Day 9: I am Thankful for Patience

...Not that I actually have much of my own...

When I was still growing up, well, how about we just rewind to when I was in college.  I did my research in a library by sourcing through magazines and books using a card catalogue.  I actually knew people's phone numbers beyond dialing, "Mom."  And if I didn't know someone's phone number, I called information or I looked it up in either the White Pages or the Yellow Pages.

I typed my first 10 page research paper on a typewriter.  I was considered lucky on my hall because I had one of those typewriters that could erase & re-type.  Eventually, my roommate let me use her word processor.  Amazing!

There was no fast forwarding through commercials.  We looked up movie times in the paper.  If I tried to call my then boyfriend, Derick, while his mom was talking to him on his WALL phone, this annoying beep-beep sound started up declaring the line "busy." 

My the world has changed.  (And I sound like an old woman...barefoot, in the snow, uphill, BOTH ways...)

My 11-year-old is in competitive swimming.  His practices are held at the University of Alaska Anchorage.  Recently, the school slowed down it's Wifi to combat the number of folks pirating movies and music.

It.is.driving.me.crazy.

It takes longer than 10 seconds for me to get anything up on the screen of my phone!  The outrage. 

It is very human (and very Pentecostal) to expect God to hand me instant healing.  I should pray in the altar, with faith, and all should be well from that moment on in my heart.  Except I found that He doesn't do things the way I'd like Him to.

Unlike the rest of the world, unlike my own surburbian world, He is not in a hurry.

From looking at the stories in the Bible, God is as much into the process or the journey of a life as He is into the end result.  Abraham was 100 when Isaac was born.  Moses was 80 when he led the Israelites out of Egypt and into the wilderness.

Going to the ultimate story, the Gospel story, God spent about 4,000 years building up to the moment when Christ would appear on earth. 

It took me 20 years to get through my depression.  God wasn't frustrated with me, either, because I wasn't figuring it out.  He knew from the beginning the exact date my depression would start AND the exact moment it would end.  He was not in hurry.  He was not anxious.  He didn't bite His nails or twirl His hair or wring His hands. 

He had patience.

"'My thoughts are nothing like your thoughts,' says the Lord. 

'And my ways are far beyond anything you could imagine'."  Isaiah 55:8 (NLT)

I wish I would have patience like Him.  But He is slowly, ever so slowly building it.  He's good like that.

My Moment of Bliss

I've been sick for the last several days.  I protest my ill status declaring that all mothers should be exempt from all malady for at least the first five years of their children's lives.  Alas, the bacteria and virii (plural of virus? no?) aren't in agreement with me. 

I'd call them booger-heads but in reality, I'm the literal booger-head.  (Snort, sniff, blow)

But, I have found one brief moment of happiness while I lie in my bed.  It is not while I'm sleeping because I honestly don't get to do much of that sleeping thing what with two still sorta in diapers and all.  

It is not while I'm dreaming since sickness tends to bring on the weirdest dreams.  (Right after pregnancy...whoa!...am I right?)

It is not even the comfort of being snuggled in soft sheets and being warm, a rarity for us Alaskans.

Since I'm snotty and boogery it is not currently even in a passionate embrace with my husband.  (giggle)

My moment of bliss, my glorious moment of bliss last for but a couple of minutes, several times a night.  It is after I've rolled over...and waited for the gunk in my head to settle...and for, maybe, two delightful minutes I can breathe out of BOTH sides of my nose.  I love that feeling.

I think my cold medicine has made me loopy...

Day 8: I am Thankful for Humility

We are Americans.  We can do anything and everything if we just dream big enough and work hard enough.  I mean, that's what all our cartoons, movies, and Disney tweener shows tell us, right?

But no matter how hard I worked, no matter how much I wanted it, no matter how white my knuckles were...

I couldn't shake the depression on my own.  I needed help.  How very un-American of me.  How very un-Texan of me...gasp...hand placed prettily on mouth. 

The fact is, when it came to depression, I was unable to come up with my own remedy.  Spent years trying.  I was unable to work it out.  I was unable to figure it out.  I was unable to know what I needed to do, to make myself better.

It was not easy to admit.  I happen to be a naturally prideful and independent person.  I'm not one of those women who needs a guy.  I don't have to be popular.  I am not afraid to be alone because I know I'm intellegent and able.  I can figure it.  Virtually always. 

So God gave me depression.  He showed me I needed others.  He showed me I needed my husband and my family.  And most importantly, He showed me I needed Him. 

Humble yourselves, therefore, under God's mighty hand, that He may lift you up in due time. 

1 Peter 5:6 (NIV)

And this verse is true.  I am at a greater place of joy now than I ever was before I asked for help.  He has released me to speak through writing.  He has realeased me to love others.  He has released me to love my husband & children in a way I wasn't able to before.  

And as long as I throw myself upon Him and the people He brings into my life, it can only get better.  

I'm not done, but I'm done for today.

Day 7: I am Thankful for My Husband

Oh, the cheese factor will be big...

For the most part, I have and will continue to keep most of my "thankfuls" relevent to anyone suffering with depression.  But, for today, I am going to endulge myself. 

I met my husband at a Bible college.  He knew before we married that depression was something I struggled with.  I don't think he knew how much or how bad it could get, but he stuck with me.  He has continued to stick with me.

It can't be easy being the partner of someone with depression.  I know he has longed to make everything better, but since he's not the cause of the depression, he's unable to fix the problem by himself.

He has done a couple of things right for me. 

1) As previously stated, we met in Bible college.  It's unfortunate, but also true, that church ministry can be very image conscious.  I can look back and see leanings in both of us to try to "look the part."  You know the part: all polished and pretty and put together:

(Please note that I am neither endorsing nor criticizing the Osteens.  I have heard him say one thing I greatly disagree with and other things I don't have a problem accepting.  But they are very much the image sought after by many Pentecostal Bible students in the 1990's.  They help make my point.)

See how polished and pretty they are.  See how nicely they are put together.  They may, indeed, be genuinely polished, pretty and put together.  Bully for them.  I am not.  (Let's be honest, with my curly hair, I've never been described as "polished." At least not without a couple of hours and a flat iron...) And 10 years ago, when my husband was a minister in a church we were very much pressured to put forth such an image.  A wife battling depression and on anti-depressants does not line up. 

My wonderful husband, did not hesitate to tarnish his own pastoral image.  He was more concerned for my well-being than how I made him look.  He would rather I get happy and healthy than pretend.  I don't know if very many of you, my readers, will understand that that took a special kind of bravery.  Such bravery was rare in our circles.

Thankfully, like me with this blog, I see many ministers and ministering families throwing open the doors and showing all the ugly in all it's glory.  I believe that showing how Christ works through our weaknesses vs. pretending we have it together is the way to reach hurting people.

2). He's my best friend.  And when I say he is my friend, I mean that he's a real friend.  He's probably a better friend than I am. He is willing to push me.  He is willing to tell me the truth instead of telling me what will make me feel better at the moment.  He was willing to get me to help when I didn't have the ability to get help on my own.

I know not everyone has a husband like mine.  But almost all of you know SOMEONE who you suspect of being depressed.  Perhaps you can be a friend like my spouse is and push them to get help.  Perhaps you can be their friend when times are ugly & not just when times are easy.

I am thankful for my husband.

I'm not done yet, but I'm done for now.

Day 6: I am Thankful for Relapse

I was racked with depression for about 20 years.  That's not a short time.  Especially when I was only 32 years old.  Getting out was messy.  There were years and years of treatment culminating in me facing some issues that could better be labeled demons.  Not in the Pentecostal "cast you owwOOT!" sort of way but in the "it was that nasty" sort of way.

(Note: I do believe in demons and oppression.  I know I dealt with some in my counselors office, but getting rid of it was less melodramatic than most Pentecostals like to imagine.)

But because of all that dirty "ick" that I went through, I was able to get some truly horrible grit out of my heart.  I was able to excise quite a bit of bitterness, anger, fear and self-hatred.  You see, my soul was broken.  Sin and pain, some self-afflicted and some forced upon me by others, had permeated so much of me that I was unable to cope on my own.

Blessedly, God has no desire for me to keep such things.  Instead He allowed the depression to become so oppressive I sought help.  Help I needed to remove the cancer in my heart.

I know He used depression to cleanse me.

And this is why I can deal with the depression when it decided to rear it's ugly head, again, in my life.  Initially I was simply angry because I thought I'd had this thing beat forever.  But...I've come to know that this means there's something broken.  God wants to fix it.  And He loves me enough to force me to deal with it.  I wouldn't be surprised as I dig & discover that He's tried to get my attention in other ways.  Well, He has my attention now. 

Also, along with fixing myself, I'm reminded of how others are suffering.  My compassion & understanding are renewed.  I'll roll my eyes less and extend grace more.  

So, for me, relapse is a good thing.

It's Christmas Eve & I still got shopping to do.  (It's not procrastination if you plan to shop at the last minute, right?)  So, anyways, I'm done for now.

That Sound, That Horrible Sound!

Night before last, my 3-year-old, Fischer, woke me up about 2:00 a.m.  "Mommy, my tummy hurts. Can I sleep in your bed?"

First of all, the answer was, "No."  But we happen to have a random crib in our bedroom in which I placed him.  So he was sort of sleeping with us.  And sure enough, I checked his forehead and he was running a fever.  Gave him some Ibuprofen and rolled back into bed.  Just long enough to doze off before the 1-year-old started crying...typical night at our house.

Secondly, BLESS HIM for giving me warning.  He ended up never being tummy sick that night, but many of you mothers and fathers have been there...

I mentioned in a previous blog that I don't do anything quickly.  I move like molasses.  I think like molasses.  Until I started writing no one ever accused me of being funny because I thought of all my witty comebacks after the conversation was over and everyone had left the room.

But it only takes one time of waking up with vomit in your hair, of needing to replace every pillow you own, and of a disgusting brown stain forever on your mattress to train your body to move like lightning...

It's not unusual for my little ones to end up in bed with us before the night is over.  It results in disaster from on occasion.  Sometimes my husband wakes up to a backache from getting kicked throughout the night.  Sometimes I end up with a blinding headache from a head-butt that made me cry out in agony. (And yet Kellen didn't even break rhythm in his snore.)  Other days it's a diaper that leaked on your freshly washed sheets.  These first few mentioned...are disasters for pansies.  

The apocalypse of bedtime disaster is throw up.  I have become so trained that I can be in the most beautiful, deep, hard sleep and my brain WILL register the sound of a tummy rumble as it comes up the esophogus.  0.08 seconds after it starts my husband & I can be up out of bed, yelling, and running with the baby to the bathtub.  I'm really surprised I haven't face planted a baby into the wall because I've managed to have them into the bathroom before I've managed to actually pry my eyelids apart or have flipped a light switch.

Then you get to spend an hour or two cleaning up.  Usually I end up cleaning the baby and the bathroom while my sweet husband drunkedly scrubs the carpet and the bed.

It really does make for an adventurous evening as you collapse in exhaustion on top of a mattress covered in towels and wrap yourself in a musty blanket from the linen closet and pray that it doesn't happen again.

Thank you, Lord, for my wonderful washing machine with a "Sanitary" cycle.

Parenting changes everything to the core or your DNA.  It can make a slow person fast.

Day 5: I am Thankful for Hope

I am thankful for hope.

It's December.  It's Christmas time.  All the commercials and all the TV specials are about the Spirit of Christmas. 

Random Rant: Excuse me, CHRISTmas.  "Don't take the CHRIST out of Christmas." Am I the only one who is SO tempted to post 30 days of happy Christmas wishes on Facebook & only use "Xmas?" Just to be ornery?  No?  It's just me then.  I'm so twisted. 

Back on task, you know the commercials & the music & the cheesy family friendly movies that talk about giving and hope and fairy dust wishes with sparkling lights on top? 

Well, when I talk about hope, I'm not talking about that kind.  I'm talking about something a little more tangible and a little less fuzzy.  When I'm in the dark places of depression and mental illness, all that superficial joy-joy just makes me mad.  It's kind of like rubbing a cheese grater on my skin. 

But there is definitely something to be said about real hope:

1) There's the belief that something good can come out of something bad.  The most amazing people have all been through hell.  Their travel through darkness is what made them amazing.  Examples: Corrie Ten Boom, Nick Vujicic, Rosa Parks, Nelson Mandela, Mother Theresa and Abraham Lincoln.  Incidently, President Lincoln also suffered from depression.  

2) The knowledge that situations always eventually change.  It's not always for the better but know that if it can get worse it also can get better.  I am a deep believer in Christ, but realize that even those who are not "religious" recognize that life is moving, always changing.  There is an appropriately named "It Gets Better" campaign.  Celebrities like Tim Gunn speaking out to those who are facing despair over the struggle of sexual identity or other personal issues.  They speak of the changes that life naturally brings as it ebbs and flows.  Life is dynamic, not stagnant. 

3) My final statement of hope is through my own relationship with God, with Christ.  Even when I really can't see a way out of darkness, I understand the power He has.  He usually doesn't, but I know He has the power to speak a single word & all my pain will be washed away instantly.  It used to make me angry when I thought of His ability and the fact that He wouldn't just magic the agony away.  It no longer does.  Instead I find comfort and HOPE that He's walking me through the pain. 

I realize that not all who read this blog have the relationship with God I am talking about.  Many of you may not even believe Him.  But at least, if not all 3 points, consider the first 2.  There is real tangible hope out there.

My kids have woken from their naps, so I'll have to be done for now.