A Life Profound

It’s time to be done here.

I have spent five years blogging, first in one place, then another, finally settling down here at wordpress.

So much of who I am and why I am has been written here and friends have been made.  I am ever grateful for the support and encouragement that I was given during some of the darkest moments.  Sometimes, much was being written but it was only a bit of what was being lived.  Those that took the time to say, “hang in there. keep believing. keep writing.” … they gave me life.

Now, having said all of this, I am not ceasing to write, to blog.  I am just moving.  It’s time to move past this part of my journey.  I am not who I was and my trajectory has changed, I think.  I could continue writing here but symbolically, I think it is important to start fresh, from a new place.

So, all five of you who follow my blog, I hope you continue to walk with me.

The new place is stil  A Life Profound.

I hate not knowing who I am.  That is the best way I know to describe it.  Suddenly, I don’t know how to act, what to say, what is appropriate or inappropriate.  It is like someone else is in my body, clumsily stumbling through my life.  Though it is me, at the same time, I am looking in, agonizing over each conversation, criticizing every word and action.

I hate the anger that accompanies depression.  When I cannot bear the anger that I have for myself any longer, it begins to spurt out at those around me.  Chris usually bears the brunt of my impatience, my frustration but the children are aware, very aware.  Then the guilt sets in.

I hate the guilt, the paralyzing guilt that holds me hostage in my room because I just don’t want to inflict myself on anyone that I love. But then there is guilt that I am not out there eating dinner with them, listening to the stories of their day, reading to them. This, I know is the spiral that will lead me to self loathing, a state of mind that I resist as much as I can.

I hate that I cannot seem to carry on as normal all the time and I miss out on life.  This time, I am trying so hard to go on, to be where I need to be, to do what I am sure I want to do, to try to provide as much normalcy as possible for my children.  But I am exhausted already.

I hate the exhaustion, the to the bone fatigue that just doesn’t go away.  It doesn’t matter how long I sleep, I could still sleep more.  I ache to core of every joint.

I hate the moment that comes when it seems those those around me have grown weary of dealing with me.  I know it is too much; it is too much for me.  This weight is not my choice and the flippancy does not help me deal with it any better.  Those attitudes just scream more condemnation at me.

I hate not knowing what I want.  On one hand, I do not want to be pitied or coddled, yet on the other hand, I want deep compassion and understanding.  But I cannot ask for it, I don’t feel that I deserve it and having to ask in the midst of the pain, is just more than I can do. I don’t like having to remind anyone of what is going on in my life.  It sounds like an excuse and I do want to be treated normally but sometimes people forget and expect more of me than I am able to give.

I hate the scattered thoughts.  They are all there in my head, pieces of a grand idea, floating in my head like bubbles and as I try to grasp them, they pop and disappear.

I hate the glimmers that make me hope that the end is near when realisitically, I know it’s not.  I’d rather have the defining line, here today and gone tomorrow.  But such is not the nature of depresssion.  Just like it crept in, it will leave with the same muffled steps.

Sometime ago, in a mode of dumping some stuff on my mind, I wrote that I was deep in the privilege of depression.  I was struggling again with the on again, off again depression that is part of my life.  I realized long ago that I will not be cured of depression but that it is something that will continue to visit me.  Just acknowledging that makes me able to embrace the episodes and ride the wave until it passes because this too will pass, only to come again, but at least it will pass.  Just knowing that makes it easier to get through.

Why did I write that depression is a privilege?  Because I wonder if it is.  My mother used to say that she did not have time to be depressed.  I recognize that at that time, she probably may have never dealt with depression.  I don’t really know that she ever has.  But her statement certainly illustrates a certain  mentality and I definitely questioned if this was something I could just decide not to be.  Just choose to not be depressed.

But I didn’t ask for it, I don’t think I choose it.  It shows up unannounced and intrudes into my life for a season while I do my best to go on.

But I wonder if I had to struggle for my existence, would there be time for depression?  If I had to work from the moment I opened my eyes to find work, food, shelter and assure the safety of my family and myself, would there be room for depression.  These are the things that make me wonder if depression is reserved for those blessed to live in an abundant society.

All the while, the answer to the question doesn’t matter.  It is what it is.  Today I find myself on the edge again.  No reason, no explanation.  But here I am and here it is … once again.

Shadow comforts have become my way of life.  There is so much good for me right now but it is not the best.  In fact, it is actually keeping me from creating, from living, from experiencing.

I could make of list of new discoveries but today I am suspecting that adding more on top of an unprocessed pile is doing nothing more than making a tower too tall, too heavy for me to handle.  Eventually it all comes crashing down and I spend energy stacking back up and still, adding more.

In some ways, this is the life of being a scanner.  I am grateful for Barbara Sher giving me permission and validation to be who I am … someone who has a lot of interests, who learns a little and moves on.  But, being the scanner that I am, I think I moved on from Barbara’s book, Refuse to Choose before I learned how to live my life productively.

Today is just another day of chaos, it seems.  I don’t like it and I am ready to be out of it.  I have been re-visiting that Philippians series from Mars Hill and Rob Bell made a statement that during creation God brought order to chaos.  Is that creative power avaliable to me?  I need order!  Oh how I wish God were the magical wizard who would wave a wand and instantly the chaos would be gone, the order would fall into place.  Somehow, I believe this is going to require something of me.  Writing about it certainly is not going to be enough; just another of my shadow comforts sometimes.

Now the computer must be turned off, no more checking blogs, catching up on news or looking for artistic inspiration for today.  I am off to make a to-do list.

Until tomorrow . . .

That is usually at the end of my post but today I am bringing up to the top.    It is not merely words that I use to close  my posts or emails, not just words that I say when leave someone, not just a thought I try to keep foremost in my mind.  It is a spiritual discipline that I am practicing.  I didn’t even recognize it as such until recently though I had become intentional about using the phrase.  Yet, lately, I have begun to see how it is changing who I am and that is the purpose of spiritual discipline, of spiritual formation.

It all started last year when I began to listen to the teaching series from Mars Hill Michigan.  Rob Bell started off the year long journey through Philippians, my favorite letter in the Bible, by highlighting this simple phrase which was used over and over in the epistles and asking what would it be like if we became channels of grace and peace.

I made a commitment to speak grace and peace into the world and the phrase became attached to all my interactions. In all sincerity, it is my prayer, my blessing, and my benediction of the only thing I may have to offer.  Too many times, I am at a loss for what I could say in comfort or hope yet there is always grace and peace.  Each time I release those words, rather in print or verbally, I am shaken with the power that is within them.  Again, they are not merely words.

It is my wish for each one I encounter to know the incredible grace of God and with grace coming before, peace follows.

Rob Bell shared a definition of grace fromSpiro Zodiakis

“Grace is the absolutely free expression of the love of God

findings its only motive in the beauty and benevolence of God”

Though I understand the free expression of the love of God,  I am still working on the motive.  When I began to turn from a life that had been dictated by fear and controlled by rules, imposed by others and myself, I grabbed onto grace as my life preserver in those churning waters.  I tried to walk in grace in my relationships but there was still a stumbling block … my expectations.  I was still trying to change myself, change others by covering the rod of rules with a velvet covering of grace.  I did not yet understand that grace will only have the motive of the beauty and benevolence of God.  I still don’t but my heart has shifted to wanting to know.

This practice of grace and peace is forming a filter in my mind, in front of myeyes that is teaching me how to go beyond speaking and toward being the manifestation.  It is not a flawless journey; I need the grace for myself.  But my hopes are that the stumbling steps will be corrected by the love of God and the desire I have to show that love.

Old as she was, she still missed her daddy sometimes.
Gloria Naylor

We don’t typically celebrate Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, Valentine’s Day.  I realized a long time ago that if we can’t express our love for each other everyday then indulging the market for cards, flowers restaurant meals, etc. to appease our guilt would mean nothing.

But today I am thinking of my father, my daddy.  He died in November 2004 but I have felt his absence more clearly this year than ever before.  We had no start to speak of.  My parents divorced by the time I was two and evidently things happened that complicated life to the point that I didn’t see him, he didn’t see me.  Though we lived minutes apart, I only remember a few visits to his house, one last one at Easter when I was seven and no more until my senior year in high school.  Even then, I initiated our reunion and subsequent visits.  That was our start … two people who were strangers who shouldn’t have been.  A history based on no history.

It was difficult to develop a relationship but I persevered and so did he.  I moved away when I married Chris, making our progress challenging but he visited me in Memphis.  Once we moved back to Greenville, Christmas celebrations became very important to him.  The relationship was still not smooth and I thought the final chance had passed when he retired to Surfside Beach.  Little did I know then that would be the beginning of the best years.

In 1997, I spent four days with my Daddy.  The longest I had been with him under one roof in my memory.  I was so nervous abou that trip.  But we had all the kids … seven at that time, and the eighth due within weeks.  They are a great distraction.  It ended up being the most wonderful visit and the first of many.  As we left, he stood in the driveway, waving and signing “I love you”  with his hand … stayed there until he could no longer see our van driving away.  The first of many traditions that would mark our times together.

A watermelon always sat by the stairs, awaiting our arrival

Sun-warmed pecan twirls passed out at the beach

Coming down the stairs in the early morning, I would see Daddy sitting in his chair.  Most of the time, we would be the first ones awake.  I would sit on the end of the couch nearest him, drinking a cup of coffee.  Just content to be near him.

Little jokes that he told every visit to my kids … they tell them now to each other.  For instance, he would always tease them and tell them that someone had pulled the plug on the ocean, the water was all gone and there could be no beach visit.

He included us in his plans.  We visited their friends, went to their church, volunteered with him.

The first of our papa runs … pizza and  Krispy Kreme donuts.  A lot of our traditions revolved around food … Daddy loved food!

Much of our healing came after a particular Christmas.  He was so adamant that year that we ALL be there and became anxious as people kept stepping out to smoke a cigarette.  It was because he had something to say.  That night, he asked for our forgiveness for not being there when we wre growing up, for the hurt it caused us.  He called each of us up and placed his hands on our heads and prayed a blessing over our lives.  That was the turning point.

I had the privilege of enjoying a beautiful relationship with him for the few years we had left together.  My one regret is that after he was diagnosed with cancer, I didn’t deal with it well.  I didn’t call as much as  I should have or take advantage of seeing him more.  I was in huge denial and just didn’t want to deal with the reality that he would be gone soon and therefore, I missed opportunities.  But I was there when he died.  When we walked into the hospital room, expecting him to be unconscious, he looked over at us and asked question he always asked first, “Did you make good time?”  So funny that he would always figure out how long it took us to get there, congratulating us on making it in good time.  I fed him the last bite of food he would ever take, I read to him and sang to him and was able to hear him say one last time, “Hey honey”.   I was there when we took him home to die and I was by the bed when he took his final breath.

He and I were a testimony to reconciliation, redemption and love and grace.  It’s a beautiful story and I don’t do it justice with these mere words typed through tears.

The day he was diagnose with pancreatic cancer, he called me.  Once again, he had something to say.  He wanted me to know how proud he was of Chris, that Chris is a good man, a wonderful husband and father.  He was just so happy to know that I had this man in my life.

I am too.

So on this day, I think of him as well.

Chris, I looked over at you last night, as you were sleeping and I spoke grateful words.  I am so thankful that you walked into that storeroom twenty-five years ago, that you fell in love with a pregnant woman and became the father to her and the many yet to come.  You have lived out such a wonderful definition of love toward us.  You are patient and kind and selfless.  Thank you for your giving heart, for the experiences that you have given us.  Thank you for being a man that made my Daddy proud.  I love you.