Boundary Study Part 2

   "Instead, let the Spirit renew your thoughts and attitudes. Put on your new nature, created to be like God--truly righteous and holy." Ephesians 4:23-24

  I spent the afternoon working on a small art prayer. It is a mix of paint and collaging. Prepping the page involved drawing a border around the edge. It made me smile because I learned a long time ago doing this helps contain the emotions within the limits of the paper.

  It is a boundary that protects me from carrying whatever gets stirred up. It is a boundary that makes the work manageable. It is a boundary that creates a safety zone where I can express what is in my heart. Closing the book or sketchpad is another boundary that allows me to say, "Enough for today."

  I began to imagine myself drawing a line around my life. Not only to contain, but to protect. But what do I need to protect?

  The key idea that emerged in the art began with grieving the fact that my, "No," was silenced. Shortly after, I came across a small article with the rules of being a Team Player. Rule #1 stopped me short--You understand your role.

  My role as a child was to keep my parents happy, to do what I was told, to never be emotional be it sad or silly, to never need help, to never be prideful, to never, ever, ever talk back or challenge their authority. My life was to fit into their schedule, their plans, their agenda, no deviations allowed. 

  My role as spouse reads pretty much the same.

  It was never a team at all.

  Other people drew the lines around who I was supposed to be. Ha...they scribbled all over it, too! I don't pretend to understand why although power and the need to control plays a huge part.

  Lord, help me extend some grace, here, for those whose role was skewed by cultural expectations, upbringing and insecurity.

  

  I want to take a moment and express the deep gratitude that God continues to honour my very first prayer as a Christian, "Who am I?"

   That's just the first phase of learning, though, isn't it?

  I know who I am now because God has reinforced His truth over the years. Sometimes I have a hard time believing what He says but that's part of the learning curve. 

  If I can't put boundaries in place to protect myself, I can put boundaries in place to protect all that God has revealed and nurtured and encouraged. It's not being selfish at all. It's guarding the pearls of my soul, heart and mind because they belong to God.

 And, like all things new, it will take practice. But now I have the image of a line around a page that will help me when someone else tries to scribble inside the lines.

  

  

  

Boundary Study Part 1

    "Keep on seeking, and you will find." Mathew 7:7

    I am still dealing with the fallout of Friday's panic attack. The world is terribly loud since the body is still on red alert, hyper-vigilant mode. So much so, it left me unsure if I was up to playing yesterday but the songs needed the flute so I strengthened my resolve and went to church. It meant going a bit later than normal to avoid the systematic chaos of set up because I knew it was more than I could handle. Once the worship part of the service was over I packed up my kit and left, exhausted from keeping a lid on the overwhelm.

  Just so you know, feeling this way is not fun. (An understatement to say the least!)

  Before leaving for the Dominican, the Lord brought to mind a book that sat on the shelf. It's one I read shortly after becoming a new believer. At that point, it was a bit like reading a foreign language but, now, I think I am ready to embrace the lessons contained in its pages.

  It's an older book called Boundaries by Dr. Henry Cloud and Dr. John Townsend. I have decided to blog my way through to explore the ideas, understanding and practices of setting boundaries. Although, thanks to an encouraging friend, I asked that the Art of Prayer groups be put on hold!

  Lord, I lift this to you. Help me understand. Guide my eyes and mind to the things You want me to pay particular attention to. Help me be mindful of Your leading as I embark on this learning and healing journey. In Your name, I pray. AMEN

  Boundaries are anything that helps to differentiate you from someone else, or shows where you begin and end. Page 33

  The first chapter of the book contains a fictional biography of a woman, Sherrie. It was easy for me to relate to her situations in life. They mirrored many of my own. The one that leapt up is her idea that personal needs or desires are selfish. 

  Because that's what I was taught.

  It didn't help that the two most important people in my life, parent and spouse, used guilt tripping, manipulation, gas lighting and a whole whack of passive aggressive strategies to make sure I understood my place in the relationships. 

  Subservience isn't serving. Subservience is a ball and chain that weighs you down with the burden of false responsibility. Subservience suffocates self worth. Subservience discredits how much God values us, me.

  The good doctors say that the first word of boundary setting is, "No." Every toddler knows this well.

  It's a word that makes me very uncomfortable. 

  I felt guilty and ashamed for having to leave church yesterday. I felt guilty for speaking up and putting the idea of running groups on temporary hold.

  Hmmm....guilt is feeding the anxiety by stirring up a storm of second guessing and negative self talk. That's something I need to UN-learn.

  "No," seems to accompany the idea that I am less than if the answer isn't, "Yes."

  So, why?

  I have learned that saying, "No," is a punishable offense. It makes me a "bad girl." (I hear you, Cricket.) 

  So my "Yes,"  has been anchored in resentment and duty and obligation. It's not really a, "Yes," at all. 

  FYI: Cricket is the term of endearment my Dad would call me because I sang all the time until the day the music died. I think this is tied in to the monster in my closet which is something I hadn't realized before. He stole the song and put fear in its place.

  Thank you Lord, for making these connections...I wasn't believed about the monster nor was my, "No," ever respected. Eventually, I realized I had no right to say no at all. It was easier to go along with whatever expectations were put on my life...to keep the peace.

  But what about now?

  Now I want to find the peace that comes with being able to determine when to say yes and when to to say no...with zero guilt attached!

  It's going to take some practice. I gotta let my inner toddler loose! And I will give the guilt and shame over to God and pray for strengthened resolve so my NO means NO! And my Yes means Yes! Just as He commands.

PS. There has been an upwelling of grief and sorrow for Cricket and for the women she became. I am getting a strong sense that the monster in the closet had a far deeper impact than I thought. It's come up in several posts lately. It's time to delve deep, to tend the wounds, to find healing as the Lord goes with me into the darkness that was.

  

The Thin Line

"So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand." Isaiah 41:10  

  It was a day yesterday, the kind that's loud and busy and emotional and challenging. Loud and busy drain my reserves rather quickly. Tossing in a couple of extra, last minute things, means leaving work at capacity with tears building in my throat. It's a warning sign that things are about to get worse unless I take the time to rest and recoup. 

  It didn't happen.

  I mentioned the rain we've been having. The sump pump in the basement is running non-stop. It seemed prudent to make sure the back up one was working. It wasn't. So after working a crazy day, I stopped at the local Canadian Tire to purchase a float switch. I hoped that was the problem. It wasn't. The pump was done. Back out I go to buy a pump that suited. It took two stores to find the perfect one.

  It doesn't take long to install them. It seems to happen every 2-3 years because they work very hard to keep the basement dry especially in the spring. Using a rubber joint with circle clamps to connect them into the drainpipes makes pump replacement much easier. No gluing required.

  It barely left me enough time to run through a new song for worship practice and grab a quick dinner.

  To be honest, I was more concerned about how full the river is. Sump pumps can't solve that problem if it decides to escape its banks.

  There was a full house gathered for practice: pianist, drummer, 2 guitarists, three vocalists as well as me. I was having some difficulty with part of the timing in the new song so the leader took a few moments to help figure things out.

  I'd been fighting tears all day...overwhelm has a way of leaking out of my eyes. I lost it. A full on panic attack decided to rear its ugly head. After taking a few moments outside to gather myself together, it seemed prudent to go back in, pack up my kit and leave.

  I am proud of myself for leaving. This wasn't always the case. Before, I'd have just pushed through.

  To be fair, this is only the iceberg's tip. The trip to a busy, noisy, big resort and having no time to recover, really, because my septic bed is failing...it's going to cost a lot of money to fix it. I am working on getting quotes. It's a bit stressful to say the least. I ask the Lord to help me choose the right person for the job and will trust in His provision to pay for it.

  My car needs tending to as well.

  And it's tax time.

  Then I was asked to speak in church about my spiritual practice of using art as prayer. It came with a detailed list of parameters. The same person wanted to know more about it so I shared the little booklet designed for a three day retreat friends were thinking of organizing. All of a sudden, I am being asked to be part of a retreat or to run groups and when and what would it look like and we gotta do this now!!! It fits perfectly with the current teaching! When can we meet to talk about it?

  The tears are in my throat at the thought.

  It takes me several days to recover from a panic attack. It takes time to wind down the fight/flight response because once it's been ignited, it's quick to swing into full gear again. It's like being in red alert mode all the time.

  It makes me rather sad to feel this way because my anxiety levels had improved so much with the Gina program. Only God knows if I will ever be healed permanently. And I have to realize too, that feeling this way is also a trigger that reminds me of other panic attacks and the reasons they happened.

  I don't know if I will be up to playing in the service tomorrow. All my nerves are firing. It feels like the pins and needles you get when your arm falls asleep but it's caused by an adrenalin overload. 

  For now, in this moment, and for the rest of the day, I will lean into the Lord for His help as I walk the thin line between chaos and calm.  No one else will do.

  

 This has been a long post but I keep hearing the idea that all of this is about things I have no control over. Nothing says this more than a panic attack!

  Years ago, someone called me a control freak. It was rather unkind because the name calling came after she was trying to bully me into something I wasn't sure about. 

  Being unsure is okay. Slowing down is okay. Embracing my right to make my own decisions is okay Most of all, needing the time to think and pray before making a decision is the best choice of all. And maybe I need to let the important people in my life know this about me, I need time and space before jumping in.

  This is about boundaries, isn't it? The thin line of a different sort. 

  In closing, I have a request, dear readers. It's part of yesterday's deep, emotional impact. Please pray for an expectant, young, homeless woman who is addicted to fentanyl. She is walking her own thin lines. I can't give you her name, but God knows who she is and, sadly, she isn't the only one in this situation. 

  

  

  

Learning Curve

   "For the Lord God is our sun and our shield. He gives us grace and glory. The Lord will withhold no good thing from those who do what is right." Psalm 84:11

  My new laptop came without Word, the writing program. While I am able to create blogs on the Blogger platform, Word is a program vital for a writer. This morning began as an adventure into techie stuff.

  It was easy to find the Microsoft Office Suite I was looking for. Basically, you buy the package, download it and voila! There you have it. What irked me is Canadian websites and shopping opportunities were three to four times the price of US online shops even with taking the exchange rate into consideration! So I bought it from the US.

  Part of me, the one that is still wrapping my head around virtual purchases of virtual products, was skeptical about the whole process. I did use an official Microsoft store just to be safe. Safe and successful. Oh, and relieved the moment the Word icon appeared in my taskbar. It ended up being a whole lot easier than anticipated. It's a one and done.

  

  I haven't had much time to play around with this machine. It seemed to be lacking the little pictures of the sites visited the most, especially the Gmail one. Google is my friend even if it's called Edge. I wanted to have a quick shortcut to Gmail rather than going on line, finding the login...talk about impatient! 

  Long story short, I now know how to add icons to my taskbar! There's one for Gmail, Blogger and the public website readers can see. Must say I am feeling pretty proud of myself. 

  For sure there are people out there who would smile and wink at my ignorance but for the most part, my laptop is a fancy typewriter and that's about all.

  It's raining, heavily at times today. The spring peeper frogs started their nightly chorus earlier this week. It means spring is rapidly unfolding. Then there's a male robin who leaves me wondering if his brains haven't gotten scrambled somewhere along the line.

  My neighbours have a shiny, stainless steel chimney for their woodstove. This fellow has spent hours attacking his reflection, trying to drive the interloper from his territory. He has been doing this for days now. It's a wonder he isn't exhausted. I think it's the same bird that attacked my bedroom window the other morning. 

  Funny story: my housemate, her sister and I had arrived home late from a weeklong trip to the Dominican Republic. I was roused by what I thought was someone repeatedly opening and closing the dresser drawers in the other room. To be honest, it left me rather annoyed, having only had a few hours sleep but when I walked into the living room, the two of them were sitting quietly. Talk about being confused!

  The drawer scraping noise continued until I opened my bedroom curtain. Mr. Robin's wings beating at the window screen made the drawer scraping noise. I don't know who was more startled, him or me! Thankfully, the chimney is keeping him occupied so there hasn't been a repeat performance.

  This ole gal needs her sleep. 

  The trip was lovely. Sun, sand, beach and great food. There was even a miracle.

  I wear a necklace to help counteract the effects of EMF's. It never comes off because it truly helps. As I sat down after swimming, I was thoroughly dismayed to discover it was gone.

  After retracing my footsteps to the water's edge, I looked at the waves with a heavy heart.

  "Lord?" I thought, "The odds of me finding it are a gazillion to one, but You can."

  I returned to the beach chair and sat down.

  Within moments my friend cried out, "Don't move!" She bent over and pulled the half buried necklace out of the sand at my feet. 

  I have no words to describe the gratitude, the comfort this little miracle has poured into my heart on so many levels. That will be for another day.

  May God bless you with your own miracles, big and small.

  

Pattern

"For it was I, the Lord your God, who rescued you from the land of Egypt. Open your mouth wide, and I will fill it with good things." Psalm 81:10

  The ice berg Zentangle is complete. It was a mind stretching process, trying to come up with so many different patterns. I left some sections not filled in. The white spaces are expressions of gratitude. It's important to illustrate the healing the Lord has already achieved.

  

 The white spaces are also about hope. If so much can be changed, it's safe to rest in the understanding that more will come. Patience will prevail.

  I admit I'd like to know when this is going to happen...so much for patience...(smile.)

  The thing about change is it takes practice. It takes having safe people in your life to practice on! It takes having those same people cheering you on even when an attempt to put on the new fails. 

  It's not always easy. I think my biggest challenge is coming to understand that my instincts around an uncomfortable situation are right; that my red flags are to be trusted. 

  It's easier to take a flag down than to put one up.

  Am I afraid of being hurt? Now that's a good question. 

  Perhaps it might be better to say that I am slow to trust. Understandably so. 

  I got thinking about masks yesterday which actually ties into this. We all wear them don't we? Some wear masks of humanity to hide the monster beneath. Some wear monster masks because their humanity is incredibly vulnerable. 

  Ah, yes...the monsters. To be specific, the one in my closet. The one that everyone told me didn't exist. 

  He did, you know.

  I've grieved the lessons this first monster taught me because monsters are very, very real.

  God has restored much of what he and the others took but I've never thought about what was lost when others dismissed my childhood fears.

  Something happens when a child isn't believed. 

  Something far worse happens when a frightened child receives no comfort. 

  (There was a long pause after I wrote that last line...)

  The patterns which made up the identity God established in my soul at birth got blurred, got written over. New ones were written by the strength of shame and shadow.

  By the time my seventh birthday rolled around, I had Dysthymia. It's a form of chronic, low grade depression that wraps the heart, mind and soul in a blanket of fog. It created a mask I didn't even know I wore until being diagnosed in my forties.

  The diagnosis opened a door that had long been closed and with it, healing.

  Thank You, Lord, for giving me the strength to explore these painful events yet again. It sure takes a long time to unravel the complexities of deceptively simple patterns. More importantly, thank You for reinforcing my need to understand it wasn't all my fault. 

  The next pattern? I think it might have something to do with suppressed anger.

  

  

The Eye of the Beholder

   "But I say to you, anyone who looks on a woman to lust after her has committed adultery with her already in his heart." Mathew 5:28

  I don't presume to know what was in his heart as he constantly raked his eyes over my body but it's left me feeling like I need a shower...several of them.

  I ran into someone yesterday who hadn't been around for several years. The weight loss has changed my appearance drastically so he hadn't recognized me. When I came over, he looked me up and down...more than once...and continued to do this the whole time we were speaking. 

  As we caught up on all that's been going on since we last met, he commented on how good I looked. Yes, he praised the efforts being made to lose weight. But...his eyes constantly undressed me. At least, that's what it feels like when men do this. 

  It's an awful feeling. 

  And it's a huge trigger, this being objectified. It's having the living, breathing, feeling, person inside vanish or worse, be of no consequence.

  Jesus has fought too long and too hard to help me overcome the belief I was only a thing.

  This person is going to be someone I have more frequent dealings with. Not by choice but through circumstances. He needs to be told his wandering eyes are utterly unacceptable.

  I need to tell him because if he did it to me, he does it to other women.

  One of the subjects that's come up in the Gina program is understanding why it's more comfortable, more safe, being overweight. It makes you less desirable, less likely to attract the "wrong" sort of attention. My knee jerk reaction is to stop losing weight if this is what's in store.

  It means letting go of the improved self worth. It means letting go of the knowledge around how proper diet keeps the body running smoothly. It means letting go of how much better I feel mentally.

  Because of one man? Are you kidding me? His eyes don't deserve that kind of sacrifice.

 

  What is needed is a strategy to put a very clear boundary in place: a Gandalf boundary that speaks firmly, "You shall not pass!!" I need a metaphorical staff to hammer into the ground...although...having a real one might come in handy. (Smile.)

  I need to show up fully clad in the Armor of God and trust the Holy Spirit to give me the words this man will hear, respect and obey. I need it because this gal is quaking in her boots. Not only setting a boundary but also demanding a change in behavior from a big man who towers over me is scary to say the least. 

  Jesus says, "Be not afraid."

  I'll try because I did stop him from giving me a hug when he left. I simply said, "No."

  

  Wow. The battle is already won.

  

  

  

  

The Ice Berg

  "Let my soul be at rest again, for the Lord has been good to me." Psalm 116:7

  The art called. An image of an iceberg took shape beneath my pen over the course of several hours. It's not finished yet but the time spent has given me an opportunity to meditate on all that it means. It's a hope filled symbol due to the transient nature of ice bergs.

  I ended up doing the underwater section like a Zentangle. Each facet of the berg will have a different pattern. It seemed to be a good way to illustrate all the experiences which shaped it in the first place.

  As I draw, my heart and mind opens to hear what the Lord has to say. What began as a way to illustrate the hidden impact of PTSD has evolved under the tender guidance of the Holy Spirit.

   I got thinking about all the videos showing massive ice bergs flipping over. Mini tsunamis cause the sea to boil as the water wrestles with the force of solid ice surrendering to the inevitable. 

  I got thinking of the photos taken off the coast of Newfoundland showing a parade of gleaming blue and white hunks of ice. They have no choice but to follow the current...south...into the warmth that will render them nothing more than fresh water diluted by the salty sea.

  This has become a lesson in kindness. 

  It's a hard lesson for me to grasp. That's part of PTSD, too. Having a long track record of being treated without kindness means I never learned how. I never thought I deserved such a thing. Kindness was something other people needed...deserved...were entitled to have.

  

  The Gina Livy food program is still being followed. I've still more weight to lose but this part of my life is a whole other post.

  Every morning, I've been choosing "Be Kind" as one of my daily intentions because being hard on myself means I am hard on others. Personal expectations have a way of becoming judgements when others don't think or act the same way.

  

  Patterns of behavior...hmmm...ice berg facets...events...lessons...pain...truth that isn't truth...shame...guilt...fear...shutting down...shutting out...

  And grief.

  Once I was only three...the glacier dipped its toes in the sea and a crack began to form.

  Now I am almost sixty...the iceberg that was calved so long ago is about to tip over...can you feel it?

  

  

 

  

  

  

  

  

After the Fear

 "Let them praise the Lord for His great love and for the wonderful things He has done for them. For He broke down their prison gates of bronze; He cut apart their bars of iron." Psalm 107:15-16

  I had an appointment with my psychiatrist yesterday afternoon which gave me a chance to talk about what was written yesterday. He said something that has given me pause for thought.

  He mentioned PTSD and how triggers can influence our reactions to various circumstances.

  There's the big reactions, the panic attacks, the full on fight/flight responses that get Triggered because of past Trauma. But there's another side of it, triggers associated with trauma.

  The capital T Traumas are those that shape our understanding of ourselves and our place in the world in an instant that remains frozen in time forever. The little t traumas are all those micro events which work together to destroy our understanding of ourselves and our place in the world.

  It's complicated.

  It means allowing my understanding of truth to be adjusted. What I believe is what I believe but that perception, perhaps, has gotten skewed due to the simple matter that my personal fight/flight/freeze/fawn response is particularly quick to act. I become a deer in the headlights when this happens. 

  It happens a lot.

  Because I have been prey for the predators; the kind with a capital P and a little p.

  Which means I think and act like a prey animal: wary and constantly sniffing the air. Hence the fear. And while I am not cognizant of this all the time, sitting here writing about it makes me aware of just how "on" I am all the time. It's why I perceive things as an attack when maybe they aren't...and if they are? I am ahead of the game by already running away or, perversely, shutting down (fawning) rather than sticking around to find out otherwise.

  Do deer ever feel safe?

  The situation with the worship team leader is the tip of a very big iceberg made up of all the times I wasn't heard or allowed to have a say. To be fair, she knows very little about my story. That's something else the doc suggested. Maybe it's possible to have a conversation with her about it all.

  "When you are ready," he said, "And not because I said you have to."

 There can be no love without choice.

  I think what's also very disconcerting is when I played on Sunday, there was a level of disassociation taking place. This, too, happens frequently but again, it's so automatic I am not even aware it's happening. 

  It's fawn's cousin and another coping mechanism used by prey animals. It happens when the predator is about to win. I firmly believe God gave the hunted the ability to separate their awareness from the world around them so death wasn't so painful.

  

  It all all boils down to instinct. The survival methods of fight, et al, and the disassociation that kept me putting one foot in front of the other served a purpose during dark and terrible times. 

  Those times are over. Jesus opened the bronze, prison bars a long time ago. 

  I just need my primitive, survival oriented brain to get with the program. 

  Lord, hear my cry. Show me where to find the off switch! In Jesus name, AMEN!

  PS. I frequently find myself wrestling with the idea that Trauma's offspring are sinful; that the fear, and the associated automatic coping mechanisms are sinful because it means I don't trust Jesus. Nothing could be farther from the truth. The bronze gates may be open but there's still iron bars that need Jesus' love, strength, patience, grace and wisdom to shatter into oblivion. 

  Oh, and I need His light to melt a flotilla of icebergs, too.

  

  

  

Fear

   "For I hold you by your right hand--I, the Lord your God. And I say to you, "Don't be afraid. I am here to help you." Isaiah 41:13

  I have come to realize my life is governed by fear. 

  Self doubt wars with a fear of success. My battle with poor self-esteem is at war with the confidence I seek to embrace yet fear that it will appear as arrogance and conceit. I am afraid of the new because I am afraid old patterns will take over. I am afraid to fail yet, at the same time, the thought of success is equally terrifying. I am afraid of commitment because committing comes with being abandoned and rejected. I am afraid to get it wrong...

  So instead, I do nothing. I bury myself in knitting, in shutting down, in non-thinking because to think is to stir the pot. Knitting fills my mind with counting, with numbers, and wraps it in a security blanket of concentration. All the while, the fears nip at my soul.

  We performed a song yesterday at church, "Made for More" by Josh Baldwin and Jenn Johnston. 

  "I wasn't made to be tending a grave. I was called by name. Born and raised back to life again. I was made for more."

  It was the first time I'd played since Christmas. A much needed break was an opportunity to get my flute serviced which ended up taking longer than anticipated. 

  Most of the time our worship team leader creates a flute part for me but there wasn't one for this song. It meant I could sing. This is a rare thing.

  Several months ago, I'd asked her if singing sometimes would be an option. This request was met with fierce resistance. I guess I am a flute player and that's my role. The end.

  I get it. I get that the flute adds a rich dimension to our performances. I get it that its sweet sound brings joy to others. I get it that we have terrific vocalists who have sung together for years and have mastered many intricate harmonies. 

  I don't know how to harmonize.

  But I could learn a song or two if someone would teach me.

  Because I can sing with the kind of vocal control that enables me to match my vibrato to the lead singer's vibrato. Not doing this would mean my voice would clash with everyone else's.

  It took a huge amount of courage for me to ask in the first place. Maybe she doesn't know

how fear usually stops me from asking for what I want or need. Maybe she doesn't realize she's done what so many others have done when I dared to voice a need or a want. Maybe she doesn't realize she's shut down any hope of being something more than a flute player. Maybe she doesn't realize the cost of my capitulation or the cost of being contained in a role designed by someone else. 

Maybe she doesn't know because I am afraid to tell her.

  "I wasn't made to be tending a grave. I was called by name. Born and raised back to life again. I was made for more."

  I was made for more.

  AMEN!

 

  

  

Redeemer

   Praise the Lord, who did not let their teeth tear us apart! We escaped like a bird from a hunter's trap. The trap is broken, and we are free! Our help is from the Lord, who made heaven and earth." Psalm 124:6-8

  I have a wedding shower to go to in a couple of weeks. The engaged couple are planning on homesteading. This means they will have animals. Right now, their plan is to invest in chickens and goats. They have minimal experience with any sort of farming.

  As part of their gift, I decided to write down things I learned on the farm; the type of things you don't find in books. I came up with nearly a hundred and seventy five thoughts, suggestions and words of advice. I could have written more but simply remembering has come with an emotional toll.

  This meant remembering those unhappy days. They weren't all unhappy but hindsight has me realizing depression was my constant companion in this season of my life. It makes it difficult to find the joy.

  The thing about time is it folds. It felt like yesterday even though it's been nearly twenty years. The remembered smell of the barn is filling my nostrils.

  The thing about raising animals is there is no middle ground. There is life. There is death.

  The deaths haunt me. Every loss took a piece of my heart because in those days, I didn't know Jesus. We've had many a long talk about what happened in those long years when I was responsible for the animals. I know He has forgiven me. 

  The couple have an advantage. They have Google. If there's a question, chances are the answer can be found there. They also have each other and Jesus.

  I never wanted to farm. It sort of fell into my lap because there happened to be a barn on the property. At its biggest, I was looking after nearly 50 sheep and goats, a dozen or so cows and calves, seven horses, numerous fowl of all descriptions, a pair of llamas and a couple of pet pigs. I have no idea how or why it got so big.

  My no was broken. Except when it came to the buffalo my ex wanted. I told him I would leave if he bought them. They are not domestic animals. They are dangerous. They need heavy duty fencing. We had none of that. Heck, our pathetic fences couldn't even keep the cows in!

  The buffalo owner was killed by one of his animals the next summer.

  To this day, seeing Orion's belt in the night sky gives me a twinge of panic. When it showed up, it meant babies were coming soon. It meant the work load doubled with barn checks, bottle babies, and loss. I wasn't always there to make sure things were okay despite checking the barn every four hours. Sometimes, I would sleep on the sofa without undressing because getting out of a warm bed on a frigid March night was nearly impossible.

  The responsibility weighed heavy.

  Fear was my constant companion.

  And maybe that's what has gotten stirred up the most...the remembered fears. 

  But maybe there's some room for grace this morning...I did the best I could with the tools and resources I had at the time. I did the best that I could despite the challenges of living with an alcoholic spouse who was really stupid around the animals and farm equipment. It's a wonder he wasn't killed. It's a wonder he didn't get me killed. 

  His handling of the animals was all about dominance and control. Not surprising, really, it was the same with our marriage.

  My handling of the animals was all about moving slowly and quietly.

  So maybe the fear was a good thing. It made me careful. It made me spend time handling and taming all our breeding stock so if there was an issue, I could step in. New moms can be dangerous if they feel their offspring is being threatened so building trust was very important. They trusted me, their shepherd.

  My youngest son was a big help in the latter years. I am thankful for that. Not only helping with innumerable chores, he'd bring me something warm to drink or check that I was okay during the long, cold hours of waiting for babies.

  I mastered the art of being still which has served me well in my walk with the Lord.

  

  I think I've found some peace today. Writing down my farm advice is a redemption story, isn't it? The Lord has given me an opportunity to share the knowledge accumulated over the course of several years because this gal was raised in the city and didn't have a clue when it came to farming. 

  I can celebrate how much my shepherding experiences have been transferred to a walk with Jesus. I can celebrate the insights they have given me about the greatest Shepherd of all.

  He is the Redeemer!

  In remembering the pain I experienced with each loss, it is only a fraction of what Jesus must feel when one of His lambs is lost.

  

Sorrow

   "The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I (Jesus) have come that they may have life, and have it to the full." John 10:10

  There seems to be an issue with the blog. Some of the writing has been black instead of white. Against a black background, it makes it hard to read. It's only happened since purchasing this new laptop. It might be prudent to experiment with some of the settings to see if that will fix the problem. Barring that, there's always customer service. I will see what I can do.

  My heart is heavy today. It has been since yesterday. Word on the street is the young man we saved from an overdose at the beginning of the year has died. Police have yet to confirm if it was him or not but I'll trust the grapevine on this. Any official announcement may have to wait until next of kin have been found and notified. 

  He must have died all alone.

  I didn't know much about him. He was someone's son and possibly a brother, a cousin, a nephew or even an uncle. His family was the people on the streets and they feel his loss keenly.

  I voiced a thought about why on earth drug dealers are making their products so lethal. A new animal tranquilizer has made an appearance in illegal drugs. It's far more potent than fentanyl. None of this makes any sort of sense from a business perspective. Someone replied that for one death, nine people become  hooked. Opiods can create an instant addiction, an instant need for more. One and done. So it's not about creating a lethal product, it's about numbers and dollars. I guess one death is an acceptable loss to them. 

  It's hard not to judge the dealers and manufacturers of these products. It's hard not to condemn the power of greed. It's hard not to hate them for their utter disregard for their fellow human beings because I doubt they see them as people at all. Maybe they lost their own humanity somewhere along the line. Maybe their own fathoms deep Black River is drowning them and holding them captive in the life they lead just like mine did for so many years. 

  And I may need to keep telling myself this...there is only one being who delights in darkness, death and destruction. He is the real enemy here: the master at whittling away at all that is good and pure and beautiful. 

  No child ever says they want to be a drug dealer when they grow up, do they?

  

  I never saw the young man after we saved his life. Illness took me out of the scene completely. I never got to tell him about what God had orchestrated to save his life. I never got to tell him how much he was loved. 

  Regret causes its own sorrow. 

  God forgive me.

  

  

  

  

Cares

   "We also pray that you will be strengthened with all His glorious power so you will have all the endurance and patience you need." Colossians 1:11

  My eyes are healing. The ear, not so much. It still feels like a bucket of water is sloshing around in my head. I am still off work because head stuff always comes with a cough. It's drained my energy, too, this having to strain to hear coupled with how hard the body is working to get better. Although energy does come in fits and bursts.

  I did a jigsaw puzzle over the last few days. A knitted vest is getting closer to being finished. After doing so much for others, I wanted to do something for myself. It was finished once but was too small so I ripped the whole thing out and started again because I like the yarn. There's something mesmerizing about watching the process. It often leaves me wondering who invented knitting? 

  Birdwatching is a favorite past time. I love the variety that come to the feeder. The Juncos in their tuxedos. The Chickadees with their pert little voices. The Mourning Doves fly in on whistling wings. A Downy woodpecker is a frequent visitor. Yesterday there was even a flash of crimson when a male cardinal stopped by to check things out. There's probably a half dozen more bird types that visit and a couple of mammals bundled up in squirrel fur. One of them has quite a few white patches in his black coat so it's easy to identify him.

  The TV has been on. Yesterday was spent watching a bad disaster movie marathon.

  As the knitting needles click, my mind wanders. It keeps returning to a postcard memory from long ago. We must have been camping somewhere. I was a little girl. To be up after dark was a rare treat. The night summer air was still and cool. I remember standing in the middle of the road under a streetlight. The tarmac radiated warmth from the day. Turning and spinning, I watched bats fly over head. They swooped and dove, hunting for the insects attracted by the light. I wasn't afraid of them because the sounds they made were fascinating. No one else could hear them. Just me.

  I haven't been able to hear them for a long time. 

  Now I have to ask, why does this make me so sad?

  Why am I so afraid my ear will be permanently damaged?

  Cause I am, you know, afraid.

  

Assurance

   "Do not be afraid or discouraged, for Lord will personally go ahead of you. He will be with you; He will neither fail you nor abandon you." Deuteronomy 31:18

  It's earlier than I cared to be up this morning but my brain started racing before the alarm sounded. Not that going to work is on the agenda today. Pink eye has been added to the illness mix. It's in both eyes. I look like I have the world's worst hangover. It kind of feels that way, too.

  In the midst of all the health challenges, I've been thinking a lot about my job and the emotional toll it has caused over the last couple of weeks. It's not what I signed up for. It's not what it was pre-covid.

  On the way to the police station to deliver the dolls the other day, I drove through the downtown core. It's identical to a thousand million other small towns in North America. One of the visitors was standing on the sidewalk. It wasn't the nicest day to be outside but they don't have somewhere to go to be inside. It has been at the forefront of my thoughts since then: a postcard memory seared into the synapses of the mind.

  

  Early in my Christian walk, I asked the Lord what lay in my future and until I drove past this person, it had completely slipped my mind. Jesus gave me a vision of a concrete world with noisy traffic and city smells. There was no green anywhere. It was an oppressive and hope swallowing place. It was both bitterly cold and tongue caking hot.

  It left me feeling utterly devastated that God would ask me to go there when He knew how much I hate cities.

  Fast forward eighteen years and here I am, in town, working in a concrete jungle that has gradually grown busier and busier over the years. It smells like a city with the perpetual aroma of car exhaust tainting the air. There is very little green except for a few straggling trees. Nevertheless, here I am doing exactly what the Lord had in store for me. Serving those who need it the most. And it comes with a paycheck. 

  As for the emotional cost? The day the people I serve no longer touch my heart is the day I need to quit.

Distraction

   "May all my thoughts be pleasing to Him, for I rejoice in the Lord." Psalm 104:34

  I ended up at the doctor's again today. My eardrum blew. It's very painful so I thought I'd write a bit to try and distract myself.

  She was totally blown away by the difference since yesterday. 

  It came on fast last night. One minute my ear was fine, the next it was clogged. I thought it might be because of the weather; the storm that's dropping wet snow by the bucketful. Barometric pressure headaches are not unusual. 

  Earlier today, the eardrum let go. It sounded like a balloon when you squeeze the end and let the air out. 

  It happened again just before I called the doc. 

  It's no wonder babies cry when they have sore ears.

  I joked with the doctor, saying I am not a wuss about pain. After she confirmed my diagnosis, she smiled and said, "Yes, a torn eardrum is very painful! No. You are not a wuss."

  I like her, a lot.

  She was more taken aback by the fact I was her 4th such person this week. Makes you wonder what's going on.

  Fever and conspiracy theories are not a good combination so I'll let this go.

  The doc also advised me to get a hearing test done once things have healed. It could take as long as a month. Please pray there is no permanent damage. 

  Today, I am grateful. For the health care system we have here. For the means to pay for the medicine. Having access to the medicine is a blessing.

  I am grateful for the snowstorm appointment cancellations even though it was a bit dicey getting up the hill...speedometer read 80, the car was only doing 30 as the wheels spun in the slush. I don't know if I could have waited until tomorrow to see her.

  I am most grateful for my friend who got out a selection of essential oils to use as a decongestant. She's going to pick up my scripts on her way home from work. I am grateful most of all that I am not having to do everything on my own. 

  Oh...and thank you Lord, for the inventors of Advil. 

Heard

   "Furthermore, because we are united with Christ, we have received an inheritance from God, for He chose us in advance, and He makes everything work out according to His plan." Ephesians 1:1

  I am just back from seeing my family doctor to talk with her about what happened at the hospital. She was very surprised to hear about the pain I experienced having a polyp removed. It's unusual. In five years, she's only heard of a couple of women who have felt any sort of major pain.

  We discussed possible scenarios should this procedure need to happen again in the future. There's a chance the polyp could grow back. She told me I have the right to ask for an anesthetic of some sort. There's options from full out sedation, partial sedation or a spinal. It may mean a longer wait time but I'll gladly wait rather than go through what happened again. The cost to my mental health is too high.

  She was more concerned about my inability to stop the doctor from proceeding and affirmed that I had every right to have done so. I needed to hear that. I needed to be told it was okay. I guess crying out in pain wasn't enough. I didn't say the magic word...stop.

  Man, I am a mess...I left the doctor's office feeling validated and heard. More importantly, I felt cared for. She even checked out my blood pressure (it's a bit high,) then throat and ears and listened to me hack up a lung thanks to this virus. 

  Prior to Christmas, I'd knit up a slew of small stuffed dolls and toys. It seemed like a good day to take them to the police station for the officers to use. They often carry stuffed toys in their cruisers to have on hand whenever a call involves children. The donation was greatly appreciated.

  Maybe I knit them to try and capture some innocence. Maybe I knit them to try and stave off the dissonance that was birthed in the hospital. Triggered memories of traumatic events create this shadowland that has the potential to swallow you whole. Even though I celebrate and am fully aware that Jesus is with me, the joy in this knowledge feels like it's at war with the gamut of dark thoughts and irrepressible emotions. Maybe it is. Maybe the joy is trying to vanquish the shadows. 

  I feel like I have my feet in two worlds.

  Stop. Please, stop. 

  And maybe, tomorrow, I'll feel a whole lot better. Heck...maybe all I need is a nap.

  

 

  

  

Drawing Near

 "Teach me your ways, O Lord, that I may live according to your truth! Grant me purity of heart, so that I may honour you." Psalm 86:11

  Whatever bug has decided to take up residence in this ole body is preventing me from attending church this morning. It's the kind of morning I desperately needed to go, to worship, to pray, to draw near my Lord. Thankfully, I wasn't playing the flute this morning because the decision was made in December to take January off. God knew, didn't He? 

  The time off is doing double duty because it's an opportunity to get my flute serviced which takes about three weeks. It was starting to randomly squeak. Turns out, the keys need an alignment. They are also going to take a look at the tuning because it plays very sharp and I need to have the headpiece out almost an inch to get it in tune to the other musicians. There is a special cork in the headpiece that can be adjusted but that's better left to those who know what they are doing!

  I keep circling back to the events of the past week, trying to wrap my head around everything: the actual events, the triggered memories, the emotional upwelling that comes with all of this. It's hard to not let it weigh me down too much because, as much as there is a boatload of ugly, I need to focus on Jesus' presence and acknowledge He was there. He always is.

  He waits for us to turn our eyes on Him no matter where we are in life. 

  I wish I could share this with the person who was resurrected this week. I wish I could share of all the things God put in place to make this happen. I wish I could tell them how much they are loved, regardless of their life circumstances and situations.

  Their shame is keeping them away. 

  Sadly, the seduction song of drugs means they will do it all over again and I have no idea if there will be someone there to save them. I ask this of You, Lord, save them as many times as it takes.

  I would love for their testimony to be an amazing story of lost and found because you know something? All of us are lost in some form or another without Jesus. It's exactly where the devil wants us: floundering about in the shadowlands, blinded and in pain. 

 There are those in this world who make a profit from it. They make money because pain causes the need, the need causes pain which amplifies the need. It's a perpetually set fowler's snare.

  One of my favorite books, a tale of rabbits called Watership Down, has a part where one of the rabbits gets caught by a snare. The others team up to help him escape. One of the group knew enough about the shining wire to dig out the peg that was buried deep in the ground. It's what held the wire tight. It took the biggest rabbits to dig and the smallest rabbits to go into the hole and chew the stake apart. Bigwig was freed once the taught wire was released.

  I am left thinking that the peg is a metaphor for the untold stories, the secrets, the experiences leading to a need for mind numbing substances including alcohol. 

  There is always, always a peg.

  Some of us are simply better at hiding it.

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

In A Name

   "The Lord is watching everywhere, keeping his eye on both the evil and the good." Proverb 15:3

  I heard someone call someone else, "It." 

  This exchange is weighing heavily on my heart, triggering the memories of when I was treated as one, too. No one ever called me this to my face. They didn't have to. Neglect, disregard, and oppression drove home the lesson that I was sub-human and not worth the air I breathed.

  On top of all that has happened this week, my health has taken a hit and is struggling to fight one of the many viruses that are floating around. 

  I was talking with my friend about what happened and came to realize of all the names, of all the insults humans have to fire at each other, this one is not about how someone is behaving. 

  I and T together are two letters that suffocate the light of another person's existence. 

  Even if IT is only in our thoughts! Merely thinking IT of another human being warps our perceptions of just how valuable that person is to Jesus.

  Decades ago, I spoke up...one of the very few times I ever did...when my ex brother-in-law referred to his current girlfriend multiple times in a row as, "It." 

  He was standing, leaning against the kitchen counter with a never-ending beer in his hand. I was sitting at the table. My first reaction was shock that he would even use such a name for her. Then I leapt up. I didn't shout or scream. I simply looked him in the eyes and used my momma bear voice...low, succinct and projected. It was my serious, line-in-the-sand voice that would make my children sit up and take notice.

  "She is not an IT! She is a person! I never want to hear you say that about her again." 

  He was very surprised because he had never seen me as angry as I was. He never used this term within my hearing again. However, if he used it about someone he was supposed to love to the point he actually proposed to her, for sure my ex used this expression as well. They were two peas in a pod who saw women as objects, as sub-human. 

  The girlfriend said, "No." They broke up shortly after. 

  God intervened and got me out of there not long after all this took place.

  Like so many years ago, I intervened yesterday. It was all I could do to remain calm and in control even though I was transported through time to the kitchen at the farm. God enabled me to remain present enough to deal with what was happening in the moment. 

  I am a peacemaker. It is part of who God calls me to be. If it takes a momma bear voice, I give thanks that God gave me one and the insight to use it as needed.

  I'll say this, though, I hate flashbacks. They are extremely powerful memories. They come without warning. The scent of beer filled my nostrils yesterday. It hasn't completely gone away yet.

   The hardest part is remembering my own inner self from those days. How I felt. Who I thought I was and the lies I believed about myself all climb aboard the flashback lightening bolt. You literally become who you once were through the force of memory.

  It takes time to recover, to un-remember these things because God has poured new life into me over the last couple of decades. I am not the same women I was sitting at the kitchen table.

  Maybe I need to pay her some honor today. Despite feeling like an invisible woman, I spoke up against what I knew was wrong. Despite being so afraid all the time, I said something to my ex brother-in-law.

  And yesterday? Even thought the flashback nearly overwhelmed my mind, I spoke up because it mattered.

  Girl? God was with you at the farm. He was with you yesterday. And will be with you through all the tomorrows yet to come. 

  AMEN!

 

  

  

Divine Timing

   "Give justice to the poor and the orphan; uphold the rights of the oppressed and the destitute. Rescue the poor and helpless; deliver them from the grasp of evil people." Psalm 82:3-4

  A life was saved yesterday.

  My co-worker felt a sense of urgency to deliver Naloxone kits to work on Saturday. She does not work Saturday. We are not open on the weekend.

  Our supply of kits was completely gone until she refilled our cupboard.

  Yesterday, it was nearing closing. A group had gathered out front and I felt a sense of urgency to go outside and join them. I confess to being a smoker. Joining the group outside is a great way to connect with people and get to know them.

  A person staggered up to the group obviously under the influence of something. Someone encouraged them to sit on the steps before they fell down. Minutes later, this person fell face first to the ground. They were not breathing. There was no heartbeat.

  We had only received our Naloxone training at the start of December. It is not hard. It is a nasal spray designed to offset the lethal impact of an opioid overdose. The team came together and acted as a unit to do what needed to be done to save a life.

  The sound of sirens was music to my ears.

  Seeing the person who had been dead climb into the ambulance was one of the most beautiful sights I have ever seen.

  Had my co-worker not delivered the kits, had I not been outside, had the team not been trained, had this person not come to the centre, the outcome could have been drastically different. 

  I know there are people out there who feel an overdose death means one less addict on the streets. I know there are people who feel those who die got their just desserts because of their lifestyle choices.

  Then why did God orchestrate all the things that needed to happen to save this life? And why this life? Why not all the others who have died due to an accidental overdose?

  It's a question I have no answer to and probably won't until I have the chance to ask Him personally.

  Very few people overdose with the intent to die by suicide.

  If you are a recreational drug user, keep a Naloxone kit with you at all times. Make sure it's visible and easily found by others because it's not just the hard drugs that are laced with opioids. Fentanyl is showing up in marihuana purchased on the streets. It may be cheaper than buying it at a store (cannabis is legal in Canada) but the risk is huge.   

  The number of accidental overdose deaths is exploding. There were five suspected such deaths in our town last week. There were nearly 25 overdose events that required EMS services.

  Sons and daughters, brothers and sisters are dying. It is not just the homeless. It's everywhere and I have no idea how to stop it except to say to everyone: 

 Get a Naloxone kit or two from your pharmacy. 

 They are free.

 Familiarize yourself with how to use it because the next accidental overdose could happen to someone you know and love.