Perspective

   "You are all children of the Most High." Psalm 82:6

  It's been a long while but seeing as the laptop is on the table, it feels like a good idea to do some writing. 

  It's out because I spent a couple of hours online with a Microsoft support agent in India. He fixed what turned out to be a pirated version of Office. I thought I'd bought it from a Microsoft store. However, their phone was out of service and emails to them were fruitless so the support tech went the extra mile to set things right. 

  The pirated version has been uninstalled and the correct product has been paid for and installed so there should be no more issues. He took care of everything because it was too much for my limited technology skills. I am in awe of his skill.

  When I first reached out via the chat feature, there were almost 70 people in the queue. It was going to take almost an hour for my turn to come up. It would have been easy to get ticked off and frustrated but what's the point? Considering the number of people on the planet, 70 is a small number. I was able to make a lemon loaf for tonight's home church while I waited.

  I'd also approached this with the full knowledge it would probably take some time to fix whatever was going on. Add in a slower speed of internet and, well, it takes extra time to do anything electronically. 

  So we ended up having a conversation to pass the time while we waited for downloads or uploads or whatever loads were needed. I got to know this stranger from half a world away a little bit. 

  

  So, perspective. 

  Based on some of his comments, being treated kindly is a rare event for a customer service rep. 

  It's not his fault I got scammed. That truth is hard to swallow because I thought I was being so careful. There's a few lessons learned because of it.

  Yah, a bargain isn't always a bargain. At least the loss was only what amounted to pocket change these days. It could have been much worse. There could have been all sorts of technological boogeymen installed along with the program but hey, if someone wants to steal knitting patterns and landscape photos then they hit the jackpot!

  

  But, because of being scammed, I got to know a stranger from half a world a way just a little bit.

  How wonderful is that!

  

  

  

  

  

  

 

  

  

  

  

The Robes

  "Coming up behind Jesus, she (the woman who had bled for 12 years) touched the fringe of His robe." Luke 9:44

  And she was healed.

  

  Right before we were to start playing the worship music on Sunday, this ole flute player had a full on panic attack. The warning signs had been building all morning, in the busyness of setting up, not being able to join the Thanksgiving crowd who gathered before the service...too loud, too busy. Even during pre-service practice, I could feel the fight/flight adrenaline rush gaining momentum. As the congregation filed in, the tears and shakes started. I ducked behind the stage curtain for a brief moment, just long enough to squash them down.

  As the welcome talk was said, I reached back to touch the stage curtain, desperately looking for something to help. It's rough and heavy and provided a connection with the here and now. I imagined my fingers had brushed against the robes of Jesus just like the woman who bled for such a long time. In the midst of it all, my soul smiled briefly at the sheer, but childishly delightful, audacity of imagining such a thing.

  It was enough to provide an ability to focus on the notes that needed playing. Part of such an attack is an impact on the ability to see or focus on what is being seen. It's like having your thinking brain put in a blender.

  There was no joy in worship. It was a hard, long haul. 

  The little sketchbook got me through the rest of the service. The screaming heebie jeebies were less than a breath away. Waiting for the end of church was another long, hard haul.

  My friend let the worship leader know I had to leave right after instead of helping pack up. The moment the car door closed, the tears finally came. They were complicated tears: exhaustion and the five stages of grief all rolled into one drop.

  It's been two days and there are still aftershocks finding their way to the surface but there's also been a great deal of thought regarding all of this. 

  The team leader messaged me later, thanking me for "pushing through" and playing. It's left me wondering why quitting was not an option. This isn't the first time, either.

  What would have happened had I simply spoken up and told everyone that I had to leave or, at the very least, required a few moments to get my S#%* together?

  More importantly, why did I think I couldn't?

  Pushing through is not kind. Maybe it should be called "punishing through" instead. 

  (Long, long, looooong pause...)

  Why didn't it feel safe for me to say something? 

  I would have loved nothing more than to have put down my flute and wrapped myself in the stage curtains. It would have been safe there, tucked into the robes of Jesus. 

  The world could have waited. The clock could have, too. But that's not what I have been taught, is it my Lord? They always come first, no matter the cost.

  I'll close off today (as more tears come) with a drawing done yesterday. It started off being a pile of stones. They represented the weight of all of the things which cause panic attacks. But, in case you never noticed piles of stones in a field before, it's where trees grow. That's why there is one tree in the middle of a plowed field. It's where the stones have been piled. 

  God is good. AMEN!

  

  

  

Safe Haven

   "This I declare about the Lord: He alone is my refuge, my place of safety; He is my God, and I trust Him." Psalm 91:2

  This may end up being a bunch of random thoughts. Some are half formed but worth exploring further. Others are more solid but it helps to write them down.

  I keep mulling over the possibility of having thoughts about the future. Smile. Just writing about it gets my stomach in knots! Over the last several days, it's become apparent that the ability to set goals or have dreams is firmly rooted in feeling safe. It makes sense. Being insecure is born in an environment of insecurity.

  The details don't matter at this point. What matters now is helping this new idea of being safe continue to grow. Which, of course, involves leaning heavily on Jesus because I can't do it alone. Alone is not a place of safety.

  Community is. 

  Boy, I never thought I'd say that! 

  So if I choose to have a dream or a hope for the future, there needs to be a community involved to help foster, encourage, guide, pray for and support the effort involved in seeing a dream come to fruition.

  This means I have to willingly embrace the dreams and plans of One who is far greater than I. But, not only embrace them but believe what He says is true. 

  In the drawing shared a couple of days ago, there is a road. It winds through hills, sometimes hidden, sometimes in plain sight before vanishing over the horizon. It's not the first time this idea has been illustration of trust but that's what it is. Am I willing to trust God's plan?

  Trust is the daughter of feeling safe. 

  Maybe "safe" should be capitalized...feeling Safe because, if I may be so bold, this is another name for Jesus..."Safe"...I like that.

  Being able to set boundaries and maintain them can only come from a place of security. Yet another realization as I've mulled over the significance of coming back to safe.

  

  That's enough for today. These few words have stirred up emotions running the spectrum from anger to regret and back again. Regardless of where the sad feelings go, I find myself very hopeful and that, my friends, is because of Jesus.

  One last thought...is safe a destination or a way to live life?

  

  

  

Coming Back to Safe

  "The Lord your God is giving you a place of rest. He has given you this land." Joshua 1:13

  Coming back to safe. The words shared by a new friend. They are the kind of words where the Lord taps you on the shoulder to make sure you are paying attention. And I have because it's been a long time since I heard something that has stirred my soul with a deep, deep longing. Lord, I want this. I want to feel safe.

  When I was a little, my hardworking dad would grab a much needed nap on the couch. He would lie on his side when I asked him to make me a nest no matter how tired he was. It was wonderful to curl up in the fort his folded legs made. I don't remember if I read or played quietly so as not to disturb him, but I remember how it felt to be there. Safe.

  Eventually, the nest was outgrown and the one place of safety was out of reach. It gets complicated, trying to unravel the core lesson that nothing and no one was safe. Even if they were supposed to be. And as I reflect on more traumatic events, I think this is one of the greatest losses. 

  It makes me very sad to realize just how unsafe Cricket felt, and actually was. Her beauty made it so. And so began a long list of poor choices in a quest for the kind of love that includes being safe. Choices which, in the end, only reinforced there was no safety anywhere.

  I also now understand why knitting binges take over every spare hour and why I draw mandala after mandala. The repetition is constant, comforting. It's not dangerous unless I stab myself with the point of my compass. (Yes, this has happened more than once.)

  When I get going at something for days on end I can now ask myself, "Why don't you feel safe right now?"

  Coming back to safe...I think I need to surrender my role on the Health and Safety team at work. (Smile.) It fosters a constant need to be aware of potential dangers in the workplace. Silly, I know, but it triggers a level of hyper-vigilance and guardedness over and above the usual which, until now, I'd been unaware of.

  It's funny, everything going through my head are solutions and strategies around the things I need to do to nurture a sense of safety. Maybe the woman who unkindly called me a control freak years ago had the right idea after all. It's not but a wonder. 

  It's okay, my Lord, I won't forget about You. How could I? When Your presence is such a comfort; when the nest You make encompasses the entire world. How could I? When I am left amazed by how Your love has guided me to here and now. How could I forget about You? When you have blessed me with the kind people in my life who watch over me. How could I ever forget You when I wear Your prayer around my wrist? 

  "God is here. You are safe."

  I guess I've arrived after all.

  

  

  

Convergence

  "Be strong and Courageous. Do not be afraid or discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go." Joshua 1:9

  Convergence is when two or more things come together to form a new whole. Nothing could else could define what has happened in the last week. I write today with the deepest gratitude possible, the kind that fills every fiber, every ounce, of my being. 

  First of all, a naturopath said my vitamin D levels were low. I was skeptical because I take quite a bit already, 4000 mg/day. My friend encouraged me to double the dose anyways. Lord, help me remember to do this when I find myself swallowed by the Black River. Within a couple of days, the shadows had started to lift. The increase in anxiety was causing some depression but when you are in the midst of it, the brain forgets the simple things.

  The increased D was started the day of the bracelet. 

  The bracelet: the tangible, sensory, touchstone of faith, has not been taken off since it was made. The words, "God is here. You are safe." have been my prayer no matter where the day leads. And it's led to new places.

  

  I was at a women's retreat for the weekend at MBC, the Muskoka Bible Camp. It's a campground/event locale in a beautiful part of northern Ontario. The red and gold finery of summer's end was everywhere. A couple of deer wandered around, comfortable in the presence of humans. They aren't something you get to see up close very often.

  My friend and I shared a room with two lovely ladies I had met when we went to Cuba last November for the wedding. It made it easier to decide to go. Besides, I really felt this was where the Lord wanted me to be.

  "God is here. You are safe."

  A small sketchbook went everywhere as well. It was another grounding tool when the noise and busy motion of a hundred and fifty ladies was overwhelming. It served another, higher purpose, too. It enabled me to pray without ceasing as the words of the worship or speaker or conversations ebbed and flowed. More importantly, it allowed me to listen to the Holy Spirit in the midst of it all.

  On Saturday during free time, my room mates went into town for some shopping. I opted not to go, feeling it might be too much on top of everything else. I also felt taking the time to prepare my heart for the scheduled meditative prayer session was crucial. This was where the Lord wanted me.  

  As I waited for the prayer time to start, the Lord had me draw a backpack followed by a signpost, the kind that clearly mark the directions when there is a fork in the road. One direction was the one of faith and joy and healing. The other was the path of fear, burdens, and a life of independent existence. The choice is obvious but something was holding me back. 

  "What am I afraid of?"

  It took a while before the answer came but when it did,..it was so sad to realize I was afraid to be happy. Postcard memories flooded into my mind of all the times when happiness was crushed, smothered or stolen. Happiness has always been a punishable offence. 

  Poor Cricket. We've felt this way most of our life.

  During the prayer session, as memories flooded in, I began the slow process of choosing to forgive the people who had played a part in the formation of this lie. It was a long list.

  "God is here. You are safe."

  And all things converged to this pivotal moment in time.

  Do I believe these words? Or don't I?

  The final drawing of the day flowed from my pen: a celebration of release, surrender, and hope.

  Cricket? God is here and you are safe. And even if we don't know where the road or the season will take us, this is where you, we, I belong.

  

  

A Grateful Heart

   "It is good to give thanks to the Lord, to sing praises to the Most High." Psalm 92:1

  After finishing the last post a couple of days ago, the bead bin was explored to create the bracelet. The bin is stocked with beads for numerous reasons. Some are small and are used to embellish crazy quilts or other sewing projects. Others are more suitable for little fingers.

   Little fingers love alphabet beads. That's why they are in there, in case little fingers come to visit and need to be occupied. 

  There were enough letters to spell out the prayer, "God is here. You are safe." Between the sentences, I added a small, silver cross to declare and remind myself Jesus is in the midst of it all. 

  I didn't want to use elastic because it wasn't strong enough. Putting spacer beads between the words was going to make it too cluttered. It took some thinking before it could come together.

  Being a bit of a magpie, the cupboard has a small tackle box containing items suitable for jewelry making and repairing. The pins used to make earrings were too short so a couple of paper clips were perfect for the job. A bit of chain and a clasp and I had my bracelet. 

  This simple prayer has helped me get out of my head. There were times at work when I could hear the anxious, hyper-vigilant, overwhelming screaming heebie-jeebies start to cry out. Speaking the bracelet prayer out loud shut them down. Or maybe...it gave them comfort? Either way, it enabled me to stay present instead of struggling to interact with the outside world.

  I said it a lot.

  Last night, there was another astounding realization...it's Cricket who has been trying to protect us because I could feel the doubt/disbelief that the prayer was true. You see, safety has been an illusion, something that was lost or stolen. The proverbial rug getting pulled out from under us is an ideal way to put it. 

  So this morning I have a grateful heart. For the prayer but more so for realizing how hard Cricket has tried to feel safe or to create safety. And maybe it's prideful or maybe it's just sad that she, we, have been carrying this burden for such a long, long time.

  Then my friend forwarded this:

  

AMEN!

                           

Depression

   "Cry out for insight, and ask for understanding. Search for them as you would for silver; seek them like hidden treasures. Then you will understand what it means to fear the Lord, and you will gain knowledge of God." Proverbs 2:3-5

  The last few weeks have been spent trying to come to terms with what it means to live with complex PTSD. I guess the meds had helped tone the symptoms down for years. Having them become so prevalent makes life challenging but I am determined to stay off the meds.  

  I am not anti-medication. They have been a huge help in getting me this far so I am grateful they exist. The risk simply outweighs their benefit at this point in my life. I don't want to end up with permanent neurological damage! Weight gain is one thing but that? Even my doctor wants me off of it. He's a good doctor.

  Which leads me to the need to find balance and a way to keep moving forward in spite of the challenges which face me every time I leave the house.

  

  I was walking through the grocery store. There was a man walking just behind me. He was a big guy in construction apparel, striding purposefully towards whatever object had brought him to the store. I couldn't see him out of the corner of my eye so I found myself turning my head just enough to keep tabs on where he was.  Eventually, I stopped walking and let him stride ahead.

  I was afraid. For no reason. The adrenaline rush of the fight/flight response had me on red alert.

  Logically, I knew he wasn't a threat but the problem is I am not working with the logical part of my brain. 

  If only it was that simple. 

  So I find myself feeling very depressed the last couple of days. I can't begin to describe how exhausting it is leaving the house for just this reason. When you are in public, people are behind you and the internal whispers start, "Not safe? Watch out! Danger is nearby! GET READY TO RUN!!!" My chest tightens, the primal brain takes over and everything becomes surreal. 

  It explains why I have such a hard time remembering names because when I meet someone new, this auto response goes into overdrive. 

  Thank You, Lord, for helping me understand what I thought was a short coming. It has nothing to do with not caring about a person's name or what they have to say. It's simply because the logical, thinking, memory forming brain synapses are on standby until the risk of interacting with someone new is over.

  I think part of the depression is not knowing how to stop this from happening. Heck, if I knew that, I'd be able to heal everyone who lives with PTSD! 

  Hmmm...what if I simply say, "God is here. You are safe."

  Duh...why does it take me so long to realize prayer can do what I can't!

  Lord? Forgive me for believing I have to fix this on my own. (We need to talk about why I keep doing this. I think there's some more repenting needs to happen.)  Forgive me for not turning to You for solutions. Thank You for Your patience. Thank You for providing this prayer of protection. Help me remember to say it as often as I need. In Jesus' most Holy Name, I pray. AMEN!

  PS...I am going to make a bracelet with this prayer on it! That way I have it as a constant reminder. That's better than writing it with ballpoint pen on my hand.

  Oh, I am nowhere near as depressed as when I started writing. It feels like a tremendous weight has been lifted. Maybe that's because it has!