Scabs and Scars

When I was in the second grade, I fell out of our climbing tree in the backyard. I don't remember what happened -- I think I just lost hold -- but I remember falling out of the tree backwards, landing flat on my back and the breath knocked out of me.

On the way down, a broken bit of branch tore a good long scratch in my right upper arm. It was the only wound from that fall.

What I also remember is the scab on that scratch. The scratch was long and thin, on my inner arm. It scabbed over hard and tight. And I remember sitting in class, in second grade, and every time I raised my hand to answer a question, the scab would pop apart a little. And it would hurt. I remember that even more clearly than getting the breath knocked out of me.

I was thinking about that today, driving the short hour home from spiritual direction, being literally knocked about by the windy day after an extended session of being spiritually knocked about -- not by my director, mind you, but by my own pain, and my own desperate struggle to hope.

My life right now is like that scab. Only bigger. That scab covers a two-year old wound and the months of continued wounding afterwards. It's a wound to the body, the soul, the spirit. It's a loss of trust, of belief, of innocence. It's layers of wounds over which is a hard, tight scab which I'm sure served a purpose for a time but is no longer much serving me. Because the only thing left outside is anger. And unbelief.

And I don't talk about it much. At all.

Every time, though, I raise my hand to speak of justice, of hope, of life, that scab pops apart a little. And it's terrifying. You'd think it would be nice, you know, a sign of healing, but it just hurts. What's underneath is tender tender tender and doesn't really want to be hurt again. And I resist that, and it's exhausting.

But on the other hand. When the scab begins to crack, the air can get in. And that tenderness can get out. And I need that. I need that. I am not this anger and unbelief that is left.

Today the scab cracked in a big way. Oh, it hurt. A lot. I'm exhausted. But feel a glimmer of hope (a little goat therapy this afternoon, including head rubs from Arlo, helped).

In second grade, eventually, the scab came off, bit by bit. I still have a scar on my arm from that fall, but the wound healed and stopped hurting. I like to look at that scar and remember that it is proof that in my life I have climbed trees without fear.

This wound will leave a scar as well. I wonder what I will think of it then.

Conversation In My Head

Towanda leaves her meeting where the architects' plans show double the size of the space she'd actually asked for for the church...which means double the rent. She is not entirely comforted by the fact that they will change it...is anyone listening to what she's saying? And, there's the whole basement as shared space which hasn't been factored into the rent cost...good lord, will I ever know how much this is actually going to cost us? Oh, and I will I have a job at the non-profit or are we seriously going under?? Oh god...

Towanda finds herself in the wrong lane and having to turn in to the parking garage of the snooty mall she hates. She pulls a u-turn to get out as quick as possible, stops and waits at the next light.

She realizes she's forgetting to breathe. She breathes. Sort of.

God: Don't panic.

Towanda: Oh, I'm panicking.

God: Well, don't.

Towanda: Easy for you to say. You're not going to pull that "let go and let God" crap on me, are you?

God: Uh, no. Just don't want you to panic. It'll all be ok.

Towanda: (dubious) It will.

God: Yes. Have I let you down before?

Towanda: Let's not go there.

God: I mean over the long haul. You watch for the signs, you know.

Towanda: I know. (pause) You're right, you've never let me down.

God: And today, you noticed the sign today, didn't you.

Towanda: Actually yes. Nicely played, having the organization I'd never heard of before until yesterday but that sounded like a great possibility for working together on detention center stuff appear out of the blue on the architects' plans and then show up for today's meeting. And wanting to meet me. Yeah, nicely played. Wasn't expecting that one at all.

God: You know I like surprises. And what about your new friend and co-worker, Quixote, who's decided he doesn't really need me, which is fine, and is completely suspicious of churches, which I totally understand...and he's helping you get started in Aurora. What about that?

Towanda: That was you? I hadn't even thought of that.

God: Of course. So you see, it'll all work out well.

Towanda: How?

God: I don't know. It's a mystery.

Towanda: That's not funny.

God: Why not? You love that line in the movie. You even used it in your theology final!

Towanda: Well, yes, but my life is not a movie, you see.

God: You're not in a very good mood today.

Towanda: You noticed.

God: Ok, Ok. Look, all I want to say is, don't panic. You're doing fine. I know there are times -- at leat 50 today -- that you want to quit --

Towanda: -- but just when I think I'm out you pull me back in!

God: What, you can quote movie lines but I can't? That hardly seems fair.

Towanda: Sorry.

God: That's ok. Look, you're almost home, just go lay on the couch for a bit, read the rest of the Sports Illustrated Baseball Preview issue, try not to get worked up that they picked the yankees to win the AL East, drink some water, try to get a handle on your breathing. Really, don't panic. Don't panic.

Towanda: Can you believe they picked the yankees?

God: I know, right? But...not helpful right now. Just breathe. Lay back in the boat. It's going to be fine.

Towanda: (deep sigh) Fine, okay. Okay.

The thin horizon of a plan is almost clear
My friends and I have had a tough time
Bruising our brains hard up against change
All the old dogs and the magician
Now I see were in the boat in two by twos
Only the heart that we have for a tool we could use
And the very close quarters are hard to get used to
Love weighs the hull down with its weight
But the wood is tired and the wood is old
And we'll make it fine if the weather holds
But if the weather holds well have missed the point
That's where I need to go

No way construction of this tricky plan
Was built by other than a greater hand
With a love that passes all our understanding
Watching closely over the journey
Yeah but what it takes to cross the great divide
Seems more than all the courage I can muster up inside
Although we get to have some answers when we reach the other side
The prize is always worth the rocky ride
But the wood is tired and the wood is old
And we'll make it fine if the weather holds
But if the weather holds well have missed the point
That's where I need to go

Sometimes I ask to sneak a closer look
Skip to the final chapter of the book
And then maybe steer us clear from some of the pain it took
To get us where we are this far yeah
But the question drowns in its futility
And even I have got to laugh at me
No one gets to miss the storm of what will be
Just holding on for the ride
The wood is tired and the wood is old
We'll make it fine if the weather holds
But if the weather holds well have missed the point
That's where I need to go

Another Song For The Boat Ride

"I Don't Ever Give Up"

I'm no kid in a kid's game
I did what I did, I've got no one to blame
But I don't give up, no, I don't ever give up
It's all I've got, it's my claim to fame

I'm no fighter but I'm fighting
This whole world seems uninviting
But I don't give up, no, I don't ever give up
I fall down sometimes, sometimes I come back flying

Liars are lying, airplanes are flying
Love isn't here, love isn't here
But it's somewhere
Time to forget me, but something won't let me
Love isn't here, love isn't here
But it's somewhere

And I cleaned and I washed up
This dream I don't ever give up
I don't ever give up, I don't ever give up
No, I don't ever give up, no, I don't ever give up
No, I don't ever give up, I don't ever give up

The one and only, Patty Griffin

To My Friends

"When we honestly ask which persons in our lives mean the most to us, we often find that it is those who, instead of giving much advice, solutions, or cures, have chosen rather to share our pain and touch our wounds with a gentle and tender hand. The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not-knowing, not-curing, not-healing and face with us the reality of our powerlessness...makes it clear that whatever happens in the external world, being present to each other is what really matters."

Henri Nouwen

What I've Done Today

Yesterday was a bit hard. I am mostly keeping centered but was way off kilter yesterday. Thanks to my cielo and friends I am doing better today.

So today I:

• Slept in with my cielo instead of going to Greek at 8am.
• Had a nice visit with BlueEyes.
• Played catch with BearGoddess's son (he's 7, going on 8) for about 1/2 hour in front of the school.
• Chaired a meeting that lasted only about 45 minutes, and had lunch during it.
• While BearGoddess was at a meeting, played "soccer" with said son on the balcony in front of their campus apartment, occasionally chucking the ball at friends walking down below. Believe me, this is great fun.
• Had a nice conversation with him about why I was crying at their house last night (we thought he was asleep, but he wasn't).
• Wrote a song with him about the environment, and another one about allergies.

I really am going to study today. Really. But I needed to move my body, needed to be silly, needed to have a good time with a sweet boy. Needed to remember that life is good.

Hope y'all are having a good (allergy-free) day, too.

I'm Afraid Of Gravy

Yes, that's right.

On Saturday my cielo and I went to a new breakfast place in the neighborhood. Nice place, bright, cheery, packed. We perused the delightful menu, ooh and ahhing over the yummy-sounding breakfast and brunchy offerings, and the low prices.

I had a hankering for biscuits and gravy. A nice serving of fresh biscuits and white gravy, with a side of scrambled eggs and sausage, sounded good.

But I'm afraid of gravy, and here's a few reasons why: We had gravy in jail. For breakfast Sunday morning, we had something resembling gravy -- a beige greasy liquid with bits of what I assume was sausage -- poured over what I assume was wheat toast.

I didn't eat it. I ate my frosted flakes and poured the leftover milk into my coffee.

A few weeks later, I was out for brunch with a friend and ordered biscuits and gravy along with my eggs and hashbrowns. When the server set the plate down, I noticed that the gravy was the same color, with similar bits of sausage. I recoiled inside. But I did not want to offend my friend, who was excited to take me to a favorite place. So I took bite after bite. The taste was all pepper. A mouthful of black pepper. I don't particularly care for pepper (which covered the hashbrowns, too), but there is more to it than that.

Now, also in jail, we were given lunchmeat sandwiches for several of the meals (OK, all the meals but breakfast...I was in there a long time...). Most of my sandwiches were pickle and olive loaf -- greasy, but ok. But the last one I had, the meat was essentially pepper held together with fat. Ugh. I could only stomach a couple of bites (thankfully, I had little appetite while in jail).

So, now I am afraid of gravy. Will it be a nice, light, white, flecked with only hints of pepper, maybe some nice bits of sausage? Or will it be beige and scary and full of pepper? There is no way to know.

So on Saturday, I did not order the biscuits and gravy. Because I had never been there before, I did not know what I could expect. So I had something else (which was quite yummy!).

It occurs to me as I'm sitting here that perhaps what I need to do is go to someplace like Cracker Barrel, where I know the gravy is trustworthy and delicious. Perhaps that would help me to heal from my fear of gravy.

But fear of gravy isn't the only thing still lingering, now almost 5 months later.

• 2 Sundays ago, I was driving to church alone. A car turned out quickly in front of me from an cross-street -- a police car, it was. As soon as it was in front of me it slowed down; behind me another car pulled out quickly -- another police car. I was boxed in by police cars. I kinda freaked out -- my heart started to pound and I had to remind myself I was safe. I was relieved when I turned for church and they kept on going their merry way.
• Arms/hands/shoulders still hurt. My right thumb, I think I can finally say, is no longer numb. But my whole right arm is still a mess. I am so tired of hurting.
  
• My sleep still pretty much sucks. I dream almost constantly, it seems like, which I think means I am not getting deep sleep. So even when my dreams are reasonably tame (not hyperkenetic or anxiety-ridden), I'm still not resting.
  
• Turns out the SWAT team that arrested us "lives" at the park two and half blocks from our house (and about a mile from school). The park where we like to go feed the ducks at the pond and take walks around the golf course. I had been thinking I might join the gym there, but now, no way. It makes me angry that the people -- the men -- who were so violent to us are so close (JT ran into the officer who threatened to break her wrist at our favorite coffee shop). The other night on the way home from school, we saw a couple of squad cars and a paddy wagon pull into the parking lot there. My cielo had to remind me to breathe.

Sigh. I'm not meaning to whine, truly. I just need to express some of the way this experience is still affecting me. These few things are really just the tip of the iceberg of the grief and anger going on, I think.

I don't think a trip to Cracker Barrel will help those, though...

Realization

What's underneath
bubbling hot
yet easy to be ignored
underneath the anxiety
and the pain the sadness
and even the gratitude

anger
anger

I am so angry.

And afraid to even
begin to touch it.

Wouldn't that hurt more?

Paraklesis

I am working hard on a theology class project for Tuesday, but I have my cellphone set to ring every hour so that I can review my Greek vocabulary for the quiz tomorrow.

Paraklesis, on this week's list, is the word for encouragement. I am guessing the word is the same one that results in "Paraclete," the Comforter, the Advocate. The Encourager, we might say.

I could use a little of that.

In the middle of all this homework (which I was hoping to finish tonight but no such luck) I have become aware that my greatest fear in all this is not that I'll be found guilty, but that I'll be found wanting. That, actually, I have nothing worthwhile to say or offer.

Mmm, self-worth (or lack thereof), my age-old nemesis back at work.

And suddenly it occurs to me, that my fear is all about control, that I won't be able to control everything, or anything. If I can't control it, am I a failure?

Today's sermon was about letting go of the need to control. I have to remember that God is in charge, God brought me to this place, God is faithful, God through the Spirit will give me all the words I need.

And I remember, God has filled my life with Paracletes, Encouragers, Advocates. All around me, people who say:

Let me help you
Let me hold you
Let me pray for you
Let me remind you who you are
Let me love you
Let me drive you
Let me feed you
Let me be safe space for you
Let me sit with you
Let me stand with you

I need to let go and let them do their job...

Write It Out, Practice Thankfulness

...The thing is, I'm really pissed off with this whole depression thing. See, we moved to Denver and I started seminary and just began to thrive and people thought I was so smart and thoughtful and wise and at first I didn't quite believe them and then I started to believe a little bit, first them and then in myself, just dipping in a toe because what they saw and were telling me about me I had never really experienced before, never experienced that kind of wholeness in the world, firing on all my cylinders and WOW, I can really think and write and be a calming presence in anxious situations and then I really began to believe it, that I was whole and finally healed from years of crap, really over it, beyond it, living into the fullness of who God created me to be, even if I wasn't always quite sure what I was supposed to do with all of it but I could begin to believe it, that I'm smart and capable and loving and have so much to offer...

...and I'm just so angry that now I'm like this...anxious and doubtful and can't write a paper without tears, without waves of "what the hell, that's really not such a brilliant idea, who do you think you are, anyway," get all wobbly inside without affirmation or with just silence, feeling it's all come crashing down, I'm not "all that," it was all an illusion, just waiting for the other shoe to drop which yup, it did, see, it always does, I told you so, you really are alone, just when things were getting really good the demonfog descends, that's what I get, what I deserve, somehow, for believing.

Which, I don't really want to believe that's true, that somehow this is some kind of punishment for getting too big for my britches. It's a disease. It's not my fault -- even if I could have done some better self-care, it's not my fault. It doesn't mean I'm not all those things everyone says and that I began to believe were actually true. Even if I can't remember why or what they were right now. Just because the demonfog is there doesn't mean all that other stuff's not true, right? Right?

It just pisses me off. I don't know what to do about it, but it pisses me off.

And yes, that means you, God...

Gah.

OK, let's try to think of some things I'm thankful for:

• very cool storm clouds over the mountains
• unplanned walk and coffee with TheologyBabe this afternoon
• a good cry
• my cielo holding me and not needing any answers
• a very sweet note to both of us from my mom
• the storm has cooled things down so the house is not hot
• I actually do have an outline in my head for my Kant versus the Calvinists paper (I'm thinking that being near tears trying understand Kant is actually a normal response...what do y'all think? It's not just depression, is it?)
  
• enthusiastic (as opposed to polite) applause from the congregation yesterday when the moderator announced that I would be staying at HappyChurch to do my internship for the rest of the school year (I'm sure I blushed), and lots of great comments of the same nature after church
  
• Dodger snuggling in my armpit
• the sunflower that is growing out front, from a seed I planted last year -- and is almost ready to bloom
• popsicles
• vacation starting one week from tomorrow!
  

I shall do a little breathing now, and eat something healthy. Salvation may not come by works, but healing from depression just might...

Homework

My counselor assigned me homework to do over this past week, part of which I have left undone because, well, it just seemed pointless. I'm supposed to make a list of things which help me get out of those foggy times, self-care practices and whatnot and it's been a week and I see her tomorrow and I'm just thinking, why? If these things actually worked, wouldn't I feel better already? Wouldn't I have not started feeling bad to begin with?

This of course assumes that I do these things with some regularity, which, sometimes, I don't, which is probably how I got in this state to begin with, although in the last month or so I've been trying but it's not working. At least it feels that way today.

I'm a protestant, for God's sake. Salvation through works is not one of our strong points.

Then again, when it comes to depression, just having faith that I'll wake up tomorrow feeling better isn't working, either.

So, let's assume that my counselor knows what she's doing, and make the list. Sigh.

Things which supposedly help Towanda not lose to the demon fog:

• Getting enough rest.
• Read novels, not just school-type books that are overworking just one set of brain muscles.
• Prayer, including my own invented "rosary," which helps stop the spinning mind.
• Keep making dates with friends so I don't go completely inside.
• Practice thankfulness.
• Ask my cielo to rub my head.
• Breathing exercises.
• Talk, don't just keep shit inside.
• Write it out.
• Protect some time before going to sleep so I'm not going straight from studying to bed.
• Eat healthy.
• Go for walks (these last two are the first to go when I'm feeling down).
• Keep telling self that if people love me, there must be some reason why (even if I can't think of one at the moment).

That's all I can think of for now. We'll see what happens tomorrow.

I Need A Break, Updated

I have a paper due tomorrow. 2 pages on Luther and works.

It ought to be a breeze, and I actually had a little outline in my head.

I sat down to write and whoosh, out it went into the vapor.

To be replaced with this pounding thought: You have nothing original, or interesting, to say on this topic whatsoever.

I just deleted everything I've written so far. It wasn't that much, and it wasn't that good.

Says me.

Sigh.

I don't suppose I could turn in a paper that just says, I decline to complete the assignment, on account that writing for a grade would be an example of works righteousness, and according to Luther, that would just be wrong.

Yeah, I didn't think so either.

UPDATE: Finished, with an hour to spare. Just enough to time print, eat, shower, and get to school. Not my preferred mode of working, but oh well. The important thing is, it's done!

Defense Against the Dark Arts

I can't sleep.

The fog in my head is winning tonight, and I can't sleep. I can cry, but that's not really helping; it doesn't feel like a "just get it all out and you'll feel better" kind of cry. More like, if I start, I won't ever be able to stop.

What can I do? I refuse to let it win, what can I do?

Get up and write, a voice in my head said. Again and again.

So, here I am. Score 1 for me.

Thanks to tngirl's gracious loan of Harry Potter 2 & 3 (remember, I'd only read #1), I've been getting caught up on the books. HP2 went quickly, and now I'm well into HP3, making it my reward for getting through my summer school class readings.

HP3 is where we meet the dementors, the bony, robed creatures that suck all the joy out of life, and maybe even your soul as well. Even though they are guards, ultimately they are safe for no one.

Certainly it is not original with me, the observation that the dementors are one of the most accurate depictions of depression that many of us have read. Makes me wonder about Rowling and what her struggles have been in life, because she nails it bang on, what it feels like.

Except.

I can't just conjure up a happy thought and hurl it at the beast to make it go away. Believe me, I'm trying.

Also, as much as it chagrins to me to say so, chocolate doesn't quite seem to have the restorative powers as it does in the book. Again, believe me, I'm trying! ;-)

Of course, it certainly doesn't hurt. So there's that.

I had my appointment with the counselor yesterday. I think she's terrific. She thinks we can get me back to my self fairly quickly, since I'm being so proactive about it. I hope she's right (well, yesterday, when I felt, uh, not like this, I actually believed she was right).

I know you're wondering, so: Yes, I'm depressed. Not in a big, horrid, incapacitating way. Just enough to be noticeable and therefore worrying. I have just enough symptoms, for just long enough, and we need to take action. I suspect the combination of stress, anxiety, and exhaustion (see here) have weakened my defenses...hence the leaking out of symptoms. Kinda like when you have a cold that never quite goes away on it's own, and you end up with bronchitis and need amoxicillin. (No, I'm not going on meds, it's just a metaphor).

Tonight feels particularly bad...I'm obsessing on questions that betray a deep insecurity -- which at least I'm smart enough to know now means I shouldn't ask them of the people they seem to be about. Because it's not about them, it's about me. Really it's just 2 questions, and I hurl them at the universe so that maybe they'll stop their oily spinning inside my head --

Do you love me? And if so, why in the world would you?

Tonight the fog sits like a scrim over my senses. That's what it felt like to me before, driving through a fog in the broad daylight. You become ever so tentative, ever so fearful of what's around the corner.

It scares me. It scares me because in moments like this it feels almost like it felt before. It scares me that maybe it's back, maybe I can't fix it, maybe once again it will feel like life will always be this way from now on.

But here's the good news.

I got up. Instead of just lying there, crying in despair until I fell asleep, I got up. I got some cold water, wrapped around me the quilt my abuelita -- my adopted grandma -- made me for before, the one that has sewn into a corner, "When things seem dark, wrap yourself in this quilt and know you are loved very much," and listened to the insistent voice that said "Get up and write."

That did not happen before -- that insistent voice was almost too quiet to be heard, and when I heard it, I couldn't do it. But today, here I am. I won't let it win. I refuse. I'll do whatever it takes -- listening to the insistent voice, better self-care, "homework" from the counselor, whatever.

Because I love my life. I have worked my ass off to get here, and I am not giving it up.

I love my life. I love Iliff. I love getting lost in texts. I love my favorite professor. I love CoolPastor, and TheologyBabe, and SisterWendy, and HappyChurch, and my family. I love my cielo, so so much. I love the green of the cottonwood trees against the blue of the clear sky. I love the clouds rolling over the mountains that shade the hard afternoon sun. I love the smell of rain at twilight. I love that I'm going to a ballgame on Saturday and will get to see one of my favorite players. I love that all of you show up to look in the window that is my strange little brain. I love God, who has gifted me with all of this, and so much more.

I love my life. I am not giving it up. So there.

Huh. I conjured up a whole bunch of happy thoughts, and what do you know, I feel better. A little achy in the head, but better.

Expecto patronum, indeed. I think that's just a fancy way of saying (pardon the language): Fuck off, dementors, you can't have me.

Suddenly there are new tears, but this time, of gratitude.

But If You Break Down
I'll Drive Out And Find You
If You Forget My Love
I'll Try To Remind You
And Stay By You
When It Don't Come Easy
(Patty Griffin, from "When It Don't Come Easy")

I think it's time for bed, don't you?

Reaching Out

So, um.

I made an appointment with the counselor at seminary today.

I've not been liking the way I've been feeling lately. Moments...hours...a whole day or so... feeling suspiciously like I'm depressed.

I'm not sure I am depressed, but I sure as hell don't want to be. Been there, almost didn't survive it. I am not doing that again. Hence the appointment.

Some of the symptoms: wanting to sleep more; less interest in food (CoolPastor might find that one hard to believe since I nearly fainted at the deliciousness of the biscuits and gravy Monday night, but it's generally true); withdrawing at and from social situations; less interest in/motivation for schoolwork; mental fatigue; irritability; feeling close to tears a little more often than quite seems reasonable; and, the big one, anxiety.

The anxiety skyrocketed when I started working for HappyChurch. I have very clear that it's my own shit that's dragging me down. HappyChurch has done nothing -- nothing -- to create, cause, or in any way exacerbate my anxiety. Not the crying kid. Not the little old lady who wanted to walk out. Seriously. In fact, the deft and healthy way the church council has handled that last situation should actually make me feel better. The church has done nothing but give me positive feedback and encouraged me to continue "doing what I'm doing."

And yet...I feel more and more anxious. Part of it is my own insecurity -- wondering if I really deserve all that praise, wondering if they're just being nice, wondering how long it will be until I really screw up. Feeling like somehow I'm not doing enough, even though all they essentially asked me to do was "do" worship and preach, and provide some leadership as they begin to think about outreach, all of which I've done. The perfectionism...the slightly sick need to have the Best. Sermon. Ever. Every single week.

Now, to add to it, a beloved old church member is about to die, and I feel pretty much incompetent. They of course wish their pastor were here, and he's not. I visited yesterday and felt so...useless. Crank up the anxiety.

Now, add to that my old woundedness about church, which I wrote about a little bit here. Makes it even harder to believe their sincerity and kindness...I'm just waiting for the other shoe to drop. Just waiting. Because I'm convinced it will. I'm suspicious all the time. I find it very hard to believe that 1) they are actually as healthy a church as they appear; and B) that they actually like me at all.

Pardon my bluntness...but this is no fucking way to live. As I have been watching myself these last few weeks I can see that anxiety just gnawing away at the strong, confident foundation I'd been creating for myself (and being thrilled at discovering) at seminary. This has got to stop.

To be fair to myself, it's been a rough year in the sense of lots going on at school and on my insides as well. So much to process and so little time, as a student leader, a conscientious student with a heavy class load (who had an "issue" with a prof that is still somewhat unresolved), and then starting as a pastor at the end of April. I think also the fact that the heavy-duty ass-kicking that happened in the antisemitism class coupled with the uptick in anxiety as I started at HappyChurch was not entirely a helpful combination.

I don't blame my favorite prof, who taught the class, though. I would do it all over again for all that I learned and the way it made me think about my own theology and how I want to be in the world. I think, in fact, that being forced to preach a good word on Sundays while struggling with antisemitism in the history of the church was a real growing edge for me, and I'm thankful for it, even though the wrestling was very, very rough.

So. Am I depressed? I'm not sure. I may just be wiped out emotionally and intellectually. I may just need to rest and give my brain a break and spend time just opening up my heart. Letting my heart break open fully, without trying to hold it together "just until...". Just letting it go.

Life's not all bad, which is what makes me suspect I may just be exhausted. I remember from depression before that there was this constant sort of "veiled" feeling when I did things I usually enjoyed -- a cloudy, foggy sort of feeling that coated everything with waxy sadness. I have moments of that but it's not at all constant. I still love being with my close friends, being with my cielo, enjoying a walk or a movie. For example, my cielo and I went to the botanical gardens on Monday (yay for free days!) and I loved every minute of it. Even just being able to write about this here is a sign that mostly I must be ok.

But the symptoms are enough to be troubling, particularly the anxiety. So, off to the seminary counselor with me, to nip this thing in the bud.

I'm thankful for my cielo. I'm thankful for my friends. I'm thankful for my life. I'm thankful the seminary offers free counseling!

And, I'm thankful for all of you.

Soul Geography

(Originally posted June, 2007).
I'm still in Aspen. I'm at my hosts' beautiful home outside of town. I'm sitting on one of their several decks with mountain views while the sun sets. Their dogs are flopped about my feet. Birds are singing and crisply flying through the aspens and pine trees.
The conference has been amazing. Powerful. Moving. Heart-wrenching. I have left several sessions gasping down sobs, sometimes of hope, sometimes of pain, sometimes just because I don't know why. I learned a yiddish word, bashert, which means "It was meant to be." This conference has been bashert for me. It is hard yet to put into words all the reasons why.
(Ooh, there's a magpie! Lovely!)
This afternoon after the last session I took the gondola up to the top of Mount Aspen. In my little hanging car I could see several ranges. Everything seems so green, although my hosts tell me they haven't had much rain or snow. On the way up, I sang. It's a Ruth Duck hymn we sang all the time at Bridgeport, which I love and have brought to Denver with me (two brothers sang it as a duet at HappyChurch on Trinity Sunday).
Spirit, open my heart, to the joy and pain of living
As you love, may I love, in receiving and in giving.
Spirit open my heart.
Write your love upon my heart
As my law, my life, my story
Every thought, word, and deed
May my living bring you glory
Spirit open my heart.
When I left the session I couldn't breathe (literally and metaphorically...the gasping down sobs again). So I sang in my cable car until I could breathe again.
(Wow, I'm surrounded by chattering magpies!)
Anyway, so, I sang until I could breathe again. Which if you know that the air is thin up here, may sound funny. Also, being able to sing when you can't breathe sounds kinda funny, too. But there it is.
I always like to read the interpretive signs when I go new places. So I read about how the peaks and valleys here were formed. So much newer than my homeland of Arkansas. But this I loved: Right in front of me, was a valley called "Conundrum Valley."
Yup, I thought. That sounds about right. I'm in conundrum valley. I am on a journey, that is very clear to me after the last few days. Not that I didn't think I wasn't before but it's clearer to me now that the path has just made a big turn. I don't know what it means, and I'm not sure where I'm going. Hence, conundrum valley.
I'm sure thankful I've got some good traveling companions.
Spirit open my heart.

Post-Quarter Crash Mode

(Originally posted June, 2007).

Some of my seminary buddies and I talk about the slump we feel when the quarter is over -- after ten weeks of rushrushrush, writewritewrite, processprocessprocess (if you can), thinkthinkthink, there is this quite discernible collapse for several days after the quarter is done. Part of it, I think, is just physical exhaustion. But it's also intellectual and emotional exhaustion. Not one. more. drop. of thought can be squeezed out of my little brain.

And so we tend to sort of fall into a heap. I, at least, tend to huddle on the couch for a few days watching baseball and bad sitcoms until I snap out of it. The first couple of times this happened, it scared me (and my cielo) a little, because my mood and intertia are eerily like depression. But then I started asking friends, "Does something like this happen to you?" And indeed, I was not alone.

So, I feel heap-like today. But, can't quite huddle up on the couch to ride it out. Responsibilities call, right? So here I am at the church, getting ready to work on the bulletin and start sermon prep. But it's nice to know that when I go home, there is NOTHING I HAVE TO DO.

OK, I need to do a little house-cleaning, but I don't have to study or write or exert in any way the tired, squishy matter in my skull. I can go for a guilt-free walk with my cielo, watch the novela, putter about, read novels. Nice. Ahh. Yeah, I have a sermon to write, but that's ALL I have to write!

On another note -- HappyChurch is still HappyChurch. Had a great Celtic-themed liturgy yesterday, with two of my profs. also officiating (one to preach for me, whew!) to celebrate Trinity Sunday, which was well-received. I've been talking with the church moderators about the uncontent little old lady and I have to say, I am very impressed with their non-anxious approach to leadership. They did a little "field research" and it turns out the one lady is not the only one who is questioning the changes (they do seem to all be of that generation, though). But rather than try to demonize them, the moderators said, "Huh. This is *our* (as in, the church leaders') fault. We didn't do our homework before jumping into these changes. What a great opportunity for everybody to be educated." They get that I am really just a convenient target, and they don't want me to change.

I mean, you could have tipped me over with a fingerpoke. Does this really happen? Healthy church conflict management?

So, the plan is to remind folks who might express "concern" that the church is simply trying to live out its (very incredible, very inclusive) mission statement, that if there are concerns to please talk to the church leaders. And I'm going to develop a course on immigration for the fall that will address some of the questions. Because, the thing is, everybody here, not just the anxious little old ladies, need to know more about what is going on -- the economic and political realities, etc. -- and so the whole church will get educated. That was the moderators' idea, not just mine.

I have old, deep wounds about church conflict. My dad served two churches, and they both chewed him up and spit him out -- the second church in a particularly nasty manner. Being a preacher's kid in those contexts is so, so hard. Who to trust? Who to believe? Why is this person being so nice to my face when I know they're screwing over my dad in session meetings? Ugh.

So my first response if I get even a whiff of church conflict is to go into paranoid mode. This is it, here we go, it's gonna be bad, I'm gonna get hurt...A few years ago I realized how deep those wounds are and how truly unhelpful those reactions are -- constantly wary, constantly suspicious, and that is no way to be a loving, non-anxious leader. But still, it was hard to trust that there was another alternative.

And, it is still hard to trust. I want to believe that my sense that this is a healthy church is true. That the church leadership not only has *my* back, but -- more importantly -- has the church's back as well (because this is not really about me at all, of course).

And I know that I am a different person, now, too, than even a few years ago. I'm the one at school trying to model and advocate for non-anxious and loving leadership (among student leaders and trying to hold admin. and faculty accountable, too). There's been a shift in me.

That paranoid mode is still there. And maybe that's good, to an extent, in the sense that it keeps me from being too naive, keeps my eyes open. But the question is, can I override my paranoia with trust? Is this an opportunity to heal old, deep wounds?

Pray with me that it may be so.

Breakdown

(Originally posted May, 2007).

Again, my inarticulate inner turmoil. I love this song, today it rings in the hollow spaces as a plea and a response. Me and You, God.

Red Lights Are Flashing On The Highway
I Wonder If We're Gonna Ever Get Home
I Wonder If We're Gonna Ever Get Home Tonight
Everywhere The Waters Getting Rough
Your Best Intentions May Not Be Enough
I Wonder If We're Gonna Ever Get Home Tonight

But If You Break Down
I'll Drive Out And Find You
If You Forget My Love
I'll Try To Remind You
And Stay By You
When It Don't Come Easy

I Don't Know Nothing Except Change Will Come
Year After Year What We Do Is Undone
Time Keeps Moving From A Crawl To A Run
I Wonder If We're Gonna Ever Get Home

You're Out There Walking Down A Highway
And All Of The Signs Got Blown Away
Sometimes You Wonder
If You're Walking In The Wrong Direction

But If You Break Down
I'll Drive Out And Find You
If You Forget My Love
I'll Try To Remind You
And Stay By You
When It Don't Come Easy

So Many Things That I Had Before
That Don't Matter To Me Now
Tonight I Cry For The Love That I've Lost
And The Love I've Never Found
When The Last Bird Falls
And The Last Siren Sounds
Someone Will Say What's Been Said Before
Some Love We Were Looking For

But If You Break Down
I'll Drive Out And Find You
If You Forget My Love
I'll Try To Remind You
And Stay By You
When It Don't Come Easy

Patty Griffin
(you can hear the song here, although with Brokeback Mountain clips. Just close your eyes and listen.)

Will You stay by me? Will we ever get home? My best intentions may not be enough. So many layers to this song...so many layers to my broken heart at the end of a quarter of diving into the church's sinful antisemitic depths, with all of its echoes into racism and colonialism...spiritual and bodily violence. I don't know if Patty meant the song this way or not, but it's a prayer, my prayer...it's just love I'm looking for. But sometimes it's so hard to find.