anxiety and depression

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Two days, both alike in happenstance…

There’s a lot of talk around here these days about positive and negative self-talk. Apparently, what we tell ourselves has an effect on how we feel about our circumstances, our people, and our lives in general. Novel, huh?

Neither of the following depictions are exactly what happened; rather it was something sort of in between. Because no one is just one thing; though I’d like to think I was closer to the positive end most of the day, I am still learning. So I present, for your consideration (and possibly amusement; it’s ok), my day yesterday. Twice.

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Woke up, dissheveled, and rushed around to get everyone ready and get out the door. Today we needed to get the family car, because E had her first Homeschool Book Club and it’s too far away to walk to so we decided to drive there. We got J to work, later than I had hoped in my unrealistic fantasies which do not include things like stopping to change diapers and coffee taking 3 minutes to steep in the french press.

Got J to work, then headed to the mall to look for athletic shoes for the girl, because strappy sandals are not good for bike riding, and after several trips to the second hand store we have given up finding them there. Walked around, bored, for half an hour, until 9 a.m., then went to the store we were trying to go to only to find out that it opens at 10. GAH.

Tried to figure out something to do for an hour and a half, then remembered the old golf course across the street from the mall is a park now. No playground equipment or anything though. Hope it doesn’t suck. My car starts making a weird noise that seems associated with the brakes. Ugh. Maybe if I ignore it it’ll go away. But….

Made it to book club a little early (because I’ve come to terms with the fact that there is no ‘on time’ for me; I’m 20 minutes early, or half an hour late). Had a little snack and read some while waiting for the other families to get there. What will it be like? What if everyone thinks I’m crazy and my kids are ridiculous!? More to the point, what if that’s true??

Book club went along just fine.

We played for a while at the library, my kids dawdling and being angry about leaving the library, just like they didn’t want to leave the park, or the mall, or the car, or our house. I got frustrated and said, “we LEAVE PLACES, ok? It’s a thing. If we never left anywhere, we’d never go anywhere. GET USED TO IT.”

We tried out a new lunch place. It was good that they have nondairy stuff we can eat, but my kids didn’t want to sit nicely because WATERFALL and I spilled my drink all over myself trying to pour it into one of my kids’ waterbottles. Because of course I did. “I deserved that.” I said to the waiter who brought me a napkin. I think he said something back, but I was too distracted finding a crayon under the table.

Lunch was good, but I ordered too much. I’m so wasteful like that, even if we did take it with us and ate it later as a car snack. Why aren’t I better at estimating portions served by restaurants I’ve never been to?

We went to a store nearby to look for shoes, now that it was open. It took forever to walk there because kids have to stop and look at every worm on the sidewalk while I try to get them to JUST COME ON already. We have places to be.

After some argument, we finally agreed on some ‘sparkletastic’ purple and white athletic shoes that light up when E stomps her feet. As if she needed another reason to stomp her feet all the time. They are purple, because I vetoed the pinkalicious ones on the grounds that they were ten dollars more. I felt the imaginary eyes of progressives around me standing in judgment of the fact that I didn’t convince her to get the Captain America light up shoes instead, but it just didn’t seem worth the fight. And she did seem pretty excited…

We picked up J and dropped him off at an appointment. Not sure what we were going to do about dinner, because we might need to visit a dear friend in the hospital. TOO MANY PEOPLE I LOVE IN TOO MANY HOSPITALS. I left my wallet in the cart at Costco. I realized it five minutes after driving away with my children and my groceries. I immediately called the store, drove us all back there, looked all around, left my information at the front desk, and called to cancel my debit card right then (because there is a Best Buy next door to the Costco). It was embarrassing and tiring and irritating. And it was 6 p.m. Luckily, our friend was home from the hospital, and another friend offered us dinner. So that was nice. Then I got my wallet back. So I guess the day wasn’t that bad.
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Woke up, dissheveled, and rushed around to get everyone ready and get out the door. Today we needed to get the car, because E had her first Homeschool Book Club so we were taking the opportunity to run other errands, too. We got J to work, later than I had hoped in my unrealistic fantasies which do not include things like stopping to change diapers and coffee taking 3 minutes to steep in the french press. maybe later than before we had kids, but all things considered in a fairly timely manner. Good thing he has flex hours, and no early morning meetings.

Got J to work, then headed to the mall to look for athletic shoes for the girl, because while strappy sandals are amazing for cuteness with dresses and things, they are not quite as practical for things like running fast, climbing trees, or bike riding. Walked around, bored, fascinated by turned off mall fountains, the big clock in the center of the mall (we practiced telling time), a decoration on the wall, and various indoor plants we encountered. At 9, we realized the store didn’t open for another hour. GAH. Rather than hang around for that long (we’d seen lots of interest at the mall already), we left and had a snack in the car.

Tried to figure out something to do for an hour and a half, then remembered the old golf course across the street from the mall is a park now. No playground equipment or anything though. Hope it doesn’t suck. There was some really interesting stuff there, like signs with information about Coyotes, and what felt oddly like a suburban archaeological dig site. This is where they used to drive the golf carts! That is where you had to pay to be a member or you couldn’t come and pay to eat at the restaurant! Oooh, this would have been the hole to get the golf ball in, and that’s a SAND TRAP. OMG. My car starts making a weird noise that seems associated with the brakes. Ugh. Maybe if I ignore it it’ll go away. But…. Yay! It did.

Made it to book club a little early (because I’ve come to terms with the fact that there is no ‘on time’ for me; I’m 20 minutes early, or half an hour late. I am who I am). Had a little snack and read some while waiting for the other families to get there. What will it be like? What if everyone thinks I’m crazy and my kids are ridiculous!? More to the point, what if that’s true?? What will the other moms be like? I wonder what kind of homeschooling style they have. Other people are so interesting. And it’s such a relief to hear other people having the same conversations I have hundreds of times a day.

Book club went along just fine. Book club was awesome.

We played for a while at the library, my kids dawdling and being angry about leaving the library, just like they didn’t want to leave the park, or the mall, or the car, or our house. I got frustrated and understand transitions are hard, but we have to find a way to not be fighting about this all the time. I said, “we LEAVE PLACES leave places, ok? It’s a thing. If we never left anywhere, we’d never go anywhere. GET USED TO IT.”

We tried out a new lunch place. It was good that they have nondairy stuff we can eat, but my kids didn’t want to sit nicely because WATERFALL and there was a really cool waterfall near our table. I spilled my drink all over myself trying to pour it into one of my kids’ waterbottles. Because of course I did. “I deserved that.” I said to the waiter who brought me a napkin. I think he said something back, but I was too distracted finding a crayon under the table. “No you didn’t,” he said, smiling at me. Oh. I guess not.

Lunch was good, but I ordered too much. I’m so wasteful like that, even if we did take it with us and ate it later as a car snack. Why aren’t I better at estimating portions served by restaurants I’ve never been to? E ate the leftovers later in the day. That worked out nicely.

We went to a store nearby to look for shoes, now that it was open. It took forever to walk there because kids have to stop and look at every worm on the sidewalk while I try to get them to JUST COME ON already. We have places to be. We rescued a sand-covered worm from certain death on the sidewalk and returned him to a grassy spot where I assume he lives happily to this day. Related: I held a worm today! And then E was brave enough to try it too! We Kikel ladies are shockingly stereotypical in our silly fear of bugs sometimes. But not today!

After some argument lively discussion, we finally agreed on some ‘sparkletastic’ purple and white athletic shoes that light up when E stomps her feet. As if she needed another reason to stomp her feet all the time. They are purple, because I vetoed the pinkalicious ones on the grounds that they were ten dollars more. I felt the imaginary eyes of progressives around me standing in judgment of the fact that I didn’t convince her to get the Captain America light up shoes instead, but it just didn’t seem worth the fight. And she did seem pretty excited…

E: Mama, I NEEEEED them!

K: Um, try again.

E: Mama, I really WAAANNT them!

K: That, I can respect. They have the features I wanted in a shoe (see above re: running, climbing, biking, price point), and the features she wanted in a shoe (see above re: sparkletastic). I like when it works out like that sometimes. She doesn’t need those shoes to be happy, but it’s really ok for her to enjoy them.

I left my wallet in the cart at Costco. I realized it five minutes after driving away with my children and my groceries. I immediately called the store, drove us all back there, looked all around, left my information at the front desk, and called to cancel my debit card right then (because there is a Best Buy next door to the Costco) and antics ensued. It was embarrassing and tiring and irritating. *Sigh* At least I know where I left it, and canceled my debit card right away. That’s a pain, but it’s not the end of the world, and the magnetic strip didn’t work right anyway, so now I’ll have a working card in 4-7 business days.
We picked up J from his appointment, then found out that our friend is home from the hospital (yay!). Then I looked at my phone and saw that another friend had made a big pot of soup and had texted wanting us to come eat it at her house with her family. We did this (the soup was very delicious!!), and were presented with half of a homemade vegan chocolate layer cake to take home with us. Let me say that again. VEGAN. CHOCOLATE. LAYER. CAKE.
Then we arrived home and ten minutes later a man walking his dog in our neighborhood knocked on our door and handed me my wallet, which he had found in the Costco parking lot five minutes after I dropped it then decided to return to me himself when he investigated and found out that we live a street away from each other. His name is Mike, he has a cool friendly dog, and he was very kind.

All in all, it was a good day. I love my neighborhood, I love my friends, I love my patient husband and children.

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Spirit and Fire and Dew

“You needn’t get in such a fever over it. Do learn to take things calmly, child.”

For Anne to take things calmly would have been to change her nature. All “spirit and fire and dew,” as she was, the pleasures and pains of life came to her with trebled intensity. Marilla felt this and was vaguely troubled over it, realizing that the ups and downs of existence would probably bear hardly on this impulsive soul and not sufficiently understanding that the equally great capacity for delight might more than compensate. Therefore Marilla conceived it to be her duty to drill Anne into a tranquil uniformity of disposition as impossible and alien to her as to a dancing sunbeam in one of the brook shallows. She did not make much headway, as she sorrowfully admitted to herself. The downfall of some dear hope or plan plunged Anne into “deeps of affliction.” The fulfillment thereof exalted her to dizzy realms of delight. Marilla had almost begun to despair of ever fashioning this waif of the world into her model little girl of demure manners and prim deportment. Neither would she have believed that she really liked Anne much better as she was.

Anne of Green Gables, Chapter 22

L. M. Montgomery

 

It is possible, within one’s own head, to play both Marilla and Anne in the same story. But sometimes trying to pretend to be the sort of person you aren’t can just cause you to just be bad at being the sort of person you are. So the answer, then, lies not in changing our selves, but in learning how to keep stuff from piling up on top of those selves such that they become twisted and obscured until we can’t even recognize them any more.

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Depression Is Not…

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Depression is not normal in the sense that you should just “get over it.” It takes more than that. And what is needed is not the same for every case. I am able to manage very well with a combination of trusted friends to confide in, very intentional introspection, some chocolate and a few episodes of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. But that’s me. From what I understand I have a fairly mild case and there is no shame in taking medicine or seeking professional help, if that is what is needed.

Depression is not introversion or shyness. Introverts gain energy from being by themselves. Shy people, for any of a number of reasons, are not outgoing in social situations. Depressed people are people who would otherwise be able to navigate in the world but are having a hard time because of something outside of their true personality (much like sneezing because you have a cold is not part of your body’s normal function).

Depression is not low self-esteem. The fact that I am swimming through jello doesn’t necessarily mean that I don’t know my own worth. I mean, it’s always nice to be reminded that I’m great (who doesn’t like hearing that?), and depressed people can have low self esteem as well, but they are not the same thing.

Depression is not weakness or some sort of spiritual short-coming. People do not become depressed because they are not as good or as strong as other people. There are many, many causes and factors involved here and none of them involve depressed people being less capable than others of being useful members of society. Honestly, I think sometimes (though not all the time) my depressive episodes are triggered by impossibly high expectations, which I set for myself and then am unable to meet.

Depression is not being sad for a day or two.  Depression is chronic and persistent, and will not just go away if you pretend it isn’t there.

Depression is not rare. The CDC estimates that 1 in 10 people suffer from depression. And that’s just the people who report it because they are seeking help. For a list of famous people with depression, look here and here. Oh, and here.

Depression is not an excuse to disengage from the world and hide from everyone, forever. Taking some time to yourself is good and necessary. Isolating yourself for your entire life because it’s too hard, while understandable, is not what you were meant for. “It is not good for the man to be alone.”

Depression is not definitive. On the days when it feels like you’re swimming through jello, it’s easy to forget this. But the fact that you’re having a hard time is not the only true thing about you, and all of your days do not have to be this hard. If you’ve had too many in a row, you need help.

Depression is a thing.

But…

Depression is not everything.

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Swimming Through Jello

Dealing with depression can be like trying to swim in jello that’s setting up in the refrigerator.

Unless you are paying really close attention, it’s easy to not realize you are having a hard time moving until it’s too late and you’re really, really stuck.

The thing is, things go along normally for a long time. And then gradually things get harder to deal with. Situations get more confusing. Normal interactions seem to take double or triple the work that they should.

But life goes on. Appointments have to be kept. Diapers need changing. Food needs preparing. So I take Ellen Degeneres’s advice and, “Just keep swimming.”

But sometimes, it’s so hard.

And during the jello sort of weeks, I tend to be less graceful than I might be at other times. I flail a bit, calling people at awkward moments, forgetting to call back at others, and generally just incapable of smalltalk.

Sometimes while I am flailing, I will try to reach out for whatever is closest. Sometimes I grab the hand of someone without being able to really explain why I need to be on the phone for a half-hour, or whatever. Sometimes people don’t get it. That’s okay. It’s not their fault; not their job to pull me out of the jello.

But sometimes, people get it. This takes many forms. A meal dropped off, an encouraging word or even just a “Like,” or being willing to stay on the phone with me when I lose my train of……………….

They will smile reassuringly, firmly grab my hand for a minute, and help me get a little further through the jello. They are the hands of God, whether they realize it or not, and the value of these people can NOT be overstated.

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Can Guilt be Productive?

I think so.

In Christianity there is this idea that there is productive guilt (“guilt that leads to repentance”) and unproductive guilt (leads to despair and is often even wallowed in as a way to avoid having to make any change…we can do whatever lazy thing we want, as long as we feel really, really bad about it and ourselves). Unproductive guilt should be released, as it changes nothing and helps no one.

Or, to give credit precisely where it’s due,
“Godly sorrow brings repentance that leads to salvation and leaves no regret, but worldly sorrow brings death. ” 2 Corinthians 7:10

There are many different ways to express despair over the lifestyle we have here, and the choices we make (or don’t make).

Green Guilt.

Mommy Guilt.

Daddy Guilt.

White Guilt.

First World Guilt.

The list goes on and on. I am thinking about this because this blogger that I like to read, Beth Terry of My Plastic Free Life, posted a link on Facebook to an article detailing all the different things that parents feel bad about doing to the planet. Their conclusion seemed to be that nearly everyone (94% of parents) has some level of guilt for the choices they make as parents.

At first glance, it doesn’t seem like such a huge thing to be under…a little twinge when you throw out a plastic diaper, maybe a moment of regret at the register as you realize you forgot the reusable bags again…but these little twinges add up and can actually form an invisible barrier between you and whatever change you would make. Well, it’s just one more diaper. Besides, how many diapers have I thrown away this year? Oh…I know this is the wrong thing. I really should change it. But really, it’s just one diaper. And I’m so tired. Maybe next time. Ugh. I should do it this time. But I didn’t last time. I felt guilty then too. And look how pointless that turned out to be? And it’s really just one more diaper….


It’s insidious, really. The pointless guilt (worldly sorrow, for you Christianity-inclined lot) often comes trailing along behind a kernel of truly productive guilt, which is a real and helpful reaction (like its fear counterpart…people who see a wild animal running angrily toward them in the woods and don’t have an instantaneous adrenal response are probably more likely to get mauled) to recognizing something in ourselves or our lives that needs to change. We have a flash, just a moment, where we could change. But as we waver, all our past failure to progress comes rushing in around like a smotheringly comforting blankie to remind us that we really aren’t capable of change, poor dears that we are, so why even bother? We are left with our feelings of guilt, because we can’t let go of that (what are we, heartless? Think of the drowning polar bears! The sweat shops! The pesticides! No, we must hold on to our guilt, because we owe them that.)

This, people, is no way to live. 

When it comes to my attention that something needs to change, I try to really sit with it for a while. I find out as much information as I can, talk with respected friends (of differing opinions, if I can), and when I feel like I have gathered all the information, I move forward in the direction I choose. There is no room in this method for false guilt. I do the best I can with the information available to me.

Guess what? So do you. 

If there’s something you’re feeling guilt about, and have been for years, why? What’s the point? Is it something that you should change? If so, step out in freedom to change. If it doesn’t work, at least you tried! If you really can’t change it, or thoughtfully decide not to, then your guilt helps no one. Not the polar bears. Not the sweat shop workers. Not even your kids. Least of all you.

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Once Upon a Time…Later…

So…Gandalf comes back and he’s all cool and powerful and wise. And…they all lived happily ever after?

Nope.

That’s when the action of the story really gets going. See, Gandalf needed to become the white wizard because he would need all that power to deal with the increasingly overwhelming circumstances that would come.

One thing I have learned from J’s video games, board games and rpg’s is that you don’t want to go after the big bad until you’ve had a chance to level up.

So what does this have to do with me?

Well, I feel like I’ve leveled up. This doesn’t have anything to do with me being on some level that other people have to get to. Or with me wanting to get to some level that other people seem to have reached. That’s not what I’m talking about. But when S was born, some things were forever redeemed for me. God proved certain things to me, to the point where I no longer feel justified in my doubts about what He thinks about me or if I will be given the resource necessary to handle the challenges that arise.

So, when I think about having leveled up, it doesn’t mean that my life has suddenly become crazy in ways that it wasn’t before. I mean sure, I have two kids now. “Two is more than one,” as a friend is fond of saying when asked what it’s like having another child. That’s true. But really, I think I expect more from myself than I did before. Certainly more than I did when E. was this age. When she was 3 months old, I was a post-traumatic puddle on the floor. I think the main thing that saved me from sliding unchecked into depression was Phoenix Coffee, my great husband, and a few close friends.

But that’s where I was. I’m not there now. And I want to live in a way that honors the progress that I’ve made. It feels disingenuous to live as though I don’t know more about myself than depressed-puddle-on-the-floor Katie.

I’ve had some glimpses of this new power. Last week I took the kids and went to visit a friend L.  We had many, many opportunities to fall into old patterns of being stressed by each other. But we didn’t. There were a lot of factors that could have added up to a terrible time…I was only there for 24 hours. We had harvesting, canning, shopping, cooking and eating to do. We had 3 kids to take care of. We had differing opinions about recipes. We had fundamentally different understandings of why I was even there (teaching someone how to can is NOT the same as canning all their produce for them). Really any one of these things would have been enough to ruin a visit in the past. But you know what? I think it was the best visit we’ve ever had. And not just because of the tomato marmalade. We were able to assume the best of each other and respond to each other without our relational insecurities looming large and eclipsing the fact that we were there to have fun and encourage each other in our distinct yet symbiotic (someone who knows canning but can’t farm goes really well with a farmer who doesn’t have a canner) paths. We communicated honestly and without spite or hidden subtext (which I’m bad at hiding in my own speech and even worse at detecting in other people’s). She pointed out that “10 years’ll do that to you,” which I think is true. But I also think that insecurity will block a person from responding in love. But this time it didn’t, because I didn’t let it.

See what I mean? Leveled up.

And I’m hopeful that it’s just the beginning. I want to react graciously when E. is pushing boundaries. I want to not feel the need to fight to be heard just because deep down I am afraid I don’t have anything valuable to say. I want to be a better wife by having more of myself to offer J. I don’t know yet what else I want. I don’t know what the big bad is, but I want to be able to meet it head on.

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The Emotional Palette Revisited

As I mentioned in a previous post, I have come to think of feelings as different paint colors on a palette. The painting we are working on is our emotional interaction with the world around us. We all start out with a  blank canvas and few primary colors, and we get more as we go. Our parents, our peers, and all of our experiences have the potential to affect the hue or shading of our emotional palette.

We all end up with a certain amount of black from the hardness of life. I think for me dealing with depression was like adding black to the palette. Once black is introduced, if you aren’t very intentional all the colors are in danger of turning into a murky disgusting mess.

Remember when you were a child; wasn’t it frustrating when someone else colored on your picture? I think that a hard thing about the idea of painting with emotion is that our feelings are affected by so many things beyond our control.

I start ‘painting’ myself a good morning. The yogurt I made turned out really well and tastes delicious with blueberries and granola for breakfast. Mmmm….add some purple.

It’s sunny outside! Actually sunny! Add some brilliant orange in a few places.

A thoughtless driver nearly crashes into my car and speeds off without a second (or even first) look. Tiny grey-brown spatters. Not enough to ruin the picture or anything, but it does change the mood slightly in a small area.

Go to a playgroup. Watch other parents and enjoy talking about a variety of subjects ranging from everything from Food, Inc. to Magic Cards, and from potty training to our various religious upbringings. Many different colors represented here, and I add a bit from each of them to my day. I like how that mom redirected her son…that particular hue of green matches really well with this part of my painting!

I get stressed out when another parent at Whole Foods doesn’t redirect her kids at all and fails to even notice her son pulled a chair out from under E. and is now laughing about it while she sits bewildered on the floor. Then after several more incidents and side conversations wherein I try to encourage her quietly I say out loud, “Tell him no! What he’s doing is not okay.” The other mom finally hears from across the room behind a plant, gets mad and says “I’m SORRY!” in a way that really means…well…not an apology, I feel certain as I meet her angry stare. There will be no productive conversation there, so I move on. A muddy black splotch–all over the corner where the sunshine was. Shoot. What now? That’s not how I wanted that to look…

I really don’t want to paint such a dark picture right there. So I need some white to balance out and take away some of the murkiness. Or maybe I just need to cover it with white and start again in that spot. Where do I get white? People find it in many unlikely places. A smile from a stranger, a hug from a friend, a flower. I think God puts it many-wheres in the world for the finding, as He is the source of white and understands much more than we do how and when we will need it. And if we ask, we may even find some help for how to incorporate it into our own work to make it more beautiful.

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Going from Grey to White is Exhausting.

“Alas!” said Aragorn. “Gandalf the Grey fell into shadow. He remained in Moria and did not escape.”

At these words all the Elves in the hall cried aloud in grief and amazement….

It is hard to watch people you love fall into depression. After my daughter was born I was exhausted and ill-equipped to deal with the emotional turnover caused by becoming a parent, and by the reality of the way she was born. I may share that story here in its entirety at some point (I have told it out loud many times by now but it took me almost a year tell it all the way through from start to finish), but for now it is enough that you know it was an emergency cesarean under general anesthesia and I was left with some post traumatic symptoms- dreams, flashbacks, etc.).

I had a lot of people who loved me and who wanted good things for me (I still do), but many of them were somewhat dismayed by the change in me in the first months of my motherhood. For a long time it seemed like I was past the point where I’d find my ‘self’ again and be the same old Katie. But  s.l.o.w.l.y. I began to find a new me. So I wasn’t good at fearlessly speaking my mind without regard for emotional consequences anymore (mine or other peoples!). But I finally noticed that other people have feelings about and reactions to things that I say (yes, I’m really quick on the uptake about certain things but that one actually took me until almost the end of my twenties to get). And that noticing is a valuable skill, as it turns out. Who knew? (Okay, lots of people…)

One day a couple of months ago I was re-reading LOTR and I came across Gandalf’s description of fighting the Balrog. Something in my heart and mind just…clicked. It lent purpose to what I have gone through as I have struggled with how to react to a near complete upheaval in how I understood my life and identity.

“Long time I fell,” he said at last, slowly, as if thinking back with difficulty. “Long I fell, and he fell with me. His fire was about me. I was burned. Then we plunged into the deep water and all was dark. Cold it was as the tide of death: almost it froze my heart…it has a bottom, beyond light and knowledge,’ said Gandalf.
Thither I came at last, to the uttermost foundations of stone. He was with me still. His fire was quenched, but now he was a thing of slime, stronger than a strangling snake.

“We fought far under the living earth, where time is not counted. Ever he clutched me, and ever I hewed him, till at last he fled into dark tunnels…Now I have walked there but I will bring no report to darken the light of day. In that despair my enemy was my only hope {some of my Christian friends may have an adverse reaction to this…it isn’t that the Balrog is the only hope, it’s just the only thing he could see so he had no other option at that time. To move forward sometimes we have to follow paths we don’t like or choose, and I humbly assert that that’s mainly what is meant here.}, and I pursued him, clutching at his heel. Thus he brought me back at last to the secret ways of Khazad-dum: too well he knew them all. Ever up now we went, until we came to the Endless Stair.”

“There upon Celebdil…Out he sprang, and even as I came behind, he burst into new flame…a great smoke rose about us, vapour and steam. Ice fell like rain. I threw down my enemy, and he fell from the high place and broke the mountain-side where he smote it in his ruin. Then darkness took me, and I strayed out of thought and time, and I wandered far on roads that I will not tell.”

“…I was sent back…until my task is done. And I lay upon the mountain-top. The tower behind was crumbled into dust, the window gone; the ruined stair was choked with burned and broken stone. I was alone, forgotten, without escape  upon the hard horn of the world. There I lay, staring upward, while the stars wheeled over, and each day was as long as a life-age of the earth. Faint to my ears came the gathered rumour of all lands: the springing and the dying, the song and the weeping, and the slow everlasting groan of overburdened stone. And so at the last Gwaihir the Windlord found me again, and he took me up and bore me away….” 

“Gandalf,” the old man repeated, as if recalling from old memory a long disused word. “Yes, that was the name. I was Gandalf…”

…the dwarf looked up and laughed suddenly. “Gandalf!” he said. “But you are all in white!”

“Yes, I am white now,” said Gandalf. “Indeed I am Saruman, one might almost say, Saruman as he should have been.”

I am a firm believer that fiction can teach us things that nonfiction can’t. I didn’t actually climb an endless stair or get carried away to Loth Lorien by a giant talking eagle. But I did come through a time that was very hard for me, and I do feel sometimes that I’ve been through a great battle in the past couple of years. But anyone who knows the story of Gandalf knows that what happens in the dark tunnels and on the mountain is what makes him into Gandalf the White, who is more powerful and wise than ever before. He doesn’t come back as the same person. Not really. But it was worth it.

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On the Bright Side…

In ancient Hebrew poetry if you use the phrase “There are six things that…seven that…” it indicates an incomplete list.

So…there are nine things that I am thankful for;

ten things that make me smile.

My husband.

My cute daughter.

Hearing aforementioned daughter noisily having fun; and not being responsible for her because I am lying in bed upstairs.

My mom visiting, taking care of me, listening to me, and just being overall great.

My bathtub.

Mint flavored ice cream.

My grain mill.

My sewing machine.

Garlic.

Gardening (even though I am terrible at it).

Cooking for people and having them love what I made for them.

Tenacious plants that are able to grow in the cracks in the sidewalk.

When my daughter says, “I love you mommy,” and still uses the sign language word we taught her before she could talk.

The way she used to say, “I Yove Lou.”

The ability to laugh.

The ability to cry.

The freedom to make mistakes.

My friends who love me and support me in countless ways.

The love that is infused into every part of my life, whether I see it or not.

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Fear Itself

“We have nothing to fear but fear itself.”

I find this quote inspiring and infuriating at the same time.  Fear itself is really very….scary.

I have been having horrible dreams of late.  Wake up in the middle of the night and grab on to J. dreams.  Go into E.’s room to make sure she’s okay dreams.  Dreams about being kidnapped, attacked, or worse.  Dreams about people doing terrible things to me or to people I love and being powerless to stop it or to help them.

And the truth is, really bad things do happen.  This world is broken.  There is a lot of ugliness in the world and there is nothing I can do that will erradicate it.

My friend M. sells tie-dyes at the market I go to on Saturday mornings.  She is this really cool hippie buddhist chick.  When I was there today she showed me a new wall hanging she was selling and told me about it.  It was the world in a peace sign and surrounded by a heart.  She told me that the heart represented the Bodhisattvas.  When I admitted that I have no idea what that means and asked her to explain, she was happy to.  Basically she said they are enlightened beings who take all of our bad and filter it, giving us back good.

Not being a buddhist I didn’t know any of that (I had to look ‘bodhisattva’ up on Wikipedia to know how to spell it) but I have to say it sounds like a great deal to me.  But it also made me think about my own faith.  What am I to do with all my badness/fear/sadness/anger?  How am I to feel about raising children in such a broken world?

A couple of things that come to my mind are:

“Cast your anxiety on Christ, for he cares for you.” – I Peter 5:7

“There is no fear in love; but perfect love casts out fear, because fear involves punishment, and the one who fears is not perfected in love.”  I John 4:18

Fear can be a basic biological response.  I’m not talking about getting rid of the fear that will cause me not to walk down a dark alley at 2 in the morning if I see potential attackers there.  But there are other ways that fear will work its way in and take over my very way of relating to everyone and everything around me.  It can be crippling.

And it shouldn’t be.

I think my fear is a forgetting of God as my Father.  I think it’s a lack of trust–I have simply not learned object permanence with God.  I’ll try my hand at a makeshift parable.

When E. was new, she would cry if we tried to play ‘peekaboo’ with her.  She really thought we disappeared when our hands were in front of our face.  Then that was okay.  Next step–be out of sight for 10 seconds.  10 steps later–go to another room by myself.  She would come running after me, shrieking, “Where you go?”

Now, she’s mostly okay if I tell her where I’m going.  As long as she’s not upset about something.  But if she is, I just have to settle in and realize I’m going to have a 2 year old watching me use the toilet.

Not that God uses the toilet (at least not the one at my house) but I have to think He’s even more patient with me since I am doing this without having a physical place to follow Him to.  Also He’s just infinitely more patient and loving than I am.  I lose sight so often and get wrapped up in my own worst-case scenarios.  It’s like E. assuming I will go to the basement to change the laundry and never come back.  I just try to remind her I am there, that I love her and that mommies come back.  And I try to remind myself that God is at least as good to me as I am to my daughter.

In that vein, one last quote:
“Or what man is there among you who, when his son asks for bread, will give him a stone? Or if he asks for a fish, he will not give him a snake, will he? If you then, being evil {read: broken; imperfect}, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father who is in heaven give what is good to those who ask Him!”