Re-Publish - The Advent Writings, Day 1: Introit

Note: Although I'm starting a bit late, I'm re-publishing The Advent Writings, since I only made it through 14 or 15 days last year. So I'll post the ones that are already written, tweaking them a bit for 2012, and hopefully finish the rest this year! 

Introit - enter, go in or into; invade

(Source: William Whittaker's Words)

Advent - preparing, getting ready, anticipation, expectation...

(Source: Cal's Questionable Randomness)

Last Sunday was the first Sunday of Advent. Now, for those from traditions where the Church Year isn't followed or celebrated, you might not know what that is. Feel free to Google that baby, and come right back.

(insert theme from "Jeopardy")

(repeat theme from "Jeopardy")

(insert sound of crickets)

(add sound of foot tapping)

(and a heavy sigh or two)

Alright, welcome back. Although I must ask, did you really HAVE to check your Facebook and Twitter on the way back? Really? Ok...

The thing I love about Advent, and the thing that made me miss it when we were at a church that didn't celebrate it, is that sense of preparation - taking time in the days leading up to Christmas to prepare for the celebration, to mindfully approach the reason we celebrate, rather than having the holidays rush up and flatten us like a steamroller.

Last year, I was steamrollered.

Now, this was a gestalt thing. Huh? You don't know "gestalt?" Well, go Googl... no. I barely got you back last time. I'll handle this...

Gestalt = "the whole is greater than the sum of the parts"

That'll be enough to carry on with - feel free to explore further. Gestalt is one of those things that help me understand how my world works (or doesn't work sometimes). Anyway, last year I was in my first year post-surgery, still in the middle of the mental chaos and not really recognizing myself yet. Still not working, still learning all the things that go with my new life, still wondering what hit me, what was still kicking my butt, and where it would all lead.

Now, top that with a large dose of holiday madness, seasonal overcommitment, and much, much shorter days for someone who has SAD (look it up - on your own time), and you've got a happy season but not a happy camper. Any part of this is bearable - put it all together, and gestalt makes it a stone around your neck. The relief came in the form of a white-knuckle drive to Missouri, a truly amazing Christmas spent with dear family, and taking January off to think, to write, and to let the dust settle.

So I'm a little anxious about Advent this year. And am determined to NOT have a replay of the previous year. (Except for the Missouri thing. I SO wish we could go back, but that's not the plan this year. It'll be nice to have Christmas at home, in our church with our friends and family, but Missouri was AMAZING!) So here begins the writings of Advent. I'm going to try and write each day of Advent, starting now, and use my blog to keep myself grounded. I want to get to Christmas day with a joyful, thankful heart, overwhelmed with the reality of God's son, not only as the babe in the manger, but the living, loving Lord of my life today and every day.

I have two, possibly three extra things on my calendar for this month, and that's it. (Hopefully, anyway - if someone named DeVos or VanAndel happened to call and say "we need some whistle background for a gala event," yeah, I'd take that call... Come to think of it, if someone named [insert any name here, including yours] happened to call and say "we're having a Sunday School / Small Group / Senior Saints / Church Banquet / YouGetTheIdea gathering and want some background music," yeah, I'd take that call. I love to play, especially Christmas music, and I only have one gig on the books to play at this year. I might take my windsynth along to Christmas dinner this year, just to get to play my faves... we'll see. :-D)

Other than that, I'm keeping things out of the schedule. Work projects, they continue. Voice work for WCSG, check. Editing work, yes. But extra parties, activities, etc? Not so much. A few mindful things with friends, time to watch some of my favorite Christmas movies (The Polar Express! A Christmas Carol - the Patrick Stewart version, which rocks the world!), but most importantly, time to listen, to think, to read and to write. In this way, I hope to prepare, to heal, to get ready, and to mindfully celebrate the joy of our Savior's birth.

The Advent Writings will give me a place to express wonder and joy, a place to shed some sadness from the past, to ask some questions of the present, and to look to the future, when our Christmas joy is made real and our faith is made sight. Thanks to all 1.394217 of you (we've lost a few since I last counted, but hey - it's the holidays) for joining me for this ride. Hopefully God will use these random babblings to get our eyes on Advent, on Jesus, and on being ready for the coming of the King - then AND now and to come.

"Oh come to my heart, Lord Jesus - there is room in my heart for Thee."

Without A Net

I hate it when I have to jump without a net. it doesn't seem right that a Father who loves me, who takes good care of me, and who promises never to leave me, would ask me to take a flying leap without being able to see where I will land.

I mean, come on? Just jump on out there? I know - I know, You said jump. You told me that where I'm standing is dangerous ground for me, that it's doing me more harm than good. The longer I stand on this ground, the heavier my feet get, the more my legs lock up, and the harder it is to move, let alone jump.

But there's nothing in front of me.

Yeah, yeah... Just jump. You'll catch me.

I CAN'T SEE YOU!

Sorry to shout, but there it is. There's nothing in front of me but nothing. Meanwhile, I've got bills to pay, obligations to meet, deadlines that I've left so long that it embarrasses me to even look at them. I have clutter and crap, stuff that's choking my existence down to nothing, a prison of my own making that i'm powerless to break down - I can't see past these foot-thick walls, how am I expected to jump past them? Jump... into...

WHAT? There's nothing there.

My story? I'm ashamed to admit this, but I've been behind these walls for so long now, months and months, that I don't really believe my story anymore. Oh, I know it happened - I mean, look at me? My size shows that it happened. BUT, if it really happened, why have 15 pounds returned (and climbing)? Where's the joy, the hope, the love? Maybe it was just that - a story. Nice to read, makes a tear come to the eye and a pitter-patter come to the heart, but that's it. A brief escape, then back to the mundane.

I do remember "My chains are gone, I've been set free." Yes, I do. But chains can be reforged. Hooks can be refastened. Locks work in two directions - open and closed. Maybe the chains were shattered, but lately they feel more like they just got some slack, eased the tension, tricked my mind, and when my guard is down and I'm running away, full-tilt into the sunshine, SNAP! JERK! CHOKE! I'm on my back, gasping for air.

I see. Yes - You're right. Where I'm standing is very dangerous ground. Fine - SHOW ME where the next step will land. One step - the ledge where my foot will catch, the one rung left on the ladder, anything. We've pared back the numbers, we're working the budget. We're not doing it perfectly, but we're getting close. But if I can't see a way to replace this ground in the numbers, I CAN'T MOVE. Can't You see that?

"Give us this day, what we need for this day."

I know - I DO believe that.

But...

I mean, I can't argue with the numbers. I don't even understand numbers. All I know is that it's all based on what we've got. If we don't got, it don't work. It go boom, crash, flop, splat. My job is to make sure it don't go splat. So I stand on this spot. That keeps it from going splat. Those numbers - $125/wk or 20 hrs @ minimum wage - those are my reality.

No, I didn't always believe that those were reality. You were real, my story was real, joy was real, the limitless possibilities of being ReBorn - they were real.

But...

I need to work, right? To make things function in THIS world, not let them go splat, right? I mean, You were the one who led me to this ground, right? You called me here, You put me here, You told me to do stuff here...

Which means You're the one who can call me someplace else. Yeah, yeah, yeah - I get that.

JUST TELL ME WHERE!!

Again, sorry about the shouting. Do You think we'd know that David sometimes yelled at You if CapsLock had been invented back then?

Never mind. You were there.

Yes, I know it's time to move. I know that I've learned what you brought me here to learn, I know that I'm losing a little more of who I am the more I stay here, and I realize that it's only getting harder the longer I stay put.

But without a place to land, things will go splat. I'LL go splat. I don't want to go splat. I don't want things to go splat and splatter all over my beloved.

And hey - did You think about her? She's happier, more at peace when things don't go splat. She not only knows the numbers, she understands what they mean. So she gets it - if I jump without a net, without a foothold or a handhold, without someplace to land, I'm not the only one who goes splat. You told me to love her with my whole life, to follow His example in loving the church, so that's what I'm doing. I'm on this ground to keep her safe.

How can I jump?

Yeah, she DOES know that it's time to move. She sees me slipping away from what is really real, she sees me digging the chains out of the rubbish and hooking them back up, she sees the frustration and the sadness. And she's confused - how can someplace that has taught me so much suddenly be someplace I shouldn't stay anymore. How does someplace You brought me suddenly become a bad place for me to be?

No, I don't blame the place. The place is the same as it was when I arrived. It's a decent place, not a cesspool overflowing with evil. It continues to help provide for our needs. And for some, it's a perfect place for them to be.

So what happened? I learned what I came here to learn? I served in the way You asked me to serve? I went where You said to go, and learned the obedience lesson?

(And failed it immediately, since you have said JUMP, and so far, there's been a total absence of jumpage.)

All of the above, including the epic fail? Yeah, probably...

So, in answer to Your question, YES we both are suffering with me standing where I am. We're both confused that the good place You brought me is now not so good for me. We're both frustrated that we know it's past time to leave, but we're both paralyzed... how can I jump without someplace to land? Someplace to make the numbers work and no splat?

How can I jump without a net?

I know - I know. You'll catch me. I get that.

BUT I CAN'T SEE YOU!!

I know - I know. You can see me.

How can I jump without a net?

The Light Went Out of Her Eyes...

Beka had a very fun weekend... she went to doggie day care and got to play with other dogs, including her new "boyfriend," Ace, a puppy near her age who became her #1 playmate.

And boy, was she worn out. She slept and slept and slept Sunday night after we brought her home. I've never seen her that zonked out, other than her brand new puppy stage or after her little operation - Beka 2.IT

Monday morning, back to "normal" - get dressed, gather stuff for the day ahead, then utter the words, "Beka, it's time to go bye-bye..." 

And the light goes out of her eyes. She lays down in her (my) chair, and has to be majorly bribed to go into her crate for the day. After a couple days of freedom, playing, hanging out with others of her kind, and being worn out from the sheer joy of it all, "normal" slams the door and throws away the key.

Vicki thinks she's just still tuckered out from her weekend of fun. I hope and pray that's the case, but I fear... I don't know what I'd do if I saw the light go out of Beka's eyes permanently, leaving her shuffling through the days, losing the joy and adventure she felt so keenly this weekend.

And I fear for me too...

I fear that the light has gone out of my eyes. That I've lost the joy and adventure of the past two years, shuffling through the days as "normal" slams the door and throws away the key.

Upon what do I base these depressing thoughts?

- I've gained 10 pounds.

- I've made junk food one of my major food groups. Now, anybody can go on junk food binges, but when I do, it throws up a HUGE red flag that I'm medicating with food.

- I'm consuming a staggering amount of carbs, which has the double bonus of packing on weight AND making me miserable on the "other end." In fact, Vicki has said she can't understand why I keep doing this to myself, when I know the discomfort it'll produce as an aftermath.

I don't know either.

- I work someplace where any of the aforementioned carbs or junk food is available without blinking an eye. Want to medicate with food? I work at the food addict's crack house.

(The above does not in ANY way say anything about the fine, fine establishment where I spend my days walking around trying to find my way and do something good in the process. It's my issues here, not the place I am...)

- I haven't been on my trike since the first week of August, I haven't been to Tai Chi in a year, and, by my reckoning, I haven't posted anything to this blog in a couple of months which means I haven't been writing, which means my mental plumbing is backed up so bad that Mr. Roto Rooter is saying, "Dude - I'm not touching that..."

- I've stopped believing and living my own story. The stones stand forgotten, neglected, ignored. Life is now a series of go here, do this, go there, do that, sleep, repeat. The discipline of mindfulness, the habit of awareness, the practices and routines that my new life requires have been left behind. Every day brings me a little closer to the life I thought was gone for good.

The old dead corpse still hangs around my neck, it reaches out to move my hands, to shape my actions, to cloud my vision - 

To take the light out of my eyes.

Ever notice how not all of the Psalms are happy-happy-praise-praise-praise? Ever read the stuff from David's "Blue Period?" (which nobody has ever called it, for the record...) Well, I'm in my blue period, I guess. And I haven't gotten to the place where I'm lifting up my eyes, I'm not looking to the hills, I'm not realizing where my help comes from. I'm just trying to get from this place to that place, to do this thing and then that thing. 

Steve, the mental hamster, has stuck me in his wheel, and it's going round and round. 

For Beka, I will fight and move and strive to make sure that we find ways to keep the light in her eyes, to give her the joy and adventure that her little puppy heart so needs.

For myself? I don't know...

When The Bough Breaks

"Rockabye baby, in the treetop.
When the wind blows, the cradle will rock.
When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall..."

And Mom & Dad will get hauled away for child endangerment, assets and all.

In this present life, balance is way high up on my "this is honkin' essential" list. Perhaps even at the top.

Maybe.

Balance keeps me physically whole - keeping track of what I eat, how quickly I eat it, what types of fuel I'm choosing to put in the tank, the payback when I choose inappropriate stuff to eat, and the painful reminders to make better choices that follow.

Balance is the cornerstone of my mental wholeness as well, both in how I think and in my emotional state (which is NOT Iowa, for the record).

(Although the Iowa 80 Truck Stop makes me swoon with joy - I could easily live there, and ne'er be seen again.)

(See why balance is a biggie for me?)

Monitoring my emotional balance is especially important - when something has gone awry, that's where it shows up first. Then we have to look at what's going on one step back - am I taking those essential little pills that give me traction on the path to balance? Am I sleeping well, or fractured? What's my schedule like? Am I keeping a regular bedtime and get-the-heck-outta-bed time? Am I making time to listen to the Daily Audio Bible? To get out on my trike and ride? (Riding to work doesn't count - it has to be a medium to long ride, on the trail, fewer distractions, with sufficient time to allow my brain to slow down and let go of some baggage.)

What about some down time with Vicki?

Have I taken time to write, to try and bring some of the churning thoughts into the physical world, so I can see them and work with them?

That's a lot to have rockin' in the treetop, eh? No wonder da baby come crashin' down like ice off da edge of da roof (said da yooper by marriage).

Most people can get through something like this without having to do CSI: Hamster Brain. They can roll and flow with life, accommodating changes and challenges with grace - at least where anybody can see. What they do in the privacy of their own home is their gig...

... But if it involves punching a life-size cutout of any of a number of celebrities or professional athletes, I beg you - video, please. Or at least let me come over and take a couple swings, eh?

Yah, ya betcha.

I am not one of those people. I am the 1%, not the 99%. No, those numbers have no basis in reality - just a lighthearted attempt at a little humor. Ha ha. Guffaw. Snort.

(Thanks Kassi, for teaching me that no outburst of laughter is complete without a snort.)

I am one of those adults that deals with mental illness.

No, I am not a threat to anyone. No, I am not going to bust out in mind-numbing violence, the kind of which will make headline fodder for years to come. No, I don't use alcohol to self-medicate, which would complicate things considerably, especially with what it would do to my redecorated innards. I also don't use food to self-medicate, although I did. Yes I do drugs - solely and exclusively, they are the ones prescribed by some very competent and kind medical professionals who are amazing and know all kinds of stuff. I take exactly what they recommend I take; I don't forget to take them or decide that I'm doing so good that I can just stop 'em overnight. I am compliant with my treatment plan.

And yes, the very moment that the wind blows and the cradle rocks, I start looking for the reason behind it all, to see if it's something that is just passing through, a change that needs to be accommodated for a season, or a sign of something that I need to bring to the attention of the aforementioned professionals, that we might pop the hood and tweak the engine.

I'm not self-absorbed. But I AM self-aware - I have to be. Vicki's on this team too - if we don't stay on top of it, things get... less than optimal.

Or as Vicki said, "We've seen the promised land - we are NOT going back to Egypt!"

She lived in Egypt a long time. She's glad to be out. So am I, just so we're clear.

So, why the HECK am I writing all this poopy? Who cares??  

Someone else who deals with mental illness - they do.

Knowing someone else who has to stay on top of stuff like this lets us know that we're not alone. And as anyone who has ever dipped a toe into the bottomless lake that is mental illness knows, alone is the worst place to be. 

Jeff Manion once said in one of his amazing sermons, "What if hell is the place where God finally grants the one thing we've asked of Him time and time again -

'JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!' 

Alone with myself? Just my own thoughts, my own nightmares, my own darkness for all eternity? That's hell enough for me."

Someone who has stared into the darkness knows how true that is. To know that someone else - anyone else - has also looked into the darkness brings a little tiny glimmer of light into the blackness. Knowing others that take their pills, watch their emotional state, comply with their treatment, or do whatever other stuff is  necessary to keep the darkness at bay - it makes my little steps and routines and things a bit more tolerable. We can go almost anywhere, if we know we're not alone.

After all, when the cradle rocks, it's good to know others are around to help steady it. And when the bough breaks, it helps to know someone is around to be a catcher.  

When you've dipped a toe into the bottomless lake that is mental illness, the one place you don't want to be is alone. 

Hello, PuppyDog.

On May 29th, I wrote a farewell to our beloved Ezri. And that's the last writing I've done  for a while. I was a little occupied with stuff like weeping, putting away dog toys, crying, getting over how quiet the house is without her, and shedding tears.

And we wondered if that was it. Last time. Final episode in the doggie chronicles. Done with fur, messes, dog sitting, grooming, vet bills, and having our hearts ripped out through our eye sockets at the end.

Sorry if that was a little "much." But if you've never had to take a beloved pet you've spent the last 10+ years with to the doctor for the final goodbye, you really don't know where I'm coming from. It burns, it aches, and it makes you swear that you'll never put yourself through that kind of pain again.

Because the irony is, we choose to do it. Nobody forces us to be pet parents - we decide to bring these critters into our lives, knowing all the while that if all things go as expected, we'll be around when they go.

So we set an appointment for a kick in the chops 12 or so years from now. And the clock starts ticking.

So why in the name of Fats Waller would we do that again? Why would we choose a heartbreak, all wrapped up in a fuzzy package, set to go off just when we've gotten comfortable having them around? Or as my mom put it, "just when you've got them whipped into shape, they're gone."

My mom had a fondness for getting things whipped into shape. In spite of that, she still loved me, the son that refused to be "whipped." Or "into shape" for that matter. Unless the shape was round, pear-like, and huge, that is.

Why would we choose to open our hearts again, knowing that the pain is coming? It's not a question of "if," but "when."

Why?

Any of this resonate with any of you non-pet parents out there? Or single folks trying to make sense of a lonely world? How about you peeps that never feel like you belong, so that in the middle of a crowd you still feel alone?

Can I get a witness? Oh YEAH, Glory! UH-HUH!

Get ye down.

Why? Because we are never ever meant to live in total isolation. Single? Yes. Absent from others for a time? Sure. But totally disconnected from anyone or anything outside of ourselves?

No.

We aren't built that way. Our Father designed us for fellowship - with others, with His creation, and most of all, with Himself. We were never designed to be self-contained.

That might be one reason that being considered "self-centered" is still not a compliment. An achiever, aggressive, self-confident? That's alright, but totally focused on self as the sum and total of your whole world? Not so much.

We aren't designed to dance alone.

The house seems boomingly quiet without the sound of toenails clicking. The silence is oppressive without the thump of a tail, the gentle rhythm of panting breath. You catch yourself wondering where the dog is...

And then you remember. And the sadness hits once more.

Why open up the pain locker again? Why set the time bomb of sadness in motion again? Why be open to love again?

Because that's what we were designed to do. To open our hearts, to share our lives, and to reach beyond ourselves. We reach out, we get slapped, we cry, we withdraw. And even though we decide that we're not going to go through that again, that we are going to protect ourselves and not allow anybody or anything to hurt us like that again, that we're going to build some walls, retreat behind them, and keep what little sanity we have left, we somehow forget or ignore the pain and we reach out again. And again.

Insanity? Nope - we were designed to love. And we weren't designed to be closed up behind thick walls.

In a world that works, that isn't broken and flawed, we can love and be loved free and openly, without concern or fear, just the way our Father designed us to be. In this present broken world, however, there will be pain, there will be sadness, and there will be many tears. So our Father came here, Himself, as one of us. He showed us how much He cares, how deeply His heart breaks when we turn our backs on Him, and how He still holds His arms open, waiting for us to return to Him.

He shows us how to endure the sadness, because He endures the sadness of our betrayal again and again. And still He loves.

So, on June 16th, we opened Pandora's box once again, and brought Beka Valentine Olson into our home - an 8 pound, 7 week old bundle of fur, very sharp teeth, and love. Someday, as time stretches out before us, we'll probably have to say goodbye to her, weeping and enduring the heartbreak once again. But from here to there will be some amazing years, filled with joy, laughter, and love. (There will also be some not-so-fun moments, plenty of cleaning up messes, and quite a bit of bleeding from those razor sharp teeth.) We once again dive into the depths, throwing our hearts out there again in reckless abandon, daring to love in spite of all we know or understand.

Just the way our Father designed us to, like the way our Father loves us.

Hello, PuppyDog. Welcome home...