Tell Me More

How often have I misunderstood?

How often have I closed out another’s pain to avoid my own?

How often?

Recently, I’ve endeavored to be a tad bit more open.  It hasn’t exactly gone well.  The other day I was with someone and they asked how I was doing.  “I’m struggling,” I said. “I wish I had community.”

Sadness crossed their eyes and for a moment my body relaxed.  I knew they couldn’t fix my problem, I just wanted to be seen.  But then, “the pandemic has made that tough on everyone hasn’t it?  Hopefully it will pass soon and we will be back to normal”. 

And just like that my walls went up.  I pushed the pain and hurt away.  They hadn’t seen me.

I spoke to another friend on the phone “I’m sorry you’re going through a difficult season” he said.  

My brain screamed “I’m not going through a season... this has been my entire life.  The difference is that it's spilling into the open where you can see it instead of being locked away.”  

My mouth said “thank you” and I hung up.

Then I wept.  Drowning in despair.  As my tears fell, my heart broke both for myself and for others.  What are other people experiencing that I am missing?

I can be so quick to dismiss pain. Tie it up in a bow. See the bright side that I miss the opportunity…

Tell me more. 

I imagine a friend with a young baby whispering “I’m so exhausted from not sleeping.”

“Babies wake up often of course she’s exhausted”, but what if I said, “tell me more.”

“The baby is sleeping through the night but all night I’m worried.  What if she stops breathing? What if I don’t wake up when she cries? What if…”

Tell me more.

Another friend mentions that Mother’s Day is hard this year.  I, knowing his mother is still alive, say “I hear you my mother and I have a complicated relationship too”, but what if I said, “tell me more.”

“We aren’t sharing with many people, but my partner and I suffered a miscarriage last month after a year of fertility treatments.”

Tell me more.

Or I ask a coworker about a project they are working on and they say “The deadline is tomorrow and I am nowhere near finished.”  I think “well if they managed their time better and hadn’t spent so much time on the phone this past week they’d be finished,” but what if I said, “tell me more.”

“My father moved to hospice last week and I’ve had to spend so much time getting his affairs in order.” 

Tell me more.

To all I’ve dismissed.  To all I’ve made feel unseen.

I’m sorry for dismissing your pain.  

I’m sorry for not seeing you.

I’m sorry.  My experience is not yours and your experience is not mine. 

May I never come so jaded by hurt that I miss another’s.

You may have noticed that I wrote this piece using I, not you or we.  That’s because my prayer isn’t for you to say “tell me more” it's that opportunities to share your more will find you.  The moments you’ve been hurt, misunderstood, silenced.  For I believe it’s when we are seen and experienced that lasting change takes place for both ourselves and for others. 

May it be so.

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Review: I Love Jesus, But I Want to Die (+Giveaway)

I received this book from the publisher through their book launch program and was not required to write a positive review. 

As soon as I read Sarah’s note that my, the reader’s, safety is more important than finishing the book I knew this wasn’t going to be like any other book.  The pages are full of grace, vulnerability, and validation for both fellow sufferers and those who love them.  

Sarah guides the reader through her mental health struggles sharing profound insight she’s collected along the way.  In some ways our stories are similar, but in a lot of ways they’re different.  She is quick to acknowledge those differences and there’s this magic in the way she shares her pain and heart that makes me feel like there’s space for my pain (and others) alongside hers.   

Part three was my least favorite, as my own unresolved story came bubbling to the surface.  It took me a long time to get through, but I kept reminding myself of Sarah’s wisdom to take care of myself first.  I mention this because I imagine that many readers will have a similar moment at some point while reading.  This book isn't a solution.  It's a companion for the journey, whether that journey lasts a season or a lifetime.  I know this book will have a permanent spot on my bookshelf for years to come.

Finally, if you are someone who doesn’t relate to the title I still highly recommend reading it.  Not only is there wisdom for all seasons in its pages, chances are there is someone in your life who loves Jesus but wants to die.

Giveaway: I would like to give away 1 copy of the book.  To enter leave a comment below. The giveaway closes May 18th at midnight EST.  If your name is drawn you can choose either a physical or kindle copy. This giveaway is by me and is not affiliated with the publisher, author, book launch team, or Blogger.

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Night

 

 When the darkness closes in

And there is no hope within

Still I will swim

Waves crashing

Water rising

Unsurprising

Eyes closed

Soul weary

All is dreary

Hope leery

Light is gone.

All alone.

No more home.

Left to roam.

Shore is fading

Sick and waiting

Still I will swim

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A Time to Fade

“Everyone needs more than anyone can give right now.”

I lie in bed staring at the ceiling.  Wondering if I can possibly get away with not showering one. more. day. My joints ache.  I notice the stiffness in my fingers and toes.  This doesn’t surprise me, but the tears come anyway.  

…Even my own body is against me…

 I used to wish things would change.  Now I wish for time to freeze.  

A moment without any new assaults.  

To stop. 

 

To breathe.  

To sit.  

To be safe.  

2019 was a tough year for me.  A brain injury shattered what was left of me after years of pain.  

Broken and alone I limped into 2020.  

Lunar New Year approached and I thought:  “One more time.  Just try.  One. more. time.”

I knew it was stupid.  I knew there was no space for me.  I knew the emptiness that lay ahead. 

The stories I could tell.  My “statistically unusual life”

And just as I am ready BOOM pandemic.  

In April I wrote: “It’s like I got to the front of the line and as I open my mouth to whisper that I need help billions of people are dropped in front of me. And I don’t know what to do.  I don’t know what to think.”

Once again pushed into the shadows.  Unseen.  Alone.  

Painful, but not surprising.  Truth is I already knew the answer.  The universe hadn’t changed its message in 30 years, but over and over I kept trying for a different message. 

“Insanity: doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.”

-Albert Einstein

For some, this world is hope after pain.  

For some, this world is healing after trauma.  

For others, belonging after neglect.

For others, safety after fear.

And for a few...

Pain after pain.

Trauma after trauma.

Neglect after neglect.

Fear after fear.

 “A broken mirror, painted black 

There is no light reflected back 

Thorns grow up where there was green

All sorrow, shame and broken things

Paradise has barred its doors.”

-Caroline Cobb

The time has come to fade from view. 

No more striving.  No more wishing. 

 

Adieu.

*Quote found here  https://twitter.com/hillarydixler/status/1340744947205459968

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Washer Door Reflections

Several years ago, when I moved into my current residence, I discovered that the washer door was broken.  I quickly figured out that if I did this specific convoluted wiggle balance dance then the door would close.  Soon I didn’t even have to think about it.  I just did it.  Several years and hundreds of loads later someone restored the washer door to its original functionality.  “How nice it will be to finally have this fixed,” I thought. 

 

Wrong!  Now every time I use the washer I inevitably end up sitting in a puddle of tears on the laundry room floor.  At this point, you may be wondering if the washer door has actually been repaired…  It has.  All you have to do is press it close in one quick smooth motion and voila!  I know what to do; however, because my body has been doing this convoluted wiggle balance dance for years it is having an incredibly difficult time executing this new, easier, way of closing the door. In fact, most days it seems impossible (hence the tears). 

 

The other day as I sat, once again, in a puddle of tears I realized my washer challenge mirrored my life.  My life has been one broken story after another.  As a result, I’ve developed complex coping mechanisms and behaviors.  I’ve read book after book, article after article, and listened to talk after talk on healthy attachments, coping mechanisms, relationships, behaviors, you name it.  I know what to do, but knowing and doing are two very different things.

 

One of my favorite sayings is “children do well if they can.”  I think every child (and every adult) at their core wants to do well.  Of course, sometimes that is hidden under a mountain of hurt and disappointment.  We want to do well.  Sometimes we just can't.  I know it seems easy: "if we would just do X."  Often our mind may “know” the answer, but that doesn’t mean our body has been reprogramed to be able to do it yet.  For years we've been operating one way and now we have to learn another.  We are trying our best.  Imagine a fork in a river.  If you go down the left fork the water is rough full of rocks and rapids.  If you go down the right side it's much smoother and the water carries you gently down the stream.  Those of us who can't do well have been down the left fork.  Now we are trying to get the canoe up the creek without a paddle back to the starting point.  It’s possible, but it is slow tiring painful difficult work.  And it is very very lonely.    

Please for those of you that can do well, if you’re able, hold space for those of us that can’t do well.  Our deepest desire is to be seen and to do well.  Hold hope when we cannot.  If you are someone struggling to do well know that you are not alone (though it may feel like you’re alone every second of every day).  You are not broken (though you may feel you are broken beyond repair).  You adapted in marvelous ways to protect and care for yourself.  And you don’t have to believe that.  It’s okay to be angry.  To be sad.  Recovery is long hard slow work.  And no matter where you are in it you are loved.  I see you.

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Oh to be That Girl Again...

On the first page of 2019 I wrote:

“Body aching.

Soul empty.

Mind tired.

January is hard.  A reminder that life only ever gets harsher.  Hope, a mirage.

‘Foxes have holes and birds have nests

Other men have families

A place they can call home and find their rest

But what is there for me?’

-Crownbearer” 

I wrote that entry thinking I was reflecting on the past, little did I know I was foreshadowing the future. 

Worn out and burned out.  I limped into 2019.  Oh what I would give to be that girl again.  The girl in January before the diagnoses… before the accident… before the danger… before the dark.  I was familiar with pain, with chaos, and with trauma (or as I call it a typical Tuesday).  Difference is I had no more space.  No more space for holding.  No more space for processing.  No more space for stuffing.  At first my compassion fatigue was directed at me.  Then it grew and grew so more.  Eventually spreading to friends…family…and at some point the world.  Its not that I don’t care.  Oh do I care.  But I couldn’t (I can’t).... But I will.  Oh will...

Wait until April I heard.  Wait until April. Over and over.  So I waited.  Curious.  Daring.  Then the world ground to halt.  Earth, the actual physical ground itself slowed.

And now everyone will need help.  Quarantines= Trauma.  Grief.  Pain.  Suffering. 

People will need jobs. They will need therapy, they will need care.  They will need kindness.  They will need to process.  They will need.  And I know this, so I push.  I shove.  I dig.  I make space.  Because that is who I am.  My lot in life.

Oh to be that girl again.

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Where do I go from here?

Where do I go from here?  The question rolls in my head day in and day out.

Years ago when I first found faith I tried to describe to a friend what I was experiencing.  I told her how I had been in a mucky rushing river and all of sudden I was on land.  My life had been spent in the river.  I didn’t know how to live on land.  Each day was a learning experience.  Each day I became stronger.  My feet steadied and I took a deep breath. 

Then 7 years ago I was shoved into the river.  I was drowning.  Desperate for a rescue. Rescue never came.  Where do I go from here?  I thought if I could just make it back to shore...  If I could make it to sight.  I desperately started swimming, fighting every day.  Every time I got close a storm would brew.  The lighting would strike.  The wind would rage.  And the current would drag me under.  I screamed.  I was silent.  I swam.  I floated.  Years went by. I kept fighting until finally, I had no more fight.  I was done.  The rushing waters came and I was swept away to sea.  Where do I go from here?

Turns out fighting for your soul wears out your body too.  I’d been fighting for so long it ingrained in my DNA.  Even now my body fights.  Going after the good cells.  There’s no off switch.  Will it be annoyance or will it be a pain?  Only time will tell.  No one knows tomorrow.

Body aching.

Soul empty.

Mind tired.

Where do I go from here?

I go to work.  I go home.  I wait.  I sleep.  There is no solution.  There is no answer.  There is no cure.  I can only live each day as it comes.  

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The Oh No What Do We Do with Them Crowd

Dear Church,

I’ve moved.  Again.  12 times in 7 years has taken its toll.  I’m not as optimistic as I once was, but that is not what this letter is about (though I am sure it shapes my views).  This letter is about the people of the church I like to call the “oh no what do we do with them crowd.”

The biggest demographic of this group being people who are 30 something and single.  I cannot tell you how many churches I have visited that have a Young Adults Group 18-30 and a *insert catchy name here* over 40 and single group.  While this may not be the intent, the message that often comes across to the single 30s is that it’s a bad thing to be 30 something and single and that there is no place for us in the church.  Unless... we get married.  In which case there are 17 couples small groups, Couples Retreats twice a year, and special events just for families.  It’s interesting that the single 30s are the group that often gets pushed to the wayside as Jesus himself was a 30 something single…

At this point some of you may be thinking “let’s start a single 30s group!” Please please please please please do not.  That is not what I am trying to say.  And just to be clear I am not advocating the scraping of couples’ ministries.  I believe that they are extremely important.

Let’s take a look at Corinthians 12: 14-26 for a moment:
“For the body does not consist of one member but of many. If the foot should say, ‘Because I am not a hand, I do not belong to the body,’ that would not make it any less a part of the body. And if the ear should say, ‘Because I am not an eye, I do not belong to the body,’ that would not make it any less a part of the body. If the whole body were an eye, where would be the sense of hearing? If the whole body were an ear, where would be the sense of smell? But as it is, God arranged the members in the body, each one of them, as he chose. If all were a single member, where would the body be? As it is, there are many parts, yet one body.

The eye cannot say to the hand, ‘I have no need of you,’ nor again the head to the feet, ‘I have no need of you.’ On the contrary, the parts of the body that seem to be weaker are indispensable, and on those parts of the body that we think less honorable we bestow the greater honor, and our unpresentable parts are treated with greater modesty, which our more presentable parts do not require. But God has so composed the body, giving greater honor to the part that lacked it, that there may be no division in the body, but that the members may have the same care for one another. If one member suffers, all suffer together; if one member is honored, all rejoice together.”

God choose each and every member of you Church.  The 20 something single straight out of college.  The 28 year old couple with three kids.  The 35 year old single. The 64 year old empty nesters.  The 40 year old widow.  The 80 year old newly weds.  Each one bringing something important to the table. 

Did you know that our heart is constantly communicating with our brain providing feedback and instruction?  Can you imagine if our heart only communicated with itself?  With this in mind why is it that connection groups are composed solely of people in the same life stage?  Being married or a certain adult age shouldn’t be a requirement for belonging. 

Aside: Young adult groups shouldn’t look like youth groups.  Young adults are ADULTS.  They are also not your youth group’s free labor.  Yes some young adults love to serve as a member of the youth group team; however, this doesn’t mean all young adults want to OR should.  Young adults don’t need more young adults.  They need Jesus, wisdom, and belonging.  You know who has insight into all of these areas? Older adults. 

Okay back to the point. Church I know you are tired.  I know that you work hard.  I know that I, and many others, am quick to point out your weaknesses and not quick enough to point out your strengths.  And I know that you are striving to do your very best.  Its okay that you don’t know what to do with us.  Often we don’t know what to do with ourselves either.  Come alongside us and lets figure it out together.  We’ll all be healthier because of it.

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The Little Engine who Couldn't

Once upon a time there was a little engine.  This little engine didn’t like being little.  This little engine wanted to be a great big engine.  Little engine wanted to leave the yard and explore what was over the great big hill ahead.  For little engine had heard many stories about what lay ahead.  Both good and bad.  The people in the yard didn’t take care of little engine. Little engine kept getting dirtier and dirtier.  Scratches, bruises, and dents covered little engine.  So little engine decided to leave the yard.  Along little engine chugged.  Pretending they were a great big engine.  They scooted slowly up the hill.  It was hard.  Big engines chugged past little engine but little engine kept going.  It could see the top of the hill ahead.  Slowly slowly little engine chugged.  

Finally, little engine wasn’t so little any more.  In fact little engine was quite big.  Little engine was more determined then ever to make it to the top of the hill.  Chugga chugga chugga chugga almost there.  Little engine heard the other little engines from the yard.  They had grown and were coming up the hill too!  They started to pass little engine.  This just made little engine more determined to reach the top of the hill.  But because little engine had left when they were so small they didn’t have as much fuel as the big engines.  Just before little engine got to the top of the hill little engine became empty.  Down down down fell little engine back into the yard…

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Trust Restorers... at the Auto Dealership?

“Trust, once lost, could not be easily found. Not in a year, perhaps not even in a lifetime.”

-J.E.B Spredemann

Trust is complicated; once it is broken it is hard to recover.  Thankfully in life there are people who are Trust Restorers.  These are the people who work and wait (and wait and wait and wait) to earn the trust of those whose faith is lost.  One of my favorite Trust Restorer stories comes from Love What Matters:

I read this story over and over.  How easy it would have been for the mom to respond a different way.  The rebuilding of trust is hard work.  She chose the long road.  The road that leads to transformation.     

This past week I met a group of Trust Restorers…. at the auto dealership.  Ohhh the irony.  First, to catch you up to speed, let’s just say that my last experience at a dealership was less than ideal (it was horrible). I’ve needed a new car for quite some time, but kept putting it off.  Finally, I decided to look online.  Within seconds I found a great car.  It had everything I wanted (and more) and was within my budget.  I went to the dealer for a test drive fully expecting:

1. for it to be not as advertised

2. for them to bully me

3. for them to scam me

Well, it was as advertised.  In fact, it was even more wonderful.  I tell the dealer I’m interested in purchasing the vehicle.  As he’s talking me through the buying process I begin to melt down.  He notices.  Before I know it I’m spilling my whole story in the middle of the dealership.  He stops me and says “I’m sorry that happened to you.  I want you to trust me.  I need you to trust me so you can recommend me to others.”  He gets up and comes back with a stack of papers.  For the next hour he walks me through every charge and every line of the contract. There is nothing hidden.  The contract is completely transparent. 

Then they send me to manager to sign all the finance papers and of course I begin to melt down.  The manager notices.  And once again I’m spilling my story.  He stops me and says “What happened to you was illegal.  That is not okay.”  Then he breaks down the price of the vehicle piece by piece.  He gives me a calculator and lets me calculate every charge over and over again until I was comfortable.  This whole thing took hours.  Not once did I feel pressured to hurry up or to agree to anything I didn’t understand.  They choose the long road for me, someone they will forget about in a few weeks’ time. 

Almost a week later and I am still in shock.  I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop.  (Hopefully the family mechanic will give it a clean bill of health on Thursday!) 

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Processing

Have you ever walked in somewhere and instantly felt at home?  That's how I felt the moment I walked into the doors of the church I've been attending the past few months.  Every Sunday Americans, Ghanians, French, Chinese, Mexicans, Canadians, Cameroonians, Philippinos, South Africans, Swedes, Colombians, Brits, Germans, New Zealanders, Taiwanese and many more stand side by side worshiping.  International churches are unique.  Each culture and each denomination represented brings truth to the community.  I love international churches.      

During worship today we sang a new song:

"Give thanks to God for he is good..."  As we sang together this morning I began looking around and was overcome with grief.  This place was suppose to be my home.  This was where I was suppose to dig my roots in deep.  This was suppose to be where I would serve.  This was suppose to be where I would grow.   I don't understand why I moved across the world only to move back again, but I know...

that he is good

that he is trustworthy

that he is true

that he is steadfast

and for that I am thankful.

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