**I wrote this a few weeks ago during a relapse in my depression and anxiety. It’s a touch snarkier than usual and raw. But sometimes honesty is all we have.**
Switched meds on Tuesday. I was only on a very low dose of anti-anxiety medicine but because the anxiety had become so severe, my psychiatrist was curious if there was an underlying mood disorder. And with my family history of bipolar, would anyone be surprised? No. So, onto a mood stabilizer I go.
Tommy and I recently got hooked on one of those ridiculous reality wilderness shows. In this particular version people are given approximately 30 minutes of survival training and then left (to die in my opinion) in the middle of Alaska. They start out as a crew of 25 and each person receives GPS “panic button” device. At any point, if they want to give up, they push the button and a helicopter appears seemingly out of nowhere and whisks them away (to the hospital usually). Um no. This is not the life for me.
I have a love/hate relationship with Facebook’s throwback feature. I open my Facebook feed in the morning and get a reminder of what happened "on this day" two years ago…"on this day" 4 years ago…"on this day" 12 years ago…
Sometimes the memory is innocuous. Oh wow, I ate an apple with the sticker attached and felt the need to share that information with the world.
“Get a Chesapeake Bay Retriever,” they said. “They don’t shed,” they said. Lies. All lies. In the past year since we adopted our bear-sized Chesapeake, Drake, I am pretty sure I’ve eaten more dog hair than some dogs grow over their lifetime. It feels like there is dog hair in everything, on everything, from the carpet and the furniture, to our clothes and the kids’ toys. Dog hair. It’s inescapable. Why, Lord? Why?
What a mess. You have an opinion on the current NFL protest, and so do I.
But, this isn’t another blog post to tell you why you’re right or wrong about the flag, whatever your position might be. It isn’t another blog post defending one side and criminalizing the other.
I am just not going to debate this with you.
It’s been two years, Beloved. Two years since the Lord brought us together. Did you remember? I did. I remember how uncertain I felt, how tentative. I remember because I was so fearful, so hesitant. I remember because I did not know if my heart would love you, could love you. And it wasn’t you. It was me, me with my wounds and hurts, my aches and sadness. I came to you, wondering if I had a single thing to give you, if I had even a solitary word to offer up.
Lately, I’ve been wishing for a magic wand. Nothing fancy or obnoxious, just a simple little wand that I could wave and voila! All better! I’d start with my toddler’s bruised-beyond-recognition shins, and then move on to my 4-year-olds giant knee scab she keeps reopening.
But then I’d move on to the big stuff. Like those few marriages in my church that seems to be withering on the vine. Then I’d wave it over the homes of the family that lost their son in his prime. Next, the young retiree who got that terminal diagnosis and the family who lost yet another baby to miscarriage.
To the Mama-Student
To the one packing her kids’ lunch boxes while skimming her own class schedule
To the one snapping and posting the first day of school pics, as she sits in her car waiting for her own first day of classes to begin
To the one who went back, when the kids were grown and gone, to pursue her own hibernating dream
A couple years ago, some friends asked us to join them at a Dinner Theater in KC. The show was going to be the musical “Joseph and the Technicolor Coat.” I had never seen it but I had heard rave reviews and was eager to see if for myself. My husband, Tommy, came along for the buffet.
The show lived up to the hype. In the opening scene, the costumes were vibrant, the music captivating, the orchestra full of energy. But as the first song came to an end, Tommy leans over and with dismay in his voice says, “Is this a musical?!?” It would be a long 2.5 hours for him.
I was listening to the news on the radio the other day when one of those stories came on. You know the kind, the kind where someone does something utterly heinous to a child and leaves you shaking your head in horror. Some days, I can hear those stories, grieve the sadness, and then go about my day. But other times, the heaviness of the brokenness in Creation crushes me, leaving me gasping for breath, wondering when the Kingdom will come in its fullness.
Too often our preaching neglects this ugly underbelly of existence, particularly the hurts that are almost too painful to speak aloud: abuse, rape, neglect. When us preachers fail to give voice to those deep, ugly sins and hurts, I fear we leave our people and their aches unaddressed, wondering if there truly is a Word from the Lord.