Discerning

My mind is – and has always been – my worst enemy. Ever since I knew that thoughts can be “good” or “bad,” it has been really hard for me to tell which thoughts were true and which ones I should ignore. When I have something on my mind, it has never been easy for me to quiet my thoughts and tune in to only the logical, realistic things that come into my mind. Everything usually blends together in my mind and creates a mishmash of confusing ideas, sending me spiraling into panic and fear. Recently, though, that has started to change. I’ve recently learned a new trick to help myself with that, and because it has helped me so much, I’m sharing it with you.

It’s a pretty literal method for discerning whether or not a thought is good and true and lovely, or is vile and evil and should be discarded.

Scripture talks a lot about the power of words. In the book of Proverbs, it says that “words kill, words give life; they're either poison or fruit—you choose.” (Proverbs 18:21 MSG) The trick, for us, is being able to tell whether the words in our minds are poisonous or sweet. Once we can tell that, it is much easier to know what to do with them.

James 3:11-12 says this:

Can both fresh water and salt water flow from the same spring? My brothers, can a fig tree bear olives, or a grapevine bear figs? Neither can a salt spring produce fresh water.

John 8:44 says of the devil, “When he lies, he speaks his native language, for he is a liar and the father of lies.”

These verses were floating around in my mind one day when I realized, out of the blue, that there is a practical way to tell which thoughts are of God and which ones are not. The trick, for me, has been to identify the tone of the thought – or how it would sound if spoken, rather than simply thought.

I’ll use a thought that frequently comes to my mind: “You are not good enough.” Now….knowing that God is loving and merciful and kind, I can only imagine that He would speak to me – if His voice were audible – with a loving, merciful, and kind tone of voice. Can you imagine such a voice saying those words? “You are not good enough.” Those are not loving words, and they clearly cannot be spoken in a loving way. The fresh spring of the Lord cannot speak such salty, bitter words.

Imagine, though, that the words were spoken with an evil voice – one of horror movies and nightmares. “You are not enough.” Bitter words spoken in a bitter voice. Bitter feelings arise, and the thought must be banished.

This is a hard topic to write about, because clearly I cannot write in the voices I am referring to. Hopefully, though, this basic idea is of some help to you if you, too, struggle with thoughts that run amok. Let me know if you have questions or comments or would like to talk about this more. I have a new trick to this, but I am in no way, shape, or form an expert. I would welcome your insights, too.

A Song of Love

Leah, on one of her last nights in her crib…..though we didn’t know it at the time.

Since Leah was a tiny baby, I’ve sung to her at bedtime. I have a little bedtime music repertoire made up of songs to remind her how much she is loved by me and, of course, by Jesus. I run through the songs every night. Some nights I sing quickly, because she is in no mood for songs and just needs to get to bed. Some nights I sing slowly and repetitively, cherishing that she is willing to let me cuddle with her in the quiet moments before sleep. Every night, though, I sing.

It’s not always a pretty sound. I’ve sung in choirs and have performed for years, but I don’t do well by myself. My vocal prowess is better demonstrated in a large group, where my flaws are hidden and I can mesh with those more talented. The beautiful thing about singing to Leah, though, is that she doesn’t critique what she hears. She doesn’t compare me to someone she heard on the radio or the way she thinks it ought to sound. She hears her mama singing songs of love to her, and she finds them beautiful.

How do I know? She snuggles in, listening to my voice reverberate in my chest and, periodically, gazes up at me with an incredulous stare, giving me the look one only gives when beholding something beautiful. She hears me and finds it lovely. She sees me and finds me beautiful.

Her enjoyment of my songs gives me the courage to keep singing. Knowing that she is enjoying those moments as much as I am, I am content to sing as long as she will listen. I’ve even been known to get up in the middle of the night and sing her back to sleep. (I have to make sure to turn the monitor by Scott’s head off. He loves me infinitely, I know, but somehow I don’t think he would appreciate my midnight serenades as much as Leah does.) I embrace her and her blanket and, by the glow of the hall night light, I ease her back to a place where she can sleep.

There have been nights when sleep eluded her for hours. Those nights are usually when she is teething or otherwise not feeling well, and knowing her discomfort I am even more willing than normal to sit up with her. I sing……pause for a few quiet minutes…..hum…..pause……sing another song….. They are very sweet moments and ones that I know I will remember for the rest of my life.

During one of those middle of the night serenades, I realized the parallel between Leah’s enjoyment of my singing to her and how God truly must feel when we sing (or talk, for that matter) to Him out of our love for Him. It’s a beautiful thought. He doesn’t critique the noise we make. He doesn’t compare our song to someone else’s vocal offerings. He hears the voice of one who loves Him, and finds it beautiful. That alone makes me want to sing.

Roadside Jesus

It happens nearly every time I leave the house, regardless of how far I’m going or how long I am gone. The circumstances are almost always different, but the emotions I feel are the same every time.

I see someone on the side of the road. He is pushing his dead motorcycle. She is walking in the hot sun. He is humbly holding a cardboard sign asking for help. He is standing, thumb out, waiting for his ride. I see them, and I drive on by. I inevitably feel a tug on my heart, telling me to stop…to help…to give him a ride or offer to do something. Anything. I feel the tug and I ignore it, rationalizing all the reasons why it’s okay for me to not help.

It’s not safe. I don’t know him. I have my daughter in the car, and I can’t potentially endanger her. Their intentions might not be pure. I can justify doing something risky when it’s just me, but not her, too…..

Honestly, these are the thoughts that go through my mind. I don’t usually think of the obvious issue of giving money away when I’m living on a tight budget. I don’t usually worry about whether any money I give will go to good use. I don’t think about my time constraints or how I’m running low on gas or how my car is a mess. My mind goes to concerns of safety, both for me and for my daughter. Practical concerns, yes…..but are they right?

Jesus told us to help everyone. Jesus told us to love and help and do everything we can – even beyond what we think we can do.

[Jesus said,] “Then the King will say to those on his right, ‘Come, you who are blessed by my Father, inherit the Kingdom prepared for you from the creation of the world. For I was hungry, and you fed me. I was thirsty, and you gave me a drink. I was a stranger, and you invited me into your home. I was naked, and you gave me clothing. I was sick, and you cared for me. I was in prison, and you visited me.’ Then these righteous ones will reply, ‘Lord, when did we ever see you hungry and feed you? Or thirsty and give you something to drink? Or a stranger and show you hospitality? Or naked and give you clothing? When did we ever see you sick or in prison and visit you?’ And the King will say, ‘I tell you the truth, when you did it to one of the least of these my brothers and sisters, you were doing it to me! (Matthew 25:34-40)

Those are His commands to us….and still I drive on by. Don’t think for a second that it has never occurred to me that the man or the woman on the side of the road might be Jesus Himself. I consider that possibility every time. I consider that if it were Jesus and I stopped to help, I would be blessed for my obedience. I even consider that if it isn’t Jesus and I am obedient in trying to help, I will be protected from any evil intentions the person may have.

All of those things cross my mind and swiftly exit. I am not proud of that.

I tell myself that Jesus was speaking and preaching in a completely different time. I tell myself that the people He was speaking to never had to consider such malicious things as carjackings and kidnappings and murders, though in my heart I know that there were dangers of that time that we – in 2010 – know nothing of. I am torn between feeling justified in my inaction and feeling horribly convicted for my disobedience. Unsure what else to do, I mutter a quick prayer - “Lord, please watch over him/her. Bring him/her whatever she needs. Protect him/her. Get him/her where he/she is going safely.” I drive by, my fish decal and church sticker trailing behind me as Jesus stands on the side of the road.

Behind Closed Hearts and Doors

I’ve recently been fascinated by different documentary-type shows about hoarding. It is interesting to me to see the way the people are living and to see how their illness has affected the people around them. I usually watch with sadness as I see someone hurting and struggling and desperate for change, but completely unequipped to bring that change about themselves.

Most interesting to me, though, are their stories of how the hoarding began. The death of a loved one, perhaps, or a long-held dream that collapsed that their feet. It is interesting what leads them down the path they’re on.

I find it amazing, too, that from the outside, so many of the houses look normal. From the street, no one would know what is going on inside. No one would be able to tell that there is clutter and trash and indescribable pain behind the front door. From the outside, they look like every other house on the street.

Sometimes even the people closest to the hoarders have no idea what is going on. On a recent episode, a successful and attractive middle-aged man was seeking help for his problem, and his long-time girlfriend had never even been to his house. She had no idea how he lived and what he struggled with; when she went inside for the first time, she was shocked to find that she had to walk on mountains of clutter. Astounded, she kept saying, “How…? I had no idea…. How….?!”

That episode in particular made me really think about how we all live. Yes, the man featured in that episode had a problem with physical clutter and its affects on his life, but how many of us live in similar ways? How many of us have secret issues, struggles, and pain that we don’t let anyone see? I’ve been there. At times, I’ve been so depressed I could hardly breathe and so scared to leave my house that I simply didn’t for days on end. I’ve felt the loneliness and isolation of struggling with something alone. I know how it is.

I also know how it is to find out that someone in my life has been struggling, but that I had no idea. I know how it feels to get the phone call of news out of the blue. I know how it feels to be blindsided by something terrible going on in someone’s life, and to wonder, pointlessly, if there were signs I had missed or something I could have done. I know how that is, too.

We all have a tendency to be closed books when we think there is something inside that no one will understand…and to allow others to remain closed when their defensive fronts go up. The hoarders have reminded me, though, that if allowed to remain hidden in the dark, bad things become worse, and that we never know what is going on behind closed doors and hearts…but it can only benefit the people in our lives if we dig deeper. We can never know what is really going on if we never ask, and we can never find healing if we never open up.

“Mommy and Me” Monday

It’s been quite awhile since I participated in “Mommy and Me” Monday, just because of sickness and surgery and recovery and all that entails. Yucky.

Things are settling back in to normal now, though, and last night Leah and I spent some sweet time coloring together. It’s these moments that melt my heart and that I know I’m going to miss one day.

Visit the home of “Mommy and Me” Monday to find more sweet pictures!

“Good Morning, Lord,” by Sheila Walsh

I recently received a copy of Good Morning, Lord: I Don’t Know Where You’re Going Today, But I’m Going With You, a devotional book by Sheila Walsh, from the publishers. I love devotional books, as a rule, and this one has been no exception. I haven’t finished it yet, since it has more than one hundred days of devotions, but in the two weeks I’ve been using it, it has claimed a permanent spot on my bedside table.

This book is great. It begins each day with a thought for the day, such as, “Today I will practice keeping my mind stayed on you.” It continues on with a short (two or three paragraphs, usually) reading on the day’s topic, and gives me a chance to reflect with a couple of questions (with space to write my answers), prayers, and scripture. I love that there is space to write my answers, because the book doubles as a kind of prayer journal, and there is plenty of room in the margins to scribble my notes, too. I really like that.

The book has been really good for me. Quiet time is a struggle for me, and always has been, and the devotions in this book are short enough that they aren’t daunting or intimidating but are also deep enough that they give me some “meat” to chew on throughout the day. If this is something you could benefit from, I highly recommend this book to you.

I received a copy of this book free from the publishers in exchange for doing a review. Besides receiving a copy of the book, I was not compensated for my review. The opinions in this review are entirely my own.

Dilapidated

I was recently driving one of the back roads near my house when, as I came around a curve, an old house sprung up from behind some trees. It sat in a newly cleared field and, clearly, had been there much longer than anyone had been aware. It was beautiful, and I went back with my camera to capture it before I lost my chance.

There was something so beautiful and haunting about that house, and as I walked all around it I was struck by thoughts of the stories that those walls had witnessed….the lives that roof had sheltered….and the storms that had battered it into its present condition. I took as many pictures as I could, simply because I felt like I was looking at something special that I might never see again. It gripped me, and has ever since.

(The house is still there, and if any of my photographer friends want to go, I'll tell you where it is! I highly recommend it.)

Thankful Hearts

I’m doing some thinking today on the idea of gratitude. I had my follow-up appointment with my surgeon today, and as he walked into the room and asked how I’ve been doing, the gratitude to him – for seeing a need and being willing, at last, to do what needed to be done – flowed freely. I almost jumped up and gave him a hug. I’ve been feeling so much better, and actually didn’t realize how bad I felt before until I didn’t feel that way any more. I told my doctor so, and told him that he’s my hero. I love him for what he did and for the difference it has made in my life. It was important to me that he know how thankful I am for him and what he did.

As I drove away from the office, though, something in my heart was uneasy. I couldn’t put my finger on it until I realized, with sadness, that the gratitude I felt for my newfound health outweighed the gratitude I feel on a daily basis for my life. Someone did something infinitely greater for me, though I did not deserve it, and I regularly act as though it is no big deal.

When we were unable to help ourselves, at the right time, Christ died for us, although we were living against God. Very few people will die to save the life of someone else. Although perhaps for a good person someone might possibly die. But God shows his great love for us in this way: Christ died for us while we were still sinners. (Romans 5:6-8)

He did that for me, and I – like a spoiled child – take it for granted. Yes, I know I have been saved from certain death. Yes, I realize with clarity that my life is vastly different today than it ever would have been without the saving grace of God. Yes, I love my life and cringe to think of the path I was walking before. But do I live like I’m really thankful? Do I give Him my thanks every day, from a heart overflowing with gratitude, or are my thanks shallow and obligatory? “God, thank you for what you’ve done.” “Lord, thank you for saving me from myself.” Yawn. Amen. Move on. What’s next?

It makes me sad to realize how different my thanks are for temporal, earthly things than they are for something with such a profound eternal implication. There was a time a few years ago when my gratitude was boundless; today, though, that has faded. Just as my gratitude for my health (and my appreciation for the doctor who made it possible) will one day fade, my thankfulness for what Jesus did has, sadly, dimmed with time.

It probably sounds like I’m beating myself up for this, and in a way, I am. I feel like Paul must have in the New Testament when he cried out about his struggle with the flesh. I think this condition of ungratefulness is universal, and is one that we – if we recognize it – must fight against.

“Gratitude is a burden upon our imperfect nature, and we are but too willing to ease ourselves of it, or at least to lighten it as much as we can.” (Philip Dormer Stanhope, 4th Earl Chesterfield (1694–1773), British statesman)

We are too willing to say “thank you” for something and, with time, to forget the impact it had on our lives. I am too willing to pray a prayer of thanks for the life that God has given me without ever really feeling the power of the words I’m saying. I don’t like that about myself. I am challenging myself to a life of boundless gratitude….to people who make an impact on my life, and to the One who makes it all possible in the first place.

A New Door

I’ve heard it said that every time a door is closed, another is opened. In other words, when one experience or opportunity ends, another begins. I was reminded of that in a beautiful way today.

This past weekend we upgraded our sweet girl to a big girl bed. We didn’t make the decision; rather, she did, with her obvious distaste for her crib after sleeping in a bed so often while I was recovering from my surgery. We finally figured out what she was trying to tell us with her sudden bedtime temper tantrums and brought out the twin mattresses as a temporary solution. My husband disassembled her crib while I was at church meetings yesterday afternoon. I’m really glad I wasn’t here for that.

I remember all too well when we put it up. I was hugely pregnant, sitting in her glider chair in her still-empty room, still only anticipating who this little person would be. I watched him put it together, nervous and giddy with excitement. And now….there is only an accumulation of toys where the bed once was, and a big girl sleeping a few feet from where the tiny baby once slept.

I won’t lie. I cried last night when I put her to bed. We were sitting in that same glider chair, saying her prayers and singing our bedtime songs when she asked for “nigh-night.” I carried her to her bed, where she waved, said, “bye-bye, Mama,” and went to sleep. All by herself. I came downstairs and cried on Scott’s shoulder. I was overwhelmed with pride for my little girl….but my heart ached for the baby who is obviously not here anymore.

Today, though, another door opened in place of the one that just closed. She had a hard time getting to sleep for her nap today, so I went upstairs to see if I could help her relax. I laid down with her and sang her a little song, rocking back and forth gently…and there, with her head on my shoulder and her hand in mine, she fell asleep. I don’t think I have to tell you that we couldn’t do that when she was sleeping in a crib. It was something new and sweet that I can do now, that I couldn’t do before.

So, yes….I miss the days when I had a little, helpless baby, but something in me is excited for the new things that are to come.

A Letter at 21 months

Dear Leah,

You’re 21 months old, sweet girl! You’re such a big girl! I’ve been telling you a that a lot lately, and honestly, I’m not sure that you are happy about that these days. It seems like you’re very torn right now between wanting to be grown up and independent and desperately wanting to still be a baby. That sounds strange, probably, since you’ve been expressing your independence in such overt ways. You’ve been reverting back to some of the things you used to do, though, and at times, are like a bigger version of the baby you used to be.

You’re wanting to be cuddled at bedtime more, for instance, and seem to want your pacifier more and more. We were so, so close to having you completely weaned from the paci, only giving it to you at bedtime, and now – all of a sudden – you’re asking for it during the day. It kind of confuses me, because I know this is a hard, tumultuous time for you and I want you to have the comfort you need…but I don’t want to coddle and spoil you. We’ll figure it out, though!

You’ve grown up so much lately, and it’s exciting and hard for me to see that. You are definitely not a baby anymore, even if you are seeking some of the comforts of infancy. Everything you do looks like a little girl – an older child – rather than a tiny baby, and while I’m struggling a little with this new territory, I’m so excited about the days to come. With Halloween and the holidays coming up soon, I know you’re going to be more aware of everything than you were last year and will be able to enjoy it all so much more. I’m going to be able to play in new and different ways with you, and that thrills me to no end.

You’ve had a hard month this month, though, as you’ve kind of had to ride the roller coaster of my recovery from surgery. You spent so much time with other people than Mommy and Daddy, and I know that was stressful for you. I’m excited about being able to be a better mommy to you now, though, since I’m feeling so much better than I have been for months. I’m afraid I kind of sold you short for a long time, simply because I didn’t have the energy to play with you and interact with you the way I wanted to. I can already tell a difference in how I feel, so I know that’s going to change. I’m so glad….for you and for me.

Even though things have been challenging lately, you’re still a bright, bright spot in my days. Y0u make me smile and laugh and learn so much, and I never cease to be grateful that God placed you in our lives. Things are complete with you here. You make all the difference. We just want to be what you need, and to show you Jesus in everything we do with you. If we can do that, we’ve done our job and we can know that you’ll be just fine.

Start thinking about what kind of cake you want for your birthday, okay? I have some ideas, but I’m no professional baker (as you’ll soon learn)…so if you can come up with something easier than the ideas I already have, I’d be much obliged.

I love you so, so much, honey. Happy 21 months.

Love,

Mommy

Dangerous Territory

It’s hard for me to believe that my little girl is approaching the treacherous waters of her third year. We’re still a few months away from her second birthday, but it seems that someone has filled her in on the change that comes with that celebration….the tantrums, the opinions, the desperate need to be in control of her little world. After my surgery, it seems like a different child was returned to me. Part of it, I’m sure, was that she was mad. She had a very stressful week as I recovered, bouncing from caregiver to caregiver and wondering where her mama was. She was in good hands, to be sure, but it wasn’t her normal routine, and I think she has been a little resentful since coming back to me.

On top of that, though, I really think she is entering her “terrible two’s.” Her temper is a lot quicker than it has been, and it doesn’t take much at all to bring on one of her fits. I feel like I’m walking on egg shells during the day, never really knowing what is going to set her off. Just getting her dressed is a feat, and getting out the door….well, let’s just say that I’m not going to be getting anywhere on time for awhile. She knows what she wants and what she doesn’t want, and she has no hesitation about making sure I know which is which.

I’ve already tried out some different approaches to her tantrums, and I’m hopeful that one of them will stick. It’s hard to find the balance between being too lenient and being too authoritarian. I want her to know that her feelings are valid and that it matters to me how she feels…but I don’t want to teach her that she can control us with a tantrum or that it’s okay to disrupt everything because she isn’t happy.

It’s a lofty goal, but it’s one I’m insistent on. I know what those tantrums feel like. I remember them from my own childhood and I am all too familiar with their adult counterpart – panic attacks. I know how scary it is to feel out of control of your circumstances and, worse, of yourself. I know it’s terrifying, and I want her to learn at an early age that the fits and tantrums and outbursts don’t accomplish anything. My prayer is that if we demonstrate their futility, maybe she will – out of necessity – learn a better, more godly way to handle the frustrations of life.

I don’t want her to feel like she is powerless, but I believe that even when she is acting out, she desperately wants us to lay down boundaries for her. I believe that she needs us to set restrictions on her behavior because without them, the world is a big, scary, out-of-control place. I believe that she needs us to teach her how to handle and react to life, and that if her daddy and I don’t do that, she’ll learn what the world would have her do….and if I allow that, I’m selling her short as her mama. I don’t know how to do this…and I’m sure I’ll learn new things as I try to figure it out…but I know that when something is laid on my heart, I should listen.

What “Intentional” Looks Like

I was reading a magazine the other day when I reached a page that literally caught my breath in my throat and made me stop. From a publisher’s standpoint, it was probably the most insignificant page in the magazine; it probably caused the company a good bit of money, though, to include it. It had the fewest words of any in the issue, and there were no pictures or colors to make it stand out. Instead, its simplicity screamed for attention and, I dare say, made more of an impact on me than did any of the articles or stories.

A simple page, with only the words“This Panel Intentionally Left Blank” staring back at me….but it has stuck with me for days now.

This panel intentionally left blank.

Even more curiously, it was thicker paper than the rest of the magazine, so it was no doubt more expensive, and the reverse side had the same message:

I have a few guesses as to why that page might have been included in that way, but really, that’s not the point here. The point, to me, is that the page was left blank – where it could have been filled with clutter and pictures and ads and words and any of a number of things, it was blank. For all intents and purposes, the page appeared to be a waste.

Clearly, though, there was a reason for it. Publishing companies would not include a page like that (much less two pages like that) for no reason. To us, the readers, this is strange and unusual and a little confusing. We live in a world that crams as much as we can in the smallest spaces possible, and such an obvious misuse of space is mystifying to us.

There had to be a reason for it, though, even if those outside don’t know what it is.

To me, that speaks volumes about the way I strive to live. I want my entire life to be intentional – nothing wasted, nothing squandered, nothing taken for granted. This applies to many areas, of course, but is probably most evident in my time. I never want to drift through my days, allowing time to slip away with nothing to show for it. I never want to assume that certain things - like time with God and my family – will “just happen” if I don’t plan for them.

Living that way requires discipline and, yes, planning. As my pastor has been teaching us recently, it requires boundaries and a heart that is willing to say “no.” In a world where everyone is trying to do more, have more, be more – trying to cram all that we can into the 24 hours we’ve been given – an intentional life demands explanation.

An intentional life, though, is a life worth living.

That “intentionally blank” page in that magazine issued a serious challenge, whether or not the publishers know it or intended it to be that way. It challenged me to intentionally leave some of my time blank – reclaiming my Saturdays, for example – to use for the things that are really important to me. Most importantly, though, the intentional “misuse” of that page challenged me to live my life in a way that makes people wonder what I’m doing. I want my life to demand explanation. Can I challenge you to the same?

Time to Think

I’m currently on Day 13.

I’ve had nearly two full weeks of trying to take it easy (ha) and eating an extremely boring diet, recovering from a tonsillectomy last month. It had to be done to stop the chronic strep throat that wouldn’t leave; Scott was told while I was in recovery that once my tonsils were out, it was clear that the whole thing was more necessary than we knew. (I'm sparing you some pretty gross details.) I’m glad it’s done, for sure, and am looking forward to feeling really good again…though for someone like me (analytical, introspective, prone to depressive episodes) the time with nothing to do but heal hasn’t been very good. I’m up and about now, but those days of rest…..whew.

There was much too much time for me to think, and that isn’t always a good thing.

For a few days I was fine, drifting in and out of medicated naps and watching movie after movie. Leah was with her grandparents, and I was able to rest well knowing she was in good hands and that Scott and I had nothing to worry about but my recovery. After a few days, though, it got hard. I missed my daughter. I missed my friends. I missed sunshine and fresh air and anything that was beyond my range of vision when I sat on the couch. Once Scott went back to work last week, it got worse. I began to feel like a burden, as arrangements for Leah’s care became more elaborate and I began to feel like we were cashing in favors that hadn’t been earned yet. It was hard. I had a hard couple of days. Life had ground to a halt, but my mind had not. The thoughts whirled and twisted and dashed around in my head, torturing me more with every waking moment.

And then, in response to a pitiful Facebook status, it came. A comment that made me cry…partly in spite of the wisdom in its words and partly because of it.

Patience is the "word for the day". You will be 100% soon. I think God wants you to "be still." You think? Hang in there.

When I read that, I knew my friend was right. In all of my lounging and thinking and analyzing of the situation, I hadn’t really been present in the moment. I spent those days wishing they were gone, and when the time frame for my recovery stretched from what I had hoped for into what I had feared, I dove into depression. Pitiful? Yes. True? Yes, yes.

So I took my pitiful self outside. I got some fresh air and a little sunshine and began to see things in a slightly different light.

I prayed and I cried and I listened to music louder than I should. I scribbled in my journal as best I could, since I it’s hard to see through tear-speckled glasses. I reflected on silence and community and healing and let the sun warm my toes. It was good for me.

When I came back inside, I had learned a couple of things…things I couldn’t have learned in any other way but through pain and anguish.

I learned that silence is not my enemy.

I learned that when people offer to help me, it is probably more a blessing to them than it is to me, and refusing them that privilege is selfish.

I (re)learned that God is big enough to handle my anger and my sadness and my frustration, and that pouring out my heart to Him is healing for me and just what He longs for.

I learned other, more private, things about myself, that I’ll tuck in my heart and save for later.

No, I don’t think I handled my recovery very gracefully. There are so many people dealing with illnesses and struggles so much more severe than mine, and they handle it better than I did my own time of rest. I am not proud of that.

I know myself, though, and I know that the time was necessary for me to learn a few things, and that in the middle of it all, God was working. He always is…even when it looks like things around me have ground to a halt.