Purple Flowers

 

I’ve made a decision.  It may not seem that dramatic, but it’s been coming for a while and I think it has the potential to change my life.  Here it is:

If I say I trust God to take care of me, I need to trust God to take care of me.

I know that sounds obvious and simplistic, but I’ve been so worried about so many things lately (work, money, future… I’ve even found myself not able to sleep at night because I don’t know who’s going to take care of my in my old age.  I’m 36.) and worry is contrary to what I say I believe: that God loves me and cares what happens to me.

I don’t understand, but I remember one time when it was as if I actually heard the voice of God.  About 8 years ago, during a time when I was not doing very well emotionally or spiritually, I found out that my landlord was selling the house I was living in and I had to move.  That doesn’t seem like that big of a deal now, but I was having some issues with insecurity and upheaval and it just felt like one more thing I couldn’t do. Even though this news wasn’t exactly earth-shaking, it felt like it was.

I talked to a number of people and shared how scared I was about the future and how much this one thing triggered me.  The one thing I heard over and over – from people who were Christians and those who weren’t – told me to ask God (or “the universe”) for exactly what I wanted.  For some reason, what came into my mind was that I really wanted a house with stairs, a yellow bedroom, and purple flowers out front.  I don’t know why those things were what came up, but I kept asking for them.

I felt pretty silly but then I found a house to rent.  It had stairs in the front and a few inside, beautiful purple Mexican sage out front, and the room that my roommates didn’t want was a lovely pale yellow.  It was so exactly what I was looking for that I still have a couple of friends who say “remember the purple flowers?” whenever I doubt.  I felt like God was looking me directly in the eyes, saying he loved me and would always take care of me.I know it could be a coincidence but it wasn’t.  I can’t explain how I know, but I do.

Again, I don’t understand.  Why would God provide what I was asking for in silly details of housing when he wasn’t healing my depression (and didn’t for over 6 more years)?  Why was God providing this and not other things that I was asking for: a husband, healing for someone I knew with cancer, the ability to sleep through the night (still don’t have any of those)?  Less importantly, why did I get to have this house for only 9 months before that landlord sold it? And, of course, why would God pay attention to these details when there are people without basic needs?

 

I don’t know.  I have no idea.  But I’m making a decision to trust.   It doesn’t come naturally to me (it would be an understatement to say I’m a worrier) but that seems to make it more important somehow.  A few years ago, I got a tattoo to remind me that God was always with me.  It’s a beautiful thing, to know that the presence of God is with me.  It’s time to live like it.

The Plans God Has for Me

“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”

I don’t know how this can be true.  I really don’t.  I know that our definitions of “prospering” are probably not the same as God’s.  Often, we have tiny little picket fence dreams of what “prospering” means – I know I do.  And I get sad and frustrated and lonely  because I still have financial issues or I’m not married yet.  My plans for me haven’t worked out in a lot of ways.

And honestly, I have it really easy compared to a lot of people.  I’m not living in poverty, I’m not homeless, and I’m safe most of the time.  In addition, I have good friends and a lot of luxuries. 

So, I’ve been thinking about why I still believe this verse and others like it.  Because I do – I question it, but I always come back to believing it and I just do not understand why.  I can’t shake it. 

I’ve been feeling some strength from that lately.  Also, this section:

“I will go before you and will level the mountains.  I will break down gates of bronze and cut through bars of iron.  I will give you hidden treasures, riches stored in secret places, so that you too may know that I am the Lord, the God of Israel, who summons you by name.” (Isaiah 45).

I’m waiting for those mountains to be leveled.  I’m waiting for the plans he has for me.  I don’t know what they are or if I’ll see them but I’m guessing it doesn’t necessarily fit into my little list of what I want to happen in my life.

 

Lonely

Like I said, things seem to have been moving really quickly.  I’m thrilled to have so much work at the moment, and I’m enjoying what I’m doing but I’m also lonely.  I have a lot of good friends, which is a tremendous blessing, but I really miss having someone to share all of my joys and concerns and goals and irritations and everything.  It’s been several years, but I’m finding myself really missing my ex-boyfriend for some reason.  He had a lot (a LOT) of unaddressed problems but we had a lot of fun together and I could relax and be myself in a way I can’t very often.  He really knew me too and I miss that.

Part of the discouragement comes from the fact that it’s something I’d be willing to wait for but I don’t know if I’ll have that again.  It gets less likely as I get older and it’s hard to wait for something that you have no guarantee of ever happening.

Quickly

My life feels like it’s going by so quickly lately (and almost everyone I know feels that way – can’t we make some sort of deal to slow it down??)

I just got more work which, being self-employed, is fantastic, but leaves me with little thinking time.  Truthfully, I can usually use less thinking in my life, but it also leaves me with less prayer/talking to God time.  I’ve been thinking of doing the try to read the Bible in a year thing or the try to read a book in the Bible I’ve been wanting to read thing, but what seems to be working most for me is just to pick a little bit of it that is what I need to hear and have it roll around in my head for a while.  It can be dangerous to take things out of context, I know, so I am making sure I have read the context and that it is consistent with what I know about God.  (although so many things are so hard to know about God). 

Anyway, after all that rambling, I’m thinking about Jeremiah today.  I’ve loved Jeremiah 29:11 for a long time: “For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”  I have had so many times when I’ve needed to know that God has these plans for me, just like he had them for the exiles.  But I also was struck by the part right after that verse: “2 Then you will call on me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. ¹³ You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart.”

It’s very intimate.  It makes me feel like God really wants to get to know me.  I mean, I know he does know me, but like he really wants me to be a participant in that.  It’s exciting and honoring.  Like if you have a friend of a friend you’ve admired who makes a point of getting to know you.  Only better because I already know somewhere inside of me how much God loves me.  And wants me to seek him.  Not sure about how that works though.  Maybe I’ll have more thoughts about it tomorrow.

On Being “Strong”

This may end up a little bit more of a rant than I’d like but I need to process it, so here goes.

I am so tired of being seen as strong and able to do thing alone that other people just couldn’t do.

I am so sick of married friends saying things like “I could never do x, y or z without my husband” right after they’ve told me that of course I don’t need a man to do something and I should stop thinking like that.

I am tired of “but you’re such a strong, independent person!”

It’s out of necessity and I often wish I had the luxury of not being strong and independent.

This rant is brought to you today by an email I got from an acquaintance.  Not a friend, but an acquaintance with whom I have many mutual friends and a friendly relationship.  She got married about five years ago, fairly young, in her mid-20s (at least young for this part of the world).  She and her husband recently got a dog and she was writing for advice because, while her husband was out of town on a business trip, the dog got sick.

Now, I have nothing but sympathy for anyone who is worried about the health of a pet.  I’ve been there and it’s scary and you feel so helpless.  But the way she phrased it: see if you can figure out what might have driven me crazy:

Owner: “Can anyone recommend a kind-hearted vet in the area?  My husband is out of town and our dog won’t eat so I’m so worried.”

[a lot of advice follows]

Owner: “It’s just that with my husband gone, I’m scared.”

Her friend: “That’s a lot to deal with when your husband is gone!”

Another friend: “What a great owner you are holding down the fort while your husband is gone!”

Owner: “Yeah, it’s just hard because my husband is gone.  But he comes back tonight so it’ll be fine.”

First friend: “How scary when your husband is gone!”

To my credit, I was able to give my own doggie medical advice without saying what I wanted to, which was that SOME of us have to deal with health scares (canine and human) on our own without husbands!  And that it would probably be scary for her with or without her husband, unless her husband has magical doggie-curing powers!  And that she maybe needs to stand on her own two feet and deal with things, yes, even when her husband is out of town for one night!

But the reality is that I’m jealous.  I don’t want to deal with all these things alone.  And even though I’d probably make myself throw up if I ever said it out loud, there’s a big part of me that wants a magic husband that makes everything less scary when he’s around.

This person has told me before that she is impressed with how strong and independent I am.  I don’t want to be.  I’m tired!

Another Vacation

I had another vacation and it was another miracle.  Not just because vacations are incredible and fantastic and rejuvenating.  Not even just because this vacation was truly a gift from God, as I didn’t have the money to go but ended up with miles and a free place to stay in Playa del Carmen (near Cancun, and far more beautiful because it’s not so Vegas-y).  But also because, as I mentioned here, I have been in paradise on vacation and been suicidal.  Like I mentioned in the other post – being depressed on vacation really brings it home that the problem was with ME.

It wasn’t the weather; the weather was incredible, sunny, warm, and absolutely ideal for me.

It wasn’t the surroundings: warm ocean, snorkeling, beautiful fish, tropical flowers, white beach.

It wasn’t the company: my brother is my favorite person in my family and easiest to get along with (aside from my baby niece and now my sister-in-law)

It wasn’t anything external.  It was me.  And it felt like even more of a waste than depression usually seems to be because I wanted so badly to be enjoying the weather, food, company, and activities.  And I wasn’t just not enjoying it – I was actively miserable.  I was thinking about wanting to be dead.

So, this vacation was an incredible gift.

Having it Out With Melancholy

If you’ve never read this poem by Jane Kenyon, do it.

I was thinking about this poem the other day because there are so many parts that I feel like were written just for me. Someone showed it to me in college and I photocopied it and carried it around for years. I just recently thought of it again (how exciting that depression hasn’t been on my mind as much!) and had to search for it. I’d love to hear what other people think of it and which parts strike you.

For me, the first section is far too true. I have had some form of depression for as long as I can remember. I have very vivid memories of waking up before kindergarten and wanting to be dead. Nothing bad was happening at school but my family was a mess and I was not happy being alive. Kenyon says:

1  FROM THE NURSERY 

When I was born, you waited

behind a pile of linen in the nursery,

and when we were alone, you lay down

on top of me, pressing

the bile of desolation into every pore. 

 

And from that day on

everything under the sun and moon

made me sad — even the yellow

wooden beads that slid and spun

along a spindle on my crib. 

You taught me to exist without gratitude.

You ruined my manners toward God:

“We’re here simply to wait for death;

the pleasures of earth are overrated.”

 

I only appeared to belong to my mother,

to live among blocks and cotton undershirts

with snaps; among red tin lunch boxes

and report cards in ugly brown slipcases.

I was already yours — the anti-urge,

the mutilator of souls.

 

“everything under the sun and moon made me sad.”

That was true for me for over 30 years.

I was also struck by:

 4  OFTEN

 Often I go to bed as soon after dinner

as seems adult

(I mean I try to wait for dark)

in order to push away

from the massive pain in sleep’s

frail wicker coracle.

 

And

 

6  IN AND OUT 

The dog searches until he finds me

upstairs, lies down with a clatter

of elbows, puts his head on my foot.

 

Sometimes the sound of his breathing

saves my life — in and out, in

and out; a pause, a long sigh. . . .

 

The whole poem is still hard for me to read – and I have been “in remission” for three years now.  I don’t remember the despair in a visceral way anymore but I remember it.

It’s like when you have a really bad bruise and you get so used to it hurting when touched.  For the first few days after it doesn’t hurt, I still expect the pain.  I think that’s where I am with depression.

 

 

Saturday Night

I’ve written about how much of a failure I feel when I’m home alone on weekends.  It’s really a bit ridiculous and I’ve been trying to think it through and sort it out in my head somewhat.  Yesterday was Saturday night and I found myself home alone.  Actually, I didn’t find myself there, I chose to be there, and it was still difficult.

I had options: I could go to a friend’s musical performance, I could call another friend for dinner, I could go visit a friend and her baby, and there were any number of people I could call – either to try to make plans or to just to catch up with.  I had taught a class that day though, and I wasn’t really in the mood for people.  I also had a book I really wanted to read and a soft dog I wanted to snuggle with, so I decided to stay home and spend the evening on the couch.

It was so hard.

Immediately, I started thinking – almost aloud – that I was a failure.  I obviously didn’t have any friends and I was clearly never going to get a boyfriend if I didn’t get out of the house and meet people.  I felt like I was wasting my time and that I was just marking time until I could go to sleep.  It was sort of a cross between feeling like I had been stood up and killing time while waiting for an airplane.  I realized in the middle of it that I was being really unfair to myself. This wasn’t a way to kill time – this was a way to enjoy myself and it was no less valid than spending time with friends.

But it felt less valid.  Just like eating at a table with real silverware feels unnecessary when it’s just me.  Just like looking nice feels invalid if there’s no one “special” to look nice for.  Just like seeing a sunset seems like less of an experience when I’m alone.

I think some of this makes sense – it’s nice to share experiences with people and it’s nice to be in community.  But I don’t think that should mean that I cease to exist or have meaning when I’m alone.  Or that I should not enjoy solitude.

This is kind of ramble-y but I’m just trying to figure things out.  People say that identifying the problem is the first step but to me, identifying the problem often seems really overwhelming, almost like there wasn’t a problem before I named it.  I’m trying to remember that I’ve always felt this way and it certainly didn’t feel any better before I could name it.

Illness

I’ve been sick for two months.  Only 8 weeks, actually, but it feels like longer.  I had a cold which turned into bronchitis, then as I was finishing my antibiotics, I got another cold.  All the coughing has caused me to either pull a muscle or crack a rib.  I’m not totally sure and it doesn’t really matter because the treatment for both is the same: Rest.

Rest is difficult when you are single and self-employed.  There are no sick days and there is no one to pick up the slack.  Several people have said something along the lines of “You’re so brave/committed/crazy to keep working while you’re sick.”  I think they meant it as admiration.  However, I don’t have a choice.  If I don’t keep working, I can’t pay my rent/health insurance/grocery bill/dog food bill.  Not really an option.  So the admiration made me feel a little resentful – not because the other person did anything wrong but because it feeds into my deepest fears and anger.

However.  In the past when I’ve been sick – even for a week – I have gotten really really depressed.  The solitude gets to me and makes me feel sorry for myself to the point where my internal monologue starts sounding like an angst-ridden teenager.  Poor me.  Nobody loves me.  If I was worth anything, I’d have a partner.  I should just die because clearly nobody loves me because they haven’t called to see how I am. nothing will ever get better.  Ever.  Until I die.  So I might as well.

Anyone else do this?

This time I’m not there!  I’m miserable.  I’ve been coughing so much that I”m actually developing my upper abdominal muscles from COUGHING.  (seriously. I can see it).  I’ve produced more mucus than I thought the human body was capable of.  I can barely sit up in bed because my side hurts so much.  But hey, I don’t wish I was dead.  I just wish I was well.

That’s progress, right?  I mean, I’d like to be overwhelmingly filled with joy at all time and be completely sure of myself and have self-esteem coming out my ears.  But sometimes you settle for being grumpily OK with being alive, even when you hurt.

Surviving Depression

Please read this. Again and again.

And then let me know if you’re a survivor and how we can support each other.