing something, I somehow don't think that's where God made me to be....but I can't picture myself anywhere. I've never been much of a visionary, so I can't imagine things until they happen, and it's not much of an imagination that can picture something that's right in front of your face. My boss yesterday did ask me a hypothetical question about whether or not I would consider taking a job we might have an opening for if it comes open, and while that sounds wonderful, I can't help but think that would be another job I'm in for like a year and then I get bored, feeling like there's more out there for me, and then I move on. I feel so lost sometimes, you know? There has to be somewhere for me. Just about everyone I know has had some sort of a dream or career aspiration all their lives, or even if they haven't been going for a career aspiration their whole life, they've found something that's perfect for them now and they love it --- like my sister being a pastry chef. That's just a given, but I have no idea what it would take for me to be doing something to where someone would say, "Well, of course Jess is doing that! That's perfect for her!" From where I'm standing (well, sitting) right now, I feel like my life is going to be composed of a zillion "in the meantime" jobs that I do for no more than a year or so before moving on to the next things to fill my time. I know my job doesn't determine who I am or anything like that, but I'd just like to know where I'm supposed to be. All of my friends have gone on to grad school, and being one who pushes myself in everything I do, I feel like I've sold myself short by not going. Have I? My parents think so, and every time I talk about my job or anything even remotely related to that I feel like my dad is giving me this look of sheer and utter disappointment, like I had such potential but am simply not living up to it. Is it too late to find that? Part of me feels like I can't go back, and another part of me feels like I wouldn't retrace my steps even if I could, just because it would take so much work and I feel like it'd be impossible to create a goal or an ambition for myself at this point. I know it sounds like I think I'm way too old to do this, but I feel so adrift I don't know where I'm going. I feel lost. Adrift. That's the best word I can ue for it. Adrift, tossed to and fro on the waves.

Incredible

Ever since Scott was hit by the lightning the other night (you've all probably heard about that, I think) I've been just thinking so much and wondering what the message is that we're supposed to get from this. The miracle is that he's doing fine - he went to work yesterday and again today - and besides feeling sore and tired, he's perfectly okay. His heart was okay when they did the tests on him, his breathing is fine, his burn on his arm is gone..... He has a little spot on his shoulder where the hair was burned off. It's just so amazing, you know? It wasn't a direct hit - it hit the doorframe he was leaning on - bit it's amazing, nonetheless. That my husband came face to face with that kind of power....that kind of unbridled force straight from nature.... It really scared me. I'm still pretty shaken up, and every time I tell someone about it and see their reaction I realize all over again how serious that could have been. I look at him and just think how I could have lost him. Night before last (the night that it happened) I hardly slept at all, dreaming about it and waking up and constantly checking to make sure he was there and okay. It was like a weird, horrible dream.... We were praying together the night it happened, after we got home from the hospital (at like 2 in the morning) and we were both just crying and could hardly get any words out. Why did it happen? And why is he okay? We're eternally grateful, of course, but it doesn't make sense if you don't believe that God was watching over him. In any logical, practical, worldly way of thinking, it should have been so much worse. When we think about how God was holding him in His hand at that moment, it makes better sense. God took care of him, and God made sure he would be okay. It's just amazing. It really is. I wasn't there when it happened - on one hand, I'm grateful for that, because I don't know how well I would have handled seeing something like that. On the other hand, though, I wish I had been there with him. He wasn't alone - he was with a good friend - but still....there's a part of me that thinks I should be there with him whenever he's going through anything like that. Last night he fell asleep with his head in my lap, and even though my leg fell asleep and I wasn't comfortable, I didn't move because I didn't want to wake him and I just watched him sleep and cherished that sweet moment. I could have lost him, and that makes me treasure the time I get with him more. If that's what I was supposed to get from this - to never, ever take him for granted - then I have to hold on to this feeling. If anything had happened to him, I don't know what I would have done.

No Time Like the Present

I got this feeling the other day that if there are things I want to do in my life, I should do them now. It wasn't a feeling that my life is coming to an end or anything like that, but it was more of a feeling like "What are you waiting for? Your life is NOW!" It reminded me of the quote that says that your life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans. People at church are asking me to do different things, like the mission team and to start a big campaign to spread the word about the mentoring ministry we're undertaking, and there was this thought in my head that said, "Well, maybe not now, because I won't get to do this and that and the other thing if I commit my time to this." But then I thought, "Jess, that's never going to change. Things are probably never going to slow down enough that you feel like you can commit to one thing without infringing on something else, so if this is something you want to do, DO IT NOW." Does that make sense? God has given me this time, and only one life to live (please don't think I'm referencing the soap opera), so if there's something placed in front of me that I want to do, now is the time. It was a weird feeling, somehow, like I had had this big revelation, though now as I share it with you it doesn't seem so profound. Anyhow, it was big for me, being one who spends so much time thinking of what I'd like to do later and what I'll do once _______ happens.

Breaking Bread

As I look on Your table, I'm offended at what I see.
Sinners - the worst of the worst - the unholiest of all, rubbing shoulders with You - the very embodiment of righteousness. They laugh with You and share bread with You- question You and have their curiosities answered.
And still here am I, far away, outside, looking in on the merriment. I want to come in.
And suddenly, as I look at You, the only familiar face in the crowd, I see another that I know. The curves of her face and the tears in her eyes are so familiar as I see You pull up a chair for her at Your side.
You put Your arm - Your strong and now scarred hand - around her shoulders, and she sits.
I feel the relief and hear her sigh of contentment...and I recognize her face, at last, as my own. I, the worst of the worst, the unholiest of all, allowed to rub shoulders and even eat with You.

I wrote that Sunday during church. The sermon was on Jesus' revolutionary love for us, and how His radical love for those we see as being undeserving of His attention offends us and mixes up everything we know and believe. I wanted so badly to get it - I really wanted to understand the magnitude of what John (our pastor) was saying. As I was taking communion, it hit me. The people we see as being unworthy of His affection are no worse than I am, and but for the mercy of God I would be exactly where they are. God does not discriminate, and my sins are just as bad as theirs. The only difference is that I've been washed clean and I've let truth change me. At one point, someone could have been offended that Jesus would love someone like me. That's possible, and it's humbling to remember something like that as I accept the invitation to come to the table and break bread with Him. As soon as I got back to my seat I started writing furiously, trying to capture what He had let me see.

No More Smith Girls

Some pictures from my weekend.....

A really cool picture I took of the scene at the altar. Ashley decorated the church with lots of candles and red roses, and this is the cross behind our altar. A church member made it, and it's just about the most awesome cross I've ever seen. Not because of its beauty, but because of the amazing realness of it. Nothing elaborate or fancy, but with three nails to remind us what it's all about.



For some reason it's publishing the pictures in reverse order, so.....


Here's a picture my sister and me singing to "Chapel of Love" right after my toast. We used to sing that song (it's the "going to the chapel" song from the 60s) ALL the time when we were little, and I got the band to sing it as a dedication from mine and Ashley's past to hers and Mark's future. It was sweet.






The happy couple during the first dance.







Introducing, for the first time, Mr. and Mrs. Woodard! (That sounds so weird! My little sister is married! She may only be 15 months younger than me, but she's still my little sister.)








The grand finale......you'll be glad to know that this isn't at the wedding, but is from when we were setting up for the reception. I had a little run-in with the cocktail toothpicks. That's one stuck in my finger. I thought Nina and Becca would appreciate this, since you both have an uncanny knack for catching me at bizarre moments.

Prisoner's Chains

Things are going better. It's such an up and down thing, and I hate that when things start going somewhat well I have to feel tentative and wonder when it'll get bad again. I feel like that shows such weakness of faith. It's realistic, though, isn't it? I don't know, and I wish so badly that I could just stand firm enough that my resolve would keep it from happening again. I wish I could have that faith that moves mountains. I wish I could just believe that at the mere mention of the Lord's Name that the devil would flee from me, but that seems so unbelievable to me, especially when I'm under such brutal attack. I can read about that very thing happening in Scripture, and I see that when Paul and Silas praised Him and called on His Name they were freed from their bondage and their chains fell to the ground, but I don't see that in my own life. Whose fault is that? Certainly the fault lies with me. He is so faithful and I am so lacking....yet He promises when I trust in Him He will be there, same as ever. How I wish I could have that faith.

God is good.....ALL the time.

God is so good to me. I feel like I have this violence going on inside me and I feel so far from where God wants me to be, yet He sees my pain and feels it with me and knows what I need to pull out of it. I don't understand it completely, and I think part of the wonder of it is that I'll never understand it. How does Satan know me so well? How can he have such a destructive plan for me? And is there anything scarier than knowing that the master of evil and the father of lies has a plan for my life? I'm always amazed when something just "happens" and it's exactly what I need, and I'm always amazed, too, when the devil gets in there and steers me away from the very things I need so badly. Even when I'm being led away from Him, though, God can reach me. I feel so confused so much of the time, not knowing what to believe and what to ignore, and it's so hard sometimes to know what to think. When I just look, though, the answer is obvious - like the difference between night and day. I read this morning in Matthew 6 that our eyes are lamps for our souls, and that if they are pure they will let sunshine into our hearts. That hit me hard, and even more so was what it said after that - that if our eyes are evil, focused on the bad things, they'll plunge us into darkness until we think the darkness we're in IS light, and convinces us that where we are is as good as it gets. That is hopelessness. That is depression. That is misery, and that is exactly where he wants me to be. Thank God that He has a plan for me that has nothing to do with darkness.....except in the darkness of night, when He again reminds me of His majesty in the stars and the moon and the chirping of the crickets..... How can He be so real to me in moments like this and so elusive in my most desperate moments? It reminds me of the poem about the footprints in the sand. I guess we just have to know where to look. I thank God that I can look at my friends and be pointed right back to Him.

Finally Getting Real

I'm back!
I had a wedding shower for my little sister and her finace last Saturday. Last week I was a WRECK trying to plan that, because I had never done anything like that before and no one would RSVP so I could have had anywhere from 4 to 24 people coming. Nice. So I bought like 50 pounds of food - all sorts of fancy cheeses and crackers and random stuff that I knew my somewhat picky of an eater of a sister would eat. Tons of food for like 8 people. Oh, well. They had fun. That's what's important. And now we have leftovers!
So.....okay. I'm going to be real now. I've kinda struggled some with this blog thing, as you may or may not know, and never really know what to write because I'm always thinking that if I complain about something I sound whiny and if I just ramble on about what I have going on someone will pass out from boredom and hurt themselves as they fall to the floor.
That being said, I need to be real now, and need to write/talk about something I'm dealing with. Which might be, after all, what this whole thing is about, after all.
Yesterday morning, something happened to me that seems to be happening more and more often lately. I got up to get ready for church, as usual. Showered, did my makeup, tamed the hair, got dressed..... Then I looked in the mirror, had bad thoughts, and had a breakdown. I started to cry, curled up into a fetal position, and was essentially paralyzed with anxiety. I know that sounds weird. Scott prayed over me and read scripture, and I was still crying. We were already late for church and I made him leave me there while he went ahead. (He didn't want to leave me, but since he's the sound guy, I made him go, seeing as how without him the service would be.....very quiet.) I just couldn't do it. I just really couldn't do it. The thoughts going through my head were upsetting and disturbing and would not let me go. I kept thinking how everyone would be looking at me and be laughing at me and judging me. I hated the way I looked, hated the clothes I had on, and hated the very thought of going and faking being happy and comfortable in front of all of those people. I couldn't do it. I cried myself back to sleep, woke up when a couple of my friends from church were calling me to check on me, and went back to sleep until 10:19. (Our worship service starts at 10:30.) When I woke up, it was like God Himself had shaken me and was telling me to get myself to church because I needed to be there. Miraculously, I got myself up and went. I was late, mind you, but I made it there.
The fact that I recovered yesterday and was able to go somewhere was, for me, a small triumph - and one that has never happened before. Usually I just cry and cry. I don't know if this is agoraphobia or just general social anxiety or what, but it's scary. I have some other anxiety issues that keep coming up, too, in different situations....I'll get to those later sometime, lest anyone think I'm too crazy today.
I don't know why I felt compelled to write all of that, besides the fact that I think the whole point of this stuff is to write about whatever is on my mind. That is and has been on my mind, and it's kinda liberating to tell someone else. Am I crazy?

Two Wolves

One evening an old Cherokee man told his grandson about a battle that goes on inside everyone.

He said, "My son, the battle is between two "wolves" inside us all.
One is evil. It is anger, envy, jealousy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego.
The other is good. It is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion, and faith."

The grandson thought about it for a moment and then asked his grandfather, "Which wolf wins?"

The old Cherokee simply replied, "The one you feed."