Archive for the ‘Personal’ Category
This morning NPR interviewed a man with catalepsy, a cousin of narcolepsy. During REM sleep, our bodies release a certain chemical which tells all our muscles to relax (so we don’t literally act out our dreams). Unfortunately for a few folks, this chemical is released while they are awake, causing all their muscles to let go and thus paralyzing them. The release mechanism for this chemical is the person’s emotional response, and for the man on NPR (Walter?), it was especially triggered by his pleasurable emotions: excitement, happiness, love. 
You can imagine the impact this would make on relationships, especially family relationships. With his wife, think of not only sex, but kissing, holding hands, talking about the children… engaging in any emotional connection. Walter described collapsing at a grandchild’s birthday party and on phonecalls with his children. He spent the whole time at his daughter’s wedding propped up like a bag of potatoes against the wall. Not just happy events themselves, but simply looking at photos of happy events can paralyze him. There is no cure, but he takes a medication which slows the attacks, so it now comes on at a pace which he can recognize and respond to.
On the radio he spoke slowly and with no inflection in his voice, trying to speak of emotional things while blocking out the natural emotions. His speech became slower, with more pauses, he remarked that his eyelids were feeling heavy, and then the NPR interviewer told the audience that Walter had to go lie down because he was slipping into paralysis. The show host went on to describe how Walter could only function in life by avoiding happy occasions, turning himself more and more into an unemotional machine. For Walter, happiness is not a good thing nor is connecting with others emotionally. Such a heavy burden to bear through life.
My struggles in life are much smaller than his, but his experiences had an echo in my own. Those things that once gave me pleasure in the first half of my life–whether great or moderate, exciting or fulfilling–are beyond my reach now. I am always tired, so tired that doing something enjoyable feels like a burden rather than blessing. When I have emotional energy I get great pleasure in so many things–reading, writing, conversing, celebrating, creating. Those are mostly a dim memory now, and I only eke out small, brief pleasures. The more taxed I am, the less ability I have to experience the good.
For the last few weeks, my heart is starting to recover from its latest downspike. The telltale sign of my recovery is that imagining the joys of life feels good rather than painful. Merely the thought of blogging, for instance, has been lead to my heart, but imagining it these days feels more like a little red balloon… even if I still have little energy for actually doing it.
As we have been struggling financially for a while, I decided to save money this winter by installing a wood burning stove in our basement. I found a 55 gallon barrel, scavenged cinder blocks and ductwork from ditches and dumpsites, and with a $50 kit converted the barrel into a stove. I mortared the blocks together with clay from my yard and ran the ducts into our heating system. It is utilitarian, stuck in our basement with our washer/dryer, fusebox, unfinished ceiling and walls, and storage units, so I let it be an uncouth affair. It has served us well with free wood which is always available in these forested hills.
Nature's Ballet
As I build each fire and stoke it through the day, I have gradually spent more and more time just watching the flames. In my boyhood, the hearth was a spot of peace and calm. It was simply for our pleasure, so we lit it only when we had leisure time and a desire to sit in quietness. Childhood emotional memories are deep rooted, and I find that sitting by the fire now is healing, soothing. At first I sat leaning against a paving stone on the cement floor, but I eventually dragged a recliner into this storage room, and here I sit, listening to the steaming, popping, and crackling and watching the orange dancing glow, art in motion.
I’d like to ask my readers, what was peaceful and calming for you as a child? Would you share it with us?
About 10 years ago my oldest sister Mardi gave me a peace plant from her home. For the first couple of years it had several blooms, but with my haphazard watering and giving it sunlight, it soon stopped blossoming. When it drooped, I would water it… if I were around and noticed. I think it has more roots than dirt since I have never repotted it, not wanting it to get bigger. A less hardy plant would have just given up (as many of mine have!), but this one persevered. It put out nice green leaves, usually with brown shriveled tips from over-watering or under-watering (I still can’t tell the difference).
After 8 long years of barrenness!
This winter, Kimberly brought home an even more pathetic small peace plant. She had left it in the care of a colleague while she was out of town, and he had forgotten to water it. The leaves were mostly curled brown and crumbling to the touch. We cut off all the dead leaves which made it look less scorched, but more pathetic, and started to water it. And here in the middle of winter and struggle, we have been delighted with both plants deciding to bloom! The flower on my plant lasted a whole month before I burnt it with incorrect watering of some sort. Kimberly’s flower is just starting.
On good days, I think of it as a parable of our lives, a promise of what is to come, a hoped for sweetness and beauty from a long gestation of suffering and pain. I wish for you, friends, a glimpse of this beauty which is developing in you as well.
first glimmer of life and beauty
I have not visited my own site since I last posted. When I sink too far down, I just work each day on breathing. Sickness of soul has many comparisons with physical illness, and in both cases healing requires rest, the kind of rest and as much of it as a soul and body need. Most of my life I put my body and soul on strict rations, telling them what they needed and giving only that. I now realize my body and soul are a good bit smarter than my brain in knowing what they lack. I now see my brain is called to support those needs and not contradict and fight them. What I need, I need. There is no shame in needing.
THE TOUCH OF GENTLE HANDS
It is true that being “needy” is considered socially ugly in America. Some of this springs from a reaction to manipulators, folks who take advantage of others’ sympathy–and as a healthy boundary this caution may be good–but I suspect much of it springs from a sense of prideful independence… at least I know how powerfully this has worked in my life. And the natural partner to pride is shame (recognized or not), so I have also been ashamed for my need of others, as well as fearful of their resentment in helping me. I have discovered that the more I try to deny my needs, the more I close off grace from my life. Openly acknowledged need is the entry point for grace, though such vulnerability must be exercised with wisdom since letting down the defenses not only allows for more personal healing and deepened relationship, but may also open the way for much harsher wounding, depending on the response of the one we trust. I thank God often for my trustworthy wife.
Kimberly and I (and Mazie, our sweet dog) were able to spend a week at the beach between Christmas and New Year’s thanks to a very cheap hotel and a generous Christmas present from Berly’s dad. The weather was perfect and it was a wonderful time to relax. There was a delightful (and free) art museum in town, and when we visited I saw this inspiring drawing by Susan Ariel Rainbow Kennedy.
I feel so very tired, weary of life, confused about how to respond in a healthy, soul-affirming way. I’ve tried ineffectively to look for the root of my current depression so that I could apply grace to the wound, but it eludes me. It seems that all I can do is learn to accept my condition with patience.
For the last two months or so I have awakened each morning with a great heaviness of spirit that nothing seems to lift, a feeling of exhaustion and unhappiness. The only thing that seems to help is going back to sleep, which I have regularly done (since I work nights, I can do that). Just lying down, even without sleep, seems to help a good deal. It is my way of giving my soul a rest, removing all demands and expectations for the moment. The weight gradually lifts during the day on most days to the point that I can do something “productive” without cost to my soul. I have no energy for the creativity, vulnerability, and/or interpersonal connection that social media involves. My sister Mardi finds that she is pushed to express her feelings in art when she is depressed, but the opposite happens to me. So I stop blogging.
Some folks have suggested that I suffer from seasonal affective disorder, which comes out in the winter. But my struggles come out indiscriminately throughout the seasons, probably more affected by my life circumstances. Environment does impact my feelings significantly, cloudy days often cloud my spirit… in fact, when I can enjoy an overcast day it is a good indication that my soul is at rest.
Kimberly and I just had a week’s vacation at the beach, and it was very refreshing. Each day was quiet, slow, soothing. We slept in, read from a favorite author, and then talked about our thoughts and feelings; we had lunch, went for a long walk on the beach or in the woods with our dog Mazie and settled into a relaxed evening. We take great comfort in one another’s company and our sweet Mazie is a constant delight to us (Mazie is short for Amazing, so with our surname, Amazing Grace). I was hoping that calm would carry over into our days at home, but the personal gravity pulled me down as I rose from bed today, our first morning back. Reminds me of John Mayer
To all those who face this: my understanding and empathy are with you. May you find little landings of peace on the long climb, short embraces of sunlight piercing through, unexpected touches of gentleness for your battered soul… and when you need it, take a nap!
I phoned an old friend today. He wasn’t in and I had to leave a message. In anticipating his return call, I imagined Bob asking me, “How are you?” What would I say? What does the question mean? How am I this moment or overall? How am I in reference to what scale? How am I feeling or how is my soul or how are circumstances or…? Yes, I do complicate the simplest things, but it seems to lead me to a deeper understanding.
I think most people want a superficial (and pleasant) response, but my friends have learned to expect an honest, reflective answer from me… which begs the question, what is genuine? Consider margarine–is it imitation butter or genuine margarine? The truth is that I have been struggling for a few weeks about my self worth because I have been applying for a lot of second jobs, even minimum wage jobs, to cover the loss of income from Kimberly leaving her employment, and I have had no responses, as though I have nothing of value to offer the world. My overall emotions continue to improve in the long view, but I still experience much more psychological turmoil than I wish, a mark of how much farther I have still to grow. So the truth is that I am struggling.
However, I am like a cancer patient going through successful chemotherapy. In spite of all the pain and sickness, signs of improving health are very evident. I am on the road to recovery. One can feel miserable while being in a very good place personally. So the truth is that I am doing well, very well, increasingly well. That does not mean that I am feeling happy or content. Sometimes life is just hard (often hard for some of us), but it is well with my soul.
So, I haven’t posted for a while. Kimberly is away in New York leading a retreat for L’Arche members. I’m looking for a second job. I have an interview this Thursday which looks quite promising, a weekend supervisory role. While Kimberly is gone, I’m trying to get a few things done with which to surprise her. Primarily painting the living room a color we agreed on. Finding a close color match has not been as smooth as I expected, so I hope she is okay with the shade. I know she will appreciate not experiencing the fumes and mess that the painting will create.
I conducted the wedding for my sister-in-law and husband weekend before last. It was the first time I met many of my extended family in-laws. I have a new appreciation for destination weddings (this one in Fort Myers, FL). Spending several days with in-laws can create the basis for much quicker assimilation. As I told everyone, this was the first time I felt I was part of the family instead of part of Kimberly’s family. It felt good (though a little stressful to conduct a wedding for an in-law… if it goes badly… which thankfully it didn’t). I did manage to screw up the new name of the couple when I presented them after the kiss, but everyone seemed to be okay with that… after all, a beach wedding tends to be more casual (it was the first time I ever wore a suit in bare feet!) Lots of cameras and lots of photos and video. But I’m having trouble downloading them. I’ll try again later.
I have hinted at the positive direction that Kimberly and I are headed, but some might wonder if it is really worth all the pain and struggle. Believe me, we asked ourselves the same question many times, and for the first year or two of marriage I regularly wondered in the middle of a conflict if we had made a mistake in getting married. But we couldn’t help ourselves. Neither of us felt there was much benefit in a shallow relationship, and the only alternative we knew was to keep going deeper in honest understanding, acceptance, and respect for ourselves and one another.
As we worked through the foundational issues in our conflicting worldviews, some pretty amazing things happened within each of us and in our relationship.
UM... UH... SO ABOUT MY ISSUES.
Nothing has ever affected me so powerfully as being accepted for who I really am right now in all my brokenness (not for what I do, who I project I am, or who I one day will be). It did not come easy for either of us, but I cannot remember a single major conflict in the last two years and Kimberly has difficulty even remembering the hard times. Of course we were on the fast track, often talking 3, 4, even 5 hours a day trying to understand our fear, pain and depression, and each of us had already spent many years working through our own issues.
I could say that it was the best thing to happen to me since I heard the good news of Christ, but that would make it sound like a different thing than the gospel, and Berly is just my clearest experience of the gospel. I discovered God’s grace through her in ways I had never known it before. I want to encourage you with snapshots of my personal healing and growth as a result of our relationship (the changes in Berly are her own story to tell).
You Did WHAT?!
Let me start with my anger. I had been taught in youth that anger was either good (“righteous indignation”) or bad (“the wrath of man”). The difference lay in whether or not the one who exasperated me was truly wrong or guilty. If he was, then my anger was justified, if he was not, then my anger was aberrant. When I got mad, it was someone’s fault–me for illegitimate vexation or him for illegitimate behavior. The most important thing was to discover who was at fault and have them repent. The matter was thus fixed and the relational conflict resolved. If I thought he was at fault, and he refused to admit it, then I would forgive him. To avoid condemnation, I worked hard at justifying my temper and blaming the other person. I was good and he was bad. Being “right” became very important… it was the only way I could save myself from the shame of sinful anger.
Kimberly was afraid of my anger, and given my perspective, when she shared her discomfort, I only heard this as judgment of my anger and reacted defensively. But she did not have my take on anger: She was not blaming me, wanting me to agree with her, or asking me to change. She just wanted to share her feelings with me (which I could only hear as a demand for change). Because she respected me, wanted to understand and accept me, she kept affirming my feelings, even though they scared her, and I gradually came to trust that she really did accept me when I was cross, that she thought my anger was always “legitimate” because it was revealing to me my heart, not the guilt of the other person. As she accepted my defensive feelings in this way, she wanted to understand me better, so when she asked about my aggravation, it was not to correct me, “fix” my rage, or gain ammunition for shaming me out of it. She had compassion for me and my experience of anger.
In this harbor of safety where I slowly grew less defensive about my temper, with less need to use it to protect myself, learning to have compassion for myself, I started to discover what lay beneath my frown. From what was my temper guarding me? To hear these deeper throbs of my heart, I had to embrace my feelings with compassion . If I had to protect myself, it meant that I was afraid. With Kimberly’s help, I learned to have compassion for the fear behind my anger instead of shaming myself for it. Only with this gentleness could I feel safe enough to explore my anxieties. Berly always justified my fears, affirming that they always had a very good reason, I just had to uncover it. Discovering the roots of my fear (which often was a long process) led me to find the substructure, the actual beliefs on which I lived my life, and often they conflicted in some way with my stated theology.
Again, Kimberly’s grace and acceptance gave me the support I needed not to shame myself for these faulty beliefs, but to see myself as the victim of these legalistic lies and to be led by grace into believing grace for myself, to discover that God’s grace was the healing for my fears. My fears were not the enemy. They were doors into grace: “‘Twas grace that taught my heart to fear, and grace my fears relieved,” in the words of John Newton. I had always thought this was a one time event brought about by the amazing grace of the gospel… as though I didn’t need the gospel of grace all through every day. I think working through my fears is a life long process of growth in grace, applying the gospel to each wound as I need it, believing each day more fully that God loves me completely, always, and without any strings attached.
Janathan Grace Reflections 