A New Broken

I recently returned home from a two week trip in Vienna, and the warm welcome I had envisioned quickly turned dark when I was faced with a loved one's bitterly painful betrayal.  Less than 24 hours into my arrival back in the states, I struggled through sleep deprivation turned depression to process the unexpected unpacking of hurtful actions.  It all seemed so unfair given what I had already endured spiritually, mentally, and emotionally during the weeks I had been away.  I simply didn't feel strong enough to handle a single thing more. My first full day back, I walked through the hours mostly tearful as I asked God why He would allow something so heavy to be put on me at a time when I was already so weak and vulnerable.  Since then, 2 Corinthians 12:9 that says "My grace is sufficient for you..." has continued to make its way into my mind and heart.  Well "I can't do this," I told the Lord, but with every "I can't" He reminded me with Philippians 4:13 that "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me." This brought me to the bigger problem. I didn't want to.  Mine wasn't a problem of strength or ability because with the Holy Spirit, both were remedied.  Mine was a heart problem and I was only just beginning to see the shades of a new broken.

The Boundary of Me

Part of what I love so much about writing is the eraser.  Before I ever produce something for publication, I get at least a hundred do overs.  I need those.  You wouldn't think I would have to erase or backspace anything in the meager lines you now read, but backspace I have indeed.  I would love to say that writing comes easily to me, but the truth is it doesn't.  Like most things in my life, I have to work really hard to produce anything of substance and to be honest, I'm not always sure what I write is "of substance." I try though and I hope it is, if not for all, then at least for some. In either case, I thank God for the eraser and backspace button.  It's like they were made just for me and I love them. Especially today.  As I type now, I sit in a hotel room in Vienna marveling over my current place in time and space.  I find myself torn between a bleeding desire to return home and a painful and curious determination to remain.  What will come of it all, I don't yet know.  I simply pray for the wisdom to recognize God's leading as it comes. And it  does come. Every fiber of my being knows He is directing my path, and so often it seems to be facing the opposite direction of where my feet aim to walk.  Sometimes run.  Have you ever walked backwards on a treadmill?  It's an odd feeling until you get used to the movement, and for me, being in Vienna has been a backwards walk on a treadmill that moves only forward.  To ease the feeling of inconsistency and incompatibility, I reach to turn it off, but the switch is just out of my grasp and I must continue.  My feet are somehow clumsily moving forward but facing what's behind, and I sense that in a way I'm stuck between two worlds. I have one foot out and one foot in, but into what?  I wonder still, but it seems the boundary is of me...

Dare to Believe

When I woke up today my thoughts immediately jump kicked out of bed and began karate chopping away at the peace to which I so desperately wanted to cling.  In response I pulled the covers up over my head and purposed to fall back into a deep sleep.  Ordinarily I would be surprised if the burial of my head under pillows and covers worked post-sun rise, but lately I've been going two and three weeks without a day off so when I woke up another two hours later I wasn't surprised, just pleased.  Inevitably, however, I did eventually have to emerge from my pillow cave and let the day begin, but this time I reigned in my mental martial artist and decided to take the day off.  I've struggled with the decision ever since.  As I've unsuccessfully attempted to shut out thoughts of my next two psych report write ups, taping a case formulation on a client I don't yet have, and finishing the proposal chapter for my dissertation, my mind has also wandered to the doubt and insecurity I've felt over certain decisions I've recently had to make. While most people would see the circumstances I'm in as the opportunity of a lifetime, for me they have been a source of excitement and courage meets despair and cowardice.  In my last post I wrote about taking risks and being brave, and at that time I hadn't decided yet whether or not I could handle making the tough call to step outside the borders of what I know and trust.  To leave my comfort zone for even one day is a huge test of faith and undertaking for me, and as I've spent time trying to dig up the roots of my fears and anxieties, I realized something about the ill way in which I sometimes perceive God.  First, He's not out to get me for the things I've done wrong in my past. He truly loves me and wants what is best for me. The words of Jeremiah 29:11 that say His plans are to prosper me and not to harm me, to give me a hope and a future, really are true.  I just have to dare to believe...

A Work in Progress..

www.bubblews.com

In the last few weeks I've been on a sort of mental sabbatical from the arduous demands of my life.  I allowed myself to get lost in a series of reflections and musings as I comprehensively studied the lives of others. Though I was physically present here in the moment, I was mentally and emotionally worlds away as I immersed myself in others' way of thinking, acting, and relating.  It was nice to somehow be a part of their life's picture even if from afar, and interestingly, when the time came to return to my own place in this world I was a colorful mix of melancholy and peace.  I was saddened by the goodbye to another time and place, but relieved to be back to what I know, even if what I know is almost nothing at all.  In a way I felt that the perspective I had gained in recent days somehow prepared me for what waits ahead, though I don't yet know what that is.  One thing, however, is pristinely clear - this life is meant to be lived, not feared.

Surrender Me

In the last eight months, my life has gone from busy to chaotic to nonsensical, or at least that's how it sometimes feels when I'm trying to juggle the demands between work, school, family, and life in general. I recall several weeks ago a supervisor at work kindly (seriously, he really was quite gentle about it) telling me and a few other Interventionists that he didn't know what else to tell us because "it just has to get done" with regards to one of our daily assignments. Bottom line - do it and leave the excuses at the door.  Around the same time, I sat in one of my classes listening to an instructor speak very similar words.  "I don't know what to tell you, it has to get done." Bottom line?  Do it and leave the excuses at the door.  The problem? I was three dissertation assignments behind, had practicum interviews coming up, a family to tend to, 30 hours of online continuing training for work, meetings to attend, clients to see, and three other classes with equally demanding requirements aside from midterms.  I started trying to calculate how much time I could shave off of my sleep to get it all done, but if you've seen me on less than six hours, you know this was a bad idea and I was already only getting about five and a half.  "How about four, God?  Can we make it on four hours?" I asked God with caffeine bulged eyes one morning.

rightreactions.blogspot.com

  "What are you doing?" He asked me.  "I'm doing everything You gave me to do, Lord, but I think You miscalculated how much I could handle at once," I told Him. The miscalculation, however wasn't His; it was mine. While it's true that God gave me the workload, He never intended for me to go it alone, which, for weeks I had been doing just that and didn't even know it.  My own strength began to crumble and not even the supportive shoulders of my husband could hold me up under the weight of endless deadlines, tasks, and demands, so I eventually found myself sitting in our church parking lot crying.  "I can't do all of this, Lord, I don't even know where to begin," I whispered through choked sobs.  "You just began," His Spirit gently responded.  By finally acknowledging my own limitations I was able to receive His limitless grace.  All I had to do was just surrender me.

Amazing Grace

I started working on my doctorate last year in applied clinical psychology and the interesting thing about my cohort (see Hope Within Collaborative to view our developing site) is that I'm the only one without field experience, or at least I was when the first semester commenced and finished.  Most of the students I collaborate with are already practicing therapists or registered interns, so in a way I felt like the "baby" of the group, though my age assured me I was not the youngest of the bunch.  When I worked on my master's degree, my program didn't require me to do a practicum or internship, so I continued working in a completely unrelated field as an HRIS Analyst throughout my time as a student.  It's not that I didn't want to work in the field I was studying, but the irony of applying for jobs over the years has been that while everyone wants someone with experience, no one was willing to hire me to provide sought experience.  Until recently. A few months ago, I found myself casually applying for non-licensed therapist type positions, not really expecting or looking for a response from any one employer, and as I clicked on the Easter Seals job page, I applied for a couple of positions and then closed my browser.  Had I not received an email from my school within the next hour about an upcoming career workshop hosting none other than Easter Seals, I probably wouldn't have given my previous applications a second thought, but because it was so coincidental that I had just finished applying for positions with them, I began to pray.  "Okay, Lord, what's up? Is this from You? Do You want me to go to that career workshop?" I asked in curiosity.  It was two weeks away at the time and I marked my calendar to attend.  What happened between then and now is nothing short of God's amazing grace.

A New Tradition

www.wealthysinglemommy.com

This past Thanksgiving, my family had an awakening of sorts.  The day started as it always does, with me up early in the kitchen working to prepare a special breakfast and ultimately dinner. Shortly after I begin cooking each holiday, my husband and kiddo smell something going on and they join me downstairs where the food is within reach.  We pray, we laugh, and we eat, and then I quickly return to my role as Thanksgiving Chef.  For the last seven years, with the exception of maybe one when we went out of town, I have carried out the traditions of my mother, and probably her mother, and prepared a feast.  It was a job I thought I loved...until I realized I didn't.  Over the last few years, I started noticing a pattern in my behavior each year.  As the morning progressed each Thanksgiving, this most recent one included, I began to get cranky and resentful of being the sole worker on a day that is relaxing for others.  Shortly following these feelings was guilt over not enjoying the sacrificial act of serving others.  "God, help me to love this and enjoy this day, and please forgive my sour attitude," has become a basic prayer over the last couple of years.  It didn't work.  No matter how much I prayed and tried to mold myself into a woman who loves to prepare a festive Thanksgiving feast for her loved ones, it just never happened.  Instead, I made everyone around me feel like they had to walk on pins and needles.  Worse, they were made to feel guilty for not doing more to help, and last year I even got flowers from my husband and son "in appreciation for all you do," as the card read.  I was moved and touched and then felt terrible for having made them feel like they had to reward me somehow for all my hard work.  This year I began to pray differently.  "God, show me why I act this way.  What causes me to behave so badly and how can I change it?"  What God revealed can be summed up in Isaiah 43:19 that says this: "See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?"  I didn't need to be molded into someone different; the need was a new tradition.