Just for the Sake of Being Transparent...

If you follow me on Instagram, you've seen my recent push of bible based posts. Prayers, verses, and such...

Lately, my heart's felt heavy. Not for my father and his illness that plagues him and our family; instead, for my blogging "friends". (I use that term loosely, because really, I know many of you through the internet, not in proximity to one anotther) So many are struggling with anxiety in big and small ways. They're reaching out, asking for help, tips, suggestions, even just taking the chance to share in relief from a secret. 

Today, I share my experience. For some, it'll be encouragement. For others, a shock. And for those who don't fell into those groups, a complete bore. 

Four years ago, I was a 20-year-old sorority girl looking forward to moving in with one of my best friends. Life was enjoyable and easy -except during midterms and finals.

Then, dad got sick (no more details, you've got the archives for that) and he was no longer the invincible man I grew up knowing. Then, I moved from a horrible living situation into a new, different place which, while fun, was stress-filled in many ways. Then, Alzheimer's appeared and I didn't know which way to look or how to life could suddenly fly out of control. Then, money was tight and I needed to save on rent, queue the second and third moves. 

I know, life gets crazy. Chill out and stop being dramatic woman. But this was different. 

As Korea launched "practice" missiles towards United States shores, as doctors gave us conflicting diagnoses for sick Popsicle, and as school approached finals, I stopped sleeping and started cleaning, bleaching, organizing. Night after night after night for months. 

It took a lonely, tear-filled night in my third-floor, 1940's studio apartment to get a grip. I'd spiraled into a routine of insomnia, rituals, and pure, unadulterated fear. At the time, it was how I kept myself at "peace". But now, years later, I recognize it as Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder spurred by anxiety.

I've run the gamut as far as how to rid my life of my anxious tendencies. I wish there was a perfect way to rid my mind of those -sometimes- crippling thoughts. But life, and it's worries, don't work that way. So, I'll share what's worked for me... 

1. Honesty with family and friends. 

What's that saying? ...Honesty is the best policy. Yes, I know, share this bizarre behavior with someone? How terrifying. But, doing so allows others to pull you out of your funk. In my worst moments, I'd withdraw from those I thought would "catch" me, this only made things worse.

2. Medication.
I'm not saying hit the bottle or the bong. Talk to your doctor. I did numerous times -complete with water works. And still have a prescription on an "as needed" basis. Hearing that I'm not a freak, that life is hard and unpredictable which can be scary, that anxiety is a tough circle of difficulties gave me a little slice of peace.

3. Get a sense of humor. 
Laughing is the best medicine. Even for the anxious soul. And making light of the little stuff helps keep my reeling mind in check. Plus, the more you laugh, the more the people around you do too... Think how popular you'll become.

4. Know your triggers.
The news terrifies me. I enjoy being educated about current events, but I can't let myself go too far. I read the current stuff on the Google News Homepage or Yahoo, then stop. As soon as I start searching, seeking information, I start catastrophizing, stressing, panicking.

5. Get on board with God. 
The worse my anxiety got, the more angry I got with God. This is the opposite of what I needed for goodness sake! 

Today, life's still scary. There's this NSA leak, Syria and World War III talk, dad's sicker than ever, plus we're talking about houses, kids, and adult married life sort of business. This time I'm doing anxiety different. I've made an active choice and honest effort not to become comfortable and complacent in my fears. I keep some routine since I thrive in it, but break it up with spontaneity for my sanity.

Remember, I haven't got anxiety mastered. There's still nights I lay awake, moments my hands burn to clean, dust, bleach... It's about varying your methods, trying new things, being honest with yourself -and if you're like me, someone else.

Some of His words for the road: 

"Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. 

Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid." 

-John 14:27

I'm praying for your hearts, friends. Yours and mine. 

Share your tips, tricks, and anxiety reducing routines please... Goodness knows I need them. 

My Demented Demands

Since my dad got sick I've played this game with God. I pray to him. Give him this criteria I want Him to fulfill as a sign that He heard me. Then I for days, weeks even, I function through a fog as my mind focuses solely on searching for Him to do as I instructed.

Sometimes He doesn't follow me. Can you believe that? God doesn't follow the instructions I've given Him so clear as damn crystal. Or does He?

I've come to realize I'm a Pharisee. And in being like them, I have so many rules and criteria for God to fit into I, in fact, blur my own vision and miss His presence right there before me. I approach Him with a list of To Dos and He patiently listens, then shakes His head and reminds me I haven't even started to "get it".

"You know how to interpret the appearance of the sky, but you cannot interpret the signs of the times. A wicked and adulterous generation looks for a miraculous sign, but none will be given it except the sign of Jonah." -Matthew 16:3-4 

I look at the sky and, in the absence of clouds, know there will be sun and warmth. I smell the air before a rain and know drops will beat the asphalt in mere minutes. Yet, I, as part of that wanton generation, can't recognize God's work, His presence, the signs He leaves as encouragement, because it isn't the way I've decided it should be.

A pastor once said, "God isn't here to fit your standards, He's here to be the standard." 

This sign of Jonah is a fascinating thing. Jesus is referring to himself in code (once again). You see, Jonah remained alive in the belly of a whale for three days just as Christ was in the grave for three days before he rose again. Friends, He's present in your heart, your life, your circumstances now.

Though it can feel so cumbersome to recognize Him some days, it's not due to His lacking. Simply because you don't "get it" doesn't mean He abandons you. In fact, He's doing it the best way. Why? He's here to be the standard, not to fit yours. 

And I try to fit Him in my box. How dare I?

I find encouragement in Colossians 2:5.

"For though I am absent from you in body, 

I am present with you in spirit and delight to see how orderly you are,

and how firm your faith in Christ is." 

My prayer is to for my heart to seek His standards in order to feel His deep-seated presence in my life.

Am I what I eat? Or am I more than that?

Today, we stand at the end of one way of thinking and launch into another. Bare with me while I collect my thoughts and attempt (sometimes clumsily) to put them into words for you to consume. 

"What goes into a man's mouth does not make him 'unclean', 

but what comes out of his mouth, that is what makes him 'unclean'." 

-Matthew 15:11 

My guess is that it started in college between my freshman year, 15 pounds, and rushing a sorority. That's when the first inklings snuck in and I found myself more and more focused on weight, rolls, pounds, calories... Slowly, sneakily obsessed with the jazz that make up one's body image (at least according to me). 

I "learned" more and more on what "eating healthy" meant to running-lifestyle-foodie bloggers. I observed what the skinny girls in my sorority ate -or didn't eat- and mimicked their habits. Paleo, glutin-free, high protein... Oh I've done it all for a time. Then I give it up and get back into my eat whatever I want funk until that spare tire reappears around my midsection, at which point that guilty, dirty feeling returns to my gut and I try something new.

For the last ten weeks I've been eating "clean". Meaning no white flour or sugar, minimal processing and ingredients in my food, and lots of fruits, veggies, and protein. I've lost some weight and toned up, but for the first time I've forced myself to do a spiritual and emotional assessment of myself during the process. While I like the tighter me, the emotional, spiritual state of my being is less than impressive. 

Much like the Pharisees that Jesus is talking to above, I am legalistic. I create these black and white categories of good, clean, healthy food and those that are the opposite: bad, unclean, unhealthy. Should I consume -even in moderation- from the latter group, my disappointment with myself is crippling. I emotionally embody the "I am what I eat" cliche. The frustration I feel about a dietary short-coming becomes palpable frustration that lashes out at those around me. 

But according to Jesus, it's not so much about what goes into my body, as what comes out of it. Because while a diet is fuel for my physical being, my mouth is the exit for the pining of my heart. And what does my inability to grant myself grace reveal about the condition of my heart? Possibly the way in which I struggle with the concept of God's never-ending grace to my screwed-up soul, or the difficulties I have in extending grace to those around me... 

Rather than obsessing over the workout moments missed and the calories consumed, I must concern myself more with the guilt-shame storm brewing in my weight and food consumed mind. Before I give myself a mental lashing for a poor - read "unclean"-food choice, I must zoom in on the source of that frustration and examine it's reflection of my God-loving, but world-living heart. 

My verse and biblical focus for this time: 

"Like newborn babies, crave pure spiritual milk, so that by it you may grow up

 in your salvation, now that you have tasted the Lord is good." 

-1 Peter 2:1-3 

As I do this little mental evaluation experiment (that I hope to be transparent in and share with you), 

I long to cultivate a hunger for God and His truth about my physical being -and beauty- 

that overcomes the heaviness that my current obsession is creating within me. 

[None of this is dietary advice... Rather an examination of my process of faith. 

I believe in being healthy physically, spiritually, emotionally... 

This health requires a balance. Said balance is delicate and exhausting. 

I, by no means, have it right.]

Words & Letters [5]

Dear Neighborhood Hawks, You're beautiful. And watching you soar through the sky makes me happy. What's life like up there? 

Dear Twitter, I just don't get you and don't know if I ever will! Why are you so hard to get a hang of?

Dear Grammar, I love you. I wish more people (especially writers) were more fond of you. 

Dear Lisette, So many of your posts resonate with me... But this one, oh how you've hit the nail on the head. Thank you for being bold and for sharing. 

Dear Des, Chris Harrison and Soulja Boy, Really? That music video is almost as hilarious as the potential of the weirdos we're pretending are suitors this season. 

Dear Jury Duty, This will all be worth my "time off" from work if I get put on an interesting case... If not, I'm going to be nothing short of a Bitter Betty. Be warned. 

Dear Mr. T, Thanks for appreciating my insanely improved bacon cooking skills! I may add that to my resume. Yes? 

sticks & stones won't break my bones, but words [almost always] will hurt me.

(unrelated picture, but such a pretty nest with eggs)

"Do not let any unwholesome talk come out of your mouths, but only what is helpful for building up others according to their needs, that it may benefit those who listen." 

-Ephesians 4:29

Whoever said "sticks and stones will break my bones but words will never hurt me" lied. 

There's a biological and chemical healing process our bodies undergo in times of injury and damage.

Unlike our physical body, our minds don't have such a stream-lined system to recuperate from hurt. 

I've received many a compliment over the years. On the converse, the amount of hurtful words match.

I can generalize the kind words said.

But the ill-natured ones I know word for word.

"Amber is a slut."

"Who's the white girl with the black brother? Not me." 

"It's fine, you didn't mean that much to me anyway." 

"Go on back to mommy and daddy, they'll fix this won't they." 

"You don't know what it means to struggle."

"I'm smarter than you, that's a fact. You'll never be good enough for me."

"Sure you'd talk about me, just because you're my best friend doesn't mean I should trust you."

Oh how they manage to suck the air from my lungs even all these years later.

And yet, I know I've spoke words just as, if not more, hurtful than these. 

Not until lately have I become aware of my word using tendencies...

In that, I use them as though they're pitchforks slowly chipping away at others.

But I want them to serve as bricks, slowly coming together to build up a foundation, then structure.

I know I've got to use my words for good. And not for ugly (or evil)... 

So what does that look like?

Who do I need to start speaking life-giving words to? 

The answer is simple (yet overwhelmingly) everyone. 

I do better at overwhelming tasks when I stop with broad strokes and pinpoint specific details. 

To Jason: words of adoration and support reminding him of his importance and significance in my life. 

To co-workers: through recognition of their hard work and gratitude for their dedication to the company.

To my dear friends: encouragement and support of their growth, prayer over their lives and families. 

To strangers: interested, honest conversation that ends with a smile and a (genuine) nice to meet you.

To fellow bloggers: friendly, unhurried comments that are well-thought out and engaging.

 Not only that, I need to be kind to myself. 

I need to use positive words that encourage my creativity and my soul.

I need to give my heart somewhere happy -and not hostile or toxic- to live, love and function. 

"For out of the overflow of the heart the mouth speaks." 

-Matthew 12:34

The Awkwardness that is June 16. Or: How do you celebrate Father's Day when he doesn't know who you are?

Two weeks from today we celebrate our fathers. We dote on them with gifts, or complaint free fishing trips, or barbeque, and cards that say things like “#1 Dad”. As you can guess, dementia done came in and shitted on that celebration for us kids. Yep, dementia don’t care.

This year is the Father’s Day I imagine (and secretly hope) to be the most painful. It’s the Father’s Day where the physical body that belongs to the man I identify as dad is present, but my dad, my dad, is missing in action. 

When I visit I see the man who gave me my short legs-long torso, the source of my butt chin, the thick-haired and tanned-skin man that shares my most prevalent of features. While he looks the same (except much older and wild-eyed), he is not my dad as I knew him. In fact, I'm no longer Amber, his baby girl. I'm my mom, my sister, an employee. This Amber is a mystery name only to be repeated, not recognized.

This year I'd love to resign myself to tears and heartache over the dad that isn't here and the daughter whose memory is no longer. How cathartic it would be to lie around in self-pity over the loss of the man I can't find inside that broken and bewildered mind. But my dad would have a fit if that's how I celebrated and honored him on what will be a beautiful spring, almost summer, day

He was a glass half full man. And if it felt empty in any way, he busted his ass to fill 'er up. Instead of tears and sorrow and self-pity -the way society tells us to "celebrate" a loved one lost- I'm going to do it the way he'd prefer; a celebration only complete with a dirty martini (I prefer extra olives), the great outdoors, and a meal fit for a king.

 

He was a man who taught me to be thankful for what I've got (and had) in my life, because it's uniquely my experience and you haven't got forever to enjoy yourself. At 60-years-old he is dying, slowly and sadly. But, he was right. (Oh how he'd love to hear that from me!) Wasting just one day feeling sorry for myself over the loss of my dad is a shame with all the joy there is otherwise. So today, in two weeks on Father's Day, and always, I grasp to an attitude of grateful enjoyment. 

I love you dad. 

Thank you for lessons that'll last a lifetime. 

I promise to pass them on.

And to be the life of the party. 

If all the pictures doesn't have you convinced we look the same, this little video will do the trick! 

Clarification: 

1. He is wearing Perfect Push-ups as his dancing shoes, should any of you desire a pair.

2. We did not dance like that at my wedding -I did that only spinning that night.

An Apology to my Gay Friends on Behalf of Misguided, Misrepresentative Religion

Dear Gay Friend,

It's your Christ-loving, religious friend here. Don't cringe or stop. I beg you to keep reading.

I've approached our relationship all wrong. And today is my day to (first) apologize. I'm sorry for being the Pharisee in your life. For living out a story of self-righteous, high-horse, judgmental ways. It's a tale that's unfair, ugly, and completely unbecoming.

My unjust actions are not a reflection of how I feel; rather a semblance of how I felt religion (not Christ, but the human-induced structure of the church) told me to act. What a shame. For me and for Him.

Like the Pharisees, I was so caught up in the rules and legalities of my "faith" (though I question if it can be called that in light of my shallowness), that I couldn't see the lessons you had in store for me. You taught me more than many of my "good" Christian friends and church leaders. You've showed me what it means to trust in God's grace and mercy. You're walking proof that God is good and makes no mistake, but that this world is broken and aching.

Christ made it clear throughout the course of his life that it's important to love the sinner, and hate the sin that plagues their life. I hate sin. All sin, be it gossip, greed, lying, homosexuality, lust, and the list goes on. But I love sinners. Just like you loved me despite the way I've been judgmental, dishonest, self-centered, unkind, and -worst of all- self-righteous. You're a consummate example of looking past the brokenness of others and seeking that gleaming bit of God's goodness within our flesh.

Namely, you taught me to own my sin. In doing so, I am afforded the opportunity to rest in and share the grace of our everlasting God. Your transparency opens my eyes to the fight between flesh and righteousness. We've talked many times about your life versus mine. You opened my eyes to the way your flesh can desire sin, while your heart and soul long to honor God. Never before has the sin-soul struggle been so evident to me.

You, friend, are to be honored. You are honest and true in your sin. I am not. I lie and say I've got myself together, that you're worse off than me. You're candid; thus, beautiful in all that you do. I stupidly attempt to hide my sin in a facade of perfection. I think about you often. Especially when my skin itches with the desire to make another attempt at concealing the sinful film that feels so dirty.

I love you friend. May I leave my high horse behind and walk beside you in this insane thing we call life? I long to ditch the man-made religious protocol that I've rested in for a decade and enjoy the experience of unabashed honesty though it may leave my heart and flesh raw.

Love,
Your self-righteous, self-centered, but hopefully repentant Christian friend

*I love interaction, but any and all hateful comments on this post will be deleted no questions asked. Keep it respectful and non-toxic friends.