Merry Christmas!

Christmas morning has come quietly in our house. I am the first one awake, and not a creature is stirring; not even our cats. Even though I could be sleeping in, my internal alarm clock pairs with the digital one on my dresser to bring me awake. How often do I get to experience the cozy silence of our sleeping house? I relish it.
Our Christmas celebrations have been spread out over the span of three days this year. Like a bar crawl is our journey from house to house as we drink deeply of family, food, gifts, and togetherness. I am mindful of the gifts of joy and peace as I revel in our holiday celebrations. Fresh in my memory are days when I could not enjoy anything because of the weight of the depression that lay over me. As I celebrate Christmas this year, fresh belief in God and his goodness fill me with more joy and gratitude for the gift of Jesus than I have ever felt in my life. With the gift of his son, God gave me a path to freedom from the fear and depression that threatened to end my life.
I have known about baby Jesus my whole life. Beneath the presents, Santa, vacation from school, parties, and food, he was there. Phrases like, "Jesus is the reason for the season," have been burned into my perception of the holiday since I was born. I don't believe it ever really hit home for me until this year, though. I don't know if anyone who has not been rescued from darkness can see baby Jesus with the same eyes I now have. His birth marks the beginning of my salvation. The life of the baby born on the first Christmas has become my guide for how I treat people, how I perceive the world, and how I view myself. God's love for humanity became flesh when he sent that baby to us. I reap the fruit of that gift on a daily basis, and it is sweet and life-giving. My Christmas is beautiful because of the Christ, and my gifts are lovely because of the great gift God gave to me when he sent his son to save my life. Life is good, and it is a very merry Christmas indeed.
I wish everyone could experience the joy I have found. There is so much pain in the world. There are so many people who cannot enjoy Christmas because it has become a big ball of stress, disappointment, and obligation. So many people still live beneath the weight of depression and fear. My heart aches for them, because I have been there, and it is terrible. How grateful am I that a path to freedom was born for us. I pray that others will find it as I have and experience the new life that is waiting there. God is good, Christmas is merry, and life is waiting. As I leave the peace and quiet of my bed to begin this day, my heart is already full. Merry Christmas!

1 Month, 6 Days: Face to Face

Sitting in my green, tufted armchair in a silent house is a rare treat for a Thursday early-afternoon. I am normally working at the dental lab this time of day, frantically trying to finish up the work for the Friday morning route. I'd much rather be here than there, and I am grateful for this rare moment when I can truly relax and bask in the peace of my home.

I took the day off work to spend some quality time with my mother-in-law, who has been visiting us from Mexico. Being around her is always enjoyable. She is a wonderful listener, filled with quiet wisdom, thought-provoking questions, and a deep love for God and people.

We spent the morning talking while we swung on the porch swing in my yard. Watching my daughter Zadie play, we talked about family and life, church and faith, Mexico and Ottawa. I learned more about Brandon and his family history. I listened to Teresa's heart for her church and community in Mexico. Beneath the shade of the mystery tree growing in the middle of my yard, conversation soaked into me like rain on parched earth.

When I work at the dental lab, I spend most of the day in my own company. I usually wear headphones and listen to music or audiobooks during the 8+ hours of my shift. Sometimes I can spend most of my waking hours in a day or week in relative solitude, since by the time I get done with work each day, I am usually too tired and drained to make much of a social effort.

Today reminded me that there is beauty in simple conversation. Two people, face to face, with genuine interest in each other's lives, feed and rejuvenate each other as they invest their time in conversation. When we break from our daily ruts of superficial encounters and electronic relationships, we find quiet peace in the simplicity of time spent face to face.

Today I am grateful for my mother-in-law and the beauty of this fall day. God is good, and so is life. :0)

One Month Old

Hello, friends. I have been receiving weekly e-mail devotionals from one of my dear friends who is walking her own path to freedom from depression and despair. This blog update is an almost word-for-word copy if the e-mail I sent her on the one month anniversary of my salvation.

It helps to be reminded of the truth of God, especially when I feel weak. It is easy for me to remember those things when everything is going well, but when I am falling apart and afraid, I need them the most. It has been a month today since I was born again, and I am happy that I made that decision. I have experienced joy and freedom in the past month that surpasses anything I have known in years. However, the past few days have been hard. My old fear, especially fear about being married, has resurfaced and tested my faith. Last night I felt crazy and trapped, and I struggled with suicidal thoughts again. This makes me so sad because I thought i was free of that fear and despair. I thought I would never want to die again when I have God to live for. But sometimes the fear and anxiety still feels so heavy that it makes me think that I am just fooling myself in believing that God can free me.

When I am in the middle of it, it seems nearly impossible to go on. I feel like I am hanging on by my fingernails. I think the scariest part is feeling like I have lost control of my own mind, and I cannot trust myself not to do something stupid and dangerous. Can I trust God to keep me from going to a place I cannot come back from? Will he save me every time, or will one time be too much, and I will not be strong enough to do what must be done? This terrifies me. Is he strong enough to reach into my life and preserve it when my mind is that weak? Is he bigger than my fears? Is he stronger than my panic? Is his love great enough to cover my deficiency and pour love through me when I have none to give? Will he really save me every time?

I know that I am not strong enough to save myself. All I have left in life is to trust that God will indeed do what he has promised. No matter how hard I try, I am me, and I cannot lift myself out of this mire with my own hands. So I will trust. I will pray, and praise, and cry out. I will choose to stand firm when I want to run. When I cannot stand anymore, I will be on my knees, praying for help. When I cannot kneel, I will fall on my face and cry out. If he does not deliver me, then I will just lay there until he decides to, even if it means that is where I die. What else is there for me to do but trust? I cannot save myself.

I would greatly appreciate your prayers. I know that you fight your own battles with depression and anxiety, so you understand how hard it is to keep fighting sometimes. Please walk with me through this. I believe God has given you to me for my friends because you understand, and I can be completely honest, knowing you will not judge me. I want to live, and I want to be free. I choose to trust God and believe that he is strong enough to save me, even in my darkest hour.

Thank you for loving me and investing in my life. I value your friendship more than I can express. <3>

It is difficult to share the depth of my struggle in such a public medium. However, I believe that God is leading me on a journey of healing and transformation. I believe that he is using my brokenness to create beauty. I want to share what he is doing in me, even though some of it is messy, ugly, and embarrassing. My words and my life are his to use, and even though it is hard for me to let you see me so broken and vulnerable, I know God is using my journey for his glory. I want to be real with you. I want you to see what he is making me. I am one month old and growing.

Day 21: Starving

Did you ever get so busy that you forgot to eat? Before you know it, you're cranky and exhausted, snapping at everyone around you. Your productivity begins to take a dive. It is hard to focus and easy to make mistakes. Things can become pretty ugly when we forget to eat.

I think the soul starves when we do not take time to ingest the daily bread of God's presence. I am finding that skipping a day or two of quiet time with God leaves me weak and snappish. I become lazy and lethargic. I lose my sense of purpose. Little things irritate me, and it is more difficult to find beauty in the world around me. Only when I notice the ugly symptoms do I realize that I am starving. I am ravenous. I need God to fill me. To function, I need to remember to eat.

Give us this day our daily bread.

Day 18: Bigger Hands

Sometimes facing a normal day can be as scary as facing something new. In fact I am more intimidated by inaction than challenge. Waking up to a dark-house morning, I put myself through the paces of getting ready for work. Even though it is Friday, I do not feel any particular sense of excitement. A long day of work is ahead of me, and my supervisor has begun leaning on me to increase my production. That adds stress to my work day, because I like to set my own pace and take my time to do a thorough job. Having to rush things makes it easier to make mistakes, and I hate receiving my work back with adjustments to be made after I already thought it was complete. I want to be able to live up to my manager's expectations, but sometimes it feels impossible. It is difficult for me to walk into a situation where my failure is not only possible, but probable.

I have been praying about my job and asking God to help me to do good work every day. I feel like I am already doing the best I can on my own. It may take some sort of aha-moment or unseen hand to shift me from this rut I am in. Until that happens I choose to trust that God has placed me in a job where I cannot succeed to either teach me something or to help someone else in an unseen way. I can accept that. It is good to know that the situation lies in bigger and more capable hands than my own. My day begins. Here I go.

Day 16: In the Stillness

Sometimes it is frustrating being a woman. As stereotypical as it sounds, I really do find myself subject to hormonal mood swings depending on the time of the month. On a day where nothing bad has happened, I feel grumpy seemingly without reason. The fact that I have no good reason for my bad mood makes me frustrated, and the fact that I can't shake it makes me even more grumpy. It's a vicious cycle. The only things I can do are to eat chocolate, to hold my tongue lest I say things I don't mean, and to pray. Out of the three, I am finding the last to be most successful today.

When I woke into a bad mood today, I decided to skip my morning run. Pushing myself to exercise when I did not even want to be awake turned out to be beyond my willpower today. I compromised by rolling out of bed when all I really wanted to do was reset my alarm and go back to sleep. After dressing, eating breakfast, and making a cup of coffee, I headed out to my yard to sit on the swing and pray.

In the stillness of the early morning, I began to lay my burdens at the feet of Father. Sunrise streaked a blue patch of sky as the swing gently rocked me. My coffee cup was an oasis of warmth in the chilly September dawn. In the quiet, in the stillness, I knew that He was God. I asked Him to walk with me through my day. I told Him about my job and asked for His help in doing my best work today. By the time I returned to the house, my heart was lighter. I still have to deal with the burdens of life, great and small, but God meets me in the stillness. I am not alone.

Day 15: Through My Ears and Over My Heart

As I journeyed through the wilderness my life used to be, I always sought out music that spoke to where I was at that place and time When I was a child and teenager, a steady influx of Christian music fed me. However, college brought new life circumstances, and I expanded my musical palate to include a wide variety of very good secular music that was more in tune with my questioning, wandering heart. No longer believing in God simply because it was how I was raised, I began to feel like Christian music deserved a harder scrutiny than I had ever before given it. Did I believe what I was listening to? Was it a cliche? Were those artists simply regurgitating scripture and theology to cookie-cutter chord progressions and instrumentation? Did the music mean anything to me?

I completely stopped listening to Christian radio because my heart was not in the same place as the songwriters' lyrics of faith and praise. I was angry with God and unsure of what I believed. The songs I listened to were by artists like David Bazan, who sang about his own struggle with Christianity, and Nickel Creek, whose song Doubting Thomas seemed to speak my own heart's concerns. I was wandering in a wilderness of pain, doubt, and confusion, and I needed a soundtrack that matched my life.

After being born again two weeks ago, I started listening to Christian radio again. I figured I would give it a fair chance since I actually believed in God and His plan for my life again. Feeling a little bit foolish, I turned on the radio in my car on the way to work, trying to have an open mind. I was and still am biased against the Christian music industry, but I figured there had to be at least a little bit of good music mixed in with all of the ho-hum canned stuff. As I listened to the words of those songs, I began to feel my heart resonating with them in a new way. Words celebrating salvation and hope echoed my own newfound freedom from depression. For the first time in years, I believed in the God around whom those songs swirled, and the music was more than concepts and words.

Though my animosity toward Christian radio had dissipated, my bias against it was still in force. I began to think about searching for songs of hope that also were not afraid to portray the messier side of life and the true depth of God's grace. Our local Christian radio station has branded itself as family friendly, which is fine. However, we live in a messy, broken, hurting world. I need more than just squeaky-clean songs. I need a soundtrack that sings the songs of my life, and my life is not a happy bubble. There must be songs for anger, songs for disappointment, songs for confusion, songs for doubt. Songs for coming back home, songs for dark nights, songs for loved ones who died young, songs for enemies, songs for broken relationships. But for my life soundtrack, God must also be in those songs.

I woke up this morning groggy and unrested. After a night of fitful dreaming, the last thing I wanted to do was crawl from my bed and face the day. In a gray humor I drove to work. I began to pray, which is my new habit whenever I find myself in a bad mood. I believe that God uses my emotions to point out problems in my life and to keep me from getting too distracted by the little things, thus ignoring the big picture. As I prayed, I turned on the radio to the Christian station. Amy Grant began to sing about how crying about our problems to God is better than a hallelujah sometimes. "We pour out our miseries. God just hears a melody. Beautiful, the mess we are. The honest cries of breaking hearts are better than a hallelujah." Wow. That was not a song of feel-good theological regurgitation. I mean, yes, it contained spiritual principles, but the truth within the song felt real, gritty, and raw. I wanted more.

When I got to work I created an Internet radio station on Pandora.com based on the Amy Grant song I had liked. The songs that came up were okay, but they were not quite my style of music. I typed in Derek Webb instead, remembering how much his song "Wedding Dress" had affected my perception of God's love for our broken humanity. The music that resulted from my search absolutely blew me away. Song after song carried powerful lyrics about life both messy and beautiful. Songs of faith and praise mingled with grief for a sister who had died young. The instrumentation of the various artists and bands was similar yet diverse. Each carried a singer/songwriter vibe, but while some were a simple guitar and vocal combo, others were intricate in their percussion, strings, and other unexpected instruments, like the banjo or bells. As I listened, I realized that I had found a treasure trove. Each song went through my ears and over my heart, bathing me in beauty and truth.  I had found the soundtrack to my life.

It feels good to enjoy Christian music again.  There are still many songs that I really, really love that have nothing to do with God, but since my life has changed, so has my perspective.  I no longer see the world in the same way I did before I was made new.  Everything seems so much more purposeful.  I look for the beauty hidden in ugliness.  I find myself looking for ways to bring healing to the lives of people I meet every day.  I see God everywhere, and I believe in His goodness.  Now, I have music that sings with my heart, and my heart sings with the heart of God, which beats with compassion and love for the world.  That is something worth singing about.

Day 14: Two Things

After almost a week of not being able to run, I finally laced up my Nikes, grabbed my headphones, and hit the street. I was a little nervous about heading into the second week of my 5k training without running a single step in days, but by the time I began my first running segment, I felt great. That first run came as close to joy as I have ever reached while attempting to run. The pavement seemed to fly under my light feet. It was good to run. The easiness did not last much past that first run, but the memory of it carried me through the rest of my workout.

I noticed two things as I ran and listened to God today. The first was the sense of community I felt with other runners. As we passed each other, we would wave or say, "Hi." Even though I am new at running, when I saw another runner on the street, I felt like I belonged to a group. The fact that we were sharing the street in our running clothes and shoes in the early morning made two people alike in a way they may not have been if each had not decided to run that day. Seeing other runners also made me feel good about my own run. Other people had also dragged themselves out of bed in the predawn chill to make their bodies sweat and strain. I could do it, too. By choosing to wake up and run, I became part of a community that I would not have had access to if I had stayed in bed.

The second thing I noticed while running today was that sometimes it is easier to inhale and exhale consistently if I take a shorter breath before trying to exhale. Instead of inhale-2-3-4 and trying to force myself to exhale 2-3-4 in the same rhythm, it was easier to inhale-2, exhale-2 for a few rounds after transitioning from run to walk. I would gradually work it back to inhale-2-3, exhale-2-3, then finally back to a count of four. Instead of gasping in great breaths and trying to hold them until I could gasp in another, I could take shorter breaths and easily push out as much as I pulled in.

What did I learn from God as I ran with Him today? When I choose to run, whether in the body or in my faith, I become part of a community. I am not alone in my effort, and there is joy in meeting others who are running the same path as I am. Also, I do not have to take in great gasping breaths of the presence of God and then struggle to exhale Him into the lives of other. I van experience him in small ways and share him in small ways right now, and eventually my capacity will increase.

Thanks for the run, God. I have missed running with you.

Day 12: A Land of Promise

It's been a few days since I have been able to catch my breath, sit down, and spend some time contemplating life. I have been working a lot of overtime at the dental lab during the past week, and I have had cake orders to fulfill the past two nights. Strain and exhaustion have dominated my waking hours. It is good to finally collapse onto the couch in my silent, sun-filled living room on this blissful Saturday afternoon. My sweat pants and bare feet testify that I have nowhere to go and nothing to do. Perfect.

I have greatly enjoyed spending time with my daughter Zadie this morning. It is rather rare that I get to spend an unbroken chunk of hours with her, and this morning has been rich. She is a little less than two years old, and already she has such spirit and intelligence that I am continually surprised by things she says and does. How beautiful it is to kneel down to explain that her stickers can go on her legs, but not the floor, and have her pat me on the shoulder with her tiny hand. "I love you, too, Mama!" Those are the sweetest words in the world.

I am blessed by the God I serve. Every time I delight in my daughter's presence, my heart fills with gratitude that God has given me new life and the ability to enjoy this precious little girl. My heart used to be so heavy that even Zadie's smiles and laughter could not lift it. God has taken my burdens, and freedom is sweet.
I was thumbing through my Facebook newsfeed this morning when I came across a friend's request for prayer. She was preparing to face a scary situation, and she reached out to us for encouragement and support in preparation for Monday's meeting. As I prayed for her, one of my favorite Bible verses came to mind.

"Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be terrified; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go." (Joshua 1:9)

I found the verse in my Bible app and decided to read the whole chapter for my morning devotional time. It is the first chapter in the book of Joshua. Moses had just died after leading God's people to the brink of the promised land. The Israelites had wandered in the wilderness for 40 years because they were too afraid to trust God's leadership after he delivered them from the Egyptians. Chastised and ready to trust God again, they stood at the brink of the Jordan river and waited for God to raise up a leader to take them out of the wilderness and into the promised land. Enter Joshua.

God spoke to Joshua and gave him instructions on how to lead the people across the river and into the land he had promised to their ancestors. God had special instructions for a few of the tribes: the Reubenites, the Gadites, and the half-tribe of Manassah.

"Remember the command that Moses the servant of the Lord gave you after he said, 'The Lord your God will give you rest by giving you this land.' Your wives, your children and your livestock may stay in the land that Moses gave you east of the Jordan, but all your fighting men, ready for battle, must cross over ahead of your fellow Israelites. You are to help them until the Lord gives them rest, as he has done for you, and until they too have taken possession of the land the Lord your God is giving them. After that, you may go back and occupy your own land, which Moses the servant of the Lord gave you east of the Jordan toward the sunrise." Then they answered Joshua, "Whatever you have commanded us we will do, and wherever you send us we will go. (Joshua 1:13-16 NIV)

God had already given those tribes a place of rest right where they were, but he charged them to go and fight alongside the other tribes until everyone had a place of rest, not just themselves. As I read those verses, I was mindful that God has led me to a place of rest, but He also has me on the brink of a land of promise. I am not alone in this life journey, and He calls me to follow His leadership across the river and into a hostile territory. Even though I have found rest, this is not the end of my journey. I must move forward until everyone has the rest I posses. Like the tribes of Israel, I say, "Whatever you have commanded me, I will do, and wherever you send me, I will go."

Until all of you find the place of rest that I have found, I am here to fight alongside you. My heart is open, and God gives me the courage to do whatever I must to see all of you to the place he has promised you. May our journey together be one of courage and strength.

Day 9: Idiot!

It was too late to swerve by the time I saw the grassy median speeding toward my car.  I'm not sure what I yelled as I yanked the steering wheel to the right and bounced my tire over the curb, but it probably was something like, "Stupid!!!!!  You're so stupid!!!!!"  I was shouting at myself.

When I drove out of the parking lot after work, I had picked up my cell phone to call my sister.  Everyone knows it is not very safe to distract oneself by dialing the phone while driving, so I sensibly waited until I was parked at a stop sign to glance down at my phone and push the buttons to dial her number.  I held the phone to my ear and waited for it to ring.  Nothing happened.  As I began to pull out from the stop sign, I glanced at my phone and realized the call had not been sent.  Growling a mild curse, I pushed the button again.  It was then that I saw the approaching median.  In my distraction I had taken the turn too wide, and by the time I realized it, it was too late to do anything but grit my teeth and hope that I didn't blow a tire.  I careened over the curb with a bump and shakily straightened out, back in the correct lane.

"IDIOT!  YOU'RE SO STUIPD!!!!"  I flung my cell phone onto the passenger seat in disgust as I filled the air in my car with self-depracating, angry words.  "YOU COULD HAVE HURT SOMEOME!  YOU COULD HAVE BLOWN A TIRE!  STUPID!  STUPID!  STUPID!!!!!!"  I was livid.  What a ridiculous thing to do.  Was it really worth risking my safety to make a phone call at that moment?  Was it worth the risk of hitting another car?  Of damaging my car and costing my family money to repair it?  Of facing my husband with the stupid mistake I had made?  I was so angry with myself.  How could I have made such a mistake?  Everyone knows it's not safe to play with your phone while driving.  I was such an idiot.

Thirty seconds after my encounter with the median, my sister called me.  The last thing I wanted to do at that moment was pick up the phone, but I answered anyway.  I did need to talk to her.  I was supposed to be picking her up for a doctor's appointment, and she needed confirmation that I was going to be there on time.  I kept the call as brief as possible, and it was hard to keep the anger out of my voice as I quickly communicated the information and hung up.  Stupid, stupid.  I knew I had made a mistake, but I didn't know what to do next.  There was no one to whom I could apologize.  I had hurt no one, damaged no one's property, and I basically had just ended up scaring myself badly.  It could have been so much worse, but I still didn't know how to forgive myself for my error.

I began to pray and tell God how angry I was with myself.  I told him about how stupid I felt and how grateful I was that nothing bad had resulted.  As I confessed my mistake, I began to feel a lessening of the anger and tension.  I didn't have a person to whom I could apologize, but I could apologize to God and to myself.

When I finally picked my sister up, I told her about the mishap.  She laughingly related a story about something similar that had happened while she was in the car with some other family members.  She remembered how funny it was and how they had all ended up laughing.  It still didn't feel like something to laugh about to me, but at least I was not the only one who had driven over a median in a moment of stupidity.  I began to feel a little bit better.

By the time I told the story to my husband this evening, all of the anger was gone.  I still feel a little bit sheepish about my error, but I had been able to confess it and forgive myself for being human.  I think confessing it to God was what gave me the courage to tell anyone else about it, though.  I am so grateful that I can tell him anything, and I'm thankful for his forgiveness.

This verse popped into my head as I was reflecting on today's mishap:

"If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness."  -1 John 1:9

When I have made mistakes great or small, I am grateful that God forgives me and helps me to forgive myself.

Day 8: Out of the Darkness

"The people living in darkness have seen a great light; on those living in the land of the shadow of death a light has dawned." (Matthew 4:16 NIV)

After living in the shadow of depression and anxiety for years, this verse has particular meaning to me. It was originally a prophecy written by Isaiah. The prophecy was fulfilled in the book of Matthew when Jesus emerged from his forty day temptation in the wilderness and went to settle in Galilee. It was in Galilee that he called his first disciples. They were simply living their lives, busy with their careers, when Jesus showed up one day and called them to follow him. In agreeing to leave their old lives behind, Simon Peter, Andrew, James, and John began a journey that would change the world.

I have lived in the darkness, busy with my family, career, and ambitions. Not until Jesus arrived did I emerge, leaving behind my old life to follow him. I am truly a disciple now, choosing to follow, desiring to learn, and hoping to change the world. Out of the valley of the shadow of death, and into the dawning light I come. My life is forever changed.

Day 7: Inhale, Exhale.

September is here, and with it comes blessedly cooler weather.  I have never been a person who loves humidity and summer sun, so every year I celebrate the arrival of fall and joyfully unpack my hooded sweatshirts from the cardboard boxes in our basement.  Today was the first chilly morning of the month, and I left my driveway dressed for twenty degrees warmer than the fifty degrees my Weather.com app proclaimed for Ottawa, IL 61350.  I was going for a run, and a runner friend of mine had advised that I not bundle up too much since my body heat would kick in while I was running.  Goosebumps popped out on my arms as I briskly began to walk.  I pulled in the crisp air in deep, even breaths that matched my stride.  "In-two-three-four" through my nose matched "out-two-three-four" through my mouth.  After a five minute warm-up walk that actually did manage to infuse a little heat into my t-shirted body, my headphones carried, "Start running," to my ears, and I chased my shadow down Moore Street.

The first stretch of running felt great.  My arms and legs pumped, and the sun was warm on my back, though the air in my lungs was decidedly chilly.  It was easy to keep my head high, and I was actually a little disappointed when, "Walk now," checked my exuberant progress. 

I am still new at learning to run, and the transition between running and walking hits me hard.  As soon as my steps slow, I find myself gasping for breath like a fish flopping on the beach.  What was measured breathing only moments before becomes a ragged gasp as I struggle to maintain a semblance of the "In-two-three-four, out-two-three-four" that had been so easy and natural when I was running.  I managed to breath in for four steps, but breathing out as slowly was more difficult.  I found myself struggling to keep from "In-two-three-four, Out-two, In-two-three-four, Out-two."  I think I managed "Out-two-three" eventually, but that was definitely a challenge.  My body wanted to pull in as much air as possible, loathe to let it go, longing to pull in more as quickly as I would let it.

Whenever I run I consecrate the time spent running.  I do not listen to music, and I use the quiet as an opportunity to pray and listen to God.  I used to get so frustrated trying to listen to God because it seemed silly to "listen" for something that is not audible.  Now I have found that God speaks not into my ears but into my mind.  As I think about what is happening in my life and the world around me, ideas pop up, and I perceive God's voice in them.  Maybe a Bible verse will come to mind, or a lyric from a song.  Sometimes I will remember a point of theology taught in church.  As I get to know the character of God through reading the Bible and listening to the discourse of other Christians, it becomes easier to see the world as He sees it.  I much prefer His perspective to my own.  He speaks love, hope, perseverance, faith, trust, and beauty into life's circumstances.  He desires everything that is good.  He seeks to mend what is broken, find what is lost, heal what is diseased, and restore what has been worn away.  When I look at life through those eyes, the world is made new.  Where I would have seen an impossible situation, God says that there is hope.  When I want to avert my eyes from ugliness, God tells me to find the beauty that is also there.  This is what I listen for as I run.

I was struggling to breathe regularly this morning when I realized that it is easier to breathe in slowly than it is to breathe out at the same pace.  It seemed significant.  I have noticed that it is also easier for me to inhale the presence of God than it is for me to exhale Him into the lives of others.  In fact it seems to closely follow the pattern of my physical breathing while learning to run.  I am now eager to bring Him into myself, but I am not so ready to let it out.  Is it because I feel desperate for more of Him, so desperate that I feel I must pull in more than I expel?  Am I afraid to breathe Him into those surrounding me?  Believing in God is a personal decision, and I do not want to be one of those people who tries to make everyone else believe the same thing I do because I am right and they are wrong.  I respect that each person has his or her own life journey.  I don't want to offend anyone by expressing my belief in God.  It is easier to focus on my own journey than it is to share it with other people, especially if no one has taken the initiative to ask me about it.  Do I hold back on purpose?  No.  But neither do I seek for opportunities to reach out with the truth I have found.

As I learn to discipline my physical breathing, may I also learn to exhale the presence of God into the lives of the people around me. 

Day 6: Newborn

It is a well-known fact that becoming a believer in God is not a cure-all for life's problems. Yes, deciding to believe in God is a transforming experience. Personal transformation, however, is not a magical portal to a perfect life. I have been attending church since a couple of weeks after I emerged from my mother's womb, so I have heard these truths more times than I can possibly number. It doesn't make it any less painful to be confronted with their reality.

I have had an amazing five days since I made the decision to believe in God and His plan for my life. Those days were filled with peace and rest. I was able to experience happiness and joy that has eluded me for many months, and I basked in my newfound oneness with God and the life He had given me. It was a beautiful, healing experience. However, when we are born again, we are not born into a protective bubble that shields us from the pain of human experience. Like a new baby, we emerge from our place of quiet security.

We are pushed into a world that is loud, confusing, messy, and uncomfortable. We are cut off from the immediate, direct nourishment of God's life-sustaining presence. We must open our eyes to see him. We must cry out. We must pass from His shielding enclosure into unfamiliar surrounds, reaching out our arms for him. But like a mother, he gathers us back to himself. He washes us clean. He quiets our cries. He nourishes us and protects us, holding us close in swaddling clothes. We are newborn, passing out of a place of security and safety and into the living embrace of God. The world is scary, but he is there.

Today I was confronted by the fact that believing in God has not kept me from experiencing pain. My family of origin is still broken, and that still hurts. I still do not see the hand of God in my parents' divorce, and I still do not understand how what happened to us could be God's will. I believe that it is, and that makes accepting things a little bit easier, but it would be nice if it made sense. I don't know if I will ever fully comprehend the reasons in this lifetime. I am trying to accept that and remember how many of God's followers in the Bible did not live to see their prayers answered, but God went on to answer those prayers in his own time. I pray with all of my heart for my family to be healed. I believe that God will indeed heal us, but maybe not in the way or the time I expect. I choose to believe. This brings me peace.

I feel the pain of living in this world, but my eyes are open. My hands are reaching out. I will cry out to God, and he will hold me close. I am newborn.

Day 5: Rest

Saturday is a beautiful thing to me. I work the five weekdays, then I have Saturday and Sunday off with my husband and baby daughter. While my work is far from awful, it is very repetitive and keeps me away from my heart: home and family. The weekend comes like a breath of fresh air, blowing away the stagnant work-a-day week. It transports me to a place of warmth, creativity, challenge, and rest.

It is easy to fill up the weekend before it even begins. If I'm not careful, my calendar gets so clogged up with commitment that I allow myself no time to enjoy my home and family. Without space to rest, I become a frazzled, heart-pounding, ball of stress. I may accomplish many tasks and create wonderful things, but if I do not allow myself time to rest, when will I ever get to step back and appreciate what I have done? If I am not careful, I am carried away by a fast-rushing, endless stream of things to do.

Rest is more, however, than a blank schedule. There have been days when I have had no obligations at all and still was unable to be at peace. Taking a nap did not feel like resting. It was more like an attempt to escape the fear and anxiety clouding my day. Watching TV was a way to forget about my own troubled thoughts until I could escape to sleep. I had to feed my ears and eyes with a steady flow of distractions just to keep panic from overwhelming me at work or at home. Fridays terrified me, because the weekend meant no work routine to consume my day and protect me from my fearful thoughts. Just the thought of being home with my family all weekend made a pool of anxiety well up inside of me, sometimes overflowing into tears. I knew something was broken inside of me, but no matter how many fun things I planned for my weekend, I still dreaded it.

This weekend has been, as I said, a breath of fresh air. When I decided to finally, truly believe in God and His will for me, the fearful thoughts ceased. As in, they no longer exist. For the first time in years, I am at peace. Instead of being something to be dreaded or messily navigated, my weekend has become a time to enjoy my family.

Sitting on a flagstone at the edge of the park today, I smilingly watched my husband chase my daughter in the late summer sunshine. My heart was full. I felt absolutely amazed by the transformation that had occurred in me simply by trusting in God. I am a new person. My life spreads out before me like a sunny landscape, rife with promise. My mind has found rest.

For food for thought regarding the rest God gives to us, read Hebrews 3:7-19 and 4:1-11. :0)

*ding* "Run now."

I set out in the slightly muggy dawn for my second day of learning to run. After pushing "start" on my Couch to 5k-type app, a voice in my ear told me, "Begin a five minute warm-up walk.".

"Alright, God," I thought. "Here I am. I'm listening."
My warm-up walk took me down a couple of blocks and to the corner of an intersection. As the voice told me, "Run now," I smiled and turned the corner. I began to run.
There was no music pumping through my iPod as my feet padded down the empty street. The silence of the early morning and the quiet presence of God were my only companions. A lengthy span of level ground stretched out before me, and I fixed my eyes upon a distant stop sign. After 30 seconds of running, the voice in my ear told me, "Walk now."

"Already?" I thought, pleased. "That was fast. I am not even winded yet." I was still far from the stop sign I had set as my visual goal, but the voice told me to walk, and I obeyed it. I ran and walked alternately two more times before reaching the sign and turning another corner.

"Run now." What if God is like the voice in my ear? I choose to run with him. I commit to a training program and set aside time and space to listen and obey. I choose the route my steps take today, but I listen for that voice to tell me when to run and when to walk. I don't have a clock, so I'm not sure when I will hear another command. I just trust in the program and keep running or walking until the voice tells me differently. "Run now." I ran.

Day 3: Now What?

The day is hot and humid. The shadows of leaves play across the grass as I lie on my belly outside the Ottawa Dental Lab. It is break time. I have fifteen minutes to myself before I go back inside to finish making some clear night guards and an upper denture. Something about the feel of the grass on my elbows and the hot air on my face is making me sleepy, and I long for a nap in the sun. Just an ordinary day at work. Just a normal day in the life of Joy. My question after the excitement of the last couple of days is, "Now what?" I have been made new, but I am still in the same life. I am still me. I have a reason to live, but what do I do in the time when God is not calling me to do anything particular? I guess I will feel the wind on my face. I will make some night guards and cook dinner for my family. I will listen for the voice of God, and I will grow where he has planted me.

Day 2: Learning to Run

    I have always hated running.  I joined the track team in fifth grade because it seemed like the thing to do at the time, but I found myself with lungs burning, feet stumbling, and my whole body feeling like I was going to die.  Breathing was difficult, and every fiber of my being told me that I was not meant to be a runner.  The high jump seemed like a much better option.  Or the long jump.  I was good at jumping.  Running was too hard.

    Part of me wishes I knew more about running when I was a child.  No one ever told me that learning to run is really hard, but it gets better.  I didn't know that my burning muscles and cramping sides were a normal part of learning to run.  To my childish understanding, if running didn't feel good, it just meant that I was not cut out to be a runner.  I had avoided running for years when one day my husband Brandon decided that he wanted to learn to run.  Good for him.  He bought shirts to wick away his sweat and fancy shoes to retrain the arches of his feet.  Following a "Couch to 5K" program, he went from running 30 seconds at a time, to minutes of alternated running and walking, to longer stretches of running versus walking, and finally, to a 5K run.  We saved the paper signs and safety pins that held a giant black number to his shirt when he ran in his very first 5K race.  He subscribed to a running magazine and began to monitor his caloric intake, balancing his daily diet and exercise.  His waistline shrank, and his self-confidence grew.  I stood on the sidelines with a proud-wife smile on my face.  My husband had become a runner.

    Fairly early in his running program, I joined my husband and went on a few runs with him.  I'll never forget when I, several months after giving birth to my daughter, totally peed my pants on a run several blocks away from our home.  Not just a dribble.  We're talking about a full-on peeing of the pants.  There was nothing to do but keep running.  I was so embarassed, but Brandon told me that it was fairly common for women to lose control of their bladdars while running.  I felt a little bit better after that, but I still had some really squishy shorts until we made it home.  That was not bad, however, compared to the physical discomfort of running itself.  All of my old childhood complaints resurfaced: difficulty breathing, stitched sides, leaden feet, face heating to a beet red, and the feeling that my sinuses were shriveling with dryness.  I hated it.  It was not difficult to justify just letting Brandon run while I stayed home to take care of our new baby.

    Two years later, a new friend asked me to begin running with her in the early morning.  I was extremely skeptical, but she convinced me to try the Couch to 5K program with her.  Our first run was really not bad at all.  I only ran for 30 seconds at a time, I could breathe, and I did not have an overwhelming sensation of imminent death.  Our next couple of runs were pretty good, too, but it soon became difficult to coordinate times to meet and run.  We had many excuses to put it off: the summer heat, starting work early, being too tired.  Our runs gradually petered out, and I was not too disappointed.  Though I enjoyed spending time with my friend, I did not really like waking up so early in the morning to do something so uncomfortable, especially when it was tricky to consistently schedule time to run together.  I thought I was content to let it pass, but it was too late.  I had a taste of the satisfaction that comes from successfully doing something that is difficult but beneficial.  I could not get running out of my head, but I was still not ready to set out on my own.

    When I rediscovered belief in God yesterday, I began to feel excited about the new life laid before me.  I began to think about what I could change about my daily habits to allow room for God every day.  That was when I decided that it was time to start running.  What better way to start the day than conquering one of my oldest failures and allowing a breadth of silent (relatively) undistracted time to listen to the voice of God?  Would it be difficult?  Yes.  Uncomfortable?  Yes.  Rewarding?  Yes.  And good for my body and soul.  A lot like believing in God.

    When my alarm went off at 5:50am this morning, I rolled out of bed and into my morning routine, except I pulled on Nikes and exercise clothes instead of my work gear.  Six a.m. found me briskly walking down the street in the coolness beneath the early morning sky.  I was ready to run.  But this time I went with no illusions.  It was a beginning, and it would be hard.  I prayed as I walked the first few blocks to warm up.  As I relished the beautiful weather and the peace of our quiet neighborhood, it felt good to be alive and starting something new.  Not following a specific program, I shot for a half-hour run following a familiar route my friend and I had used together.  I would run for a block or two with breath coming in measured huffs and puffs.  I tried to keep my head held high and my eyes before me.  Were my shoulders relaxed?  Was my stride too long or too short?  I did not really know, but I tried to adopt a comfortable posture as my feet slapped the pavement, carrying me toward the next intersection.  Only a couple more driveways until I could walk again...but walking was not much better than running.  As soon as my pace slowed to a walk, it seemed even harder to breathe steadily, and exhaustion would hit me like a giant hand.  Needless to say, it was not fun.  But I did it.  I ran in little chunks and walked between them to catch my breath.  Once I reached a rough halfway point, I walked the rest of the way home.

  I wish I would have had time to write my thoughts this morning right after my run, because I have already forgotten many of the specific Bible verses, snippets of songs, and phrases that coursed through my head as I ran and listened for God's voice.  But they were there.  The only one I clearly remember is the part of Hebrews 12:1 that tells us to "Throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and run with perseverance the race marked out for us."  I had spent years walking and crawling through my life.  Now, I am learning to do hard things.  I am learning to run.

Day One: It All Started in the Shower

    This seemed like an average Tuesday.  I woke up to a terrible radio station on my alarm clock combined with beeps and static.  After rolling out of bed and groggily feeding the animals, I trudged downstairs, picked out my clothes for the day, and started the shower.  I didn't know my life was about to change.
    I live with depression, and sometimes waking up doesn't seem worth the effort.  For a few weeks, my mind has been playing a question on repeat: "What is the point of life?"  Not just my life, but all life.  Why are we here?  What does it mean to be a human being on the face of this planet?  What is truth?  What is love?  How does my existence fit into the grand scheme of the universe?  I know these are questions that most people ask themselves, but even knowing it is normal has been scant consolation to me.  I want my life to mean something.  I want the world to have a point.  I want to know that whatever happens to me has a purpose.
    I used to believe that the God of Christianity had a plan for my life.  Raised in a Christian family, I attended church multiple times per week from my infancy.  I grew up on a steady stream of Christian books, Christian movies, Christian music, church camp, Bible quizzing, praise band, and finally, a Christian private college.  I knew what Christianity was all about.  I had practically bathed in it my entire life.  I did all of the right things: prayed, went to church regularly, read the Bible, kept a prayer journal, attended Bible studies, and played music in various different praise bands.  However, I felt empty.  It seemed like I was seeking but not finding.  Even though my life was so full of Christianity, God seemed far off and hard to find.  I was reaching out, but I felt like everything that had been promised to me when I became a Christian was still out of my grasp.  It wasn't fair.  I was doing everything right!  It didn't make sense.
    In 2007 my world turned upside down.  The Christian family I had grown up in disintegrated before my eyes as my parents separated, then divorced.  Despite all of my prayers and faith, God had not saved my parents' marriage.  His love had not been enough to teach them to love each other.  I was crushed, and all of my beliefs crumbled.  Everything I had been taught seemed useless.  If God could not save a Christian family, was he even real?  Was there even a god, or power, or consciousness that heard my pleas?  What had once seemed rock solid lay spread out like a million grains of sand around me.  If there was not God, then what was there?  I felt alone in my pain.
    As time passed, I gradually began to assemble a collection of fragmented beliefs, picking them out of the rubble left behind after the divorce.  I chose each one carefully, making sure I actually believed it.  I kept nothing out of a sense of duty or guilt.  Each piece I salvaged was a genuine belief that I accepted only after careful analysis and stringent examination.  I first believed that there was a higher power.  There seemed to be too much of a distinction between good and evil in the world to deny that some standard had to have been originally set for human behavior and morals.  Beyond that, how could a world of such beautiful complexity exist merely by chance?  I think it would have taken more faith for me to not believe in a higher power than for me to admit that there was probably an intelligent force at work in the universe.
    After I believed in a higher power, I began to examine other beliefs I used to take for granted.  I analyzed the God of Christianity.  I took a bitter, jaded look at Him and decided that He still made more sense to me than any other religion I had encountered.  I then moved from God to Jesus and decided that yes, I could keep Jesus, too.  But I wasn't sure about the effectiveness of prayer, the validity of certain theological interpretations of scripture, or how much God really has to do with day-to-day life on this planet.  Were the things I was taught about the nature of God still true?  I could not believe that God had a plan for me.  Not yet.
    A dear friend of mine tried to lead me in prayerful meditation to start healing the brokenness in me, but I was too skeptical of prayer to venture very far down that path.  Everything was still too raw, even years after the split.  I was married by then.  I had a daughter, a home, pets, a job...all of the makings of a good life.  However, I lived in the shadow of depression.  How could I rest when any day my life could fall apart?  My marriage could implode.  My daughter could die in a freak accident.  My mental health could hit the breaking point and land me in the hospital with a string of bills in the wake.  There were just no guarantees that I would be okay.  I was not safe.  Life was a scary, uncertain place, and I struggled frequently with depression, fear, and anxiety.  I felt like God was a spectator in a sky box, watching humanity with half-apathetic interest to see what we would make of our lives.  I did not ask him for anything.  I would not risk the pain of another disappointment.
    Throughout the entire searching process, I did not give up going to church.  Even though I was not sure I even believed in a higher power, much less Christianity, I was not willing to stop seeking for truth.  I figured it couldn't hurt to listen to sermons and analyze them.  I think even in the deepest parts of my doubt, I was still drawn to the God of my childhood and youth.  I believed that if God was not real, I would emerge from my search empty-handed.  If he was real, He would not mind if I poked and prodded him a little bit to make sure.  I did not really want to give up on God.  I just wanted a good reason to keep believing.  I wanted enough proof to make it safe to trust again.
    I entered counseling and began taking medication to treat my depression.  My mental health became a roller coaster of "okay" highs and panicky, weeping, paralyzing lows.  Sometimes I had thoughts of suicide.  I felt broken beyond repair, and it was a struggle to function like a normal person.  I swung like a pendulum between loving gratitude for my family and a leaden, hopeless desire to leave them and live by myself.  I tried to convince my husband that he would be better off without me.  I pictured a small apartment in my mind: a safe, quiet place where I could be alone until I could fix myself.  If I could just be alone, if I just had time to sort it all out, maybe I could get better somehow.  Every tiny conflict in life seemed unbearable.  I stretched out my hands desperately for happiness, but it seemed to be very, very far away.
    Beneath the pain and panicked reactions to fear, I still believed that there might be help for me.  In the times when all I could do was collapse and cry, I reached out for life.  I cried out to a God in whom I was not sure I even believed.  In the deepest part of my despair, I called out to the God of my youth and begged for help.  I did not know what kind of help to ask for.  I was not sure I even believed that He would do anything.  I was just out of options.  As I cried and pleaded, I sensed that God heard me.  I believed it.  I did not hear a voice or see a vision.  There were no miracles, no Bible verse leaping off of the page to comfort me, no phone call from a friend who "just felt that God was telling me to call you."  Only silence.  But in that silence, I felt that there was help for me.  I was not alone.  My tears slowed, and as I climbed from my knees, I felt drained, but no longer hopeless.  There was a God, and there was help coming for me.
    My sessions with the counselor were eventually so successful that he and I agreed that I did not need to come regularly anymore.  I had learned how to cope with conflict, how to self-differentiate from my parents and my spouse, and how to assert myself.  My psychiatrist told me he wished he could show me off to his colleagues, because they really still did not have much of an idea how people who have depression get better, and he was pleased with the progress I had made in my treatment.  I still had highs and lows, but it seemed that the extremes were becoming less as I learned how to successfully navigate life's obstacles.  I felt that I had gained much from the time I spent in counseling, and it seemed like a graduation when I left the office that day.  However, life still felt heavy.  Not unmanageable, but not joyful.  Not terrible, but not wonderful.  Not volatile, but not secure.  There was still something broken in me.
    I couldn't figure out what it was.  Was it my marriage?  My job?  My home?  My faults and flaws?  My social life?  Even though none of those things was perfect, none was flawed enough to be called "bad."  My life was enviable in many ways.  I really had no room to complain.  So why did I feel so restless?  Why could I not be content?  I flitted from project to project, trying to find happiness in my many hobbies.  I re-read favorite books.  I watched TV and movies with my husband.  I played with my beautiful baby daughter.  I cooked, decorated cakes, and cleaned my house.  I sewed curtains for my mother.  Nothing seemed to have a point.  They were all good things, but they didn't mean anything.  I was adding water to the ocean with an eyedropper.  The tiny amount of beautiful and creative things I did seemed futile.  I was still depressed. 
    That feeling was with me when I climbed into the shower this morning.  In the early morning stillness of my house, I faced a new day and did not care.  What was another day?  My life had no meaning.  Just another day of breathing, eating, working, playing, and finally, sleeping.  A simple human existence.  I would probably never have a lot of money or be famous.  I would probably never create anything that would change the world.  I was just a woman in a small town, living in a small house, working at a low-level no-prestige job to pay the bills while other people raised my daughter.  What could this day possible hold for me?
    As I mechanically washed my hair, I thought about something my pastor had said in his sermon on Sunday.  He was preaching from the book of John, and he read the story of Jesus and Nicodemus.  Nicodemus was a Jewish teacher.  The religious law was his entire life.  He knew all about what God required of his people, and he was secure in that.  Then, he met Jesus, and Jesus told him that he needed to be born again if he wanted to see the kingdom of God.  Thinking logically, Nicodemus asked how it would be possible for a man to enter his mother's womb a second time.  It seemed pretty impossible.  However, despite all of his study, all of his knowledge, Nicodemus could not perceive the spiritual truth that was being laid before his eyes.  Jesus explained that the new birth was of water and spirit.  For Nicodemus to see the kingdom of God, he would have to lay aside his understanding of the way things of God worked.  He would have to believe something new.  Something impossible.
    When Jesus was performing all kinds of crazy miracles, people flocked to follow him.  They celebrated him, they praised him; they hung on his every word.  They also changed their minds as soon as Jesus no longer appeared to be successful.  By the time he made it to the cross, even his best friends had run away and said they didn't even know him.  He seemed to have utterly failed.  Everything that had "proved" him to be the Messiah had fallen apart.  Where was his adoring fan club?  Where were his miracles?  Where was the voice from heaven calling him "Son?"  No one knew the plan God had for Jesus as he hung up there dying.  What a disappointment Jesus was.  We thought he was going to save us, but he didn't.  We believed in him, but we were wrong.  It didn't make sense...until later.
    This morning, I realized that I need to believe in something bigger than myself.  No, not "need" as in "I am obligated," or, "I should," or "It would be a good thing if..."  If I am going to remain alive on this planet, I need to believe that there is a purpose for my life.  My spirit is dying a slow death without that belief.  I am being swallowed by depression and fear.  I am unable to enjoy the simplest pleasures in life because they all feel so pointless.  I need to believe that I am a thread being woven into a pattern of beautiful intent.  I need to believe that the painful things I endure in life are worth more than my momentary comfort and self-preservation.  So I do.  As of this morning.  For the first time in my life, I believe that God has a plan for me.  I don't believe it because I have been convinced by facts or impressed by crazy miracles.  I don't believe it because God answered my prayers and saved my family from painful dissolution.  He didn't.  But I am choosing to believe because I need to.  And you know what?  By the time I stepped out of the shower this morning, the depression was gone.  In its place: joy.