“New” York State of Mind

Recently I made a long weekend trip with my kids to visit my brother in the upper west side of New York City.  I determined the 5 hour drive and immersion into culture and life so far different from my daily grind would be a good respite from the struggles to live less/more/abundantly.

As we rounded the corner past the factories and the former title sequence for the Sopranos, we played this song on my neon speaker.  My oldest kept screaming, “I see it!  There’s the Empire State Building!”-pause-“Oh…wait, that’s just a radio tower…”

We walked.  We ate.  We had a dance party in a yogurt shop we renamed, ‘Fro-Yo Mamas’.  We climbed rocks in Central Park.  We slurped milk shakes on park benches.  We watched a crazed volunteer museum attendant vehemently inform us we are going to live on the moon and very SOON!  We gazed up at the Statue of Liberty.  We shopped the adult version of Dante’s 11th Circle of Hell-Toys R Us during tourist season.  It was magical for the kids and myself.

The entire time, as we walked the hundreds of miles familiar to urban dwellers, I prayed.  Quietly and only to myself I prayed.  I quieted the gorilla of depression by choosing to smile instead of cry.  I kicked him in the shins by getting up early when I wanted to hide under the covers.  I crushed anxiety by hugging squirrely, soaking wet, little fellas at a public water playscape.  I let myself cry over pizza and friendship and family, unashamedly snotting into the napkin.

On a subway ride to eat the best pizza on the planet, Joe’s on 8th and Broadway, I engaged in a habit I’ve had since I was four-reading everything printed within view.  I always do this, sometimes to pass the time, others to gain marketing and communication ideas.

Emblazoned on the wall was a poster for a local college.  A student, Julio, was pictured.  The copy included his story of overcoming obstacles and gaining his degree.  It was an unremarkable save for the tagline, “The only thing stopping me was me.”

As the subway bounced and roared its way through graffiti’d tunnels, I realized, like Julio, the only thing stopping me is-me.

No trumpets sounded.  No great wash of freedom flowed over me.  No sparkling gold dust descended from the heavens.  However, something settled within me.  Like a card sliding into an envelope, the idea filled a hole in my thinking.

Later I checked my FB page.  There a dear friend posted this picture.

My youngest calls this the ‘Vampire Steak Building’. We will never correct him. Why should we?

He posted it with the caption, “Need clarification?”

At first I thought it was a delightful, “Have fun in the Big Apple!” shout out.

Then it hit me.  In New York, King Kong met his demise falling from the heights of the Empire State Building.

I have long equated depression with a large gorilla.

At the same time I am realizing the only thing stopping me is me, my dear friend is reminding me it is in New York that the gorilla dies.

On my trip I gained a “New” York state of mind.  A state of mind where gorillas fall and revelations ride the subways into my mind and spirit-stopping only to deliver freedom and strength.

Sad Sickness

Bravely I decided to host a small sleepover for my son’s 9th birthday.   There was very little sleep and I was over it by the time the movie matinee credits rolled.

One of the attendees was enamored with our ancient miniature dachshund Frankie.  He said his Uncle Dave has one too.  He then looked at me and said, “Uncle Dave has Sad Sickness.  He’s really sad all the time.  His son was killed then just a few weeks later his dad dies.  That’s why he has the Sad Sickness.”

From the mouth of a 9 year old babe-Sad Sickness.  It is the perfect definition of depression.  And depression is what makes me sad.  I have the Sad Sickness.

In my last post I hinted I would write about what has changed the direction of this less/more/abundant life blog.  It’s Sad Sickness.

Sarah Silverman, described depression this way, as a feeling of being incredibly homesick while sitting in your own livingroom among friends and family.  To me my bones are melted and I can do nothing but sit and fade into oblivion.  This is coupled with the searing self-judgement which screams, “Failure! Screw up!”  The jello skeleton and cacophony of self-insults is often punctuated by, “Better off dead!”

Mine was first officially diagnosed, five years ago, as post-partum depression and anxiety after the birth of my second son.  After a somewhat half-baked attempt at therapy, and a few years of meds, I declared myself well.

In another blog-writing project, http://www.memorablemama.blogspot.com, depression was a gorilla. Recently,  pounding it’s hairy chest and sitting on my soul, depression breathed it’s foul stench into my lungs and again melted me to the core.

I thought launching another blog would magically make me better.  Just like last time…right?

Wrong.

I have depression.  But depression doesn’t have me.  Not anymore.

I wrote the following on my facebook page.  I needed to share my frustration at my inability to express to folks why I couldn’t respond to their messages, make plans, or generally engage in ‘normal’ life.

It’s a start.  It’s one of the first bullets into the heart of the beast.

I am using all the tools at my disposal to take the heart from the beast and slay it forever.  Less depression.  More healing.  Abundant life.

Here’s the first five things which need to be shared.

Top 5 Things You Should Know About Depression

5. “Just get over it,” relates to driving over speed bumps, not mental/physical/spiritual and emotional anguish such as this.
4. “Just play praise and worship music all day and night,” serves only to reinforce the self-perception that we are failures spiritually as well as emotionally, physically, professionally, etc. If that worked, Michael W. Smith would be King of the World; alas he is not, Justin Bieber holds the title.
3. If you call/message and there is no response, don’t take it personally. If you do take it personally then please stop calling/messaging as you are not able to walk this road with us. If you have what it takes, and it takes a lot, keep calling/messaging. We hear you and it means more than you could possibly know.
2. Please assume our answer to, “Have you tried….” will be in the affirmative. If we haven’t, we will when we can. If we have, and it has failed, we prefer not to relive it’s failure with anyone.
1. Depression is real. It hurts. Depression is not fatal. It’s able to be overcome. And more people than you know suffer from it.

This message brought to you by someone trying everything to ‘get over it’ whilst answering your messages with praise and worship music playing in the background.

Drive through please.

Simple Faith and Plain Truth

I started this blog/project full of the good intentions at the beginning of any good thing. I was going to drive into a healthier, more spiritual and loving future in my pink cadillac of blogginess. I did, for a bit, until I looked down and saw the flames. My tires were burnt off and the rims were sparking, the friction of the reality of my journey too much to bear. The cadillac ended up in a ditch.

This entry is a tow truck of sorts. It’s reaching into the ditch and pulling me out. It’s setting me back on the road. The sparkly pink cadillac parked for now. I sit, on the roadside of this journey, in a comfy recliner, wrapped in my boo-boo blankie.

I’ll address exactly what pushed me off the road in another entry. For tonight, I’ll share what pulled me out. Job did the job. Say that three times. Job did the job.

Job is that martyr in the Old Testament. He’s the one God and Satan made a bet upon to see who would win. In my head, Satan chest bumps God and says, “Watch this!” and then proceeds to throw Job’s life into the cosmic cuisinart. Job has always been preached as a sort of cautionary tale against feeling sorry for yourself. “Look at Job! He lost everything and STILL honored God! What’s your problem?”

I always was more than a little puzzled by this. God, sort of, hung Job out to dry. Doesn’t square with my image of the squishy Huggie Bear version of the Almighty.

The last three years have been a Job experience in my life. Death, debt, loss, judgements by friends, failure, illness have all made me understand Job’s journey all too well. However, I never read the chapter of Job until recently. What I am finding there is surprisingly encouraging.

To say Job went through hell and back is a colossal understatement.  His children were killed while partying.  His fortunes were lost.  His skin and body were afflicted to the point where worms lived in the sores.  His friends were judgmental and his wife wished he was dead.

I had been taught Job was this long-suffering Persian Pollyanna who, whilst scraping the pus from his sores, would bless God.  He didn’t.  He complained.  He cursed the day he was born.  He begged to die.  He suffered and shared his suffering with us through scripture.  He was just as stuck as I am.

Job 9:32-35 (MSG) “God and I are not equals; I can’t bring a case against him.
We’ll never enter a courtroom as peers.
How I wish we had an arbitrator
   to step in and let me get on with life—
To break God’s death grip on me,
to free me from this terror so I could breathe again.
Then I’d speak up and state my case boldly.
As things stand, there is no way I can do it.”

In the Amplified version it speaks of  an Umpire to lay hands on both God and Job.  How much I longed for someone to blow the whistle on my playing field of pain.

Two truths emerged for me.  God is God and I am not.  Simplistic to be sure, but I really got it this time.  He is who He is and I am who I am.  We will never be equals, this Creator of the Universe and I.  He is so much MORE than I.  He demands so much more than I can give.  He has a right to these things, because He created them.

The second truth, I am not Job.  I am not alone.  I have an arbitrator.  Timothy wrote it best.

1 Timothy:4-7(MSG) “He wants not only us but everyone saved, you know, everyone to get to know the truth we’ve learned: that there’s one God and only one, and one Priest-Mediator between God and us—Jesus, who offered himself in exchange for everyone held captive by sin, to set them all free. Eventually the news is going to get out. This and this only has been my appointed work: getting this news to those who have never heard of God, and explaining how it works by simple faith and plain truth.”

Jesus is my Umpire.  He blows the whistle and sets me free.  Doesn’t mean I will never suffer.  Doesn’t say that.  What it does say is that my freedom from the suffering works by simple faith and plain truth.  Simple.  Plain.  I can do that.

I can do that and so can you.  So tonight, I choose to place simple faith in this plain truth.  Someone gave Himself in my place so I could be free.

All the pain, all the suffering, all the loss will somehow be part of my freedom.  I don’t know how.  I don’t know why.  I do know I am climbing out of the ditch grasping at the hook within this promise.  I am not alone.

It’s that plain.  It’s that simple.

Eat Less: Peanut Butter is My Go-To Grub

Of late I have been seeking to downgrade destructive foods and upgrade to creative foods. I look at destructive foods as those that have little or no nutritive value. In their consumable vacuousness destructo-foods actually make my joints feel worse and my emotions more out of control and my tuckus ever expanding. Creative foods are those which have nutritive or healing value.

I have come to one inarguable conclusion. Peanut butter is the world’s most perfect food.

I’ll link to a blog about how awesome peanut butter is to professional athletes and body builders, of which I am neither. Suffice it to say, I like it for reasons other than how awesome it will make my abs rip.

Growing up Mom would make peanut butter and jelly sammiches. I would request them to be served, ‘not put together’ lest the jelly sully the nutty goodness. Most of us who were blessed to grow up with mothers who made peanut butter sammiches have some memory or other associated with this creamy spread of joy.

It isn’t the memories exclusively. It’s the convenience. I often eat standing up or on the run. Peanut butter on whole wheat is a staple breakfast for me. It was my snack tonight.

I’m a crunchy, natural peanut butter kind of girl. I am surrounded by a houseful of men who consume their peanut butter from the creamy jar. Perhaps my choice of formats reveals something about my temperament and those in my family. Yep, I’m the crunchy one.

What’s your ‘go to’ grub? Have any peanut butter stories to share? Speak up, I can’t understand you, with the peanut butter stuck to the roof of your mouth!

That article I promised you: http://www.bodybuilding.com/fun/other31.htm

I. Love. You.

I woke up this morning with this thought.  “I have behaved like a spoiled child, of late, and it’s time to stop.”

My attitude, to be honest, has been crap.  My effort towards this project, again to be honest, has been crap.  In short, I have been mired in, well, crap.

I don’t know what broke me from my self-inflicted, navel gazing, martyrdom.  Could have been the half bottle of vanilla vodka I shared Mother’s Day with.  Could have been the recent uptick in praying with friends.  Could have been the Holy Spirit stepping in to look me in the eye and say in his best Fatherly voice, “That’s enough.”

Or maybe it was a book.

My dearest friend, LDC, has written two young adult novels.  They are exquisite stories mixing quantum physics, young love and heroic tales of overcoming some hideous personal obstacle.   Even in their raw, as yet unedited, first draft state they are also the best Christian allegory I have ever been privileged to read.

She brought to stark, soul shredding reality what Christ endures when we are unfaithful to Him in our thoughts, attitudes and eventual actions.  I use the word unfaithful because it is betraying the lover of our souls.  He isn’t a grand judge holding a measuring stick and a mallet.  He is one who knows us more intimately than we know ourselves-for before the foundation of the world He KNEW us.  No living creature could have known us that long or that deeply.

I wept with her main character Corey as he was betrayed again and again by his one true love-the one he has loved for 1000 years.  Despite the pain he pledges to love her for 1000 more.  Jesus pledges His love for me. Though I betray Him, again and again-He still loves me.

You see being mired in crap is a decision I made.  I left the comforting arms of the One who loves me and knows me inside and out. I stopped talking to Him because I was mad I didn’t get my way.  I stomped my foot, grabbed my toys (given to me by Him in the first place) and huffed into the other room.

I stopped engaging in this very simple blog project: eat less, pray more and love abundantly.  Instead I chose to look at circumstances which made me eat more, pray less and hate more abundantly.

So now what do I do?

In the past I would have given up and moved on.  I am an expert at walking away, particularly from myself and my God.  In the past I would have convinced myself that “I am okay,” despite every indicator to the contrary.

For today, I choose to step out of the crap.  I choose to eat less.  I choose to pray more.  I choose to love abundantly.

I choose God.  I choose to believe in the one thing He says to all of us, whether we hear Him or not.  “I love you.  I love you so much I have a plan for your life.  I have a future and a hope.  I loved you before the foundations of the world.  I. LOVE. YOU.”

I will answer back.  I. Love. You.

The rest we will figure out together, Him and I.  Perhaps you and I will figure it out together too.

Love Abundantly: Reach Out and Hold Me

I tried something different this week.  I actively and intentionally loved people abundantly.

First, I put together a package for my dearest friend.  He is going through a time and I sent him his favorites.  The stuffed penguin and chocolate was a long distance hug.

Second, I surprised another friend with two cards.  One was snarky (totally our sense of humor).  The other was serious (what I would say if I could get around my snark).  It was an embrace of this challenging season she is walking through.  The snarky card shared: when life gives you lemons make lemonade.  When life gives you a pile of crap, don’t make anything.

Finally, I asked a friend if we could pray together.  We met for coffee, conversation and for me to help her with her Etsy Shop.  At the end we prayed together.  She was vulnerable with God and with me.  It was a beautiful gift to hear the cry of her heart.   

All three were beautiful things.  All three were directed outwardly.  Yet, in a divine paradox of loving abundantly, while I was looking and giving out I was receiving inwardly.

While none of the challenging circumstances I find myself in have changed, something shifted in my heart.  Strength is beginning to flow.  Depression is retreating.  A small flicker of hope is beginning to burn.

The recipient of my cards sent me this message.  I wanted to share it.  It was a gift back to me.  I sent her some cards, she sent me a blueprint for freedom.

“I got your cards today my dearest friend. Yesterday, I went to bible study and we were reading in 2 Corinthians. It was about giving with a generous heart, and how everything was His anyway so why should we worry?

I raised my hand, “Yes that sounds amazing but I know the lengths Christ went through, I know what Job and Paul went through, what can you give when you have nothing left? What does God want from me?”

Before my pastor could answer I heard that still small voice that I had not heard for a long time answer, “Your broken heart.”

My pastor confirmed it by saying that our suffering is an offering, sometimes the sweetest one because it means that we trust Him.

A weight was lifted from me last night and I have peace. Thank you sister, your prayers have covered me, and I feel held for the first time in a long while.”

Tonight I’ll intentionally reach out to God.  I’ll give Him my broken heart and my contrite spirit.  And I too will be held. 

Eat Less: Time to Walk Away from the Snackies

The biggest question for me isn’t, “Should I diet?” it’s where to start!  There are things I know I should/shouldn’t eat.  Which do I start with first?  How do I know I am making permanent changes which will stick with me in the long run?

The article’s title intrigued me.  “Is your “healthy” diet making you sick, tired and fat?”  Check Out This Article  It’s from a great blog called, “Simplemom.net”.  Of course, as one who has unsuccessfully battled bulge, I would LOVE if healthy diets made you sick, tired and fat.  🙂

While I am personally not ready to tackle an elimination diet.  I can eliminate certain habits which I know are making me sick, tired and fat.

The first habit to tackle to eat less is (drum roll please) stop eating after dinner.

I’ve been doing this for a couple days now and it hasn’t been that hard.  In fact, I figured out a surefire way to stop eating after dinner.  It will revolutionize your eating after dinner addiction.  Ready?

DON’T GO IN THE KITCHEN.

Yep.  That’s all it has taken.  I go in any room in the house which does not have food.

It’s a small start to eating less.

LessMoreAbundantly: The Tao of the Strudel

Eating less.  Praying more.  Loving abundantly.  This blog will have it all.  Will have it all and wrap it in yummy pastry.

This morning I wanted to make a fancy family breakfast.  As a child born in and growing up mostly in Germany, I’m a daughter of an Army officer, German pastry is near and dear to my heart and stomach.  I found strudel in the frozen food section.  Legit German strudel was baking and filling the house with fruity baked goodness.

Then I tried to balance the checkbook.  Tried because I had a brain burp and forgot how to balance a checkbook.  Later I wanted to forget the ending balance and how low it was.

Then I tried to clean the dining room.  Tried because it was at this moment my 4-year-old decided it was time to watercolor paint clowns to send to Uncle Michael.

Then I checked my calendar to confirm practice, work and travel schedules.  Tried and then was reminded I’ll have only 4 hours of daylight before traveling for a business trip with my husband.

Then I stepped on a Lego and tried to shake it off.  Tried because it was embedded in bubble gum.  In the carpet.

Then the clouds came rolling in.  Clouds I’ve tried to overcome. Each emblazoned with their own headline.  Failure.Poverty.Mess.Anxiety.

I sat across from the watercoloring 4-year-old, scratching my foot from where the gum was still stuck with tears in my eyes.  Bing.  Time to have some strudel.

It was burnt.

I wanted to cry harder.

Then I had a thought.  Strudel is a many layered, splendorous thing.  What if I carefully removed the burnt layers?

I grabbed a knife and began to scrape.  Within minutes, somewhat normal, and quite tasty pastry emerged.

What does burnt strudel have to do with LessMoreAbundantly?

To begin with, I ate less.  I didn’t eat the whole thing, which I wanted to do.  Instead, had a piece.  A small one.

I prayed more too.  For as I was going through the morning I was listening to worship music and praying.  I prayed as I plucked gum from the carpet.  I prayed as I sorta balanced the checkbook.  I prayed as I scraped the strudel.

I realized I have become like the strudel.  I’ve been scorched by failure, lack, rejection and apathy.  My sweeter side has been melted under the heat of depression and anxiety.  Yet, as I prayed, an idea emerged.

John 15:2  says, “Any branch in Me that does not bear fruit [that stops bearing] He cuts away (trims off, takes away); and He cleanses and repeatedly prunes every branch that continues to bear fruit, to make it bear more and richer and more excellent fruit.”

Perhaps this season is about pruning.  It’s about peeling back the burnt layers to get to the fruit on the inside.  My burnt layers are superficial anyway.  They are emotion, ego and confidence.  All fickle and fleeting to be sure.

The promise of bearing more richer and more excellent fruit is truly something to chew on.

This divine paradox of love so abundant as to allow pain so that richness and excellence can come forth is astounding.  The question becomes, do I love myself abundantly enough to scrape off the burnt layers and get down to the healthy, the balanced and the graced?

I think I just might.

Pray More: Write More (Or Paint More or Sing More-Just More!)

Praying is more often than not an exercise in quiet repose.  Head bowed, hands folded, we beseech a benevolent Creator.  We entreat Him with words written by other men.  We repeat what we have heard.  We repeat what we have yet to receive.

Then there is prayer of the liquid type.  This is the sort with few words, poured out between sobs.  Found in Emergency Rooms, at the divorce lawyer’s office, in a jail cell and at gravesites, liquid prayer is conducted by agnostic and atheist alike.  It’s the manifestation of a broken heart being poured out to anyone, anything which can staunch the flow.

Then there is the prayer of volume-both sound and size.  These are prayers shouted and screamed and repeated over and over.  As if by turning oneself into a mega phone the brass Heavens will open.

I’ve done all three.  I’ve done all three, often in quick succession.

I’ve also remained silent.  I’ve been the recalcitrant child, pouting because Daddy God didn’t do everything I believed He should.  I stuck out my lip rather than my faith because my soul, my ego or my heart got a boo-boo. Some of the boo-boos were bruises so deep it hurt to even breathe.

On this year-long journey I have committed to praying more.  I started writing in a prayer journal.  Though I am a writer, often drowning in a sea of words, I haven’t kept a journal since childhood.  Mom found my 5th grade journal and confronted me with what she read.  I vowed to never again put my self at risk like that.  Now, the reward far outweighed the risk.

I started journaling again because there were prayers too terrible, too personal, too tough to say aloud.  Prayers with words-if uttered-would unleash something terrifically terrifying into my reality.  Shockingly, and thankfully, I found that writing these prayers, these pleas, these gripes from a spirit long emaciated from neglect, made it better.  In a miniscule way I found grace in the pages.

Part of my prayer language is writing.  I never realized that until this very moment.

In this video artist David Garibaldi uses his prayer language.  It touched my heart and artist soul so much I wanted to share it with you.  What’s your prayer language?  Find it and pray more.  Share with me, first after sharing with Him.  He’ll be there.   And for the next year, so will I, praying more right alongside you.

Eat Less: Curse You Easter Bunnies!

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There will be no “Eat Less” related post this week.  For obvious, yummy, chocolatey reasons.  You can find me either bouncing off the ceiling from the sugar/caffeine/cocoa induced high or weeping in the corner from the self-loathing calorie counting low.  Drive through please.  Oh, and on your way please take some of this holiday goodness with you!