Song of My Heart's Devotion

news that changes nothing

I've turned into one of those people who blogs to process stuff, and as I struggled with some recently-received news, I wanted to head straight for the keyboard and get it all out.

But I had to wait--not only because my loved ones deserve time to hear things and process in their own ways, but also because, as transparent and real as I try to be about my journey, there are some things that are just a little too raw and real to talk about right away.

I finally have a name for what I've been experiencing, which has been above and beyond my severe adrenal fatigue (which way better now, by the way!) Puzzled by the panic attacks and chronic anxiety that persisted and even worsened as I rested, I finally went to see someone. And I heard words that were a surprise and yet not surprising at all.

Generalized Anxiety Disorder.

Panic Disorder.

When I got myself home from the appointment and turned to the internet for answers (oh, come on, you do it, too), I read descriptions that matched me perfectly. This was not just a case where reading stuff on the internet turns you into an instant hypochondriac. I really have those things.

So yes, that IS me, I am so sorry and so FLABBERGASTED to say.

Flabbergasted is the best word.  Webster's Dictionary says it conveys "astonishment with bewilderment and dismay." Yup, and a fair degree of hysteria, to boot. Have you EVER heard of anything more ridiculous? I've actually got agoraphobia. I mean, seriously? Come on! Who GETS agoraphobia?

Apparently, me.

Even now I'm both laughing and aghast as I type this outrageous, wildly improbable occurrence. How on EARTH does something like this happen? What turns an active Christian businesswoman, wife and mom, into someone who can't even go to church, let alone get on a plane to speak at a conference, or even sit in a restaurant with friends for lunch, in the space of about twelve months?

It's dumbfounding. Yet, here we are.

Anxiety attack on Aisle 4. Panic episode in the school pickup lane. Rescheduled reservations finally cancelled altogether.

Well, we'll be picking this apart for a long time. But in the end, my reality is exactly what it was the day before the diagnosis. It's news that doesn't really change anything.

You don't just "get over" agoraphobia by yourself. I cannot make depression disappear by willing it to go POOF! I can't drag myself out of this panic pit and overcome anxiety with heavy doses of sheer stubborn. That's really comforting, actually. To hear and to know, finally, that I cannot fix myself. I've had thirteen months of intense struggle and interrupted life to arrive at a place where it is clear and undeniable that I need outside help and intervention.

And as there always is, there's a grace in that moment of letting go. There's a peace that tempers the grief, when I release what I wish was true, and accept what actually is true. The truth sets us free.

Sometimes we get news that changes things, but alters nothing about God's goodness or His ultimate plan for us.

Sometimes it wasn't truly a surprise, but we still have to experience the shock... and process the grief.

And always--never sometimes, but always ALWAYS, for the believer-- there is a grace and peace for that moment.

Even the ones that flabbergast us.

not what you signed up for: to my spouse

I know this is not what you signed up for.

I didn't sign up for this, either.

On good days, I know you know that.

On bad days, I'm convinced I've ruined us. That my weakness is going to spell the end of your love for me. That no marriage can survive these bouts, these see-sawing seasons of up and down, happy and sad, well and unwell.

That your long-suffering, incredibly patient and loving nature will finally reach the point of no return and you'll come to the conclusion that whatever you saw in that laughing girl long ago is irretrievably gone. My panic disorder has changed nearly everything. It must have changed your love for me. 

I wonder constantly what you really think. I am on high alert for exasperation identification in your voice. I imagine a tinge of impatience coloring your words. I read into everything you say. Is it now? Is now the time when I've finally exhausted the love of my spouse? Is this it? The beginning of the end?

All this brings home to me the miraculous love of Christ for His bride the Church. He DID sign up for pain and suffering, betrayal and death. He knew in advance His people would wander, play the whore, turn to idols, lose faith and disobey at every turn, and yet He still signed on the dotted line.

There was no vague line about "in sickness and in health" or "for richer, for poorer" in His vow.

There was no naive ignorance of what the future held.

There was only, "I love you so much I'm going to defeat death itself to save you." 

You have the harder job, my love. My job is to to love you and respect your role as the leader of our home. Dearest, you make it so easy.

But your job is to love me as Christ loves the Church, to the point of dying to redeem her (Ephesians 5:25.) Loving me more than your own life (vs. 28.) That kind of love blows the mind. We both know no human can ever live up to that. But I see the seeds of that kind of love in you, a clearer kind of picture lived out right in our home. Each marriage intended to be a living example of Christ's unselfish, undying love for His bride.

Honestly? I have a hard time trusting the God of the universe to have my wellbeing at heart. I have an even harder time trusting any human to truly, honestly put my needs above their own. But over and over, time and again, your choice to wake up next to me and face whatever comes together quiets the voice in my head that tells me I broke us. The one that would have me believe there is a bottom to the well of your love, and the bucket has surely scraped up the last drop for the last time.

Be patient with me, beloved. Keep telling me what is true when I can't trust my own thoughts. When old demons rise to re-fight battles I thought I'd already won. I feel so guilty for being part of what God is using to refine you. Let my season of weakness be a tool for both of us, to bring us closer to Him.

No, this is not what we signed up for. And I long for the day when it all makes sense because we're finally in blood-bought, blameless fellowship with Him, face to face, the veil gone and at last in complete accordance with His plan. So clearly the only way it could have worked. So plainly motivated by a love beyond comprehension.

When God shows us what HE signed up for, and we all marvel at the perfection of His plan.

what I know is true

(Note from Lyssa: I began this post four months ago; not sure why I never finished it. Probably the adrenal fatigue "brain fog" interfered. Thankfully, I don't feel quite that wretched physically any more. My body has made the progress I wish my mind would make.

But here it is now. And here am I, still clinging to what I know is true: my God is good. My God is faithfully working all things together for good.)

____

So, it's been a rough couple of months. I feel "not good" about 75% of the time. On really bad days it's more like 90%, and what passes for a great day is more like 25% "not good." We talk in percentages because it's so much easier than saying, "Well, I had a bad night and woke up with the worst headache I've ever had, but pulled it together about ten a.m. Then after I ate lunch I felt good for about 15 minutes and then dizzy and lightheaded for three hours. I had an anxiety attack in the carpool lane after school, but by the time we got home I was fine again. I wanted to puke making dinner but it passed in about a half hour, until I had to take that pill that makes my blood feel like it's burning me. When is bedtime, again?"

I've spent a lot of time sleeping, a lot of time trying not to panic about the future, and a lot of time just wondering what in the world will bring this utterly annoying and exasperating time in my life to an end, so I can get on with things.

The truth? Things aren't going so hot. The longer this season drags on, the more I realize this may be something I have to deal with for the rest of my life. Yet, God is still good.

It's been hard to keep my focus on what I know is true, when anxiety-caused depression lies to me at every turn. I've never been more aware of the spiritual battle being fought behind the scenes. It's not the clashing of swords that fills my ears, but the whispered lies and twisted truths that attack me when I'm down. And as fast as I can beat one away, another takes its place.

 

Anxiety asks, what if it's like this forever?

Depression whispers, it WILL be like this forever.

What is the truth here? It may be I struggle with this humbling thorn in my flesh until Jesus comes. Who am I that I should be immune to trials and sorrow? No one gets through this life without scars and heartache. It could be this, it could be something else. Any weakness only serves as a setting for His grace to shine. "Most gladly therefore will I rather glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me." -- 2 Cor.12:9.

The truth is, I may not be ready to "glory" in this illness yet, but I can look for the good in it, and hope for someone else to be blessed by the way I choose to handle it.

 

Anxiety asks, my beautiful life is slipping away, what if it never comes back?

Depression whispers, your life is gone for good and it won't ever come back.

What is the truth here? I will never regain what I once held so tightly, and I honestly don't want to. It wasn't good for me and it so often didn't honor God. But there's a good life, a quieter one, yes, but one that brings glory to God in so many more ways than the glitzy Instagram existence I chased after.

The truth is, I wanted all the blessings without having to honor and obey the God from Whom they flowed. If that's what my life before illness consisted of, then it is better lost.

 

Anxiety says, I'm trying so hard and I just can't make these changes.

Depression whispers, quit trying so hard. Nothing will change.

What is the truth here? I can do all things through Christ, Who strengthens me. I must make the effort even when I don't see progress. I can never stop the struggle against sinful thoughts, against the terrible, ingrained pride that stops me from seeking help. And His all-sufficient grace will keep giving me the strength to continue even though the journey is long and the pathway is hard.

The truth is, I can't make these changes alone. It is not within my feeble powers to fight the good fight by myself and never has been. This illness just shone a light on that fact. But His strength shows up in all its perfection in my lowest, weakest moments.

 

Friend, will you pray for us? Pray for healing, yes, by all means. But pray that those of us who struggle with anxiety and depression will be covered in the day of war, as we fight a battle not of our choosing. Pray that we will be strengthened to respond with praise and trust and obedience instead of fear and discouragement and sin.

Pray for us to be spiritually and emotionally empowered to focus on what we know is true.

Our God is good. Our God is faithfully working all things together for good.

we don't talk about this

It happened again yesterday. Someone I haven't seen in a long time asked me how I was. Next comes the part where I ramble my way through an answer that is both honest and not too depressing for either of us. Then I admit I'm still having major problems with anxiety attacks. And she responds.... me, too.

The most mind-boggling of all the mind-boggling things that have occurred to me over the past seven months is the prevalence of the problem I share with so many other women. We are now, or have been in the past, dealing with life-altering anxiety or crippling depression, and sometimes both. That makes me simultaneously really glad and really sad at the same time ("You might experience mood swings," they say. Umm, no lie).

I'm glad because it means I'm not alone. That is big.

Depression lies louder and longer than any other sin except Pride. And the two of them, combined and egged on by Anxiety, have us convinced we are completely, totally, irrevocably alone. That no one else has ever had these ridiculous thoughts, these fearful episodes, these crying jags.

And it's simply not true. We aren't alone. Believers never are, even if there actually were a situation in the world that no one but Jesus could possibly understand, there is always Him.

But it also means that you know from personal experience how I'm feeling right now. How tired I am and how I struggle to stand there and make small talk and what a big deal it is to even get dressed and leave the house. The little coping mechanisms like coming in late and sitting in the back by the door, those are familiar strategies to you.

And that makes me sad.

I'm sad because when you tell me, you whisper.

You're still ashamed. You've come a long way, barreling past those early days where you couldn't even admit something was wrong, not even to yourself. You got help, you got rest, you made it through to the other side. But you're still not in a place where you can stand to say it out loud in a normal voice, where anyone but me might hear you. You can only open the door a crack and let your secret out, knowing that I need to hear it and when I hear it, it will help me. But that's as far as it goes.

I'm sad because when you tell me, your eyes speak, too.

They share a story that still makes you shudder. You're remembering that period, reliving the buried emotions, and you almost can't bear it. Because talking about it might bring it back.You may not suffer from daily anxiety attacks any more, but you've never lost the unspoken dread that it will return. That you never really got a handle on why it happened in the first place, so how can you prevent it from starting up again. And so that's as far as it goes.

Why don't we talk about this?

I feel reassured and betrayed at the same time.

No, I'm not alone. I can't tell you how many women have whispered to me of their own struggle. Dozens, I am not kidding you. Online and in person, late-night Facebook chats and deserted sanctuaries. Hand-written on cards and hearts poured out in private messages. I would never have guessed this. The one thing I am completely sure of is that you never know what someone else is dealing with.

I am in a club to whose membership I never aspired. Instead of a secret handshake, we have a secret confession, and we part with a pledge to pray for each other.

No one knows who the other club members are. Maybe one or two who have been brave enough to reference (safely-past, never ongoing) depression or casually bring up anxiety in the odd devotional or ladies' Bible study. Usually it's a nice polite version of an "anxiety" that would better be expressed by the word "worries." Not the kind where your lips go numb and you can't seem to get enough oxygen.

Can we not go deeper? Must we be this superficial with each other?

How can "not alone" still feel so lonely?

How I long for us to talk about this, to get it out into the light and drive a wooden stake into the stigma and silence. We're not alone, yet no one is willing to publicly stand on the stage and say it aloud to the spotlight and all and sundry. Our courage saw us as far as the steps and then deserted us.

I get it. I go through days when I'm good with being transparent about this un-wished-for journey, and other days when I shrink from even accepting, let alone expressing, the magnitude of how unwell I feel.

But I look at two especially dear friends, both recently descending into deep emotional and physical struggles of their own, and think of how sad it is when believers cannot tell each other the truth.

When we whisper instead of wrap our arms around each other.

When we save our stories for a "more appropriate" time, and then they wait, unspoken, as the season passes.

That makes me sad. We need to be past this, to step outside of our circle of pride and self-protection and be vulnerable and be vocal.

But I'm going to end with a "glad."

I'm glad because I know that my fellow sisters in Christ have discovered Him in the depths. Where we have failed to support and speak life to each other, He has not. When someday my pride or fear prevent me from speaking up when I should, there will be grace for that suffering child of God from some other source.

In gladness I'll let my present circumstances be informed by Scriptures that make it clear He is working all things together for our good and His glory. In quietness I can go ahead and let myself be dust and lean into the weakness on the hard days. My all-seeing, all-knowing, never-wasteful Heavenly Father will use this experience as mortar for the Kingdom work He is building.

 

"Blessed be God, even the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and the God of all comfort, Who comforts us in all our trials, that we may be able to comfort them which are in any trouble, by the comfort wherewith we ourselves are comforted of God." II Cor 1:3-4

o holy night

Not my favorite Christmas song.

It's a solo, for one thing, with tempos and soaring notes not meant for congregational singing. What should be sublime descends into the nearly-ridiculous virtually every time. I'll admit to the internal sigh when the number is announced. Great. All these gorgeous carols, and we have to sing the one that inevitably dissolves into discord at least once per verse.

Sorry for the snark. You probably love it. I do, too--when it's a solo and I'm singing along at home, alone.

This year we sang it on Christmas Eve. Or rather, my church family did. I dropped out after a certain line on the second verse because I couldn't see the words through the tears.

O Holy Night was more than a song in that moment. It was a message, straight to my heart.

He knows our need, our weakness is no stranger.

The lines are from an 1843 poem, translated with much paraphrasing--not to say outright re-writing--from the original French into English, and not even authored by a devout man. But these particular concepts are backed up with Biblical truth (Hebrews 4:15 and Phillipians 4:19).

He knows me. He sees me.

 Anxiety makes you very self-centered. You might appear to be listening or functioning outwardly but the inward dialog is a totally different story. During that service I was trying to control my breathing, keep a pleasant look on my face, pretend things were normal. You can't help but think people are watching you and wondering what's wrong. Because there's no way you can possibly look normal and have all this turbulence inside, right?

So no, I was not thinking about Christmas, or baby Jesus or grown-up Jesus or anyone else but ME as we sang. And then out of the blue, words leaping from the page, a message just for me.

Even in this moment, I see you.

I know you are weak. I know what the past six months has been like. I know how cruddy you feel, how badly you want to go home. How guilty you feel about everything you can no longer do. How afraid you are that this will never end. I know it all.

Behold your King!

Before Him lowly bend!

My focus this year is going to be beholding the King. Bringing my thoughts, ambitions, desires and plans into obedience as I study His character and more fully realize His matchless authority and absolute worthiness to be praised.

the new/old me

The new me bakes. As in cookies and biscotti and coffee cake and all that.

I find that mildly hilarious. It's so different from the me-that-has-been all these years. Who had time to bake? When I did, forced to by some school function or feeling guilty because it was Christmas Eve and there was not a sweet treat in the house, I often burned tray after tray, trying to get eighty things done while each sheet baked. 

Not baking was a survival mechanism. If there is no pan of brownies, I can't eat them all when I realize it's two o'clock and all I've had to eat so far is a cup of coffee. When there is massive self-sabotage of any possibility for self-control like that, the best way to make sure those binges don't happen is not to have it in the house at all.

So pitifully out of balance.

So, the new me bakes. The kids are thrilled. I even signed up for a cooking class by mail. Mike doesn't know what's gotten into me.

I've been attending a program run through our church, called newfocus, as part of my efforts to get a hold of my life and stop some of the destructive, idolatrous behaviors that have stolen my peace and ruined my health. It's a little sobering, pardon the pun, to check yourself in to an addictions ministry every Friday night and know that the next two hours are going to be painful but cleansing. I still haven't made it through a whole meeting.

But it's coming, and the new me loves it. Loves not having to pretend everything's fine when it SO is not. Newfocus helps by stripping away all the religious trappings, traditions and pretense we think of when we think about "church," and just leaves God's words, straight from the Bible, explained in the simplest of terms by someone who gets it. Somebody else who knows the Dementor's kiss of depression, who struggles as I do to listen to the Voice of Truth and not the whispers of inadequacy and failure and hopelessness.

I can't make promises for tomorrow or the weekend because it all depends on how the night went. The morning can be good and the afternoon the anxiety hits so bad I barely manage to pick up the kids from school. Or the whole day can be peaceful and then the muscle aches hit about eight p.m. and I can't change positions without groaning in pain. But this un-knowing is not all bad. It makes me seize the day when I do feel good. It causes reevaluation of what is important and what can wait and what doesn't need to be done at all. It makes me appreciate little things.

One of newfocus' main principles deals with recovery, and how you know you're making progress. One of those steps is regaining pleasure in the simple things in life. A walk in the woods. The pattern of frost on the glass. The smiling baby in the shopping cart in the checkout lane. Cold fingers wrapped around a funny mug filled with hot cocoa. The way the scenery is distorted through old glass panes. A homemade meal, plain but well-cooked. The array of colors when you walk into the produce department. Stopping to read the historical marker I've driven past so many times. A favorite song on the radio.

Baking.

Reading. I am almost embarrassed to say it: I stopped reading for fun.

I knew if I went to the library, I'd "waste" hours and hours of time that I "should" be spending on my business. So I never went. I love to read, but I went months at a time without doing it. Famous in my childhood for the stacks of books I went through in a week, always a finalist in the summer reading contests. As an adult, my dusty Kindle was a source of mistaken pride in my dedication to my work.

So out of balance.

So, the new me reads. And watches shows. Yep, that "#1 thing successful people never do"--I watch TV occasionally. Gasp! 

I will say, the new me's hair sucks. I haven't been able to go to the salon since June, and it's pretty bad. I pretend I'm growing it out, but it's not true. I just can't sit for two hours in a chemical-laden, noisy room full of strangers and get my sleekly high-lighted professional bob done right now. It's also thinner, falling out due to see-sawing thyroid imbalances. So it straggles to brush my shoulders, and I part it a different way to disguise the color gaps, and that's all part of the new me, too.

I don't know where else the new me leads. We'll find out, I guess. I'm still discovering the OLD-old me, the person I was before my life got so crazily off-kilter. The person who used to enjoy playing the piano--she is still a stranger to me, buried under years of incredibly stressful church ministry I was neither qualified for nor willing to do. The piano keys are dustier than the Kindle ever was.

But the person who gardened, uneducatedly but enthusiastically, I caught a glimpse of her recently.

The girl that planted daffodil bulbs each fall, believing in the distant promise of an eventual spring, she reappeared this autumn.

Old-old, old, or new--the point here is not the girl I was, am now or will become. The point of it all is that Jesus loves her. That incredible mixed-bag of faults and failures, successes and silences, idols and good intentions--they're all me, and I'm all His.

I always have been.

I didn't notice when I quit baking. That book-that-turned-out-to-be-the-last, returned to the library did not spark a sad realization. The person who was too busy to stop at the park or who threw a tray of chicken nuggets in the oven as she dashed out the door was also too busy to think too hard about a life that doesn't even leave time for dinner. But Jesus knew. And he loved me anyway.

See, when the God of the universe loves you, He doesn't quit. There's no up-and-down with His love. It's steady, consistent, eternal (Jeremiah 31:3). He loves me when I'm a mess and He loves me when things are marvelous. Top of the heap, or scrambling to regain lost ground. He loves me even when I'm at such a low that His precious promises are naught but a blip on the radar of my despair.

He loves me even though it's taken me so long to learn this lesson. He loves me despite the fact that, lacking wisdom like a BOSS, epic-ally lacking wisdom to manage my own fallen-apart life, I only just now think of the verse in James that says He gives it freely, without reproaching me for lack of faith and past failure. (James 1:5).

The new me understands that love in a way I could not have unless I'd been the old me. Like the three foster children, pending adoption, who understand my brother and his wife's love for them in a totally different and deeper way than their biological children ever will.

It's a lesson I'll be learning over and over again my whole life long. He loves me. Old, new, in progress, stalled, stubborn, sinful--you name it.

Whatever else has changed, He has not. I am loved, and I always have been.

the unraveling

Two steps forward, one step back--isn't that the way it's supposed to go? Not one step forward and two steps back.

Another missed obligation. Another invitation declined. Another appointment cancelled at the last moment. This is my new life, and I hate it.

A nearly empty calendar that somehow feels overwhelmingly full. Another week of days made up of doing just one (if that) of the tasks I used to whip out ten or twelve of in a single day.

Mike says he doesn't know why I'm so anxious to return to the old me. Since the old me is what resulted in the new me. I know he's right--being that person nearly killed me--but it's like a drug. I NEED to be that person. I long to be that energetic, efficient, you-can-count-on-me, do-it-all-and-with-STYLE kind of girl I once was.

I am addicted to the identity I built up in that world I'd created for myself. Addiction is not too strong a word. The withdrawal symptoms are sadly telling.

I've been reading a fantastic book by John Eldredge called Beautiful Outlaw: Experiencing the Playful, Disruptive, Extravagant Personality of Jesus. It's been one of those books that even before you reach the end, you're going back to re-read parts. It's deep and yet wonderfully accessible at the same time. If you've ever felt like Jesus was distant or cold or too saintly to really be an intimate friend, you'll find a grace-filled new perspective dripping from the pages of Beautiful Outlaw.

One of my favorite chapters deals with the rich young ruler (Mark 10). I guess I never identified with this person before; I'm far from wealthy, for starters. But there are countless similarities I have missed. This young man was a good, sincere and honest person. He truly tried to keep the law. He really thought it was doing it. He'd been doing it since he was a small child.

But he knows there's something missing and he stops Jesus on the road and begs for an answer. Where am I still lacking?

Jesus provides it by simply pointing out this man's secret love: Money. It is "his life-source, his security and status." Everything he thinks about himself, knows about himself, believes about himself, is colored by his wealth. Either he thought it didn't matter or he thought it was under control. It wasn't.

Eldredge is spot on when he says Jesus knows the exact thread to pull that will unravel our carefully woven life.

For that nameless young man it was money. For me, it is my own capabilities. For you, it will be something else. The wealth is not the point--it's just the name of the idol.

I've been a Christ-follower for well over thirty years now and often felt his poke in my pride, a well-placed finger pointing to a spot I've been blissfully ignoring. But this--this is nothing like those gentle admonitions and times of cleansing and re-direction. This season of illness is the thread that has unraveled my life, and as the curtain falls in shreds, it reveals an idol in the hidden alcove. 

The rich young ruler has his answer; he blindly turns away, grieving. He is shaken to his very core; the truth laid bare in that simple encounter with Christ has been a devastating blow. He is worshiping, trusting in something besides the living God, and has broken the first commandment of them all.

Thou shalt have no other gods before Me.

It is a catastrophic encounter. A crossroads that will force a decision. The choice is his, yes; but the choice to make it is not optional. Confronted, exposed, no longer able to justify or ignore the facts, he must decide to bring it all under captivity to Christ, or not.

And in one of the Bible's best cliff-hanger moments, we aren't told what he chose.

Two things about this passage in Mark 10 give me hope. The first is that verse 21 says, "Jesus looked at him and loved him."

Before this young man, clothed in flesh and bone, stands El Roi: the God Who Sees Me.

All his pretenses, all his walls, crumble with a glance. Fully comprehended and fully loved in the same heartbeat.

I, too, like this young man, am seen and loved. The sincerity of my heart is known, as is the truth about my motives and intents that I have not even admitted to myself. I am bare before Him, all my weaknesses displayed in broad daylight, and still He loves me.

There aren't words in my vocabulary to emphasize how comforting that certainty is--or how far beyond human understanding that compassion goes.

The second is that the story doesn't end there. There is a postscript, the end of a conversation with the disciples continuing down the road after the young man has stumbled away, his empty hands clutching on nothing but a bunch of unraveled threads. The idol is entrenched, deeply rooted and carefully guarded; it will be a battle to break it down. The disciples are pessimistic about the outcome. But Jesus lays to rest any doubt that eventual victory is within the young man's grasp.

"With man this is impossible, but not with God. All things are possible with God." Mark 10:27

Did he make the right decision, to bravely face what he had carefully woven his life around, and continue to pull the thread Jesus started? I'd like to think he did. As Eldrege says, maybe, as Jesus turns back to the road, there's a twinkle in His eye. It's not the end of the story. Someday this young man will take up his shield and slay the dragon with the strength his Father will give him.

There is power beyond imagination, for me, too, to deal with this shameful, audacious self-reliance and any other idol that must be cast down from the throne on which I have set up a usurper in the place of Almighty God.

There is love and compassion enough to wait as long as it takes for my battered faith to be bolstered again for battle.

There is mercy and hope shining in the darkest and most dismal night, the deepest season of depression and anxiety.  With man, ending all this chaos, fear and disorder is impossible. With God, nothing is outside the realm of possibility.

God Who Sees Me, full of compassion, today I turn away grieving, my sin so plainly exposed, a choice to be made. Forgive me for clinging to the pile of unraveled threads because I'm so afraid of empty hands. Forgive me for trusting in my own strength and abilities. Thank you for taking them away from me for a season in order to expose how I have raised up an idol in Your place. Thank You for looking on me with love--still, despite everything You know about my past, my present and my future. Thank you for the promise of an impossible victory made possible only because of Your ultimate authority and omnipotence. Sustain me through this long learning of the lesson, but do not quit until Your will in my life has been accomplished. You chasten those You love. Help me view the present unpleasantness through eyes opened to the goodness of Your plan. Amen

washed-out or worthy

Yesterday I got out for a short excursion with a dear friend. It was our first in a long time, because I don't go anywhere willingly these days. The panic is always right under the surface. My blood feels like it is burning me. Good stuff.

The plan had been to go out to lunch, but I have not been able to eat inside a restaurant for two months now. Not because of food problems, but because the restaurant itself feels like it's smothering me. My body dumps inappropriate amounts of cortisol and suddenly instead of a casual, yummy meal and relaxing conversation, I'm just as wired as if I knew Jeffrey Dahmer was sitting in the booth behind me.

I don't know how it is for every person with adrenal fatigue, but when you see me out and about, even if I look "normal," you can assume that I am:

• experiencing heart palpitations;
• struggling to control my breathing;
• running a slight fever;
• trembling internally and likely externally;
• exhausted, even on the off chance I did sleep the night before;
• calculating the distance and objects between me and the nearest exit;
• praying with all my might to just get back home without making a scene;
• this close to walking out/canceling

This is true whether the excursion is to get groceries or go to a health appointment. I'm tellin' ya, life is FUN right now!

So anyway, now you have a little idea of what a big deal it was that I was out with Penni yesterday. Penni is an amazing person. I'm not just saying that because she is my assistant and the only reason I'm keeping up with any of my business obligations at the moment. I'm saying that because Penni really is amazing, and I wish more people saw her for what she is.

Penni has fibromyalgia, which basically means she hurts everywhere, ALL the time. You would never know it, though, because she just doesn't talk about it. She's been in some bad places because of it, and because God never wastes anything, she has learned some mighty deep lessons from her illness. Yesterday she shared one with me.

She told me she learned she couldn't trust what her mind was telling her.

Her mind told her that her life was over, that she would never ever feel good again. It told her that her kids were going to be scarred by all the games and recitals their mom couldn't attend. It told her that her husband might wish he had married someone who didn't have all these issues. It told her that her ministry days were over. That she might as well give up.

She said that the Holy Spirit taught her that in those moments, she needed to speak to herself, not listen to herself.

She went on to explain: listening to your BODY is a good thing. But listening to your MIND? Not always so great.

The Bible tells us in Jeremiah 17:9 that the heart is "deceitful above all things." We've been warned. It's going to lie to you regularly, pathologically. It's going to keep up a steady stream of absolute drivel, complete dreck that goes directly against the truths found in Scripture. The Word plainly reminds us that trusting in our own heart is foolishness (Proverbs 28:26). It simply cannot be depended on to consistently speak life and truth.

So what can be depended on? The Bible. It is:

• Trustworthy: Psalm 19:7
• Steadfast: Psalm 93:5
• Tested & Tried: Psalm 18:30
• Pure: Psalm 12:6
• Eternally Unchanging: Psalm 119:89

And when she quit listening to the untruths, and started speaking truth, Penni said--everything changed.

Oh, not the pain. That's still there. But everything else, the fear and the grief and the self-pity and the bitterness, was suddenly loss, compared to the excellency of Christ and the perfection of His plan.

Her mind had told her she was not enough, that she was a failure and she would never measure up. The truth of God's Word told her she was His beloved, accepted in Him, known since before conception, that her life was planned and pleasing to Him. That instead of being weak and washed-out, she was worthy and wanted.

I'm so glad Penni shared those thoughts with me. I know now that it was the reason we went out yesterday, despite how desperately I wanted to turn around and go home.

Sometimes, less listening and more speaking is the answer. But only if what's spoken is truth.

Eternal Father, Giver of Life, Mighty to Save! Your Word is life itself. Thank you for a friend that speaks truth at a crucial moment. How good it is to have the balm of Scripture to sooth in times of pain and distress. Grant wisdom to discern when our minds are spouting repetitions of the Deceiver's subtle lies, and strengthen us to combat the constant barrage with truth from your Word. Help us desire to hide Thy Word in our hearts, that we might not sin against Thee even in secret moments of great upheaval and bitter anxiety. Thank You for giving us the Bible, every word of it profitable for daily life and health. We pray all these things in the name of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Amen.

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musta got it wrong, God

You got it wrong, God. It wasn't supposed to go this way.

You messed up, Lord. I'm not the weak one. I'm the one who ministers to the weak ones. Don't You know that?

Why did you mis-cast me in this minor role? I'm meant to be the lead! Get with the plan, God!

I'd like to think You've got this, God, but did You notice I'm too weak to go to church? I know that can't be right. What gives?

Hate to mention it, Lord, but my hair is falling out and I'm quite sure that wasn't part of the plan. If You could fix it pronto I'd appreciate it.

Umm, God? I missed another event at my kids' school because I couldn't leave my house. Do we have a timeline here? Because I'm not gonna lie, I think we got a little off-track.

***********************

Kinda silly, right? Yet isn't it how we think?

We have it in our heads that He is not Who He said He is, that He is not capable of taking care of us. We might say otherwise, but inside we're quite sure He got this particular circumstance wrong.

We say we're ready to go "anywhere with Jesus," but only if the path is well-lit, free of debris and no more than a 4% grade.

We may think we're onboard with the plan, and we are... OUR plan. Not His.

Because there's no way this can be the divine plan, right? This pot-hole-riddled, trash-strewn uphill path that runs through the wrong side of town?

Where's the park benches? The planter boxes? The bunny rabbits? The sunshine?

What do you mean, "this IS the plan?" This painful valley, this debilitating weakness, this grim diagnosis? Oh no, You got it wrong, God!

God had a divine plan for the Children of Israel in Exodus 33, and He communicated that to the man He had chosen to lead them. They were to head out into the wilderness and quit hanging around the area where they had been enslaved so long. THAT was a bad neighborhood!

He gave the instructions, and at the very end, remembering that we are all just scared little kids inside, He spoke a promise. He said, "My presence shall go with you, and I will give you rest."

Then Moses said to Him, "If Your presence does not go with us, do not lead us up from here..."

I love this passage. Moses is like, "I know You juuussst said that, Lord, but let's go over the plans one more time. You're with me, right? There's no chance I'm taking one step and there's a drop-off, correct? You and me, proceeding, in a forwardly manner. Right?"

I'm obviously not the only one here with "anxiety issues." Moses is afraid to leave his tent! And he was speaking to God Himself, as close to face-to-face as it's possible to be to the Father. Come to think of it, Moses is either very, very brave, or very, very dumb. Questioning what God is telling him? Step back and wait for lightning to strike! Who does that? Not me!

Oh. Wait.

Good thing our loving Father "knoweth our frame; He remembereth that we are dust" (Psalm 103:14). That's why He reassured Moses even before he doubted, and then reassured him again when once wasn't enough. He knows our human fears and frailties, our inability to grow our faith bigger than a mustard seed. He also knows the stupid things we're going to say before we say them.

So He knows I'm going to freak out and try to grab the steering wheel away when we come up on this big curve. And He knows my dirty secret. I don't really trust Him a tenth as much as I say I do.

He loves me anyway. You know how I know that? Because God, Who cannot lie, told me He loved me so much that He gave His only child, Jesus, to die for my sins (John 3:16). So that the penalty would be paid forever and no one could ever take me away again.

I sit now in the palm of His hand and no power on earth, no illness, no wickedness, not even death itself, can pluck me out (John 10:28).

My position with God is as His beloved, precious daughter, for whom He would never plan anything but the best. There's no way on earth He doesn't have a plan, or that He got part of it wrong, or messed up the agenda in any of the other zillion moments I'd rather not endure.

Of course He has a plan. And it cannot be improved upon.

I'm the one who's got it all wrong.

Forgive me, Father! The dust speck exalts its wisdom above that of the Creator of the Universe. How gracious You are to allay my fears and reassure me over and over again that I am loved, worthy, accepted and redeemed. Snatched from the jaws of death and held in Your palm as a precious treasure You paid the ultimate price to obtain, You have a plan for my life that exceeds anything I could ask or think. I declare Your praise before the whole earth. You alone are God. Amen.

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what I need you to be

I am your broken friend.

I am your friend with the unseen disease; the chronic condition that's not apparent; the illness that no one fundraises for.

I am your friend whose smile masks inner turmoil, unthinkable fatigue, or incessant pain. Or all three.

I am your friend who pauses and struggles to lie when asked how she is, because no one wants to hear the truth. Not even her.

I am your friend who serves as a warning that all that glitters is not gold.

People ask how they can help someone with adrenal fatigue (note: not necessarily any other chronic illnesses). That list is short. Nothing fixes this except rest and time, the two things no one can give me except myself.  The better way to phrase it might be, what do I need you to NOT do right now.

• I need you not to push me to come to things or "get out of the house." I need to be left alone. Seriously alone. I need to not have ANY commitments for an extended period of time. I need you to trust me when I tell you I can't. I didn't say I won't or I don't want to. I said I can't. That includes church. And that doesn't mean I'm backsliding. It means I'm sick.

• I need you not to ask me when I'll be back or able to resume my duties or finish work I left undone. I do not know, and thinking about it will only make it worse. I need you to trust that I didn't want to leave it undone, that I want me to get back to work even more than you do. But for every week I shave off my recovery time on this end, I will pay for with a month when it happens again. I need you to realize that this condition didn't come on in a year and it won't be gone in a week. This will always be there, right under the surface, for the rest of my life.

• I need you to understand this is not just a matter of overcoming anxiety. My body is under a continual "fight or flight" response all day and all night, and that is not in my head, it's in my adrenal gland and cortisol levels, which are seriously out of balance and will not be fixed by "telling myself" to calm down. If I could have calmed down on my own, I would have.

• I need you not to call. I will not answer. I have never liked the phone and I finally pinpointed why; every one who calls wants a piece of me, pieces I do not have to give. It's not your fault. I freely gave pieces of myself all over the place for years and years. That's why I am where I am now. If you have to call, leave a message. If it's not important enough to leave a message, then it's not important and right now I need you not to call me with things that aren't important.

• I need you not to pressure me about your miracle whatever pill or drink. I need you to take me at my word when I say I'm in competent, professional hands. I need you to understand that even a private message or an email feels like pressure. I know you mean well, but I need you to know that I will unfriend or block anyone or anything I have to in order to be left alone to rest.

• I need you not to tell me about your own experience, unless you have the exact same diagnosis. Many people think they understand because they had some sort of burnout or a panic attack in the past. This is beyond burnout. This is near-constant, knife's-edge panic all day long and even waking you up at night. This is my life, ground to a halt. It is not the same as that one time you had to stay in bed all day.

• I need you to give me time to answer. About every third day, the brain fog is so intense, the fatigue so phenomenal, it literally takes me a couple of heartbeats to answer even a simple question. There is a gap between comprehending what was asked and formulating the sentence to answer. It's freaky to experience and probably quite freaky to watch, too. The next day will be better, but on that bad day, I need you to ask as few questions as possible and to understand that my answer may be different when my brain is back in gear.

• I need you to pray for me. Satan attacks where we are weak, and his weapons of choice for long-term illness are depression, hopelessness, bitterness and grief. My mind is tired and while the root cause is physical, I do not battle only against flesh and blood. The prince of darkness seeks whom he may devour, and someone going through major health issues has a big red target on their back. I need you to share Scripture, to encourage me to keep my eyes on Christ, and I need you not to quit lifting me up with the same determination and energy that the paralyzed man's friends had when found a way around the pressing crowds and lowered him down from the roof to see Jesus. Those are the kinds of friends we need, eh?

• I need you to pray for my husband and my kids. I need you to ask my husband if there's anything you can take from his shoulders, because he is carrying both our loads right now. I need you to pray for wisdom as we struggle to know what to share and what not to say in front of the children. I need you to understand that I won't spill my guts where they can hear. I need you to not judge when you see that they need a haircut, that we're paying for school lunch again, that their new pants STILL need hemming.

This may sound like an incredibly self-centered post. But here's the kicker: I didn't write it for me. I can share these things freely.

I wrote it for her; your broken friend. She may not be able to verbalize it like I can. We must always speak up for the voiceless, whether it is the unborn, the elderly, the refugee, the enslaved, or the abused.

PS: For a more complete overview of what happens during adrenal fatigue, click here. It's long but it's in layman's terms and will give you a clearer picture of how all-encompassing this disease can be and how crucial it is to treat it.

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