I should be doing homework. Lord knows I'm behind at the moment and feeling a little overwhelmed by the prospect of what it will take to catch up. I should be working out. I've managed to take a few pounds off since the first of the year, but now that school is back in session and I am sitting more while reading, a couple of those pounds have found me again. I should be doing housework. Much as I'd like to say that the 3 other people who live in my house notice what needs to be done and take action, but let's be honest ~ they're guys. Guys don't see the socks they just took off and threw on the floor, let alone the dog hair all over the carpet or the pink ring in the toilet. I should be doing all kinds of things. And yet, here I sit, at my computer, typing a blog.
I know I complain quite a bit about exhaustion. And for me it is a real, diagnosed condition. But like most people who have a chronic condition, I excel at wielding its powerful excuse potential. Today is the perfect example.
With this weird Ohio weather, I've been fighting sinus inflammation for the last several days. What started as tightness in my chest (very unusual, actually) moved up into my head and festered into a wicked sinus headache. I won't run if I can't breathe, though I did still manage to get my core and strength training done, and that headache could have taken down a raging bull. It took me down for about 10 hours. Yesterday, I was feeling more human and, though I was bogged down with the stress of the ever accumulating homework, did my interval run. I didn't really want to, but given the carb heavy lunch I'd eaten, I knew I needed to. And I felt accomplished for having done it.
Today, I worked, then went to lab. Time is always in a crunch on Saturdays this semester, so I never know if I will even have the opportunity to run. As luck would have it, I finished lab early, and driving home in the snow made me decided to skip church this evening, giving me plenty of time to get my workout in. Unfortunately, I didn't really feel like it. I stalled for an hour by getting some much neglected homework done, but finally slipped on the running shoes and headed for the treadmill. I decided to see how far I could sustain a 10 minute mile.
Remember, I've had a rough season with colds this year, and my head has never really been clear of congestion. This always gets annoying when snot starts to drip down the back of my throat, but it doesn't impeded my ability to breathe. The constriction that seems to be lingering in my chest from earlier this week, on the other hand, did a fine job of that. The first mile went well, the next half was rough, the half following that had me sucking wind. I gave up at the 2 mile mark ~ but I got there in 20 minutes.
As I walked my cool-down, my head was full of excuses. I had just gotten over some wicked sinus crud, after all, and my chest still feels kinda tight. My lungs just couldn't keep up with my legs this time. I always have a dip in the energy level after feeling crummy for a few days. I need to be patient and let my body recover. I wasn't very good about drinking my water today and I'm sure dehydration played a role in my lack of performance.
The simple fact of the matter is that I just didn't want to push through it today. Some days I have that scrapper mentality that nothing will beat me, other days I don't. Today was a "don't" day. But here's the question ~ am I truly exhausted, or just being lazy?
I had an acquaintance once tell me that it is exhausting for her to listen to me talk about the pace of my life. Certainly living it must be intense. Then there's the stress of my class load this semester, and the demands of my work, family, and ministry. Surely one is allowed to be tired from all of this every once in a while ~ or are these just more excuses for laziness?
I am never very good about discerning what is the devil chewing on my ear and what is truly conviction from God, and this gray area is no exception. I don't have the answer here, but I am looking for it.
Saturday, February 2, 2013
Saturday, January 26, 2013
The Long Road Back
When I was a sophomore in high school, I endured the first of many episodes of depression. I don't remember if there was a true trigger, but I remember teachers approaching me with concern over my suddenly introverted behavior. I also don't remember my mother ever mentioning that she noticed a behavioral change, but I do remember her taking note of the fact that I seemed to be suddenly exhausted. Taking me to the doctor's, I again can't remember being diagnosed with depression (though in hindsight this is painfully obvious), but I do remember being diagnosed with prolonged extreme fatigue (though not prolonged enough to be considered chronic), and vitamin B shots were to be forthcoming. Also forthcoming would be a life long battle with prolonged cases of extreme fatigue.
When one suffers a true affliction of the immune system (gets sick), a degree of fatigue is often an unwelcome companion. With severe or prolonged illness, it is not unusual for fatigue to hang around a little longer then the invader. When my son had H1N1 a few years back, he was an incredibly sick boy for 5 days. The fatigue that accompanied this wicked flu hung on for 3 weeks. Considering what this virus put my son's body through, this was not unexpected. Thankfully, my boys do not often get sick, but when they do, they REALLY do.
Thankfully, I do not often get truly sick, either. Yes, I wage constant war against seasonal allergies and sinus inflammation, but I have a generally strong immune system to ward off the real bugs. My doctor knows that if he sees me as the patient instead of the chauffeur I'm probably dying.
Yet, 3 years ago, I picked up the worst case of bronchitis ever. For 3 weeks I sounded like I was coughing up a lung ~ which, by the way, is not a very relaxing sound in a massage room. Then, much to my kids' delight, I progressed into 3 weeks of laryngitis. Through it all, I was, without a doubt, exhausted.
Three weeks of an inability to breathe equated to 3 weeks of severe lack of physical activity. Three weeks of feeling like crap also equated to 3 weeks of eating comfort food. And I managed to gain a few pounds. But, I had every intention of getting back to the working out as soon as my energy level kicked back up. Unfortunately, that took 3 months.
Yes, for 3 months after recovering from the bronchitis bug, I suffered from a debilitating fatigue. It took every ounce of will power just to get out of bed in the mornings. After getting everyone out the door in the mornings, if I was fortunate enough to have the day off from work, I would lie on the couch and sleep until lunch. Then I would putter around the house a little, maybe clean a room, then lie back down until the kids came home from school. More puttering, followed by more lying down, would precede me ending up in bed for the night.
Work days were a sort of torture during this time. A physically intense job is even more challenging when one has no strength to put into it. By the grace of God, I would fumble through my mornings, sleep through lunch (and any other opening in my schedule), trip through my afternoon, and somehow manage to not fall asleep while driving home, only to crash into bed when I got there.
Vitamin B was my savior. Taking a high potency B complex twice a day for a couple of weeks finally kicked my rear back into gear. However, almost 4 month of inactivity had me sitting about 15lbs heavier. Insult to injury, for sure.
This winter, I have had the misfortune to catch 2 really nasty colds. This is highly unusual for me, but then, the teenager that hasn't been sick in 3 years also caught the flu, so I am guessing the bugs are a little more persistent this season. I tend to avoid working out when I can't breathe, so I took breaks from my schedule while I was sick. After the first cold, the weather turned for the ugly and running outside was rough in 30 degree temps on the heels of kicking a cold bug. Needless to say, I had to ease back in to an extent. The second cold has drained me a little more, and I seem to be back into an extreme fatigue pattern. Lucky me.
Before I got sick this time, I was back to my normal running schedule (4 days a week) and mileage (up to 5 per run) with upper body toning 3 days a week, lower body toning 2, and core training 6. Yeah, not so much now. Lately I've been lucky to get in 3 runs a week with the longest being only 3 miles. Workouts that I would do on my off days because they were so easy are now kicking my ass and my toning workouts are leaving my muscles fatigued for hours. Even yoga is exhausting.
Frustrating does not begin to describe these little episodes. And yet, the silver lining is that I have overcome before, and I will emerge victorious again. But as I get a little older, the road back seems to be getting a little longer. Thankfully, God and vitamin B will be holding my hands along the way.
When one suffers a true affliction of the immune system (gets sick), a degree of fatigue is often an unwelcome companion. With severe or prolonged illness, it is not unusual for fatigue to hang around a little longer then the invader. When my son had H1N1 a few years back, he was an incredibly sick boy for 5 days. The fatigue that accompanied this wicked flu hung on for 3 weeks. Considering what this virus put my son's body through, this was not unexpected. Thankfully, my boys do not often get sick, but when they do, they REALLY do.
Thankfully, I do not often get truly sick, either. Yes, I wage constant war against seasonal allergies and sinus inflammation, but I have a generally strong immune system to ward off the real bugs. My doctor knows that if he sees me as the patient instead of the chauffeur I'm probably dying.
Yet, 3 years ago, I picked up the worst case of bronchitis ever. For 3 weeks I sounded like I was coughing up a lung ~ which, by the way, is not a very relaxing sound in a massage room. Then, much to my kids' delight, I progressed into 3 weeks of laryngitis. Through it all, I was, without a doubt, exhausted.
Three weeks of an inability to breathe equated to 3 weeks of severe lack of physical activity. Three weeks of feeling like crap also equated to 3 weeks of eating comfort food. And I managed to gain a few pounds. But, I had every intention of getting back to the working out as soon as my energy level kicked back up. Unfortunately, that took 3 months.
Yes, for 3 months after recovering from the bronchitis bug, I suffered from a debilitating fatigue. It took every ounce of will power just to get out of bed in the mornings. After getting everyone out the door in the mornings, if I was fortunate enough to have the day off from work, I would lie on the couch and sleep until lunch. Then I would putter around the house a little, maybe clean a room, then lie back down until the kids came home from school. More puttering, followed by more lying down, would precede me ending up in bed for the night.
Work days were a sort of torture during this time. A physically intense job is even more challenging when one has no strength to put into it. By the grace of God, I would fumble through my mornings, sleep through lunch (and any other opening in my schedule), trip through my afternoon, and somehow manage to not fall asleep while driving home, only to crash into bed when I got there.
Vitamin B was my savior. Taking a high potency B complex twice a day for a couple of weeks finally kicked my rear back into gear. However, almost 4 month of inactivity had me sitting about 15lbs heavier. Insult to injury, for sure.
This winter, I have had the misfortune to catch 2 really nasty colds. This is highly unusual for me, but then, the teenager that hasn't been sick in 3 years also caught the flu, so I am guessing the bugs are a little more persistent this season. I tend to avoid working out when I can't breathe, so I took breaks from my schedule while I was sick. After the first cold, the weather turned for the ugly and running outside was rough in 30 degree temps on the heels of kicking a cold bug. Needless to say, I had to ease back in to an extent. The second cold has drained me a little more, and I seem to be back into an extreme fatigue pattern. Lucky me.
Before I got sick this time, I was back to my normal running schedule (4 days a week) and mileage (up to 5 per run) with upper body toning 3 days a week, lower body toning 2, and core training 6. Yeah, not so much now. Lately I've been lucky to get in 3 runs a week with the longest being only 3 miles. Workouts that I would do on my off days because they were so easy are now kicking my ass and my toning workouts are leaving my muscles fatigued for hours. Even yoga is exhausting.
Frustrating does not begin to describe these little episodes. And yet, the silver lining is that I have overcome before, and I will emerge victorious again. But as I get a little older, the road back seems to be getting a little longer. Thankfully, God and vitamin B will be holding my hands along the way.
Wednesday, December 19, 2012
The Red-Headed Step-Child
Except, I'm a brunette. Doesn't seem to make any difference, though. I have been the self-proclaimed Black Sheep for years. And I only say "self-proclaimed" because no one else dares to admit it to my face. Yet actions speak louder than words, and sometimes this is screamed to me without anyone ever saying a word.
Believe it or don't, but ordinarily, I prefer to be in the background. There is satisfaction in believing that even without the recognition, I play a vital role in whatever may be taking place. I prefer to serve in the kitchen instead of as a speaker. Fewer people notice when you screw up out of sight, and sometimes screwing up is the only thing I do well. I suppose one could argue that I have chosen to be unnoticed. I'll accept that. However, there is a definite line between "unnoticed" and "overlooked".
When one is unnoticed, people are unaware of their presence. When one is overlooked, people are fully aware of their presence, yet choose not to acknowledge them. Therein lies the current situation in what feels like most aspects of my life. Thankfully, not within the walls of my home. Now if only I could figure out a way to stay there...
Where my extended family is concerned, the first dark blotch on my clean white wool was teenage pregnancy out of wedlock. That blotch got bigger when I married the guy who knocked me up. I believe in my heart of hearts that it fries certain individuals that my marriage has outlasted theirs and that I love and support my husband no matter their opinions of him or his passions in life. In spite of the fact that I had the most academic potential of the kids in my family, I did not pursue a college degree or some high-paid profession. And apparently, I should have made more of an effort to keep in touch with relatives that have never made an effort to keep in touch with me. It seems as if I have been one disappointment after another ~ and my hair seems to be turning a beautiful shade of carrot-top.
Even in my workplace I have this feeling lately. Because of a family shin-dig, I missed our office holiday party this year. Our boss had personalized t-shirts made for the staff with less-than-politically-correct statements fitting to the individual's personality. When co-workers where talking about what their shirts said, they asked me about mine. I'm not sure I want to know what mine would say, which is cool, since I haven't gotten one. Today I made mention to my boss that the noise level in the hall outside my treatment room was getting a little loud at times and asked if we could remind the staff to be mindful of when messages were in session. Later in the shift, 2 of my co-workers were opening mocking the situation right in front of me. Though I hope it was intended to be in jest, I was thoroughly unamused. There are times when I feel like I am not catty enough to work in an office staffed almost entirely with women. There is a reason I like being closed up in my bat-cave ~ the sun can't bleach my black wool in there.
Yeah, I know, I'm the only one rocking this pity-party. I guess I want to be shown that I am valued, not out of responsibility or obligation, but just because I am.
Believe it or don't, but ordinarily, I prefer to be in the background. There is satisfaction in believing that even without the recognition, I play a vital role in whatever may be taking place. I prefer to serve in the kitchen instead of as a speaker. Fewer people notice when you screw up out of sight, and sometimes screwing up is the only thing I do well. I suppose one could argue that I have chosen to be unnoticed. I'll accept that. However, there is a definite line between "unnoticed" and "overlooked".
When one is unnoticed, people are unaware of their presence. When one is overlooked, people are fully aware of their presence, yet choose not to acknowledge them. Therein lies the current situation in what feels like most aspects of my life. Thankfully, not within the walls of my home. Now if only I could figure out a way to stay there...
Where my extended family is concerned, the first dark blotch on my clean white wool was teenage pregnancy out of wedlock. That blotch got bigger when I married the guy who knocked me up. I believe in my heart of hearts that it fries certain individuals that my marriage has outlasted theirs and that I love and support my husband no matter their opinions of him or his passions in life. In spite of the fact that I had the most academic potential of the kids in my family, I did not pursue a college degree or some high-paid profession. And apparently, I should have made more of an effort to keep in touch with relatives that have never made an effort to keep in touch with me. It seems as if I have been one disappointment after another ~ and my hair seems to be turning a beautiful shade of carrot-top.
Even in my workplace I have this feeling lately. Because of a family shin-dig, I missed our office holiday party this year. Our boss had personalized t-shirts made for the staff with less-than-politically-correct statements fitting to the individual's personality. When co-workers where talking about what their shirts said, they asked me about mine. I'm not sure I want to know what mine would say, which is cool, since I haven't gotten one. Today I made mention to my boss that the noise level in the hall outside my treatment room was getting a little loud at times and asked if we could remind the staff to be mindful of when messages were in session. Later in the shift, 2 of my co-workers were opening mocking the situation right in front of me. Though I hope it was intended to be in jest, I was thoroughly unamused. There are times when I feel like I am not catty enough to work in an office staffed almost entirely with women. There is a reason I like being closed up in my bat-cave ~ the sun can't bleach my black wool in there.
Yeah, I know, I'm the only one rocking this pity-party. I guess I want to be shown that I am valued, not out of responsibility or obligation, but just because I am.
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
When Life's Got Ya Down, Ya Know Whatcha Gotta Do?
Just keep swimming, just keep swimming, what do we do, we swim, swim, swim. ~ Dory, "Finding Nemo"
But what if you're already drowning? What do we do when we have swum, swum, swum ourselves so weary that we just can't swim any more?
People who have known us for a while are very aware of our God-awful luck and how it tends to keep us financially strapped. It seems every time we think we are getting our heads above water, something else is put on our shoulders to weigh us back down. For example...
In September, I discovered cold air blowing from the heater in the Nissan. It is not only difficult, but dangerous, to drive a vehicle when the windshield won't defrost. It finally would blow air warm enough to defrost once at highway speed, but even then the car never got warm. Since we had discovered earlier that she was loosing oil like a son of a gun, we took her to the shop to have both issued looked at. We were told that a gasket was weeping and the oil filter was loose ~ easy fixes ~ and the heater core was flushed. For almost $300 all was well.
Then the truck started making a knocking noise under the front end, but only when it turned. I figured it was a ball joint, but since it wasn't being driven much, and I had just paid for the Nissan, we waited just a little while to take it in. Then, 4 weeks after the first repair, the Nissan was out of oil and blowing cold air through the heat again. Since this is the car my kids are typically transported in, it is my priority when it comes to repairs. Unfortunately, with some investigation, the tech discovered the real problem can only be fixed by replacing/rebuilding the engine ~ for close to $3000. I could buy some time, though, if I was hyper-vigilant about keeping the oil level up.
We found all of this out on a Friday evening and, still being band season, couldn't pick up the car that night. So, I had arranged with the shop to pick up the Nissan the next day and leave the truck to fix the knocking. I only needed to drive the truck to work and then to the shop. Doing 70mph in the left lane on I-71, I heard a pop, felt the truck fall, and saw sparks from the corner of my eye. When I turned my head to fully see what was going on, I saw the truck's tire on the opposite side of the road, rolling along in the grass, finally stopping about a quarter of a mile away. The truck was towed to the shop, and I picked up the Nissan. $1100 later, Red had new ball joints on both sides and a new rotor, rim, and tire.
Did I mention that the Nissan started blowing cold air through the heater again? I've been limping it to the highway with minimal visibility for probably 4 weeks now since we are still trying to recoup from the last repair. I finally took it to the shop a few days ago to have the heater core flushed again, which they did at no charge as a courtesy, probably because they pity me. I've had the car back for 4 days, and now it won't start. It tries to turn over, but it just won't, even with a jump. Tim is probably going to shake his head when he sees the car waiting in the lot in the morning.
This is just a brief recap of our luck over the last 8 weeks. With almost $1500 in unexpected expenses in the last 2 months, everything we had set back to pay for Christmas is gone. My boys are at the ages where they aren't asking for many gifts, just the pricy ones, and there is nothing left to get them anything at all. I would be able to handle all of the stress of these situations much more gracefully if it weren't for the added weight of the heartbreak that I will be disappointing my boys this holiday season.
And it always happens this way. A few years ago we went through a period that makes the last 2 months look like recess during a long day at school. In a few short months, the bottom dropped out of our water heater, one of the cars gave up the ghost, our furnace started blowing cold air, and the employer who painted a fabulous picture that he was unable to deliver let me go when I called him out after 4 months of not making the money I told him during the interview that I needed to make. All of this between June and November of that year. I calculated that between repairs and loss of income, we lost around $8000 during those few months. Leanest Christmas EVER at our house.
It's been a slow road to recovery, but we're getting there. Unfortunately, every time we take 2 steps forward we seem to be shoved a mile back. And it's always right before Christmas. I really do believe in miracles. Is it wrong to pray that somehow God will see it fit to put just enough in the checking account to get the boys what they're asking for?
But what if you're already drowning? What do we do when we have swum, swum, swum ourselves so weary that we just can't swim any more?
People who have known us for a while are very aware of our God-awful luck and how it tends to keep us financially strapped. It seems every time we think we are getting our heads above water, something else is put on our shoulders to weigh us back down. For example...
In September, I discovered cold air blowing from the heater in the Nissan. It is not only difficult, but dangerous, to drive a vehicle when the windshield won't defrost. It finally would blow air warm enough to defrost once at highway speed, but even then the car never got warm. Since we had discovered earlier that she was loosing oil like a son of a gun, we took her to the shop to have both issued looked at. We were told that a gasket was weeping and the oil filter was loose ~ easy fixes ~ and the heater core was flushed. For almost $300 all was well.
Then the truck started making a knocking noise under the front end, but only when it turned. I figured it was a ball joint, but since it wasn't being driven much, and I had just paid for the Nissan, we waited just a little while to take it in. Then, 4 weeks after the first repair, the Nissan was out of oil and blowing cold air through the heat again. Since this is the car my kids are typically transported in, it is my priority when it comes to repairs. Unfortunately, with some investigation, the tech discovered the real problem can only be fixed by replacing/rebuilding the engine ~ for close to $3000. I could buy some time, though, if I was hyper-vigilant about keeping the oil level up.
We found all of this out on a Friday evening and, still being band season, couldn't pick up the car that night. So, I had arranged with the shop to pick up the Nissan the next day and leave the truck to fix the knocking. I only needed to drive the truck to work and then to the shop. Doing 70mph in the left lane on I-71, I heard a pop, felt the truck fall, and saw sparks from the corner of my eye. When I turned my head to fully see what was going on, I saw the truck's tire on the opposite side of the road, rolling along in the grass, finally stopping about a quarter of a mile away. The truck was towed to the shop, and I picked up the Nissan. $1100 later, Red had new ball joints on both sides and a new rotor, rim, and tire.
Did I mention that the Nissan started blowing cold air through the heater again? I've been limping it to the highway with minimal visibility for probably 4 weeks now since we are still trying to recoup from the last repair. I finally took it to the shop a few days ago to have the heater core flushed again, which they did at no charge as a courtesy, probably because they pity me. I've had the car back for 4 days, and now it won't start. It tries to turn over, but it just won't, even with a jump. Tim is probably going to shake his head when he sees the car waiting in the lot in the morning.
This is just a brief recap of our luck over the last 8 weeks. With almost $1500 in unexpected expenses in the last 2 months, everything we had set back to pay for Christmas is gone. My boys are at the ages where they aren't asking for many gifts, just the pricy ones, and there is nothing left to get them anything at all. I would be able to handle all of the stress of these situations much more gracefully if it weren't for the added weight of the heartbreak that I will be disappointing my boys this holiday season.
And it always happens this way. A few years ago we went through a period that makes the last 2 months look like recess during a long day at school. In a few short months, the bottom dropped out of our water heater, one of the cars gave up the ghost, our furnace started blowing cold air, and the employer who painted a fabulous picture that he was unable to deliver let me go when I called him out after 4 months of not making the money I told him during the interview that I needed to make. All of this between June and November of that year. I calculated that between repairs and loss of income, we lost around $8000 during those few months. Leanest Christmas EVER at our house.
It's been a slow road to recovery, but we're getting there. Unfortunately, every time we take 2 steps forward we seem to be shoved a mile back. And it's always right before Christmas. I really do believe in miracles. Is it wrong to pray that somehow God will see it fit to put just enough in the checking account to get the boys what they're asking for?
Saturday, October 27, 2012
A Crude Scientific Perspective of the Afterlife
Most peoples, no matter the formality, foundation, or details of their spiritual views, believe that the ancestors who have passed on before them watch over and guide them. Call them what you will ~ guardian angels, spirit guides, whatever ~ but the idea is the same. We find comfort in the belief that loved ones continue to smile on us from the beyond.
As a Christian, I believe in Heaven, which means that I must therefore believe in Hell. However, what I believe about Heaven and Hell might differ somewhat from other Christians. I don't know that I believe in a literal place with streets made of gold and the sea of precious stone where angels in white flowing robes fly around playing harps. Nor am I convinced of a literal place of eternal fire governed by a horned, spike-tailed, red body demon with a blazing pitchfork. Not to say that the Book of Revelations got it wrong, only that Revelations was a mortal's best attempt to give words to the indescribable magnificence of the immortal.
I interpret Heaven vs. Hell on a very simple level. Heaven is eternity in the blessed presence of my loving, forgiving Savior and God, while Hell is eternity away from Him ~ regardless of the scenery.
A friend and I were talking recently about loved ones passed on and how each of us find comfort in the thought that their spirits still move in our lives. Interestingly, this friend is not a believer, but she believes in guardian angels. She mentioned that she sort of grapples with the idea, though, because she has a hard time with the ideas of Heaven and Hell.
Knowing that taking a religious slant would not encourage her to really think about it ~ she does have some knowledge of the Christian faith ~ I was inspired to take a different path.
"Would you agree with the fundamental scientific fact that matter can be neither created nor destroyed?" "Yes." "Would you agree also to the fact that humans are energetic beings?" "Yes." "So, since energy cannot be created or destroyed, the energy within this mortal body was here before our physical bodies came to be, and will continue to be here when our bodies are not, yes?" This put a thinking expression on her face. I continued, "When you strip away the religion and mysticism and take it down to the bear bones, could it be that the spirits of our loved ones are simply the energy that was once contained within their mortal bodies?"
This was an idea my unbelieving friend could wrap her brain around ~ a less fantastical concept of the afterlife, but still not one that discounted the idea of Heaven. God used what science calls energy to create His universe, and continues to use energy to govern it. Maybe the physicality of His angels is too pure for our mortal minds to comprehend, so He sends them to us in a more subtle form ~ a feeling, an awareness that someone is with us, watching us, guiding us. Is it coincidence that Christians believe that God calls us home to Him to move us to a greater "work"? Maybe this movement of energy is God's way of allowing the heavenly beings to work within the parameters that govern our earthly existence. Who's to say? But does it get one thinking?
I have little doubt that every person who reads this blog will see it differently. The self-righteous zealot or ultra-conservative Christian will probably be indignant, maybe even angry, for how dare I , as a Christian, try to suggest anything that isn't verbatim from the Bible. Someone on the fence may start the wheels of their mind turning. But the true believer will read this and think, "That's an interesting take," and be otherwise unaffected, because he doesn't need a scientific understanding to have faith, nor will any scientific rebuttal shake it.
As a Christian, I believe in Heaven, which means that I must therefore believe in Hell. However, what I believe about Heaven and Hell might differ somewhat from other Christians. I don't know that I believe in a literal place with streets made of gold and the sea of precious stone where angels in white flowing robes fly around playing harps. Nor am I convinced of a literal place of eternal fire governed by a horned, spike-tailed, red body demon with a blazing pitchfork. Not to say that the Book of Revelations got it wrong, only that Revelations was a mortal's best attempt to give words to the indescribable magnificence of the immortal.
I interpret Heaven vs. Hell on a very simple level. Heaven is eternity in the blessed presence of my loving, forgiving Savior and God, while Hell is eternity away from Him ~ regardless of the scenery.
A friend and I were talking recently about loved ones passed on and how each of us find comfort in the thought that their spirits still move in our lives. Interestingly, this friend is not a believer, but she believes in guardian angels. She mentioned that she sort of grapples with the idea, though, because she has a hard time with the ideas of Heaven and Hell.
Knowing that taking a religious slant would not encourage her to really think about it ~ she does have some knowledge of the Christian faith ~ I was inspired to take a different path.
"Would you agree with the fundamental scientific fact that matter can be neither created nor destroyed?" "Yes." "Would you agree also to the fact that humans are energetic beings?" "Yes." "So, since energy cannot be created or destroyed, the energy within this mortal body was here before our physical bodies came to be, and will continue to be here when our bodies are not, yes?" This put a thinking expression on her face. I continued, "When you strip away the religion and mysticism and take it down to the bear bones, could it be that the spirits of our loved ones are simply the energy that was once contained within their mortal bodies?"
This was an idea my unbelieving friend could wrap her brain around ~ a less fantastical concept of the afterlife, but still not one that discounted the idea of Heaven. God used what science calls energy to create His universe, and continues to use energy to govern it. Maybe the physicality of His angels is too pure for our mortal minds to comprehend, so He sends them to us in a more subtle form ~ a feeling, an awareness that someone is with us, watching us, guiding us. Is it coincidence that Christians believe that God calls us home to Him to move us to a greater "work"? Maybe this movement of energy is God's way of allowing the heavenly beings to work within the parameters that govern our earthly existence. Who's to say? But does it get one thinking?
I have little doubt that every person who reads this blog will see it differently. The self-righteous zealot or ultra-conservative Christian will probably be indignant, maybe even angry, for how dare I , as a Christian, try to suggest anything that isn't verbatim from the Bible. Someone on the fence may start the wheels of their mind turning. But the true believer will read this and think, "That's an interesting take," and be otherwise unaffected, because he doesn't need a scientific understanding to have faith, nor will any scientific rebuttal shake it.
Wednesday, October 24, 2012
Kairos DCI 1 ~ Final Thoughts
I have so many thoughts about this latest Kairos experience, I'm not quite sure how to sort them. I was thrilled that Kairos was finally approved at DCI and that I was called to serve the maiden team. Knowing the enemy's usual approach in spiritual attack when I serve any ministry team, I armed and prepped myself as best I could in the weeks leading up to the event. Even then it seemed as if I was getting off easy. I should have been more on my guard to realize he was just waiting for me to let my defenses down during the weekend so he could pummel me.
And yet, for all the trials and tears, frustrations and really bad first impressions, 30 women at DCI felt the love of Christ as they never have before, leaving long coveted baggage at the foot of the cross, and walked back onto the compound renewed in spirit. Knowing this, I would go through every second of every heartache of that weekend again.
Crazy? Maybe not.
One of the blessings of serving behind the scenes is getting to know the Angels. More than one of these ladies are "lifers", already having served significant time. Many of them believe that, even within the system, theirs was a path of self-destruction. And several of them believe that Kairos saved their lives. That's why they come back to serve, to share the second chance they have been given through this ministry and the Kairos community on the compound. These are the hearts that draw me into Kairos. It's the healer in me that wants to be a part of mending their spirit, soothing the wounds of their past, and encouraging them to find wholeness in their future by seeking Him in their present. Is not the revitalization of one dead soul into an eternal relationship with Christ worth a few days of war with the devil?
I must admit, though, that I was grateful that this was not my FIRST Kairos experience. Had this been my first impression of what serving was like, chances are good that there would not have been a second.
The morning of our last day in the prison, I gave my Cookie Monster manual to the upcoming team leader and said, "I don't ever want to see that book again." To which she replied, "You won't. I think I'm gonna put you at a table next time." I was so fried that it wasn't until later in the day that it dawned on me what she had really said. Had I already agreed to be on the spring team? I didn't remember having that conversation. Another teammate said she thought the upcoming leader expects that I'll be on her team. Oh...so I was being informed, not asked? That's cool. Because even if she'd asked the answer would have been an unhesitating "yes".
And yet, for all the trials and tears, frustrations and really bad first impressions, 30 women at DCI felt the love of Christ as they never have before, leaving long coveted baggage at the foot of the cross, and walked back onto the compound renewed in spirit. Knowing this, I would go through every second of every heartache of that weekend again.
Crazy? Maybe not.
One of the blessings of serving behind the scenes is getting to know the Angels. More than one of these ladies are "lifers", already having served significant time. Many of them believe that, even within the system, theirs was a path of self-destruction. And several of them believe that Kairos saved their lives. That's why they come back to serve, to share the second chance they have been given through this ministry and the Kairos community on the compound. These are the hearts that draw me into Kairos. It's the healer in me that wants to be a part of mending their spirit, soothing the wounds of their past, and encouraging them to find wholeness in their future by seeking Him in their present. Is not the revitalization of one dead soul into an eternal relationship with Christ worth a few days of war with the devil?
I must admit, though, that I was grateful that this was not my FIRST Kairos experience. Had this been my first impression of what serving was like, chances are good that there would not have been a second.
The morning of our last day in the prison, I gave my Cookie Monster manual to the upcoming team leader and said, "I don't ever want to see that book again." To which she replied, "You won't. I think I'm gonna put you at a table next time." I was so fried that it wasn't until later in the day that it dawned on me what she had really said. Had I already agreed to be on the spring team? I didn't remember having that conversation. Another teammate said she thought the upcoming leader expects that I'll be on her team. Oh...so I was being informed, not asked? That's cool. Because even if she'd asked the answer would have been an unhesitating "yes".
Sunday, October 21, 2012
Kairos DCI 1 ~ The Cookie MONSTER
I have been struggling with whether or not to write this blog. For several reasons. Most of them having to do with the fact that this entry would essentially be a confession of sorts, a confrontation with an incredibly ugly side of my personality, and a testimony to just how broken God can make us.
One of Kairos Prison Ministry's overall struggles is number of available volunteers. The time commitment is considerable, and teams often have just enough hands to be a skeleton crew. This was the first team I served that had enough volunteers for me to have assistants. This was new for me, but I was excited! I had assistants!
It felt a little weird right out of the gate since both of my assistants were much older than me, making me feel quite unqualified to tell them what to do. One had a daughter about my age. The other had grandchildren about my age. And my little old lady was quite hard of hearing. I felt like I was always yelling at her, even though we were simply having a conversation.
Over the course of team formation, I came to suspect that my little old lady was wavering in mental stability. She didn't always seem to fully understand what was being said, or she would retell the same story a couple of times. Nothing major, as long as one has the patience to tolerate it. But this was overshadowed by her huge servant's heart. All she wanted to do was help.
The weekend started off well enough. The Cookie Team got everything counted that was brought in early, carpooled to the prison and got our service space set up in the facility. Then the quirks started to emerge.
Yes, I was serving in a lead position, and my little old lady was my "underling", so to speak, but I felt like I was taking care of a puppy. She seemed to be constantly near me, to the point of being underfoot. If I was out of her sight for more than a few minutes she would come looking for me. Maybe it was because I was one of the few people wearing a watch that she continually asked me what we were doing next. It felt like babysitting a toddler.
If you haven't noticed, I am a fiercely independent person. I am incredibly frustrated by circumstances that I cannot handle alone and mandate that I ask for help, making me feel weak and dependent. I also do not gracefully handle situations in which people are overly dependent on me. A friend of mine would say this is because I have no tolerance for weakness, in myself or in others. I would say it is because I prefer to be responsible for as few people other than myself as possible. When it's only you and you make a mistake, you are the only person taking the fall. Being responsible for others and making a mistake means you take everyone else down with you by default. So feeling like my little old lady was solely dependent on me for the duration of the weekend was more than a little uncomfortable. Unfortunately, after a while, that discomfort progressed into agitation.
Friday, when we realized our lack-of-cookie situation, my little old lady asked what we were going to do. "I don't know, I haven't had time to figure it out yet." "But we have to do something." "I can't do anything until I can get to the other building to talk to the team leader." "But what are we going to do?" "I don't know." What came across as her agitation fed my already irritated state of mind over the situation. And the exchange would have gone even further downhill if I hadn't told her that I was going to ask for suggestions from more experienced team members.
By the time we left the prison Friday, tears were streaming down my face. Feeling like an absolute failure in my cookie responsibilities and the source of much hoopla and drama, having multiple people telling me how to handle the situation, combined with the concerned badgering from my little old lady left me feeling shredded.
I don't now remember how well I may have slept that night, but I did not wake up feeling rested. I felt bone-weary, naked, exposed, and at the same time wound so tight that I thought I might snap with the least provocation. Though I was relieved to see the boxes of cookies sitting by the door, I dared not let myself believe that all was well. Until those boxes made it successfully to the prison and the cookies were counted, I couldn't shake the feeling of dread.
Over the last couple of years, the prisons have asked Kairos to scale back the number of cookies given to the residents for health related reasons, and Kairos has willingly complied. Last year was the first weekend our team gave only one dozen instead of two. However, not all of the prisons in which Kairos serves have made this request. Knowing that our additional cookies were originally intended for a men's prison, it was possible that they were packaged in two dozens instead of one. My little old lady pointed this out on the drive to the prison.
"What if the cookies are bagged in 2 dozens?" "Then we break them out when we get there." "We don't have enough bags." "We'll make it work." "Maybe we should stop somewhere and buy some bags." "We're in downtown Dayton. We don't pass any place on the way to the prison, and I am not going to drive around a city I don't know looking for a place to buy bags." "But we need more bags. We pass a Dollar General. We could stop there." "It's 7:00 on Saturday morning. Dollar General isn't open yet." "Maybe we could find a Kroger or something." "Tell you what, if the Dollar General is open, we'll stop." (Of course, it was not.) "Maybe we can still find a Kroger or something." "How about we ask the wives (of the guys who brought the cookies) if they are packaged in one or two dozens? And we'll make it work."
Mercifully, the cookies were bagged in one dozens, my little old lady's mind was put at ease, and my blood pressure was able to drop back to normal. The rest of the day didn't exactly go off without a hitch, but the majority of the Cookie Team's responsibilities were completed, and I was able to decompress substantially. Thankfully, with our duties done, we were utilized by other service areas and my little old lady was distracted enough to not be concerned with my whereabouts and I was able to get a much needed break for everything that had been weighing on me ~ for a while.
At dinner that evening, I confessed to our team leader that my little old lady was a big factor in my melt down the day before. I told her that my little old lady is a sweet woman with a huge heart, but she is a little too intense for me at times. At which point, a confession was made to me. When the original team roster was posted, someone suggested that our team leader prayerfully reconsider allowing my little old lady to serve because her family had expressed concerns about her mental capacities. Our leader responded saying that the offer had already been made and accepted, and that it would not be right to deny her now. Our leader prayed long and hard over where to assign my little old lady to serve, and that is how she came to be my little old lady.
This information would have been very beneficial to have beforehand, I thought. I could have more mentally prepared myself for was I was dealing with, perhaps been a little more forgiving and less frustrated. But what was done was done, and we are all the wiser for it.
Sunday is always chaotic for the service teams on a Kairos weekend. We have to inventory everything (that isn't edible) that we brought in with us, get it packed and loaded onto the truck, and leave the facilities as we'd found them. I fully understand that weekend's Inside Food Coordinator in that we are both strong personalities that want to get the job done, and neither of us have problems with barking orders ~ although, I do have a hard time barking orders to people older or more experienced than myself. I was raised by my very Italian father to respect my elders. So knowing what I do about the Food Lady, I got out of the way until she told me to do something.
Once my little old lady saw that there was a job being done, she wanted to help. Bless her sweet heart. However, the weekend had been particularly stressful for the Food Lady (again, I can relate) and she was in high gear. To be completely honest, I was afraid that she might pop. The speed at which we were working was a little intense, and some of the tubs and supplies were heavy. So when my little old lady asked what she could carry I suggested that she take a break and sit this one out. But she continued to press, asking how she what she could carry. My father would back-hand me hard enough to knock me out of my chair if he'd heard me yell at my little old lady to go sit down and take a break. At that point, another team member said, "Oh, just let her carry something."
I didn't respond to this statement, believing that whatever came out of my mouth, no matter the intended tone, would not come out well. Nor did I have the time to stop in the middle of what we were doing to explain that I was not trying to be mean or demanding, though I know that's how it sounded, but that my concern was for my little old lady's safety. With her being a smaller person, and knowing the gear and frame of mind in which the Food Lady was working ~ her patience spent and agitation level seeming to be at a new high ~ I was worried that my little old lady was going to get run over, or that she might hurt herself lifting something heavy. I'd watched her nearly topple carrying something heavy earlier in the day and visions of her falling on the concrete floor were unnerving.
At last, the truck was loaded, our ares returned to their original set-up, and we moved on to the closing service. After tears and hugs and the residents were reassured that we would indeed see them again, our team parted ways and headed for home. I couldn't remember a more liberating moment than pulling out of the prison parking lot with only myself and my thoughts in the car. Yet, I still felt weighed down by the realization that the first impression I was leaving teammates and residents who'd never worked with me before was of one of my uglier sides, that I had not stood up at all let alone gracefully under pressure, and that I could quite possibly have hurt the feelings of a sweet, Christ-loving, severant-hearted old lady.
One of Kairos Prison Ministry's overall struggles is number of available volunteers. The time commitment is considerable, and teams often have just enough hands to be a skeleton crew. This was the first team I served that had enough volunteers for me to have assistants. This was new for me, but I was excited! I had assistants!
It felt a little weird right out of the gate since both of my assistants were much older than me, making me feel quite unqualified to tell them what to do. One had a daughter about my age. The other had grandchildren about my age. And my little old lady was quite hard of hearing. I felt like I was always yelling at her, even though we were simply having a conversation.
Over the course of team formation, I came to suspect that my little old lady was wavering in mental stability. She didn't always seem to fully understand what was being said, or she would retell the same story a couple of times. Nothing major, as long as one has the patience to tolerate it. But this was overshadowed by her huge servant's heart. All she wanted to do was help.
The weekend started off well enough. The Cookie Team got everything counted that was brought in early, carpooled to the prison and got our service space set up in the facility. Then the quirks started to emerge.
Yes, I was serving in a lead position, and my little old lady was my "underling", so to speak, but I felt like I was taking care of a puppy. She seemed to be constantly near me, to the point of being underfoot. If I was out of her sight for more than a few minutes she would come looking for me. Maybe it was because I was one of the few people wearing a watch that she continually asked me what we were doing next. It felt like babysitting a toddler.
If you haven't noticed, I am a fiercely independent person. I am incredibly frustrated by circumstances that I cannot handle alone and mandate that I ask for help, making me feel weak and dependent. I also do not gracefully handle situations in which people are overly dependent on me. A friend of mine would say this is because I have no tolerance for weakness, in myself or in others. I would say it is because I prefer to be responsible for as few people other than myself as possible. When it's only you and you make a mistake, you are the only person taking the fall. Being responsible for others and making a mistake means you take everyone else down with you by default. So feeling like my little old lady was solely dependent on me for the duration of the weekend was more than a little uncomfortable. Unfortunately, after a while, that discomfort progressed into agitation.
Friday, when we realized our lack-of-cookie situation, my little old lady asked what we were going to do. "I don't know, I haven't had time to figure it out yet." "But we have to do something." "I can't do anything until I can get to the other building to talk to the team leader." "But what are we going to do?" "I don't know." What came across as her agitation fed my already irritated state of mind over the situation. And the exchange would have gone even further downhill if I hadn't told her that I was going to ask for suggestions from more experienced team members.
By the time we left the prison Friday, tears were streaming down my face. Feeling like an absolute failure in my cookie responsibilities and the source of much hoopla and drama, having multiple people telling me how to handle the situation, combined with the concerned badgering from my little old lady left me feeling shredded.
I don't now remember how well I may have slept that night, but I did not wake up feeling rested. I felt bone-weary, naked, exposed, and at the same time wound so tight that I thought I might snap with the least provocation. Though I was relieved to see the boxes of cookies sitting by the door, I dared not let myself believe that all was well. Until those boxes made it successfully to the prison and the cookies were counted, I couldn't shake the feeling of dread.
Over the last couple of years, the prisons have asked Kairos to scale back the number of cookies given to the residents for health related reasons, and Kairos has willingly complied. Last year was the first weekend our team gave only one dozen instead of two. However, not all of the prisons in which Kairos serves have made this request. Knowing that our additional cookies were originally intended for a men's prison, it was possible that they were packaged in two dozens instead of one. My little old lady pointed this out on the drive to the prison.
"What if the cookies are bagged in 2 dozens?" "Then we break them out when we get there." "We don't have enough bags." "We'll make it work." "Maybe we should stop somewhere and buy some bags." "We're in downtown Dayton. We don't pass any place on the way to the prison, and I am not going to drive around a city I don't know looking for a place to buy bags." "But we need more bags. We pass a Dollar General. We could stop there." "It's 7:00 on Saturday morning. Dollar General isn't open yet." "Maybe we could find a Kroger or something." "Tell you what, if the Dollar General is open, we'll stop." (Of course, it was not.) "Maybe we can still find a Kroger or something." "How about we ask the wives (of the guys who brought the cookies) if they are packaged in one or two dozens? And we'll make it work."
Mercifully, the cookies were bagged in one dozens, my little old lady's mind was put at ease, and my blood pressure was able to drop back to normal. The rest of the day didn't exactly go off without a hitch, but the majority of the Cookie Team's responsibilities were completed, and I was able to decompress substantially. Thankfully, with our duties done, we were utilized by other service areas and my little old lady was distracted enough to not be concerned with my whereabouts and I was able to get a much needed break for everything that had been weighing on me ~ for a while.
At dinner that evening, I confessed to our team leader that my little old lady was a big factor in my melt down the day before. I told her that my little old lady is a sweet woman with a huge heart, but she is a little too intense for me at times. At which point, a confession was made to me. When the original team roster was posted, someone suggested that our team leader prayerfully reconsider allowing my little old lady to serve because her family had expressed concerns about her mental capacities. Our leader responded saying that the offer had already been made and accepted, and that it would not be right to deny her now. Our leader prayed long and hard over where to assign my little old lady to serve, and that is how she came to be my little old lady.
This information would have been very beneficial to have beforehand, I thought. I could have more mentally prepared myself for was I was dealing with, perhaps been a little more forgiving and less frustrated. But what was done was done, and we are all the wiser for it.
Sunday is always chaotic for the service teams on a Kairos weekend. We have to inventory everything (that isn't edible) that we brought in with us, get it packed and loaded onto the truck, and leave the facilities as we'd found them. I fully understand that weekend's Inside Food Coordinator in that we are both strong personalities that want to get the job done, and neither of us have problems with barking orders ~ although, I do have a hard time barking orders to people older or more experienced than myself. I was raised by my very Italian father to respect my elders. So knowing what I do about the Food Lady, I got out of the way until she told me to do something.
Once my little old lady saw that there was a job being done, she wanted to help. Bless her sweet heart. However, the weekend had been particularly stressful for the Food Lady (again, I can relate) and she was in high gear. To be completely honest, I was afraid that she might pop. The speed at which we were working was a little intense, and some of the tubs and supplies were heavy. So when my little old lady asked what she could carry I suggested that she take a break and sit this one out. But she continued to press, asking how she what she could carry. My father would back-hand me hard enough to knock me out of my chair if he'd heard me yell at my little old lady to go sit down and take a break. At that point, another team member said, "Oh, just let her carry something."
I didn't respond to this statement, believing that whatever came out of my mouth, no matter the intended tone, would not come out well. Nor did I have the time to stop in the middle of what we were doing to explain that I was not trying to be mean or demanding, though I know that's how it sounded, but that my concern was for my little old lady's safety. With her being a smaller person, and knowing the gear and frame of mind in which the Food Lady was working ~ her patience spent and agitation level seeming to be at a new high ~ I was worried that my little old lady was going to get run over, or that she might hurt herself lifting something heavy. I'd watched her nearly topple carrying something heavy earlier in the day and visions of her falling on the concrete floor were unnerving.
At last, the truck was loaded, our ares returned to their original set-up, and we moved on to the closing service. After tears and hugs and the residents were reassured that we would indeed see them again, our team parted ways and headed for home. I couldn't remember a more liberating moment than pulling out of the prison parking lot with only myself and my thoughts in the car. Yet, I still felt weighed down by the realization that the first impression I was leaving teammates and residents who'd never worked with me before was of one of my uglier sides, that I had not stood up at all let alone gracefully under pressure, and that I could quite possibly have hurt the feelings of a sweet, Christ-loving, severant-hearted old lady.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)