People are often amazed at how much training massage therapists have in the state of Ohio. Here we are regulated by the state medical board, and I'm told the requirements to sit for the Ohio massage board exam are some of the highest in the country. I have somewhere around 300 clock hours of anatomy and physiology training, over 200 hours of massage theory ~ which includes physical and emotional benefits of massage as well as the techniques ~ and 40 hours of hands-on experience in a student clinic. Several classes were dedicated to introducing students to the many different massage modalities and complimentary treatments, like Reiki, reflexology, infant and prenatal massage, and spa treatments. These were the general requirements when I went to school 10 years ago. I hear it told that now the number of hours required for graduation has increased and courses like pathology and advanced techniques have been added. I feel a little gypped. Pathology would have come in handy.
But, I'm not complaining. The ergonomics training has come in very handy. Learning how to properly position and utilize our bodies for the physical work of massage so as not to burn out was one of the least interesting but most useful classes. I want to say, but can't say for certain, that it was in this class that we discussed "energy vampires". This is exactly what it sounds like ~ people who suck the life out of you. I have been incredibly fortunate that in 9 years of practice I have come across remarkably few of these patients. Some of them are unrealistically demanding in what they expect from their session and the drain comes from trying to accommodatingly fit it all in. A few of them are never going to be happy with your work no matter what you do for them because you are not the person who does it the only way they like it. More of them are just so unhappy with life in general that they spend the entire session voicing their discontent, seeming to attempt to drag you down with them. Sound like anyone in your life?
It never ceases to surprise me where my massage training will end up being useful. When our oldest son was 6 and diagnosed with an endocrine condition, it was my anatomy training that helped me to understand the dr's explanations. In discussing medical symptoms with friends I can sometimes point them in a direction to look for answers, even when I don't have them. And every now and then, I can teach someone a technique to help their or a loved one's pain pattern. But I never would have guessed how much the "energy vampire" discussion would carry over.
Ordinarily, I am a high energy person. I put out quite a bit of energy all on my own without needing anyone around to suck it up. So when I have a drain on my already fast-depleting stores, the toll can be large if I am not vigilant. And when multiple drains are swallowing at once, the toll can be devastating. This is why we are taught how to put up an energy force-field, so to speak ~ a semipermeable wall that lets our energy work but prevents the negative energy from hitting too hard. The double-edge to this sword is the amount of energy required to keep up the barrier. In 9 years, I have become accustomed to handling this shield for the length of a session. However, in life, this shield has the potential to buckle under the weight of several negative energy influences, and eventually implodes on itself as a result of the constant bombardment of energy parasites. Welcome to my current state.
Unfortunately, the only recovery from this exhaustion is rest and reprieve, which are ever elusive in my life. In my work, one positive, or at least neutral, energy session is enough to clear out negativity and allow rest for the next high-energy demand. In my life, however, recovery is not so quick or simple. Depending on the severity of the bombardment, it takes time to push the negativity out of my space, more time to recharge positively, and more time still to rebuild the wall. This is often prolonged by the fact that the energy drains often refuse to be removed entirely during this process. It's like a baby nursing from an exhausted, malnourished mother. The baby will take what it needs without regard to the mother's own physical requirements, and gives the mother's body no time to rest and replenish, to restock the stores to the point of sustaining them both. It is usually here that the mother turns to other means of nourishing her child (formula supplementation) so that her body can heal. When she is well, she can then fully care for herself and her child.
I am now exhausted and malnourished, physically, mentally, and even spiritually. It is here that I need to relinquish the draining relationships to others who can sustain them and allow myself to replenish and rebuild, to heal and become well again.
Sunday, February 12, 2012
@#$%ing Exhausted and Can't Sleep
At the start of this post it is 1145pm. I initially went to bed over 2 hours ago. In that time, I have developed migraine-grade pain behind my eyes and I can't seem to shut my mind off. The sob story of a life long insomniac.
I seem to be in the middle of one of my many episodes of "too much life in my life". All of that life is impeding on the rest of my life. Between the physical stress of surgery, the mental stress of returning to school, and the overall stress of the circumstances surrounding my life of late I have come to my brink. I feel like I am loosing my mind. All it will take is one more push to send me sailing over the edge.
I had the fortune of running into a wonderful woman at church this evening who has some small idea of what has been going on. When she asked how I was I answered honestly that I have been better. When she asked what was going on I explained, without going into detail, that I am completely overwhelmed with the current demands on my life. She told me that she has been praying for both of us these past couple of weeks, but she had felt very strongly that I was the one needing prayer. She's so intuitive. And she prayed for me again right there in the ladies' room, reminding me that for every action, especially for God, there is an equal and opposite reaction.
Like both of the times I served on Kairos and was plagued by nightmares. Or last October when we served Koinonia and I had some wicked headaches. And last May when I made the incredibly irresponsible decision to stop my my antidepressant cold-turkey and endured all kinds of hoopla.
This time I have neglected myself, neglected my studies, neglected my boys. I haven't allowed my body to heal from the surgery, I haven't studied for the bio test I need to take in the next 24 hours or the algebra quiz in 48. James had a science fair project get neglected until the night before. I've been so focused on teaching the visiting dog the rules of my house that my own dog has been hoovering around me every time I sit down. We've hat a flat tire, a dead battery, a faulty starter and a fender-bender between only 3 vehicles.
At service this evening a lyric in one of the worship songs said "I'm ready for more." Be careful what you wish for.
I'm always fascinated when people call Christianity a crutch. Christianity, true Christianity, has been the longest, hardest road I've ever been on. No wonder people don't want to live it. Life was much less exciting, much more low key, but much less fulfilling, before I embarked on this journey.
And now I'm sucked into a whole new level. The pastor's wife. And I seem to be doing a bang up job, I must say. I'm known for tap dancing in steel-toed boots. Current circumstances are not exempt. It would seem the only thing I do well is piss people off by saying what I have to say in the only way I know how. And now I have the added problem of the propriety expected from this latest role. Sorry. Not getting it here. I've said before that I'm not cut for the pastor's wife cloth. If you're looking for meek, quiet, and submissive look elsewhere. Nothing about me it molded for this station. And I seem to be failing miserably at it.
And as I continue to sit here almost 2 hours after I began, I have gotten no more studying done, I've spent no more time with my boyz or dog, and I still can't sleep.
I seem to be in the middle of one of my many episodes of "too much life in my life". All of that life is impeding on the rest of my life. Between the physical stress of surgery, the mental stress of returning to school, and the overall stress of the circumstances surrounding my life of late I have come to my brink. I feel like I am loosing my mind. All it will take is one more push to send me sailing over the edge.
I had the fortune of running into a wonderful woman at church this evening who has some small idea of what has been going on. When she asked how I was I answered honestly that I have been better. When she asked what was going on I explained, without going into detail, that I am completely overwhelmed with the current demands on my life. She told me that she has been praying for both of us these past couple of weeks, but she had felt very strongly that I was the one needing prayer. She's so intuitive. And she prayed for me again right there in the ladies' room, reminding me that for every action, especially for God, there is an equal and opposite reaction.
Like both of the times I served on Kairos and was plagued by nightmares. Or last October when we served Koinonia and I had some wicked headaches. And last May when I made the incredibly irresponsible decision to stop my my antidepressant cold-turkey and endured all kinds of hoopla.
This time I have neglected myself, neglected my studies, neglected my boys. I haven't allowed my body to heal from the surgery, I haven't studied for the bio test I need to take in the next 24 hours or the algebra quiz in 48. James had a science fair project get neglected until the night before. I've been so focused on teaching the visiting dog the rules of my house that my own dog has been hoovering around me every time I sit down. We've hat a flat tire, a dead battery, a faulty starter and a fender-bender between only 3 vehicles.
At service this evening a lyric in one of the worship songs said "I'm ready for more." Be careful what you wish for.
I'm always fascinated when people call Christianity a crutch. Christianity, true Christianity, has been the longest, hardest road I've ever been on. No wonder people don't want to live it. Life was much less exciting, much more low key, but much less fulfilling, before I embarked on this journey.
And now I'm sucked into a whole new level. The pastor's wife. And I seem to be doing a bang up job, I must say. I'm known for tap dancing in steel-toed boots. Current circumstances are not exempt. It would seem the only thing I do well is piss people off by saying what I have to say in the only way I know how. And now I have the added problem of the propriety expected from this latest role. Sorry. Not getting it here. I've said before that I'm not cut for the pastor's wife cloth. If you're looking for meek, quiet, and submissive look elsewhere. Nothing about me it molded for this station. And I seem to be failing miserably at it.
And as I continue to sit here almost 2 hours after I began, I have gotten no more studying done, I've spent no more time with my boyz or dog, and I still can't sleep.
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
Adventures in Puppysitting
Anyone one enough to remember the movie "Adventures in Babysitting"? I loved that movie growing up. Though I don't recall ever being envious of Elizabeth Shoo's character or the ordeal she endured, the movie was entertaining.
Not so entertaining is the adventure of the past week of puppy-sitting. While our friend is in rehab, his 15-month-old Australian shepherd, Auzzie, is staying with us. I knew a few details going into the deal, like the dog is in desperate need of energy management and some basic obedience. Then there were the tidbits that I was probably aware of but tucked away because they were not immediately applicable, like there is suspicion that daddy is not the kindest, most loving owner when he is experiencing a drunken rage.
This is not Auzzie's first visit with us while his daddy traveled, though this is certainly the longest period of time. The first stay was only 5 days when Auzzie was about 5 months old and daddy was visiting friends out of state. Auzzie learned very quickly that there are only 2 rooms in our house that are forbidden to puppies, a lesson we are pleased to see that he has remembered every other time he's visited, and that if he wants to be loved on he needs to sit. I have a problem chasing a spinning, prancing, dancing dog just to pet him.
Knowing that Auzzie needed some additional obedience training and that he would be with us for almost a month, I fully anticipated spending some time working with him. I don't have enough available hours in my day to work miracles in 4 weeks, but if nothing else, he will learn what behavior is acceptable at our house.
Rule #1 ~ Never Bite the Hand That Feeds You
This includes the hands of any person who may ever feed you while you are in my house.
It is the job of our youngest son to feed the animals in the morning. Our animals' routine and eating areas have been well established for quite some time. Bandit's bowls are in a corner of our dining room on the upper level of the house, while Auzzie's kennel and food bowls have been set up in the rec room on the lower level. Our plan was to feed Auzzie downstairs, then feed Bandit upstairs while Auzzie was eating and distracted. This worked out for the first few days. Then, one morning was a little out of sorts due to a schedule change, and I was distracted myself when the dogs were being fed. I didn't notice that Bandit had followed Auzzie down the stairs, and Auzzie didn't take too well to Bandit possibly muscling in to the food bowl. There was some dominant vocalizing, our son was startled and let out a yelp, and I hollered for our dog, who came bounding up the steps ~ unfortunately, with Auzzie on his heels. Our son then poured food into Bandit's bowl before I was able to separate the dogs, and the dominant vocalizing resumed. With our son standing much closer, he was more startled and let out a higher pitched yelp, which fed the excitement in the dogs. Dogs were jumping, teeth were exposed, and my son was scratched (not bit) in the fray.
I then morphed into evil-doggie-sitter. The intent was to gain a hold of Auzzie to guide (drag, if necessary) him to his kennel and own food bowl. But he was already too agitated, and when I grabbed his collar, he went bipolar. The dog must be part owl, or in need of an exorcist, because he was able to spin his head all the way around to get his teeth all over my hand. Not at all proud of how I handled the situation, I then laid into the dog. For what felt like several minutes I fought for control of the dog and the situation, becoming more and more upset with every passing second. I ended up lying on top of him so that he was immobile, but with every attempt to get up he wiggled and squirmed and employed his possessed-doggie-head-spin to lay into my hand. It wasn't until my older son brought me a leash that I was able to get off the dog while maintaining tension on his choke with my hands no longer anywhere near his head. Infuriated, I had such a pull on him that his front feet were hovering off of the floor as I dragged him, still spinning and squirming, trying to bite the leash, all the way down the stairs to his kennel.
Hoarse from screaming and shaking with angry adrenaline, I sat at the dining table to resume breakfast ~ but thought I might throw up. When I finally thought to look at my now burning hands, I was surprised to see no blood. Sure they were covered with teeth marks, scratches and a few bruises, but no skin was broken. Either I have very thick skin, or Auzzie wasn't truly trying to inflict injury. Maybe he was only trying to get me to let go of him. As the person in the conflict, I was not about to let this dog think that he was in anyway going to win. Yet, in hindsight, I'm not sure that was his goal in the first place.
Our Bandit doesn't seem to have an aggressive bone in his body. Under circumstances in which he is being poked, pulled, laid on, or hit by the kids that are around, Bandit only tries to escape the situation and retreat to his safe haven. I have never seen him nip at or in any other way make an aggressive move toward a person. Perhaps that was Auzzie's goal. Maybe Auzzie was only trying to "encourage" me to let go of his collar so that he could escape.
Unfortunately, even if this were the case, this behavior cannot happen in our house. Auzzie is the only pet of a person who is himself not the most disciplined and, therefore, does not consistently discipline his pet. We have seen first-handle how Auzzie's daddy defers to the dog's boisterous energy and disobedience. We, on the other hand, have our own dog, 4 cats, and 2 kids. This kind of unchecked aggression cannot be allowed for the sake and safety of the other inhabitants of the house.
We were incredibly spoiled when we got Bandit. He was 2 years old, housebroken, and obedience trained when he came to us. He has a sweet temperament to match his sweet face, and the fact that he is not a barker is icing on the cake. With this in mind, I had no idea how to proceed with this situation. I have never dealt with this behavior in a dog before and needed some advice, so I spent most of my morning talking to friends who have trained dogs from puppies.
To begin with, Auzzie was confined to his kennel unless he was outside taking care of business. Because I felt the need to be able to control him without getting close to him, he was only allowed out of the kennel if he was on the leash. Bandit and the cats were not at all upset by this arrangement, but it all but broke my heart. Why have a dog if the dog has to be constantly confined? Dogs are supposed to be part of the family, not caged like hamsters. But, by the same token, he couldn't handle the freedom of the house when competing with the other animals.
After a few days, I let Auzzie roam the house in the mornings before anyone else got out of bed, but he went back to the kennel as soon as the house become more active. Our younger son plays with him after school to run out some of his energy, then he goes back to the kennel. Today was the "all day" trial run, and I am happy to report that Auzzie behaved quite well. We have discovered that the excitement of everyone being home is still a little too much for him, so we will probably kennel him for the day in the late afternoon for the rest of this week.
I am encouraged by the progress being made. Auzzie is doing much better when commanded to go to his kennel, though is by no means yet compliant. He waits patiently in the kennel while I attach the leash, does his little dance when he is finally allowed out, then heads to the front door to be let out. He waits again for the leash when we comes back in, and then gives me a pleading look while waiting to see if he will be allowed upstairs to play or back downstairs to the kennel. With all the effort I am putting into teaching this dog the rules of my house, I almost don't want to give him back. ALMOST.
Not so entertaining is the adventure of the past week of puppy-sitting. While our friend is in rehab, his 15-month-old Australian shepherd, Auzzie, is staying with us. I knew a few details going into the deal, like the dog is in desperate need of energy management and some basic obedience. Then there were the tidbits that I was probably aware of but tucked away because they were not immediately applicable, like there is suspicion that daddy is not the kindest, most loving owner when he is experiencing a drunken rage.
This is not Auzzie's first visit with us while his daddy traveled, though this is certainly the longest period of time. The first stay was only 5 days when Auzzie was about 5 months old and daddy was visiting friends out of state. Auzzie learned very quickly that there are only 2 rooms in our house that are forbidden to puppies, a lesson we are pleased to see that he has remembered every other time he's visited, and that if he wants to be loved on he needs to sit. I have a problem chasing a spinning, prancing, dancing dog just to pet him.
Knowing that Auzzie needed some additional obedience training and that he would be with us for almost a month, I fully anticipated spending some time working with him. I don't have enough available hours in my day to work miracles in 4 weeks, but if nothing else, he will learn what behavior is acceptable at our house.
Rule #1 ~ Never Bite the Hand That Feeds You
This includes the hands of any person who may ever feed you while you are in my house.
It is the job of our youngest son to feed the animals in the morning. Our animals' routine and eating areas have been well established for quite some time. Bandit's bowls are in a corner of our dining room on the upper level of the house, while Auzzie's kennel and food bowls have been set up in the rec room on the lower level. Our plan was to feed Auzzie downstairs, then feed Bandit upstairs while Auzzie was eating and distracted. This worked out for the first few days. Then, one morning was a little out of sorts due to a schedule change, and I was distracted myself when the dogs were being fed. I didn't notice that Bandit had followed Auzzie down the stairs, and Auzzie didn't take too well to Bandit possibly muscling in to the food bowl. There was some dominant vocalizing, our son was startled and let out a yelp, and I hollered for our dog, who came bounding up the steps ~ unfortunately, with Auzzie on his heels. Our son then poured food into Bandit's bowl before I was able to separate the dogs, and the dominant vocalizing resumed. With our son standing much closer, he was more startled and let out a higher pitched yelp, which fed the excitement in the dogs. Dogs were jumping, teeth were exposed, and my son was scratched (not bit) in the fray.
I then morphed into evil-doggie-sitter. The intent was to gain a hold of Auzzie to guide (drag, if necessary) him to his kennel and own food bowl. But he was already too agitated, and when I grabbed his collar, he went bipolar. The dog must be part owl, or in need of an exorcist, because he was able to spin his head all the way around to get his teeth all over my hand. Not at all proud of how I handled the situation, I then laid into the dog. For what felt like several minutes I fought for control of the dog and the situation, becoming more and more upset with every passing second. I ended up lying on top of him so that he was immobile, but with every attempt to get up he wiggled and squirmed and employed his possessed-doggie-head-spin to lay into my hand. It wasn't until my older son brought me a leash that I was able to get off the dog while maintaining tension on his choke with my hands no longer anywhere near his head. Infuriated, I had such a pull on him that his front feet were hovering off of the floor as I dragged him, still spinning and squirming, trying to bite the leash, all the way down the stairs to his kennel.
Hoarse from screaming and shaking with angry adrenaline, I sat at the dining table to resume breakfast ~ but thought I might throw up. When I finally thought to look at my now burning hands, I was surprised to see no blood. Sure they were covered with teeth marks, scratches and a few bruises, but no skin was broken. Either I have very thick skin, or Auzzie wasn't truly trying to inflict injury. Maybe he was only trying to get me to let go of him. As the person in the conflict, I was not about to let this dog think that he was in anyway going to win. Yet, in hindsight, I'm not sure that was his goal in the first place.
Our Bandit doesn't seem to have an aggressive bone in his body. Under circumstances in which he is being poked, pulled, laid on, or hit by the kids that are around, Bandit only tries to escape the situation and retreat to his safe haven. I have never seen him nip at or in any other way make an aggressive move toward a person. Perhaps that was Auzzie's goal. Maybe Auzzie was only trying to "encourage" me to let go of his collar so that he could escape.
Unfortunately, even if this were the case, this behavior cannot happen in our house. Auzzie is the only pet of a person who is himself not the most disciplined and, therefore, does not consistently discipline his pet. We have seen first-handle how Auzzie's daddy defers to the dog's boisterous energy and disobedience. We, on the other hand, have our own dog, 4 cats, and 2 kids. This kind of unchecked aggression cannot be allowed for the sake and safety of the other inhabitants of the house.
We were incredibly spoiled when we got Bandit. He was 2 years old, housebroken, and obedience trained when he came to us. He has a sweet temperament to match his sweet face, and the fact that he is not a barker is icing on the cake. With this in mind, I had no idea how to proceed with this situation. I have never dealt with this behavior in a dog before and needed some advice, so I spent most of my morning talking to friends who have trained dogs from puppies.
To begin with, Auzzie was confined to his kennel unless he was outside taking care of business. Because I felt the need to be able to control him without getting close to him, he was only allowed out of the kennel if he was on the leash. Bandit and the cats were not at all upset by this arrangement, but it all but broke my heart. Why have a dog if the dog has to be constantly confined? Dogs are supposed to be part of the family, not caged like hamsters. But, by the same token, he couldn't handle the freedom of the house when competing with the other animals.
After a few days, I let Auzzie roam the house in the mornings before anyone else got out of bed, but he went back to the kennel as soon as the house become more active. Our younger son plays with him after school to run out some of his energy, then he goes back to the kennel. Today was the "all day" trial run, and I am happy to report that Auzzie behaved quite well. We have discovered that the excitement of everyone being home is still a little too much for him, so we will probably kennel him for the day in the late afternoon for the rest of this week.
I am encouraged by the progress being made. Auzzie is doing much better when commanded to go to his kennel, though is by no means yet compliant. He waits patiently in the kennel while I attach the leash, does his little dance when he is finally allowed out, then heads to the front door to be let out. He waits again for the leash when we comes back in, and then gives me a pleading look while waiting to see if he will be allowed upstairs to play or back downstairs to the kennel. With all the effort I am putting into teaching this dog the rules of my house, I almost don't want to give him back. ALMOST.
Friday, February 3, 2012
A Study in Job ~ Preface
Not intending to be boastful, I will say that I am on my 6th read through of the Bible. I first read it through as a teenager in Mormon seminary where we used exclusively the old King James Version. That was a rough translation for a teen, and I couldn't say how much of it I truly took in. Since then, I have read the NIV, NLT, and the Message translations. Ordinarily, I begin my reading in the gospels, but this year's choice is TNIV in chronological order, and I am already thinking that next year I want to read the New King James Version without all of the thees and thous and begots.
There are certain books of the Bible that I love to read and savor ever word ~ Proverbs, Genesis, the gospels, James. And there are others that I now skim ~ Leviticus, Numbers, Deuteronomy. Then there are the books that I have tried so hard but just don't get ~ Psalms, Ecclesiasties, the prophets. I think part of the problem is lack of point of reference, which is why I have chosen the chronological Books of the Bible for this year's read. Maybe with the writings of the prophets tucked into the historical recounts of the events I can glean why the prophecy was significant at the time instead of only in retrospect.
The book of Job is particularly difficult for me. Years ago, when my life was seemingly falling apart and I twistedly believed that God was behind it all, a coworker suggested that I remember and be encouraged by the life and trials of Job. I remembered, but was sinking too deeply into an unhealthy mental state to be encouraged. If anything, in my warped way of thinking, remembering only justified my skewed view that God was entertained by the suffering of His people.
As my mental health has recovered, I have rededicated my life to Christ, and sincerely sought to understand His word, Job has continued to be an boulder on my spiritual journey. The initial events leading up to Job's lament are not difficult to understand. He was a righteous man and thus blessed in his life. In spite of living only to please God, God allowed Job to loose everything but his life ~ and bitchy, accusatory wife, apparently. But I digress. It is when Job's "friends" arrive to offer their words of "comfort" that the author looses me. I have ADHD, so when monologs are 2, 3, 4 chapters long not only to I loose the underlying point of the speech, but I can't even remember who's speaking. Add to that the fact that the original book was written poetically and that the flow and word pictures that would have encouraged one to relate and remember have been lost in our crude translation from Hebrew into English.
As much as I'm not a fan of Job, it has been in my heart to more fully understand this book. Maybe it has been recent events that have created a longing in me to understand why God would allow us to suffer so much. Maybe it's because it frustrates me to not understand. Whatever the reason, I have made a commitment to study the book of Job. Due to life circumstances, this study will NOT happen within the 12 weeks for which it is designed. It will happen as I can devote the energy to concentrated study. But part of this study involves reflection questions asking one to consider their spiritual walk thus far. I type much faster than I write, and I will more than likely answer some of those questions here. I only hope I sound less whiny than Job.
There are certain books of the Bible that I love to read and savor ever word ~ Proverbs, Genesis, the gospels, James. And there are others that I now skim ~ Leviticus, Numbers, Deuteronomy. Then there are the books that I have tried so hard but just don't get ~ Psalms, Ecclesiasties, the prophets. I think part of the problem is lack of point of reference, which is why I have chosen the chronological Books of the Bible for this year's read. Maybe with the writings of the prophets tucked into the historical recounts of the events I can glean why the prophecy was significant at the time instead of only in retrospect.
The book of Job is particularly difficult for me. Years ago, when my life was seemingly falling apart and I twistedly believed that God was behind it all, a coworker suggested that I remember and be encouraged by the life and trials of Job. I remembered, but was sinking too deeply into an unhealthy mental state to be encouraged. If anything, in my warped way of thinking, remembering only justified my skewed view that God was entertained by the suffering of His people.
As my mental health has recovered, I have rededicated my life to Christ, and sincerely sought to understand His word, Job has continued to be an boulder on my spiritual journey. The initial events leading up to Job's lament are not difficult to understand. He was a righteous man and thus blessed in his life. In spite of living only to please God, God allowed Job to loose everything but his life ~ and bitchy, accusatory wife, apparently. But I digress. It is when Job's "friends" arrive to offer their words of "comfort" that the author looses me. I have ADHD, so when monologs are 2, 3, 4 chapters long not only to I loose the underlying point of the speech, but I can't even remember who's speaking. Add to that the fact that the original book was written poetically and that the flow and word pictures that would have encouraged one to relate and remember have been lost in our crude translation from Hebrew into English.
As much as I'm not a fan of Job, it has been in my heart to more fully understand this book. Maybe it has been recent events that have created a longing in me to understand why God would allow us to suffer so much. Maybe it's because it frustrates me to not understand. Whatever the reason, I have made a commitment to study the book of Job. Due to life circumstances, this study will NOT happen within the 12 weeks for which it is designed. It will happen as I can devote the energy to concentrated study. But part of this study involves reflection questions asking one to consider their spiritual walk thus far. I type much faster than I write, and I will more than likely answer some of those questions here. I only hope I sound less whiny than Job.
Sunday, January 29, 2012
The Unpastor's Wife
My husband and I have a very interesting decision making method. He tells me he wants to do something significant, I laugh at him, and years later God makes it happen. For example, when I first met Josh's parents almost 20 years ago he introduced me as their "future daughter-in-law" ~ and I laughed at him. Little did I know, right?
A few years ago we went to a friend's house for New Year's Eve. It was a low key evening of a potluck style dinner, board and video games, and conversation. No alcohol involved. So when Josh told me on the drive home that he felt called to pastor and plant a church, I knew he was making a sober statement ~ and I laughed at him. As we discussed things further, I told him the problem was not so much him being pastor as me being the "pastor's wife". I don't exactly fit the "pastor's wife" mold. Obviously, in order for Josh to be a pastor, we would have to get divorced. He definitely would need someone more qualified then myself to be his partner in ministry.
And here is a perfect example of why this is the case.
I have a hard time sharing. Especially my husband. It has been hard enough to learn to surrender my husband to the will of God, but it is incredibly difficult when it appears that others are taking advantage of his position.
Earlier this month, I went back to school. Part of the deal was that the division of house work would be reassessed and reassigned. Three weeks after school started, I had a fairly invasive surgery. Still in recovery mode, there is so much I cannot yet do for myself ~ like vacuum. We have 4 cats and a husky, thus, vacuuming needs to be done daily. Grocery shopping needs to be done with my teenage pack mule. Lifting heavy laundry baskets or my backpack is still a challenge. Much as it pains me to admit it, it has been the last 10ish days that I have really needed my husband. Unfortunately, other people seem to think they have needed him more than I.
Josh is in the unique position of both boss and pastor to a young person that we have taken on as something of a surrogate child. We knew his history of drug abuse and rehab, that he smokes and battles with alcohol. There is a definite pattern to when he would call off "sick", code for "hung over" or "alcohol poisoning". Very recently, he called in late, then called back a few minutes later in a state of hysterics because was so gone mentally that he wasn't even sure where he was as he was driving. He leaves tomorrow for out-of-state in-patient alcohol rehab.
This situation is further complicated by the fact that young person number one is dating another young person that we have known for a few years now who has her own issues. In my humble, untrained opinion, this is not a healthy union. She gets possessive and paranoid, he drinks, rages, screams and yells, she cries and gets hysterical. I suppose the make-up sex is worth it all.
Not only does Josh have to deal with the problem on a professional level working with young one #1, but he also has the pastoral responsibility to handle. The last few days have been a nightmare. Both of these young people have been picking at him, sucking the energy out of him, demanding his time and attention. For three days, my husband has been all but consumed by dealing with their drama.
While I have had to grocery shop with my teenager and sit at home achy from surgery without the help that I thought I would have so readily available.
Is it wrong or selfish of me to feel this way? I am a fiercely independent person by design, so just admitting that I even needed help was hard enough. But to need it and not have it because an outsider usurped it doesn't sit well with me. Am I warring with the will of God, or is my husband working with ill-defined boundaries?
Which brings me to another conflict within. He let himself be pulled away. I understand that circumstances were urgent and extreme, but he seemed to let the little things pull as well. We were in church Saturday evening where young one #2 was supposed to meet Josh and talk after the service. Josh gets a text that she is running late. Par for her course. Then he gets a text asking if she could just meet us after service and come over for dinner. And he asked ME. NO! Is it not enough that they have eaten up a big chunk of his day already? They were over the night before, so, no, I don't want her over again. I want to have dinner with my boyz, and I refuse to allow her to have this much control over my life. She can meet and chat at church as planned or not at all this evening. By the time she got to the church, service was under way. Josh received, and showed me, another text asking if he could meet her in the entry way to bring her to where we were sitting. NO! There was really no where for her to sit with us anyway, and she should be able to survive sitting alone at church for an hour. Her final text, that I was made aware of at least, was a plea for him to come get her. NO! I was tired of hearing his text alert and I would be damned if he deferred to her any more. We were supposed to be worshiping God, being fed by the Spirit, and he was letting her pull him away from even that. Where does he finally draw the line?
Josh did chat with her after service. Then young one #1 called young one #2 in a drunken rage and making accusations, Josh got dragged into the drama, and the rest of the evening was pretty much shot. The dinner we had in the crock-pot ended up very overdone because it was so late by the time we finally left the church.
I do not share my husband well. I do not have patience for people taking advantage of his position. And it is a damn good thing I was not the one dealing with all of this because there would have been a very different direction in the conversations. I am very much wired in the ways of "tough love" and "these are your only choices". You can either choose to follow the advise offered, or you can choose not to and shut up about it.
Josh once wrote a blog about how he is not a pastor as much of the religious world would define them. In a comment, someone asked if this makes him an "unpastor", and he wears the title effectively and with humble pride. But as certain as I am that I am absolutely no "pastor's wife", I'm not sure I would even be an equally yoked "unpastor's wife".
A few years ago we went to a friend's house for New Year's Eve. It was a low key evening of a potluck style dinner, board and video games, and conversation. No alcohol involved. So when Josh told me on the drive home that he felt called to pastor and plant a church, I knew he was making a sober statement ~ and I laughed at him. As we discussed things further, I told him the problem was not so much him being pastor as me being the "pastor's wife". I don't exactly fit the "pastor's wife" mold. Obviously, in order for Josh to be a pastor, we would have to get divorced. He definitely would need someone more qualified then myself to be his partner in ministry.
And here is a perfect example of why this is the case.
I have a hard time sharing. Especially my husband. It has been hard enough to learn to surrender my husband to the will of God, but it is incredibly difficult when it appears that others are taking advantage of his position.
Earlier this month, I went back to school. Part of the deal was that the division of house work would be reassessed and reassigned. Three weeks after school started, I had a fairly invasive surgery. Still in recovery mode, there is so much I cannot yet do for myself ~ like vacuum. We have 4 cats and a husky, thus, vacuuming needs to be done daily. Grocery shopping needs to be done with my teenage pack mule. Lifting heavy laundry baskets or my backpack is still a challenge. Much as it pains me to admit it, it has been the last 10ish days that I have really needed my husband. Unfortunately, other people seem to think they have needed him more than I.
Josh is in the unique position of both boss and pastor to a young person that we have taken on as something of a surrogate child. We knew his history of drug abuse and rehab, that he smokes and battles with alcohol. There is a definite pattern to when he would call off "sick", code for "hung over" or "alcohol poisoning". Very recently, he called in late, then called back a few minutes later in a state of hysterics because was so gone mentally that he wasn't even sure where he was as he was driving. He leaves tomorrow for out-of-state in-patient alcohol rehab.
This situation is further complicated by the fact that young person number one is dating another young person that we have known for a few years now who has her own issues. In my humble, untrained opinion, this is not a healthy union. She gets possessive and paranoid, he drinks, rages, screams and yells, she cries and gets hysterical. I suppose the make-up sex is worth it all.
Not only does Josh have to deal with the problem on a professional level working with young one #1, but he also has the pastoral responsibility to handle. The last few days have been a nightmare. Both of these young people have been picking at him, sucking the energy out of him, demanding his time and attention. For three days, my husband has been all but consumed by dealing with their drama.
While I have had to grocery shop with my teenager and sit at home achy from surgery without the help that I thought I would have so readily available.
Is it wrong or selfish of me to feel this way? I am a fiercely independent person by design, so just admitting that I even needed help was hard enough. But to need it and not have it because an outsider usurped it doesn't sit well with me. Am I warring with the will of God, or is my husband working with ill-defined boundaries?
Which brings me to another conflict within. He let himself be pulled away. I understand that circumstances were urgent and extreme, but he seemed to let the little things pull as well. We were in church Saturday evening where young one #2 was supposed to meet Josh and talk after the service. Josh gets a text that she is running late. Par for her course. Then he gets a text asking if she could just meet us after service and come over for dinner. And he asked ME. NO! Is it not enough that they have eaten up a big chunk of his day already? They were over the night before, so, no, I don't want her over again. I want to have dinner with my boyz, and I refuse to allow her to have this much control over my life. She can meet and chat at church as planned or not at all this evening. By the time she got to the church, service was under way. Josh received, and showed me, another text asking if he could meet her in the entry way to bring her to where we were sitting. NO! There was really no where for her to sit with us anyway, and she should be able to survive sitting alone at church for an hour. Her final text, that I was made aware of at least, was a plea for him to come get her. NO! I was tired of hearing his text alert and I would be damned if he deferred to her any more. We were supposed to be worshiping God, being fed by the Spirit, and he was letting her pull him away from even that. Where does he finally draw the line?
Josh did chat with her after service. Then young one #1 called young one #2 in a drunken rage and making accusations, Josh got dragged into the drama, and the rest of the evening was pretty much shot. The dinner we had in the crock-pot ended up very overdone because it was so late by the time we finally left the church.
I do not share my husband well. I do not have patience for people taking advantage of his position. And it is a damn good thing I was not the one dealing with all of this because there would have been a very different direction in the conversations. I am very much wired in the ways of "tough love" and "these are your only choices". You can either choose to follow the advise offered, or you can choose not to and shut up about it.
Josh once wrote a blog about how he is not a pastor as much of the religious world would define them. In a comment, someone asked if this makes him an "unpastor", and he wears the title effectively and with humble pride. But as certain as I am that I am absolutely no "pastor's wife", I'm not sure I would even be an equally yoked "unpastor's wife".
Friday, January 13, 2012
Clash of the Testaments
For as long as I can remember, I have been fascinated with tattoos. In middle school I was in love with a tattoo on the forearm of a female warrior character of a book my brother had lent me, and wished I had one just like it. By high school, I knew enough about tattoos to know that my middle school fantasy would be unlikely to come to fruition, but I had plenty of other tattoo ideas swirling around in my brain to make up for it.
Even now, tattoos amaze me. And in my line of work, I see plenty of them. If I can legally uncover the body part in the context of therapy, I have seen it tattooed. Forearm sleeves, upper-arm sleeves, full-back masterpieces, wrap-arounds on legs, tops of the feet, up the neck, behind the ear ~ if it is visible without being obscene, I've seen it. Some of them look like they may have once been featured on the "Ugliest Tattoos" website. Others I just don't get. Some are creepy but done well artistically, others are awesome ideas poorly executed. The most beautiful tattoo I have ever seen was on a patient. My brother, brother-in-law, sister-in-law, father-in-law and husband all have tattoos.
I was 32 when I finally broke down and got inked. Part of the delay was based on parental influence. My dad is not a fan, especially when the tattoo is on his daughter. But the bigger issue was that I was uncertain about with what to permanently adorn my body. When I reflect on what I might have gotten as a young person, I don't regret not getting them. They weren't bad ideas, and I don't think I would regret them now if I had gotten them then, but they no longer fit the person I have become. They were better ideas for book-cover doodling than permanent body art.
Someone once recommended an excellent strategy for deciding on a tattoo. He told me to take my time finding exactly what I thought I wanted. Then put it away for 6 months. Look at it again, and if it is still exactly what I want, put it away again. And in another 6 months, if it is still exactly what I want, get it done. I followed that advice. As of this writing I have 4 tattoos, all obtained within a 16-month time frame, and I plan on rewarding myself with a 5th if I finish college Algebra with an A.
All of my current tattoos are based in my faith, though one may need an explanation of each. The phoenix on my back represents the many times God has raised my life from the ashes I had made of it. Unfortunately, this is a repeating pattern. The scripture reference on my shoulder is Isaiah 33:12-16. At the base of my left thumb is the phrase "be still" written in Aramaic, inspired by the passage in Exodus where the Isrealites where grumbling at the Red Sea and Moses reminded them that the Lord would fight for them if only they would "be still". Just under my right elbow is a band of Greek writing that reads "I am his and he is mine", from the Song of Songs. But my very first tattoo is on my right wrist, and in Hebrew it reads Yeushua.
For those of you who don't know me, let's play a guessing game. Judging by my body art, what would you think is my belief? Three of my tattoos reference Old Testament scripture, but 2 of them are written in the languages of the New. And the one New Testament reference is written in the language of the Old. Most people look at the Hebrew (though most of them can't actually read it) and the Old Testament reference on my back and immediately assume I am Jewish. Unless that person is himself Jewish. Then they wonder why anyone would want to address the Savior of the Christian faith by His Jewish name.
Of them all, the wrist tattoo is my favorite. If for no other reason than the confusion it creates. It rocks as a conversation starter. Even the average person can usually recognize the writing as Hebrew, and when they can't read it they ask about it. I explain what it says and that it allows me to honor both of the important men in my life, since my husband's name is Joshua. Why did I choose Hebrew to honor Christ, is usually the next question. Christ was a Hebrew, was He not? I have chosen to honor Him by honoring His heritage, and mine as His follower. I have found this to fascinate Jewish people I have come across and really irk the uneducated. The Jews that I have talked with are amazed that there are Christians out there who openly admit to and embrace Christ's Jewish blood line. Apparently, it is more common for them to come across the Christians who only continue condemn them for murdering their Savior. As for the uneducated, they just don't get it, and ignorance breeds intolerance. I've gotten a few snide, attitudinal comments when explaining my tattoo to some who look like they may have been the ones featured on the aforementioned website.
In short, I am a Christian who has made the decision to honor all the heritage that is mine as Christ's follower by adorning my physical temple with the 3 original biblical languages and a pictorial representation of my interpretation of my salvation. And I'm pretty sure I didn't ask for anyone's opinion about it.
Now ask me what my next tat is gonna be.
Even now, tattoos amaze me. And in my line of work, I see plenty of them. If I can legally uncover the body part in the context of therapy, I have seen it tattooed. Forearm sleeves, upper-arm sleeves, full-back masterpieces, wrap-arounds on legs, tops of the feet, up the neck, behind the ear ~ if it is visible without being obscene, I've seen it. Some of them look like they may have once been featured on the "Ugliest Tattoos" website. Others I just don't get. Some are creepy but done well artistically, others are awesome ideas poorly executed. The most beautiful tattoo I have ever seen was on a patient. My brother, brother-in-law, sister-in-law, father-in-law and husband all have tattoos.
I was 32 when I finally broke down and got inked. Part of the delay was based on parental influence. My dad is not a fan, especially when the tattoo is on his daughter. But the bigger issue was that I was uncertain about with what to permanently adorn my body. When I reflect on what I might have gotten as a young person, I don't regret not getting them. They weren't bad ideas, and I don't think I would regret them now if I had gotten them then, but they no longer fit the person I have become. They were better ideas for book-cover doodling than permanent body art.
Someone once recommended an excellent strategy for deciding on a tattoo. He told me to take my time finding exactly what I thought I wanted. Then put it away for 6 months. Look at it again, and if it is still exactly what I want, put it away again. And in another 6 months, if it is still exactly what I want, get it done. I followed that advice. As of this writing I have 4 tattoos, all obtained within a 16-month time frame, and I plan on rewarding myself with a 5th if I finish college Algebra with an A.
All of my current tattoos are based in my faith, though one may need an explanation of each. The phoenix on my back represents the many times God has raised my life from the ashes I had made of it. Unfortunately, this is a repeating pattern. The scripture reference on my shoulder is Isaiah 33:12-16. At the base of my left thumb is the phrase "be still" written in Aramaic, inspired by the passage in Exodus where the Isrealites where grumbling at the Red Sea and Moses reminded them that the Lord would fight for them if only they would "be still". Just under my right elbow is a band of Greek writing that reads "I am his and he is mine", from the Song of Songs. But my very first tattoo is on my right wrist, and in Hebrew it reads Yeushua.
For those of you who don't know me, let's play a guessing game. Judging by my body art, what would you think is my belief? Three of my tattoos reference Old Testament scripture, but 2 of them are written in the languages of the New. And the one New Testament reference is written in the language of the Old. Most people look at the Hebrew (though most of them can't actually read it) and the Old Testament reference on my back and immediately assume I am Jewish. Unless that person is himself Jewish. Then they wonder why anyone would want to address the Savior of the Christian faith by His Jewish name.
Of them all, the wrist tattoo is my favorite. If for no other reason than the confusion it creates. It rocks as a conversation starter. Even the average person can usually recognize the writing as Hebrew, and when they can't read it they ask about it. I explain what it says and that it allows me to honor both of the important men in my life, since my husband's name is Joshua. Why did I choose Hebrew to honor Christ, is usually the next question. Christ was a Hebrew, was He not? I have chosen to honor Him by honoring His heritage, and mine as His follower. I have found this to fascinate Jewish people I have come across and really irk the uneducated. The Jews that I have talked with are amazed that there are Christians out there who openly admit to and embrace Christ's Jewish blood line. Apparently, it is more common for them to come across the Christians who only continue condemn them for murdering their Savior. As for the uneducated, they just don't get it, and ignorance breeds intolerance. I've gotten a few snide, attitudinal comments when explaining my tattoo to some who look like they may have been the ones featured on the aforementioned website.
In short, I am a Christian who has made the decision to honor all the heritage that is mine as Christ's follower by adorning my physical temple with the 3 original biblical languages and a pictorial representation of my interpretation of my salvation. And I'm pretty sure I didn't ask for anyone's opinion about it.
Now ask me what my next tat is gonna be.
Saturday, December 31, 2011
2011 In Review
New Year's Eve. The day when most people solidify and ready for their newly proclaimed resolutions, and reminisce on the year that is fading.
My resolutions are generally predictable and unchanging ~ get a handle on my weight and health, read a different translation of the Bible, gain more control over my finances, and the like. For 2012, the only change is my commitment to return to school. Class begins in 4 days.
Reflecting on 2011, I see, like most people, that I fell short on some of my resolutions. I stuck with my goal to fast once a month until June, which I think is longer than most people would have hung in. But when vacation time rolled around, all sensible eating went by the way of the Dodo. I did manage to lose 10 of the 20 pounds I had gained the year before, though holiday eating never helps.
The one goal I usually conquer is reading my Bible through. The religion of my youth used exclusively the old King James, but as an adult I have also read NIV and NLT. A few years ago I made the commitment to read a different translation each year, allowing me to receive the Word from many angles. For 2011 it was the Message. This is the translation my teenager, and many who are young not only in years but also in faith, reads and studies from. Since it is what my son reads, I wanted to familiarize myself with this translation. As a person who has already read the more "grown-up" translations, this one left me wanting. Yet, I can see why it is so popular among young people and young Christians ~ it is a wonderful, common language introduction to the Word of God. On the flip side, just as a baby eventually graduates to solid food, there needs to come a time in a person's spiritual growth that demands less-watered-down sustenance. The goal for 2012 ~ The Books of the Bible (chronologically), NIV. No, it is not a different translation than one I have read before, but it is a different layout, still giving me a different perspective.
2011 was an odd year for our family in that we were able to take a real vacation for the first time in 6 years. A long-time patient of mine gifted our family with the use of a timeshare anywhere we wanted to go. Josh was a strong advocate for the beach. I have been to the beach. I wanted to go somewhere I had not been before, and might not have this kind of opportunity to visit again. So, we went to Colonial Williamsburg and the Historic Triangle. And it was awesome!! At least for me. I knew each of the boys enjoyed aspects that interested them individually, and the pool at the resort was worth the stay. On the heels of that trip, we also got to visit Washington DC with another family. Considering that we are not a vacationing family overall, I think we have all had our fill of travel for while. The goal for 2012 ~ I have relented to Josh and am planning a long weekend for just the 2 of us at an oceanfront campground. Also, we are tentatively planning a trip to Philly with the family that invited us to DC.
In most other ways, 2011 was an unremarkable year. Josh and I continue our work with our current employers and for the greater Kingdom. The Boyz are a year older, though I cannot vouch for a year wiser. As happens in life, we have said farewell to some relationships and hello to others. We seem to have a better handle on our finances, though there is still plenty of recovery still to take place. All in all, our lives move forward with the hope of betterment still to come.
My resolutions are generally predictable and unchanging ~ get a handle on my weight and health, read a different translation of the Bible, gain more control over my finances, and the like. For 2012, the only change is my commitment to return to school. Class begins in 4 days.
Reflecting on 2011, I see, like most people, that I fell short on some of my resolutions. I stuck with my goal to fast once a month until June, which I think is longer than most people would have hung in. But when vacation time rolled around, all sensible eating went by the way of the Dodo. I did manage to lose 10 of the 20 pounds I had gained the year before, though holiday eating never helps.
The one goal I usually conquer is reading my Bible through. The religion of my youth used exclusively the old King James, but as an adult I have also read NIV and NLT. A few years ago I made the commitment to read a different translation each year, allowing me to receive the Word from many angles. For 2011 it was the Message. This is the translation my teenager, and many who are young not only in years but also in faith, reads and studies from. Since it is what my son reads, I wanted to familiarize myself with this translation. As a person who has already read the more "grown-up" translations, this one left me wanting. Yet, I can see why it is so popular among young people and young Christians ~ it is a wonderful, common language introduction to the Word of God. On the flip side, just as a baby eventually graduates to solid food, there needs to come a time in a person's spiritual growth that demands less-watered-down sustenance. The goal for 2012 ~ The Books of the Bible (chronologically), NIV. No, it is not a different translation than one I have read before, but it is a different layout, still giving me a different perspective.
2011 was an odd year for our family in that we were able to take a real vacation for the first time in 6 years. A long-time patient of mine gifted our family with the use of a timeshare anywhere we wanted to go. Josh was a strong advocate for the beach. I have been to the beach. I wanted to go somewhere I had not been before, and might not have this kind of opportunity to visit again. So, we went to Colonial Williamsburg and the Historic Triangle. And it was awesome!! At least for me. I knew each of the boys enjoyed aspects that interested them individually, and the pool at the resort was worth the stay. On the heels of that trip, we also got to visit Washington DC with another family. Considering that we are not a vacationing family overall, I think we have all had our fill of travel for while. The goal for 2012 ~ I have relented to Josh and am planning a long weekend for just the 2 of us at an oceanfront campground. Also, we are tentatively planning a trip to Philly with the family that invited us to DC.
In most other ways, 2011 was an unremarkable year. Josh and I continue our work with our current employers and for the greater Kingdom. The Boyz are a year older, though I cannot vouch for a year wiser. As happens in life, we have said farewell to some relationships and hello to others. We seem to have a better handle on our finances, though there is still plenty of recovery still to take place. All in all, our lives move forward with the hope of betterment still to come.
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