This is the post excerpt.
The Son and the Darkness
In “A Grief Observed,” C.S. Lewis compares grief to the feeling of being in suspense. The painful separation from the target of our affections gives life “a permanently provisional feeling” On one hand, I understood the feeling he was describing. We feel stuck in this dark space, waiting to get back into the clear again. The great loss of something irreplaceable becomes a looming grey cloud. I knew I wasn’t grasping all of what he meant. I was missing something; but what? It eluded me as my thoughts returned to those words several times over the last few months. And over the last few months I’d abandoned and returned to this story just as many times.
After healing from my own grief, I went through a season of feeling deeply disappointed with my sin and shortcomings. While it is a great blessing to be surrounded by people who are more mature spiritually, it also brings to light how far behind you are. I became shamefully aware of my lack of knowledge and life experience. The aim of my judgmental tendency turned inward and I realized my own ignorance. I felt like a fraud.
I suppose we all have these seasons. It’s the Holy Spirit’s nudge towards character change. Most of us will go through similar sufferings whether it’s the grief of death or grief over our own sin. My story is like many others and so I share it, not to impart wisdom; I truly am ill-equipped for that, but to share something that might be encouraging. Sometimes it’s as simple as knowing that someone else understands our struggles. As always, my prayer is that this reaches a heart that will glean from it exactly what the Lord wills.
Though this story evolved quite a bit, it makes sense to start it where I originally did; on Good Friday 2021. It was slightly chilly, but clear and sunny; a foretaste of Spring. It was a packed church; anticipatory worshipers were dressed in jeans and slacks paired with pressed button downs and sweaters in mauve and pastel greens. It looked like casual Friday at the office. But this Friday was not laid back like those often are. My heart was heavy and my throat felt thick. I was pressed into a somber mood as if we were gathering for a memorial service. In a way, we were.
It was close to dusk and sun beams burst through the church windows as a contrast to the internal darkness present. The scene outside and the words of the pastors battled for my attention. Not to say that their words weren’t divinely inspired. But nature is divinely inspired as well and so the thought persisted: what is God going to tell us tonight? As we listened to messages about sacrifice and redemption, cotton ball clouds lingered in the open blue. Grass blades swayed a little and trees made sketch book shadows on the green field. We sang and the sun began to sink. The light took on a deeper gold-ish hue in one last effort to shine before darkness took over. It was like a cheerful major chord before the end of a symphony.
“At noon, darkness came over the whole land until three in the afternoon. And at three in the afternoon Jesus cried out in a loud voice, “Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani?” (which means “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”). Mark 15: 33-34 (NIV). In the span of thousands of years how could 3 hours be significant? But it’s in there because it is significant. There’s a time set aside for the darkness and it’s imperative that we don’t rush through it. It’s a critical part of the story. It feels like suspense, like waiting, yes; but it’s a sacred space to be in. It’s where Jesus draws closer to us. Something is happening to us when we are in that space. Something is always happening. For us.
“Nothing static surrounds us. The sea ripples at every moment, the cloud twists moving from place to place…even if everything were fixed, it would be enough for the sun to move, which it does constantly, giving things a different aspect…” Twentieth century Spanish painter Joaquin Sorolla was expressing the challenges of trying to capture a moment in nature. We know it’s actually Earth moving while the sun is static, but you get the idea. God is always working, even when we can’t perceive it.
I think back to the hard runs I wrote about 2 years ago when my mom was in the hospital for 6 weeks. I would run on the track near the hospital. It was unusually hot for September and my limbs felt extra heavy. I thought that if I could push through these tough runs, it would help me be strong enough to face the challenges that her Alzheimer’s would bring. I get that no one is strong enough on their own, God was the one who carried me through those challenges. But I never discount the lessons that running teaches me. I think I can speak for most Christian runners on this: it’s God who gives us a heart for running and it may simply be a way He’s chosen to teach us.
When you’re on a track, loop after loop, you may feel like you’re not going anywhere; but you are making progress. As God is working, He wants us to work with Him. He also wants us to have patience. I remember seeing footprints in the gravel of the track and realizing that someone had run that path before me. Over the next couple of years, I met several wonderful friends that had already gone through similar hard times. They showed great resilience in their challenges and mentored me when I wasn’t even expecting it.
No one will ever experience the magnitude of suffering that Jesus did. It’s so very important that we don’t skim over this in our haste to celebrate the joy of the Resurrection. When we consider His suffering with the appropriate amount of reverence, it can be both humbling and life affirming. Especially for the times when we feel like our character doesn’t measure up. In a way it can’t; not compared to Christ. But we are so loved in spite of that. “But because of his great love for us, God, who is rich in mercy, made us alive with Christ even when we were dead in transgressions—it is by grace you have been saved.” Ephesians 2:4-5 (NIV) I don’t know if we can ever comprehend a love like that. It’s this love that can motivate us to do the things that are pleasing to God. But it’s okay if and when we don’t get it all right, Jesus understands.
Christ experienced separation from God so He could empathize with the moments when we feel like God has abandoned us. Of course God has never abandoned us. He is always good. Evil and darkness exist as well, but His goodness pervades it. When we understand that, it can bring a deep internal peace. It also helps to understand darkness in the scope of the entire story. Darkness adds depth to the story. The dark and the light, the sun and the clouds, the bright sky and the shadows from the trees; they’re all required to create the beautiful masterpiece.
God’s Word and our experience teaches us that there is a time for everything. The light will come … and then more dark… and then light again. Each one has its own purpose. “Not only so, but we also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit, who has been given to us.” Romans 5: 3-5 (NIV)
There’s a purpose to everything because God has a plan. Part of that plan is a wonderful promise. And because He is good, He will keep his promise. That’s really what Lewis meant by suspense, we’re awaiting His promise of things to come. Eternal joys that we can’t possibly dream of. And actually all of this life is merely provisional, if you believe in that promise.
In that same vein, we are given wonderful provisions here. The beauty of nature, art, and music; these are all things that God wants us to enjoy. They’re signs of His love and care. He provides food to nourish us, homes to give us shelter, and most importantly good friends, to come alongside us when we are grieving. “When Jesus saw his mother there, and the disciple whom he loved standing nearby, he said to her, “Woman, here is your son,” and to the disciple, “Here is your mother.” From that time on, this disciple took her into his home.” John 19:26-27 (NIV) People like this are led by the Spirit to reflect Christ. More than anything else, this is an extension of his love. If we let it, this love can fill the gaps that are left by the one we are grieving and that reflection can be the most powerful light we have in the darkness.
What could be more perfect than freshly fallen snow on Christmas morning? The white flakes swirl and stir up warm and giddy feelings of childhood. As adults our great hope is that our children get to experience that same joy. We know that shiny new toys will eventually become old and worn. Life takes its toll, not just on those things, but on us too. As we get older, experiences and trials change us. They leave unseen marks like the scratches on your old bike or that scar on your knee from when you crashed it. The scars add a special value to these things as they usually come with a story and an important lesson.
As a runner I’ve gotten a few scrapes and scars in my day. These injuries can be quite useful. They teach you when to rest and when to push yourself. They give you an opportunity to prove your strength; sometimes surprising others and many times surprising yourself. Most importantly, they make you realize that no matter how strong you think you are, there will always be times when you need help from others. Consider yourself blessed if you’ve ever fallen so hard that you had to phone a friend to pick you up from the side of the road.
The following is a story that began months ago. It started as a way of simply reminiscing about my dad and the old stuff in his garage. When I began looking at those things more intently, the story changed. It developed into a story about what we do with the adversities and encouragement that life offers us. Life’s pains and pleasures often work together. A lot of times, loss actually uncovers and strengthens our connections to others and that is one of life’s greatest joys.
We all know people that hate to throw things away. Not hoarders, just people who store stuff in the garage or attic… in case they might have a use for it some day. My dad was one of those. He kept a lot of his own old stuff and also “took things off of people’s hands.” He had a penchant for re-purposing garage sale purchases. And by re-purposing, I mean offering it up to anyone- mostly family members- who might need it. His garage is still a cluttered hodge-podge of outdated furniture, dusty ceramic mugs, and faintly creepy carnival stuffies. Along with a large assortment of tools and a couple of ratty old hats, it stands as a museum of all things ‘Dad’.
This is an anecdote I often tell with a mixture of humor and wistfulness. Now, as I scan the garage, a bit overwhelmed by the task of sorting through all of this junk; I realize that there’s more to it than that. Most of these things made their way into our garage because of his thoughtfulness and his desire to provide for others. And maybe for another reason too. At 5′ 6″ ish with a small build, he often had to prove himself to be considered for the more physical jobs he wanted as a teenager. He was the football team’s water boy in high school because the coach thought he was too small to play. From this he learned to recognize the value of things that others overlook.
There’s this pink and white tricycle that he rescued from a neighbor’s yard sale. It has white tires, a basket on the front, and it’s decorated with cheerful watercolor flowers and cupcakes. It’s a little worn out, but mostly just outgrown. He figured it was perfect for my 2 year old niece to use when my brother and his family visit from Texas. Beside it, there’s a black and red bike for my nephew to use. In the midst of the clutter, I didn’t pay much attention to the bikes. Until my brother was home for the funeral and I showed him around the garage.
“The funny thing is, most of this isn’t even our stuff. A garage full of strangers’ memories.”
I gave an empty chuckle and dropped my arms to my sides. My brother walked towards the trike and took hold of the pink handlebar. Understanding what it was for; he pinched his lips tight, looked up, and took a slow breath in. It was something he did to hold back tears. It was one of those moments in grief that felt heavy and light at the same time. I’d had one of those moments the night before when my brother’s family first arrived from Texas.
Waiting for their car to pull in is usually such a joy filled moment. But this time I was thrown by a version of grief that was sharp and suffocating. As their SUV rolled in so did the cold realization of what was really lost; the future memories that would never be shared. The sharpness softened a bit as I carried my nephew up the porch steps. Sleepy from a long drive, he let his head take respite on my shoulder. I relish these rare moments. As an energetic 6 year old, he’d normally be impatiently scuttling up the steps. Before I made it to the door, his little arms gave me a comforting squeeze. Sweet boy! He’d never done that before. Did he do it because he knows I am sad or because he is; maybe both? I’m still not sure of this answer, but it felt like an act of pure love. It made me realize that he had a better understanding of things than I thought. In a way, it was a blessing that he got to know his Papa Cecil enough to miss him.
All I know of my own grandfather came from the obituary that I Googled. I had the impression that my dad’s memories of him were not good so I never asked. Even in the collection of stories he wrote about his childhood, his father is hardly mentioned. He does, however, describe his grandparents as very loving. He writes that his grandfather was more of a father figure. His grandparents were the ones who took care of him when he had scarlet fever. His grandmother always made sure he had something to eat and his grandfather would walk 2 miles to the store just to buy him his favorite cookies.
Those few words help me to learn something very important about two people I never met. I was beginning to see a clearer picture. That stuff in the garage- they’re Dad’s version of the 2 mile cookies. He understood the value of thoughtfulness even if he’d have no idea how his would impact us. He may never get to see his grand kids enjoy their bikes, but the sentiment behind the deed will leave a lasting impression.
Life gives each of us a share of gifts and a share of hardships. We should be grateful for all of it. We have so much to learn from it. It’s easy to get so wrapped up in what happens to us that we get distracted from our true purpose of service. It’s not what we get out of life it’s what we pour into it. It’s not what we inherit but what we pass on. This is something I have to keep reminding myself. I certainly don’t have it all worked out. But maybe, If we’re doing life right; our effect on others will be so strong that the connection itself becomes its own entity. Connection is one of the most beautiful parts of life; it’s something that doesn’t die. It lives on in the form of kindness and goodness and the memories and influences we leave with the ones we love. Whatever you unwrap this Christmas, remember to consider the love with which it was wrapped. And never discount the value of those old things with the dents and scars.
Strangers and Neighbors
We’ve experienced the best and the worst of humanity over the last few weeks. There’s a lot I can say here. There’s a lot I want to say. But I’ve been trying (not always successfully) to reflect on the world as I see it, not the way I think it should be. We can expose both the breathtaking and the grotesque by simply seeing the world for what it really is. After 39 years, I’m still working on developing a clear picture of that.
“What’s yours will always find you.” I posted this picture a few weeks ago on Facebook. Just some crepe paper on a metal fence; but the words sparked about half a dozen thoughts that I wanted to share. So the theme of this post began to take shape weeks ago. But, just as a wildfire can change a landscape, life events charged in and reshaped this message.It’s been more than four weeks since I laid eyes on that scene. I miss seeing it. It was near my work building. On Monday March 9th, my department issued a mandatory work-from-home order. This was in response to the threat of Covid-19 and was to begin the very next day. At the end of the work day I began to pack up all the things I would need to facilitate a home office. It was a hazy and heavy few minutes. I disconnected and wrapped up half a dozen wires and slowly wound a thick black cord around the docking port. I was careful to avoid getting knots in the wires, meanwhile I felt the knots in my stomach growing ever tighter.
I looked around the nearly empty office. A few hours earlier it was bustling and full of bright chatter. Now it was starkly quiet; a maze of blank screens and abandoned desk calendars. The emptiness of the empty chairs brought a fleeting, but sharp feeling of despair. It was a bleak hint of the worst case scenario. I wondered how bad this thing was going to get.
Fast forward to today. It got bad.
We can blame the media for sensationalism, but the truth is that thousands of people have died and hospital employees are experiencing almost incomprehensible trauma. That’s plenty bad. There just seems to be so much disagreement about the seriousness of the situation. There seems to be disagreement about a lot of things; how to respond to the virus, how to avoid it, how to handle your home-schooled kids, what kind of mask to wear. Everything has become a point of argument. The world seems full of judgment and criticism at a time when we most need unity and compassion. It’s exasperating.
I blame myself for spending too much time on social media. I get it, people are bored and can’t help give their input while they’re scrolling. But it’s amazing how quickly one or two comments back and forth can escalate to a brutal war of words. Next thing you know, you’re insulting a complete stranger. I’m not saying we shouldn’t have disagreements over some things. I mean, there are certain materials that make for a safer mask. But using a better material does not make you a better person!
Sometimes it’s just so difficult to fight human nature; especially under great stress. This is forgivable. We are all inherently sinful. Self-promotion and self preservation come too easily sometimes. But I also believe we all possess a desire to leave a positive impact on others. We are called to a mission that is higher than our individual agendas. The only thing that differs is the extent to which we recognize that and let it guide our lives.
The key is to consider ourselves as a part of the whole. We’re meant for relationship. The very nature of our triune God alludes to that. “Let Us make Man in Our image…” Genesis 1:26. We were created in love to love one another. Our unique gifts are meant to be shared with others for the betterment of the community.The parable of the good Samaritan is probably one of the most well known stories from the Bible. Jesus used it to illustrate the nobility of extending mercy to our fellow man. He made the point that everyone is our neighbor, regardless of nationality, race, or social status. We get it, but often we forget it. And we tend to overlook the fact that Jesus is our Samaritan. In many ways we are all that beaten man from Jerusalem.
‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind’ and ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.”
“You have answered correctly,” Jesus said. “Do this and you will live.” Luke 10:27-28
For many of us, social distancing has put a spotlight on the importance of community and relationships. We’ve seen this sentiment represented in the most beautiful ways. Neighborhoods banding together to provide food and supplies to their vulnerable residents, celebrities teaming up with non-profits to provide care for children, and professional athletes contributing millions of dollars to help those who’ve been laid off. Generosity and compassion that warms the heart. This is what life is about.
This brings me back to that chain fence message. Those words were a reminder for us to be patient. They’re a call to recognize our unique gifts and contributions. They’re also a message of hope in the midst of disappointment. I don’t know anyone who hasn’t needed this type of encouragement at one time or another. I imagine that was the point of sharing it. Someone felt like sharing positive words in the hope that they’d reach the very hearts that needed them. So that is the main theme here. We are different but we are tied together by common needs and a common purpose. Our differences can be celebrated and our similarities embraced.
I thought about other times I’d been encouraged by strangers. There was a time almost 6 years ago when I was broken-hearted over the end of a relationship. One day I was sitting on a park bench doing my best to wipe the cascade of tears from my cheeks. A kind woman walking past, stopped to place a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “It’s going to be alright, honey.” I didn’t know her. I didn’t even get the chance to thank her. I knew deep down it was going to be okay, but that hope was buried under the weight of grief. It was like the faintest ember under an enormous, soggy wood pile. Her words stoked the ember just enough and the sadness eventually burned away. A little later, when I realized that what I’d lost wasn’t meant for me- it wasn’t mine– I knew I was far better off. The grief didn’t stay with me, but her words did.A contained fire brings light and warmth. We can look at the courage, stewardship, and generosity of others and see the fire of hope being stoked. But even more wonderful is the fact that we have the power to stoke that fire too! The more unified we are in this situation, the better off we’ll be. That’s why we’re here after all; for the sheer blessing of building one another up.
Jesus was the ”rich man made poor for us.” He lived a meager life. He ate at a borrowed table, rode on a borrowed donkey, died a horrific death, and was buried in a borrowed tomb so that we could live forever in paradise. There is no way we can repay that act of love; we’re not expected to. We’re only asked to show love in return and, of course, pay it forward. When we truly grasp the magnitude of this, then we can’t help but joyfully and generously give and serve.
This is a message to keep at Easter and always. It’s a message that we especially need now. So I am leaving you with some of the uplifting images that we’ve seen over the last few weeks. Happy Resurrection Day!
Decked out in festive Easter Bunny ears, Remy Kocurek, director of St. Vincent DePaul of the Valley, collects food donations at the food pantry at 237 Roosevelt Drive in Derby, Conn. on Sunday, April 5, 2020. The pantry has been accepting new clients in the wake of the coronavirus pandemic.
The Purpose that Prevails
The great ponderings of life: Why are we here? Why am I here? How do I live out my calling? Am I moving in the right direction? I’m sure that it takes great wisdom and deliberate searching.So, it’s my most frequent prayer; that God would give me the discernment and courage needed to live out His plan for my life.
On one particular night I’d prayed this in a different way. Out of frustration and grief over how quickly time slips away, I prayed: “God, just show me my purpose already!” I drifted off quickly that night. Within a few minutes, I had one of those bizarre half-dreams. If you didn’t already know (I didn’t), the proper term for this is hypnagogia. It’s when you’re in between sleep and consciousness. Anyway, it was a short one. I dreamt that I received a text that read WAIT! No known sender, just the word wait; in all caps, followed by an exclamation point. Now, I’m careful not to assign supernatural weight to explainable things. It was just a dream, nothing more. Still, I remember finding humor in it and thinking; okay God, I’ll wait.
I drifted off once more and this time my eyes didn’t open until 6am. I awoke to my mother calling out to my dad. I’d spent the night at my parents’ house. My mother’s back had been hurting so I was there helping out a bit. That morning the pain had become so unbearable that we took her to the emergency room. We quickly learned that this was more than ordinary back pain. As she laid in the hospital bed, body shaking and skin turning to a pale green; the doctor examined her with a look of great concern. She recommended a few tests and gave her something for the pain. The next couple of hours were quiet and tense. My dad and I would occasionally have whisper conversations as she slept. She would slip in and out of sleep, at times talking in her sleep in Spanish. That was the first day of six weeks spent in and out of the hospital.
The doctor recommended emergency surgery because of a raging infection and a blockage in her kidney. We got the lecture that her stubbornness, her refusal to get to a doctor sooner; could’ve killed her. I’m not exaggerating when I say that. The doctor made sure that we grasped the seriousness of the situation. In a flurry we were given options, instructions, and a slew of papers to sign. And then the waiting…
It pained me to see my Dad so scared. I was confident that she would recover from surgery but it was difficult to wrap our heads around what was happening. We paced by the window, looked up at the TV, stared at the patterns on the waiting room chairs, and thumbed through magazines. I stopped to contemplate an ad in Woman’s Day. It was a picture of a couple and their young daughter, walking hand-in-hand in a park. It was a picture of how I wanted my life to be. For one reason or another, that’s not how it is. But if it was, would I be able to be here now? I think I’m supposed to be here now.
The surgeon came out to give us the good news that surgery had gone well. Our spirits were lifted by the feeling of relief. By then it was evening and for the rest of the day, she mostly slept. She had no idea of what happened. We had no idea of what laid ahead of us.
The next morning, Labor Day, was a day off of work and I was looking forward to spending time with her at the hospital; still feeling the lightness of relief. The anesthesia was wearing off and she was becoming more alert, but something still wasn’t quite right. She was confused and acting bizarre and hostile. Her eyes looked black; so dark that you couldn’t distinguish between the pupils and irises. There was a darkness inside her. It only got worse over the next few days.
We repeatedly explained why she was there, but she couldn’t retain anything to memory for more than a few minutes. So she was just frustrated and angry. Angry with the doctors, nurses, me, and most of all, my dad. We didn’t know why. I just knew this was not my mother. For those few days I thought my mom was gone.
Before this, she’d been having some minor memory issues and we weren’t quite sure if it was just old age or something more. We were working on finding out. Now we had our answer. But it was like she progressed from the beginning stage to a very progressed stage in a matter of 24 hours. We weren’t prepared for the shock. I wasn’t prepared for the pain of losing my mother as I had always known her. I wish I could say that I was a rock for my dad. I was not.
God bless my friends who answered their phones when I called, only to hear my sobbing on the other end. I had never felt closer to my friends and at the same time felt incredibly isolated. Everyone else lives too far away. It was just me and my dad to navigate this strange territory. It was strange territory and this stranger who vacillated between not wanting us around and weeping if we left her alone for more than 25 minutes.
So we didn’t leave her. One of us was always there, especially my dad; a saint of a man who slept every night at the hospital to be by her side. The physical issues didn’t make matters easier, but they were of little concern to me. It was this confusion and delirium that had me terrified. How long could she live in that state? How were we going to care for her? My dad is 85 and I could never let him be her primary caretaker. But it was difficult to think through these practical problems when my heart was in such a wounded state.Life is heartbreakingly fragile, we’re all aware of this. But it can be utterly soul crushing to see this fragility embodied in someone you love; someone who is so much a part of your identity. Their brain is deteriorating and you’d do anything to stop it. There’s nothing you can do but show them pictures, and tell them stories to help spark their memory. You patiently answer the same questions 14,15,16 times in a row.
“I have a son too, right?”
“That’s right mom, Jason.”
“He lives in Florida?”
“No, Texas.”
“Oh okay. You still doing good in school?”
“I’m all done with school, mom.”
“Oh that’s nice! You like your job?”
Sometimes these question present themselves as knife twists in your heart. Other times, they’re just words and you answer like you’re a computer; like Alexa giving the temperature for the day. Then there are the moments of complete clarity. We’d enjoy reminiscing about a vacation or laugh at a cute video of my niece and nephew. I learned to savor these moments. They felt like the flickering flames of a little tea light. They were comforting but wouldn’t last long. I held them gingerly in my palms to keep them from blowing out too soon.
Some days she was wonderfully placid as she would work on her adult coloring book. Once, I sat on the hospital bed next to her, examining the top of her head. I was staring as if I could somehow peer into her brain and better comprehend what was happening. Her hair was still mostly black with a few wisps of white like the cream swirls in an Oreo cake. Her once-thick hair had been a source of pride and so it brought her great sadness when it began thinning. In the same way, she was fiercely proud of her high intellect. Now her mind was slipping away too. I guess I did understand what was happening; just not why. It seemed too cruel for a soul to bear. I sure didn’t understand how a woman could live for 80 years and never learn the dangers and sin of such pride. Could it even be possible that I know better than her when it comes to these things?
But that’s how life works; time takes things from you. It takes these parts of your life and places them in your past. Just as our parents often start out as central in our lives but eventually become part of our pasts. They leave us with lessons and influences that serve us well when we learn from them.
It’s easier to think these things through when I run. For a few of those really tough days, running was such a great escape for me. Some days when it was hot and arduous, my body just felt exhausted but my mind knew I was capable of going further. Other days when neither mind nor body cooperated, I asked for strength of spirit. Weeks earlier I had written that difficult times are often meant to be character building. But I underestimated how difficult a test could be and I overestimated how well I’d be able to handle it. Nearing the end of a run I thought: if this is how I’m supposed to gain character, I don’t want it. God, if this is my path I just don’t want it…
I decided on one more lap… but.. I’ll take it. If this is what you have for me, I’ll take it.
Shortly after that thought, I noticed a set of footprints ahead of me. Although, muddy footprints on a track don’t evoke the glamour of “Footprints in the Sand”; there they were to remind me that I wasn’t going through anything that thousands of others haven’t before. And I will never go through any trial that can compare to the suffering of Jesus. I can, however, learn from these experiences and leave footprints of my own. More importantly, I can walk along side others when they go through their difficult seasons. That’s enough to drive me forward.After my mom left the hospital, she slowly began to get better. Her mood and memory aren’t 100%, but there’s been a big improvement. As the doctor said, her time in the hospital was a preview of things to come. So, for the next few months or maybe even a few years, the situation will be more manageable. I don’t know why we were afforded the blessing of a glimpse into the future, but I am so grateful.
Often, we want all the answers to those great questions of life. We want confirmation that we’re on the right path. The best we can do is ask for patience and be wary of pride. Most times, we can only let life experiences reveal the answers to us. Time takes things away, but it also brings us things that we can’t plan for. More joy, more pain, more than we can imagine. In the meantime, God equips us with the wisdom and strength that we can’t muster up on our own.
Spiritual Sight
Some things that we consider to be burdens are actually great gifts. Some things are gifts that we forget to consider at all. These come in the form of difficulties that lead to character strength and the grace that’s offered when we simply can’t muster any strength. We neglect them because it’s just too easy to fall into our culture’s ideals. Culture’s influence makes us impatient to reap the benefits of our efforts. Many spiritual gifts take time to develop. We operate in a ‘get it now’ society. As a result we settle for things of worldly value instead of searching for eternal value.
In “Paul’s Letter to American Christians.” Martin Luther King Jr. wrote: “You have allowed the material means by which you live to outdistance the spiritual ends for which you live.” This is even truer now than it was 63 years ago. I’ve begun to think of this as the battle between “fleshly sight” and “spiritual sight”. The desires of the flesh seem so imposing, so powerful, that they distract us from recognizing our spiritual needs.There was a regular customer that would come into the bank where I used to work. He was a blind man probably in his late 50’s. For privacy reasons, we’ll call him Raymond. We all enjoyed Raymond’s presence. He was just a jovial, easy-going guy. I remember one time he came in, sucking down a milkshake from the Milkshake Factory across the street. “Hi Raymond!” I greeted him in the lobby. “Hi! Bianca, right? Do you ever go to the Milkshake Factory? These are really good!” With a slurping sound, he’d reached the end of the drink.
“I should think so, Raymond! You’re already done with yours!” He gave it a test shake. “Aw, man! That went fast. You’ll have to go get one on your lunch. “I might do that! Would you like me to throw your cup away?”
I tossed his cup into the small can by the front desk, he placed his hand -still cold from the shake- on my forearm, and I guided him to a teller window. After his transaction, we chatted on our walk back to the door. I can’t remember what we talked about but at some point he stopped.”You know what? You’re really cool!” I gave an incredulous chuckle. “Raymond, I’ve sure never heard that before!” He continued towards the door. “Well I think so, anyway.”
I thanked him and wished him a good day as I pressed the silver exit button. I shook my head as the door swung open and he began tapping his cane on the sidewalk. If he only knew how nervous it made me the first couple of times I watched him venture out into the bustling city. I would sort of cringe as if he was as vulnerable as a baby bird out there. I was anything but cool. I caught my reflection in the glass door. There I was with my knee-length pencil skirt and buttoned-up cardigan. Definitely not cool.
Of course, that’s not how Raymond “saw” me. My appearance couldn’t get in the way of what he thought of me. Now please don’t think I’m saying that I’m actually cool and that Raymond was the only one to recognize it. I don’t care to be cool. I’m happy being whatever way I am, as long as I’m growing. I am saying that we too often let the material distract us from what we should be seeing. The things we perceive as our immediate needs take the foreground and then we lose sight of what’s really important. I’m not talking about just physical sight, I’m talking about vision; looking deeper into our world. It is spiritual sight that allows us to see the bigger picture. It’s spiritual sight helps us recognize eternal value.
In another sermon “Unfilled Dreams”, Dr. King talks about great men who began great works, but never lived to see their dreams realized. It seems eerily prophetic now. David Garrow’s “A Cross to Bear”, accounts that King was acutely aware of the realities of his situation. The thought that he might lose his life was something he often considered. However, it was a cross he was not pained to bear. Most likely he considered it a priceless gift. The cause was worth more than his life because it was a “righteous” cause. King’s spiritual sight was far-reaching.
I think back to my friend Raymond and those times I worried a out him on the busy sidewalk. The reality is that sometimes, out in that world, he must rely on help from others; we all must. He probably has a better grasp of this than most. It’s a gift to have that understanding. There’s a freedom that comes from letting go of the pride of self-sufficiency. We all need help in some way. We can be both vulnerable and strong. And to receive kindness from others; well of course that’s another great gift. It’s a blessing that we should be happy to receive and even happier to give away. I don’t know the extent to which you struggle with these things. I know I do. But we can all learn, by the grace of God, to set our eyes and hearts upon the eternal .
The Hidden Gifts of Grief
“After they had heard the king, they went on their way, and the star they had seen when it rose went ahead of them until it stopped over the place where the child was.10 When they saw the star, they were overjoyed. 11 On coming to the house, they saw the child with his mother Mary, and they bowed down and worshiped him. Then they opened their treasures and presented him with gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh. “(Matthew 2:9-11 NIV)
Christmastime was always full of laughs when this guy was still here. He’d unwrap each gift gingerly. Then, teary-eyed and with a big, gummy smile; he’d look up to the ceiling and exclaim “Thank you, Santa! Gracias, Dios!” I still giggle to think about it. He did that for every present, even a tin of circus peanuts once. Circus peanuts! For him it wasn’t about the gift itself; he was touched by the thought behind it. He never held back on his excitement or his gratitude. For most of us as we get older, that excitement somehow morphs into anxiety and stress over things that really aren’t that important.
Christmas can be a time for nostalgia and reflection. Usually that means remembering loved ones that are no longer with us. The grief seems to hit harder this time of the year. Thinking about my uncle Abby and those of you who’ve lost loved ones; I’ve been reflecting on the hidden gifts that can be found amidst grief. I realized that I’ve gained far more by having Abby in my life than I’ve lost by his death. If you can say that about anyone then that certainly is a gift.
The longing for them creates a deeper love. We recall their good character traits much more clearly than the bad. Their true essence becomes more powerful to us than it was when they were right in front of us. Because often, this messy world and our messy lives distract us from seeing the best in people, just like it distracts us from appreciating the wonder of this season.
We spend our lives with this desire to be loved and truly known. When someone dies we get the completed story of who they were on this Earth. Maybe it’s only then that we can understand them deeply enough to write their epilogue. Grief leads us to consider what may come after this life. If we believe in God and Creation, then we must believe that the best is yet to come. And so a new story can start. If we let this realization sink in, it can be uplifting.
This is not to diminish the feeling of grief. I’m not saying we should force ourselves to be happy or find the “positive side” of death. It can be utterly devastating and far too overwhelming to do any of that. I’m only offering a mustard seed of hope. Given time, even the tiniest seed can grow into something great. And that is what the first Christmas brought to us; hope in the darkness.
“Since the children have flesh and blood, he too shared in their humanity so that by his death he might break the power of him who holds the power of death—that is, the devil— and free those who all their lives were held in slavery by their fear of death.” (Hebrews 2:14-15 NIV)
Through Jesus we are given grace, forgiveness, and freedom from death. No other gifts can compare to those. It’s important to recognize the unseen gifts in life and, like my uncle, appreciate the material gifts more for the sentiment behind them. Only when our hearts are equipped with hope and gratitude will they be able to withstand the grief that will inevitably come. Sometimes losing someone helps us to recognize these things. Material things that loved ones give us can be representations of their generosity and thoughtfulness, so they are not without value. But it’s what they leave behind in memory that is infinitely more valuable.
The “Least of These” are the Greatest of Gifts
If you let it, this book might press on your heart like a soulful worship song. It’s sentimental, profoundly spiritual; and deeply, deeply convicting. There’s so much you can write about a man as wonderful and rare as Fred Rogers. I’ll resist the urge to ramble on and on. Just a few words:
I read this the same week I was given an assignment to figure out how to incarnate Jesus more effectively. Now, it may be tempting to answer that by simply saying: “Be more like Mister Rogers!” But that wouldn’t do for Fred Rogers. He was an avid proponent of embracing one’s uniqueness. He’d want each of us to figure out our own special way. We can, instead, learn from his example.
Fred Rogers joyfully nestled into his faith and he emulated Jesus like no one else. He was an advocate for children and a gracious servant to the “least of these”. I believe we are all called to serve. That may be the most effective, practical way to reflect Jesus. However, cultivating a heart of service without pride getting in the way; that’s been a hard struggle. Don’t get me wrong, I’d like to think that about 50% of the time I do things out of a pure heart. Other times, I fall into the temptation of thinking; oh look at me, look at the nice things I’m doing. I’m a pretty good person, right?
It’s like adding drops of poison into fresh water.
So I contemplated my assignment while listening to the audiobook, often replacing Google’s voice with my recollection of Mister Roger’s slow, teacherly drawl. In Chapter 7, “The Least of These,” the author begins by describing a special performance at her church. It was a bell choir consisting of adults with physical and mental disabilities. She was moved by their unabashed enthusiasm. I smiled and immediately thought of my Uncle Abelardo “Abby” Estrada. He was a lover of the performing arts as well. He had Down Syndrome and spent Summers at our house until he eventually moved in with my family when I was 14. It always puts a smile on my face to think of him. I thought about the virtues that God taught me through him. He was so loving and had an authentically grateful spirit.
These are the ones that we are to be stewards of. They are more vulnerable and perceived as having more difficult lives. But you know, they are able to understand the essentials of life in a way that we can’t. What a blessing! I finally get it. We can never see Jesus in ourselves until we first see Jesus in ones “such as these.” Jesus identified with them and so should we. It’s all about creating connection and realizing, as Rogers did, that we are more alike than different.
I finished the book wishing there was more of it to read. I took my ear buds out and quickly wiped a tear that had escaped. I was at my work desk and didn’t want anyone to see. I’ll spare you the boring details, but at my job, I work with spreadsheets and numbers. The numbers usually fall in a range between a few hundred and a few million. I only mention this because yesterday, after finishing the book, the very last entry on my spreadsheet was 1.43. You may know that this was Fred Rogers’ favorite number. It’s rare to see a number like that in my work, but I’ll not make this out to be some spiritual sign. It’s enough to think of it as a happy coincidence.
143 did hold significance in Fred Rogers life. Among other things, he kept his weight at 143 lbs. It was his numerical sign for I love you. I (1) love (4) you (3). So there it was. 143. Oh Mister Rogers, we love you too! And you made the world a better place by just your being you.
Considering Grace…Again
Last Sunday was a bad day. Nothing happened really, I was just in a funk. You know those days when you’re already feeling upset, and then hurtful thoughts take over your mind in order to match the emotions. It’s like you can’t even control it. I know, it’s ridiculous, but it happens to a lot of us. I actually don’t think you can be authentically happy without having days like those every once in a while.
I was hopeful that I’d be able to start fresh Monday. What better way to do that than with a run on a pretty fall morning. I headed out minutes after the sun came up. It couldn’t have been a more perfect day. The air was crisp, the sun beamed ethereally through the trees, and the dark pavement was peppered with copper, red, and gold of the fallen leaves. But, that day, I was still unmoved by these things. That dark mood was lingering.
I made my way past the duck pond and onto the sidewalk. A few yards ahead was a young man that I’d seen a few times before. I remembered him for his preppy looking scarf, thick glasses, and the scowl he had his face. Oh great here goes grumpy Harry Potter. He mean mugged me twice last week, I swear! There was no mean mug that day though, just a slight nod of recognition as I ran past. It was a pleasant surprise. Okay Harry, I see you!
A few minutes later I got a “Good morning sweetheart.” from a nice older man sitting on a bench. Then, waiting at a red light, someone chirped “Nice day for a run!” I waved and ran across the street. I wondered what was going on. If anything, I usually just get a couple of weird glances that I attribute to my just-rolled-out-of-bed look. Why was everyone being so friendly? Why today? I was running up hill towards the bus stop where two older ladies we’re chatting. They were both wearing dark, oversized jackets, navy cargo pants, and worn out work boots. One of them stopped mid-conversation to cheer for me. “Yay, go girl!” she said, pumping her fist. How nice! I giggled, but I was still so perplexed. Why would she cheer for me? I’m not doing anything special. I wasn’t even running that fast. My quads actually felt a bit fatigued. Nonetheless she cheered me up… a little. I was heading down hill and nearing the end of my run when the wind picked up a little. It felt like it was behind me, giving me the gentle boost I needed to finish strong.
During the first hour at work my mind was still set on the same hurtful thoughts from the day before. However, I kept drifting back to thoughts of that sweet woman cheering for me. Finally, it broke through the wall of negative. Of course she didn’t care how fast I was running or that I was even running at all! It had nothing to do with me and everything to do with her. At that moment she was moved to do something gracious and kind. I mean, that’s the beautiful story of grace isn’t it? It has nothing to do with us and everything to do with God. We could never really do enough to deserve the ultimate sacrifice of Jesus. So we receive it regardless of our accomplishments. We receive it because of His love.
This doesn’t mean our actions don’t matter. It’s just about being “other-centered” instead of “self-centered.” Sometimes we need to take ourselves out of the equation. I forget that. All the time. Man, it would save me a lot of hurt feelings to remember that! Many times a person’s actions- good or bad- have little to do with you.
And it makes a huge difference how we respond to it all. We can look at the goodness and let it brighten us, sustain us, and like a gust of wind; push us further. We can ignore it altogether and never find a reason to keep going. We can dwell on the negative and let life become so exhausting that we fall or simply can’t go on. The fact that we receive grace without deserving it should be enough to keep us humble and grateful. It’s by God’s grace that there are many in this world who are kind and loving. We should look to them and look to Jesus as an example of the very best way to live.
A Heart at Rest
Happiness is not something that happens to us. It happens because of who we are. Timothy Keller explains this in his sermon entitled “The Search for Happiness.” I begin with these words in the interest of giving this post a different tone than the last one. As apprehensive as I was to write that one, it met my expectation of being relatable. I do regret, however, that I made it more about running and less about faith; more about me and less about God. I do that in other aspects of my life too, at times. For instance, I said running has improved my life, but it could’ve just as easily destroyed it. I could have turned this healthy joyful habit into an unhealthy obsession. I was once at a point where I found it impossible to skip a day of running. I found myself worrying about what would happen- what kind if person I’d be- if for some reason I could no longer run. It’s a common trap for all of us. We’re really just searching for fulfillment, but we cling so tightly to things that we choke the goodness right out of them. Hard work becomes workaholism, romantic love morphs into toxic relationships, and children develop anxiety disorders under the great expectations of their parents. In his book Counterfeit Gods, Keller sharply points out that we’re trying to fill a “God-shaped hole” in our hearts.
I could write pages and pages about idolatry (mostly based on my own battles). But I’m sure we’ve all had our fill of hearing about struggles these days. This story is about the peace that comes when you let God’s love fill the space that it’s meant to.
The sun was bright and relentless on the afternoon I left Dallas for Pittsburgh. My brother pulled up to the passenger drop-off and I felt that familiar heartsick knot in my stomach. The end of another visit. I hopped out of their SUV, hugged my sister-in-law and opened the back door to peek in on my niece in her car seat.
“Edie, say goodbye to Aunt B!” My brother encouraged. ”
“Bye-bye Annbee!” She smiled wide like she was on the verge of laughter.
“Bye Edie, see you soon!”
I gave her a peck and we both giggled as I shut the door. I walked around to the other side to hug my nephew. I began to lean in when his little leg jutted out. The toe of his electric blue New Balance pressed against the seat back, trying to block my path. His arm went up in a ‘karate chop’ position.
“No Aunt B!”
He’s not always one for the mushy stuff.
“Aww okay buddy, I won’t give you a hug.”
He was joking around a bit, but it was also sort of a defense mechanism. My brother gave me a hug and handed me my back pack.
He reassured me,”He’ll just be sad for a little bit.”
That pierced my heart.
“Bye Cecil, I’ll miss you!”
I looked at his sullen, innocent face thinking; my sweet little boy you never have to protect your heart from me! I love you so much and I will always keep coming back.
The airport doors slid open and I was greeted with a cold blast of AC. It was a welcome relief from the intense heat. I made it to my gate with almost 2 hours left to get food and wander the airport. I walked for a half mile or so, weighing my food options. More so, I was people watching, and contemplating. I was thinking about my nephew. My hope is that he learns to always love genuinely and to never be afraid of getting hurt. Love and pain are inevitable, but both are such beautiful parts of this life. I’ve loved boldly and I’ve loved with fear. Both have led to heartbreak, but only the latter left me with regret. To that point, the more I grow to love God with that authenticity, the more at peace my heart becomes. I can’t tell you how it happens, it just does.
I got to my gate and took a seat by the window. I was enjoying my Starbucks green tea lemonade while listening to “In Search of Happiness” again. Keller opens the sermon with Romans 8:28. “…God works all things for the good of those who love him…” Until recently, I’d been misinterpreting this verse. I thought it meant that if we’re disappointed over something; not getting a job, going through a break up, etc., that God promises a better job or a better person for us. Although that may happen sometimes, that’s not the promise here. I sipped my tea and savored that notion for a moment. The thing is, sometimes disappointment is simply meant to teach us an important lesson. Sometimes suffering can last for a long time and the good that comes from it isn’t what we were hoping for at all. The good comes in the form of resiliency, wisdom, patience, and the opportunity to be more Christ-like. No one suffered more than Jesus. So that’s the promise. This may not be very comforting but it is the truth. If the freedom of this truth doesn’t stoke a fire in your heart, then you’re missing the point.
An announcement over the loudspeaker halted my train of thought. Our gate had changed. I gathered my things and followed the herd as we boarded the shuttle from gate A to gate D. It was so crowded that there weren’t enough poles for everyone to hold onto. I leaned against a nearby bench for support. A lanky young man stood a few feet from me, in the center of the crowd, not able to find support at all. He stood with his feet wide apart, crouching slightly, bracing himself for the shaky ride. I was curious to see if he could keep his balance like that. When the shuttle took off, the poor kid was jostled so hard that I knew he was sure to fall. I stretched out and caught his arm.
“I gotcha!”
I gave a nervous laugh. After a few awkward seconds the shuttle stopped and a large group stepped off. We were both able to find poles. After another few moments the young man struck up a conversation.
“You headed to Pittsburgh?”
“Yep, going back home.”
We continued to chat as we made our way off the shuttle, down the escalator, and finally to our gate where we found two cushy seats. He was David from Uniontown. His dad lives in Dallas so he visits about 4 times a year. He enjoys traveling, and has been to a lot of places for a 15 year old. He was so pleasant and outgoing that I imagined he was well-liked by everyone at his school. He’s in ROTC and plans to join the Army after he graduates.
“So if you had your choice of anywhere in the world to be stationed, where would it be?”
“I just want to be where I’m needed; where the action is. I like the idea of defending people.”
I was surprised by his response. That’s bold sacrifice. And how wonderful that he believes people- strangers like me- are worth defending. I can’t imagine a lot of 15 year olds think that way. But then again, why wouldn’t they; if God’s grace touches our lives and can make us more Christ-like? Jesus died for us and compared to him, we most certainly aren’t worthy.
“I guess we could use more people that think like you.” I told him.
After about 10 minutes his group number was called for boarding and we said our goodbyes and ‘nice- to-meet-yous’. On the plane I had a middle seat in between an off-duty pilot and a gruff, but handsome man in his 40s. He looked like he could’ve been a retired amateur MMA fighter. It was a quiet flight and soon I settled back into my own thoughts. I gazed out the window as day gradually turned into night.
I’m convinced now that sunsets are even more breathtaking from the vantage point of a plane. I sat transfixed by the wide bands of turquoise, lavender, dusty pink, and fiery orange. I sank into my chair and sighed. I think these must be the types of things that God shows us to make us aware of His presence. It was blissfully tranquil, except for the moment when I realized no one else was watching. The pilot was doing paperwork and MMA Guy had his nose in a book. Everyone else was on some electronic device. What’s wrong with you people! You’re missing it, YOU’RE MISSING IT!
But that’s the just the way of the world now. We’re too busy, too distracted with more ‘important’ things. I couldn’t blame them. I’m guilty of being the same way.
I thought of all the foolish ways I’ve tried to find my significance. Running may have been one of the first ways, then it was work, relationships, and even my ‘fierce’ independence. Every time one of these things failed me, I ran back to God. So many times my heart got revved up and then let down. But now that I’m trying to set my heart on the right thing, it’s finally at rest. It’s by the grace of God that I gained this peace. It took experience and hard lessons to get to this point. I am so grateful for every bit of it.
I think about the great love I have for my nieces and nephews. I am confident in the knowledge that I will keep coming back, even if I get karate chopped every once in a while. That’s like God’s love for us. Even if we block him or put him on the back-burner, He’ll come back as long as we’ll have him. And that’s exactly why we should make him our priority. We should be seeking him in the first place, not just when things go wrong. God’s love is not a consolation prize. Nothing should give us a better sense of self-worth than knowing that the Creator of the universe created us for a purpose. We just have to seek out truth in order to find that purpose. And we should follow this path not just to gain His love- we have that anyway- we should do it to show Him our love.
Truth doesn’t change and neither will God’s love. The things of this world disappoint us, God never will. That’s how your heart can remain full of peace, even when it’s hurting. A broken heart is still far better than an empty one. Even through pain we can find joy and wonder in things like the giggle of a child, a beautiful sunset, or a friendly stranger who changes your perspective. It’s these small but powerful ways that God shows us He’s always with us and always has our back.
Running Saved My Life
Okay, so the title may be an exaggeration, but I assure you this is the realist story I’ve ever posted. So real that I’m still not sure if I’ll have the courage to share it. The truth is, running has made my life better. I’ve already told the story about how I started out hating it and then somehow fell in love. I think that’s because it changed something in me. I started when I was about 20 and a junior in college; a pivotal time in any woman’s life. It was also around this time that I’d been struggling with clinical depression. I don’t like to talk about that time. Not because I’m ashamed, but because that’s not me. Everyone knows me as the cheerful optimist; bright and joy filled. I’m nothing like that sad, lost girl of 18 years ago. Although, as recent events revealed, there might always be a small part of her in me- even if it’s the teeniest of parts. That’s what brings me to this story.
It’s common knowledge that exercise produces endorphins which help boost our moods. In places like the UK and the Netherlands, exercise is listed as one of first lines of defense against mental illnesses. There’s even evidence that consistent exercise can change our brain structure. I won’t delve into the science of it, I’ll just say that a good tough run can make me feel way better than any drug would. I’m sure that my regular running brought me out of the dark place I was in all those years ago. Running is a part of my life in ways many wouldn’t understand. It’s been almost 2 decades years since the word Prozac even entered my vocabulary. I honestly thought it never would again…
In the last few weeks I’ve been wrestling with the decision of whether or not to move back to my hometown in order to be closer to my aging parents. Their recent health issues have been weighing heavy on my mind. Combine that with normal work stresses, a heartbreak, and unexpected financial concerns and I guess something just snapped. It’s like everything piled on top of me and pushed me into a deep, dark hole. Don’t get me wrong, I understand that these are stresses that we all go through. I also know that I have so much to be grateful for. In a way, I think that realization made me feel worse. I kept thinking: I know it’s normal to feel bad but I shouldn’t feel this bad. I felt a crushing sadness, despair, and emptiness. During the day, I felt like I was stuck under this dark cloud looking out at everyone else in the normal world. At nights, I’d be struck with an intense and overwhelming feeling of dread. I could only pace and pray. God help me understand the purpose of this. It just doesn’t make sense. I would wait for my alarm to go off just so I could drag myself out of bed to go run on already exhausted legs. In the past when I felt sad those running endorphins would kick in to make me feel a little better. This time, there was no relief. But faith and experience have taught me that this wouldn’t last forever so I kept it up. I knew sooner or later something had to work.
A couple of weeks ago, I had a coaching session at work with my supervisor. He listed my positive demeanor as one of my strengths. “Everyone always says that you’re always so optimistic and easy going!” I gave him a half-hearted smile while I felt pang of grief in my gut. I felt like a fraud. I’m not that cheerful ray of sunshine. Not right now. A small part of me wanted to cry and tell him everything. I wanted to tell him how I’d only slept 3 hours in the last 3 nights, how I’d barely eaten and how every click of the mouse, every type of a number was excruciating and I didn’t know how I could possibly keep it up.
Instead I thanked him as I left his cubicle and used my lunch break to make a doctor’s appointment. I needed to take charge of this somehow. I returned to his desk 20 minutes later to ask for a half day off that Friday for the appointment.
In the days before the appointment I took some solace in my very good friends. I had one who talked to me for 3 hours on the phone and another who called me everyday on my way home from work. They both let me know they had my back. That was everything. Truly.
The thing is, I do know what a great life I have. I’m blessed with the most wonderful friends. I’m lucky to still have my parents and most days they are still in good spirits. They raised me with so much love and encouragement that I developed a fierce self-confidence. I also have my running. Running has taught me that the harder you work, the greater the reward, but often, the greatest reward is actually the work itself. I just have to keep working to feel better. And not least, I have my faith which has taught me that there’s purpose for everything. This pain is just a small part of the bigger, greater picture. Throughout these terrible couple of weeks I kept reminding myself of all this. I knew if I kept thinking it, I’d eventually feel it.
Realizing that there was a purpose to all this was the one thought that seemed to help things click for me. By the day of my appointment I was already seeing a light at the end of the tunnel. The doctor had prescribed a low dosage of Prozac and at first I felt sort of defeated. I didn’t think I would ever be in this spot again. I wanted to be stronger and not need any help. As I drove to work, I considered my options; wondering if I could get through this without any help. I thought back to my friends and a hug I got from a sweet 6 year-old a few days before. I thought about all the people that fill my life with love. My eyes welled up, but this time it was from happiness. The thing is, I do need help. We all do. And I will never have a shortage of helpers in my life. How could that make me feel anything but joy!
By the time I got to work I was feeling strangely peaceful and more like myself. I strutted into the office with my coffee and slightly worn laptop bag feeling like Kate Middleton toting Chanel. I gave a little princess wave. “Hi everyone, I’ve finally arrived!” A couple coworkers clapped and I gave a gracious bow. “This is great, I should schedule a half day more often!” We all giggled and I smiled as I turned on my computer. It was a genuine smile. For the first time in a while I no longer felt like a fraud.
The next day I sat on the porch with this little pill and the big question of whether or not to take it. I stared at it for a few reflective minutes before deciding to put it back in the bottle. I knew I was over the worst of it by that point. With everything I have working for me I could never stay down for very long. Now, I’m not promoting nor condemning the use of medication to combat depression. We all have to do what is best for us. What I’m saying is that it’s important to do anything and everything it is to make yourself better. Whether it’s your faith, the comfort of a friend, a hobby to throw yourself into, or yes, even a little pill. Do whatever it takes and never feel ashamed to ask for help. Just know that you’re not alone. We aren’t meant to handle the burden of tough times on our own.
“Two are better than one because they have a good return for their labor. For if either of them falls, the one will lift up his companion. But woe to the one who falls when there is not another to lift him up. Furthermore, if two lie down together they keep warm, but how can one be warm alone?
And if one can overpower him who is alone, two can resist him. A cord of three strands is not quickly torn apart.” Ecclesiastes 4:9-12
Site Title 