Special Guest Writer Kate Gilliard

I met Kate when I visited Galati, Romania a few months before I moved there eight years ago. Her warmth and kindness have long lasted in my memory as has her integrity in all areas of her life. I welcome her words here today.

                                                                                             

I’ve always experienced anxiety as personified. But somehow, she’s developed into someone more over the past year or so. An uninvited, shadowy other, standing close behind me but never beside or in front of me. I have a feeling she’s hiding her face so I can’t identify her clearly in a line-up when needed.

Only recently have I begun to learn that it might be okay for me to have human emotions. It also might be okay that I express those emotions outside of myself at times. Sounds like a simple truth, huh? Yet, it’s one of the most difficult lessons I’ve encountered.

You know… I’m a therapist. Every day I give others permission to grieve, to revel in joy, to speak authentically. I rarely give myself that permission. I’ve been called strong, brave, and confident my entire life. All of those things are true about me. It’s also true that I am heartbroken easily, cowardly in the face of conflict, and so incredibly dependent on others for self-worth.

Recently, I have begun to embrace gratitude for what I feel rather than briskly walking away from it all. Within my slow crawl toward emotional acceptance, a crack in my core is beginning to grow larger. Even I am surprised at what’s being birthed from that soul-opening. There are things about me I’ve never taken the time to learn.

I had my first panic attack about eight years ago on an airplane heading toward Romania where I lived for several months. I sat beside a teammate and thought I would die on that plane… alone. My teammate was sleeping and I dared not wake her merely because my heart was beating out of my chest, waiting to explode. My pain wasn’t valid compared to her needs. Fear made convenient decisions on my behalf so I didn't have to be honest.

My second panic attack was about a year ago. I was on top of a mountain, 45-minutes out of cell phone range, and in my car… alone. I pulled over to the side of the road, terrified and fighting desperately for breath.

Instead of dealing with the aftermath in isolation, I trusted my housemates. It took all the strength I could muster, but I did it. I decided my personhood was significant enough to talk about over supper. Consequently, I was loved. I was given space and time to speak about what may have caused anxiety to enter my life again.

That’s precisely where hope began.

Honesty is a daily pursuit. I’ve had a few more panic attacks within the past year. I’ve also talked about each one with my housemates, welcoming the wound-healing grace honesty has provided our home. Because I’ve learned, over and over again, that it’s worth it.

Anxiety may have initially been an uninvited guest. For now, however, she is welcomed. She is educating me in humanness. I am prayerful. I am hopeful. I am broken. But, I am no longer alone.

Kate Gilliard is an in-home therapist for children and their families, living in Chattanooga, Tennessee. She’s created home with four of her dearest friends in a 130-year-old house at the base of Lookout Mountain. She enjoys talking to the three turtles in their backyard fountain, spending time with older friends in water aerobics class, and eating breakfast food for every meal possible.

Special Guest Writer Leah Freeman: A Great High Priest

What feels like a very long time ago, I taught second grade. Leah Freeman was in the very last class I ever taught. She's a grown woman now, pursuing a master's degree, with the sweetest heart for God and people. Please welcome her to this space today.

Nearly two years ago, I walked with a dear friend through the death of her father. It was completely unexpected, and she suddenly found her “world flipped upside down,” to use her and her husband’s words. I had to learn very quickly how to bear her pain without breaking and, as many can relate, this felt impossible.

I soon found that I not only took on her pain, along with my own and the rest of the world’s, but it seemed that all I noticed were the world’s hurts. I only saw brokenness. I couldn’t notice sunshine and leaves and grace when all I could see was death, addiction, assault, depression, and pain. It seemed that every news story I saw cut me deeply. When I heard about divorce or bullying or racism, I wouldn’t be surprised, because I soon realized that I was consistently expecting pain that had an unrelenting grip on those around me. As you can imagine, having faith seemed nearly impossible for me. “Lord, if we have a hard time bearing the pain of others without breaking, how are we supposed to live without crumbling?” But then I understood –

We were never meant to.

As I look at the life of Jesus, I see Him setting an example as He completely relied on the Father. I love the passage that says, “For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin” (Heb. 4:15). I truly believe that Jesus was tempted to wave a white flag in surrender, even as He knew that salvation would come through His death. He begged God to take this cup from Him, and yet He walked forward in obedience. Later in that passage, in chapter 5, the author talks about how, yes, “Jesus offered up prayers and supplications,” but He did so with “loud cries and tears” (Heb. 5:7).   

He felt our pain. He saw sadness and brokenness everywhere He went, and He even saw hurt in the eyes of His closest friends and family. However, He could bear it. It may have felt impossible, but He would combat that thinking by speaking truth to Himself and others. When asked how salvation could be possible, “Jesus looked at them and said, ‘With man this is impossible, but with God all things are possible’” (Matt. 19:26). Jesus fully knew that we were never meant to carry the burden of salvation, but God made the impossible possible; Jesus knew that this was His purpose, but He also knew that our purpose was also far from over. As he prayed to the Father for the disciples and those that would come after them, He pleaded:

“I do not ask that you take them out of the world, but that you keep them from the evil one. They are not of the world, just as I am not of the world. Sanctify them in the truth; your word is truth. As you sent me into the world, so I have sent them into the world” (Jn. 17:15).

Many times, yes, it is easier for us to look at God and wonder why He doesn’t just take us off the earth already – especially if we tend to easily get caught up in “What if?” questions! But the beauty of it is that Jesus specifically asked the Father to keep us in this world. Friends, God isn’t finished working through you yet. I truly believe that our God is a loving Father who wants more than anything to have you home with Him – just not now. Because even as the disciples were filled with sorrow at Jesus leaving them, He promised that it was better, for He was sending the Spirit, His Spirit to be with us while we are here on the earth. And in that I take hope. I take hope with the writer of Hebrews who proclaims that his hope is “a sure and steadfast anchor of the soul, a hope that enters into the inner place behind the curtain, where Jesus has gone as a forerunner on our behalf, having become a high priest forever…” (Heb.6:19-20). Jesus intercedes for us. He hurts with us. He knows us better than we know ourselves. He loves us. He gives us strength. He came down to make a way for us to place not just our burdens, but others’ burdens, on His shoulders. And in that I rejoice.

Supplemental Music: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XFkDqQtfs0w

Leah is currently in school to become a licensed Marriage and Family Therapist and works at an adoption agency with families pursuing embryo adoption. She is a number one fan of meaningful conversations, creation care, travel, social justice, fireflies, people, and their Creator. You can follow her blog at https://seekitlikesilverblog.wordpress.com/

Special Guest Writer Susie Miller: Barren

             

I met Susie in graduate school 16 years ago. All these years later, I often hear her affirming voice in my ear, reminding me of who I am and what is true about me. She is a lovely woman, extremely intelligent, and just so gifted. I'm honored for her to write here today. Susie wrote Listen, Learn, Love: How to Dramatically Improve Your Relationships in 30 days or Less! 

Barren, dry, cracked, parched, infertile, unproductive, withering, unfruitful, all images of emptiness yielding insatiable desire for what cannot be obtained with my own hands, by my own power. 

Longing, with heart and soul that seems to be reaping the effects it dreads. 

Tears shed in abundance until there are none left to be shed. 

Prayers uttered with no apparent response, growing weak and voiceless. 

Efforts, touches, words, devoid of passion as the barrenness consumes from the inside outward.  Heart, soul, countenance…Dry and brittle, lacking hope. 

Unless there is a deeper life, a greening of the soul that comes from outside the keeper. 

Hannah, (1Samuel 1: 1-28), in her barreness, refusing to be dry and brittle, poured out her soul to the Face of the One who alone could bring life.  She is baffled by her desires, and by her subsequent responses to unmet desires.  Elkanah demanded why his love and preference of Hannah was not enough to satisfy her soul's longings.  Essentially asking, “Why am I not enough?  Must you want more, you have me?”  Many women today long for a man to choose them above all others, claiming, “If only I had a husband, my life would be full.”

Hannah has Elkanah’s love, she is his favorite.  Peninnah, his 2^nd wife has his children, but not his heart and she mercilessly taunts Hannah.  Hannah doesn’t hide and pretend to be content, she endures the ridicule and wears her pain.   Hannah knows what she wants.  Honest about the desires of her heart- in a manner uncharacteristic of the times –she refuses to give up and settle into Elkanah’s love and just be satisfied.  She is unwilling to bury or silence her desires.

Am I?  Could I live with such honesty, courage and abandon.  Will I allow my passions to be spoken, or will I continue to silence them?   Hannah pours out her heart to God, offering back to Him the very thing she desires most, a son.  In a time when Israel was bathed in sinfulness, Hannah seeks the water for her dry and barren womb from the Hand of God.  She gives birth to Samuel, who will stand as the last judge, the first prophet of Israel.  He will grow to be the voice of God to both Saul and David as Israel enters the period of Kings. Exhibiting faith in an unseen truth.  Living with a passion that brings them both doubt and ridicule from others.

My life is full.  I have three children, the love of a husband who provides bountifully for us, and sacrifices for our needs.  Yet, in the midst of seemingly fruitful season, while pursuing a long awaited dream, I felt barren. Barren, dry, withering as I long for more in my marriage relationship, a seemingly ‘closed womb’ from which I long to bear fruit in an arena of ministry that is elusive.  Filled with desire to know who I am in a world- much like Hannah’s -that defines women by an external measure.  Christian, secular, Israelite, 20^th century, cultures laden with longing.  Women, with an unseen barrenness, unmet longings, which only God can address. 

What will I do with my longings?  Will I seek the Face of the One who can answer the suffering, the brittleness, with the presence of His face, His covenant love and faithfulness.  Herein is the answer.  The courage I see in Hannah, to seek the ears of God that she might pour out her heart, her bitterness, her sorrow and discontent to Him who would not despise her honesty.  Her raw hunger for a child, no matter what else was “good” in her life, draws me to the sacred space where I can pour out my longings, my heartache, my unmet desires to God…to the One who can bear my honesty, who invites and is pleasured by my pursuit of His Face, regardless of my countenance.  I believe this is faith, and I choose to continue with hope in the barren lands of my life.

Susie Miller is The Better Relationship Coach™, a Speaker and the Best Selling Author of Listen, Learn, Love: how to Dramatically Improve Your Relationships in 30 days or Less!. 

As a therapist turned coach, Susie is passionate about equipping people create betterrelationships with God, themselves, and each other. For over 20 years, she has helped people reduce stress, improve communication,increase intimacy, and enjoy meaningful relationships.

Susie is a cancer survivor; her story includes  numerous life challenges which have shaped her work, but she’s known for her outlook on life as a “possibilitarian”. She and her husband John have been married 32 years, have 3 adult children, and live in the DC area.  She loves dark chocolate, great shoes, and lingering conversations.  You can connect with her at www.susiemiller.com.

Emotions: A pathway into the presence of God by special guest writer A.M. Nelson

Angela Nelson and I attended college together....which means we met 25 years ago! She is an excellent writer and you can find her blogging HERE and also find her book, We Are All Prodigals HERE, I am honored to share this space with her today...

There have been several posts about depression on this blog and this has caused me to think about how sometimes it is right to feel sad. Some things in life are just sad, and it would be un-human not to feel sadness over them. We should give ourselves time and space to feel sadness. And anger. And disappointment. And all the other negative emotions we try to suppress and ignore, as if denying their existence will make them go away. 

It doesn't do any good to pretend we are not feeling what we are actually feeling. The emotions stay inside, and maybe become blown out of proportion or twisted into something corrupted because they are never exposed to the healing light of God.

When we allow our "negative" feelings to grow and swell (eventually) into mature thought, we allow God to deliver and redeem us. This can be a scary process. Most people have dark places in their souls that they are afraid to enter. And yet God promises that He will never overwhelm us, but will enable us to stand. And I have found this promise to be true.

Jesus shares our burdens, and even more, He opens his heart to us, so that we can share--only a very tiny amount I am sure--in His emotions and thoughts as well. Which is absolutely incredible. And the feeling of being united with Christ in this way is full and sweet and comforting beyond anything I can describe.

So why are we so afraid of our emotions, if this is the place to which they lead? And why do we deem some emotions acceptable, and others not? 

In reality there is no such thing as "good" or "bad" emotions. Emotions simply are. The choices and actions that result from our emotions can be good or bad, but the emotion itself is simply human. It means that we are not a machine.

Emotions are inconvenient. We hear about a tragedy on the news while driving a car. We begin to feel sadness, but quickly shut it down because we are heading to the grocery store or to an appointment, or maybe we have kids in the car who would see. Why not turn the radio off, feel what we feel for a few minutes, maybe even cry a little and pray for those involved? Join our hearts with God's and receive his insight, comfort and truth? Sometimes we do not have time to do even this, but other times we do.

Emotions make us feel vulnerable, open to being hurt. If we let our true emotions show, we might be rejected or ridiculed. In fact sometimes we definitely will be. But God will not reject us, and His is the opinion that matters.

Jesus came into our world and shared in the full range of our humanness. The "good" emotions as well as the "bad." He wept openly when he was sad, expressed frustration when the disciples were slow to understand, and pleasure when others did understand. I imagine an open and unguarded face was as rare and different in his day as it is in ours.

Being unafraid to feel your true emotions is one way to live in the presence of God. Not just at church or in Bible study, but while vacuuming or holding a fussy baby or right smack in the middle of an office meeting. When we live wholeheartedly, we can reliably turn to the presence of God because we are no longer holding him at bay. We do not have to be afraid of the dark, scary places in our souls because we have already been there and back, with him. 

It is not easy to live in this way. Most of the messages we receive, whether from our families growing up or our schools or our churches or our friends or whomever, teach us to present only the presentable to the outer world. But oh, the burdens we carry: The hidden, locked up emotions that fester and show up as compulsions and pains and addictions and etc.

To live wholeheartedly is to choose the narrow, difficult path, to swim upstream against an unremitting strong current. If it wasn't for the grace and help of God, I doubt we could do it at all.

But how rare and wonderful it is to meet someone who is lives wholeheartedly. Someone who lives unafraid of emotion, who has allowed Jesus into their deepest, darkest places so that those places are filled with grace, and that grace shines out from their eyes. And invites us in.

Special Guest Post: Shelley Manha on depression

Over the next couple weeks several guest writers will share on topics varying from prayer to depressions. I hope you enjoy their voices and interact with them in the comments.

Today, one of my Resident Director’s from college shares her experience with depression. Please welcome, Shelley Manha.

I have struggled with depression for many years. My temperament certainly makes me vulnerable to it. The sanguine part of my temperament loves people and having fun, but the melancholy part of me tunes into the details of life with intensity and analysis. Because I experienced so many hard things in life, I grew up dwelling on all the sorrow. 

I gave my heart to Jesus at eighteen, and all He has done for me changed my life completely. Though I was saved, the healing of my wounds would take time. I was an encouraging, friendly person, but especially when circumstances were hard, I suffered from depression. It was a combination of challenging situations in the present that would trigger wounds from the past. 

Through the years, I dealt with my depression in different ways. In my late twenties, I saw a therapist for two years which was an incredibly healing experience. When I was 36 I took antidepressants for two years because I was going through a stressful season and it helped a lot. 

My mental health has come a long way since then. In my relationship with God, I have always found myself praying, "God, I know there's more." And when I was thirty-eight, He led me to a place in my walk where I had never been before. 

Long story short, like those in the first book of Acts, I too, was waiting (unknowingly) to receive the gift of the Holy Spirit that was more than what I had received when I was saved. As He led me on this path, I jumped in (or filled up as it were). And what I learned about baptism in the Spirit and being continually filled is that it's all about faith just as salvation-I believe first and then I understand.

Welcoming the Holy Spirit into my life has brought scripture alive to me. I had always read that scripture was "living and active" but didn't understand the inherent power in the Word, and in the Word coming out of my mouth and over my life until I received the seemingly forgotten part of God. 

The Holy Spirit teaches me as I read. One very helpful thing that I've learned is that my negative mindsets and toxic thinking were a result of listening to Satan who constantly spoke lies to me. I had to learn that no, my mind is not an entity unto itself isolated from the negative spiritual realm, but indeed always exposed to it. And God now shields me with the Spirit helping me to take responsibility for my thoughts and refute the lies with truth following the voice of my Shepherd who is never negative or condemning. 

And little by little, these lies are being replaced with truth. Emotions follow the lead of thoughts, so these changes in my thought life have decreased depression significantly. Just as soon as I ever think I have this path down, (and sometimes I do actually think this), God shows up to answer that prayer always rising up to chase down my pride: "God, I know there's more." And thankfully, there's always more.

Shelley Manha loves to write about what she learns. When she was young, she wrote her way through many diaries trying to make sense of confusion. Writing is therapy for her as much as it is a pleasure. She is married, has a six year old son, and lives in Southern New Hampshire. She enjoys swimming, reading, singing and gardening.

Broken and grateful: a few last poems

Some final offerings of old poems that still awaken something in my soul of a time that was hard and yet still produced so much. I would not be the same had I not walked that path. And so, I am grateful.

Once Upon a Time

when stars were thrown down and

clay was pinched into mountains,

a thumb dug the tracks of oceans and

i lay sleeping

dreaming the fairly tale.

i woke.

the magic was gone.

each breath

labored

the blink of eyes

struggling to remain open.

to see what?

the scattering of stars

the immensity of mountains

oceans where i only care to

lay down and sleep

again

into the deep

tracks

where lost treasures of piracy

lay remembering under the

weight of golden glittered littered skies.

`````````````````````````````````

farming

where i come from

mountains climb a giant expanse of sky

& the sun dazzles a crooked valley,

beckoning orange

trees to pay homage in fruit

shaped in her image.

where i come from

they marry young and fulfill the

command to be fruitful and multiply.

history is revered

ways hardly change.

where i come from

simplicity is valued-

thinking like everyone else

is accepted. there is not room

for those whose roots grow a different way.

where i come from

there are left-overs

who tired of jumping through hoops.

when faithfulness meant less than

faith & the value of a harvest

became the equivalent of what

was cost-effective.

where i come from

hard winds blow

lapping lakes dry

for fear of what will be taken.

for fear of what will be rejected.

where i come from

i’ve hoed long rows

down simple lanes that must

closely resemble the one next to it.

until i found

that where i come from

doesn’t so closely resemble

where i come from.

 still, the sun coaxes

and fruit grows.

````````````````````````````````````````

Matthew 1: Immanuel

so much humanity:

Fathers and Sons,

and their sons, sons.

generations coming-

generations going,

and my own life seems to be slipping away.

yesterday, i was young-

today i’m somewhere in between

young and old-

in the midst of my generation

waiting,

still waiting,

for You.

Brokenness: Gated Gardens

Some more poetry. Brokenness. Depression. Truth.

Gated Gardens 

Part I

she rides in on her white horse.

a shimmering glow of light

obscuring her shape, appearing

and vanishing with no thought to consequence.

her beauty growing dark

such as night has never seen.

what is truth?

how does she time her appearances?

does she prefer the night to the day

the good to the bad

right over wrong?

does she wave her wand

draw a line in sand, yelling,

“ready, set, go!”

and wait for her children to finish?

does she expect the pull of the moon to erase

the boundaries she has set?

truth

she comes

and then she isn’t

fleeting as the mist

when heated by the sun.

who am i?

and who are you?

knocking at my door

insistent

to see me in the night.

the question

of my own truth

what i choose

no better, no more right.

you come slinking in

reminding me

of what i have hidden

the secrets i keep

lies deceit dishonesty

they are truth

masquerading herself.

ignorance is bliss-

fleeting as the mist

when heated by the sun.

all i have is this-

you and me.

perhaps it is the truth

which keeps us from one another

but will it keep us together?

what our hearts cannot contain

the burgeoning of empires

grandiosity of light

creating cracks in what we had

sewn up tight.

this place where i live

paint peeling from empires

weeds growing in cracks

doesn’t love the truth

so much as it may have

once upon a time.

the time it takes to forget

among cries

Truth!

Truth!

Truth!

ringing in my ears

its dissonance a cacophony

only of what is lost.

deceit equalized by justice.

truth,

the fine mist that lined

my soul

fleeting

when heated by the sun.

Part II

the truth

puts gates up in gardens

guarded by flaming swords.

DO NOT ENTER!

BEWARE OF THE TRUTH!

Part III

the truth shall set you free.

to what?

to whom?

to be the man

walking out on his wife

of 30 years

because, the truth is,

i don’t love you anymore.

and i’m just not happy,

i must be honest

with you…

i’ve met someone new-

but don’t worry,

i’ll take care of you.

in the end

you fight for

all you have,

all you wanted.

holding on to the last vestige

of what was true

of what was you and i and us.

squabbling over dimes

when laughter used to carry

us on its whimsy through field

through forest   through life.

that was our freedom

that was our truth.

when we were young

the truth

was our fantasy

of a home

of a love

where we were free.

i love you, still

always forever eternally

at the gate

of this guarded garden

growing thick with weeds-

crowded with thorns

sticky and poisonous

hard and dense.

i stand here

bathed in so much light

and i am pierced

eroded into a presence i no

longer recognize.

what was freedom

became a choice

what was good

became what was right

what was truth

became what goes on behind closed doors.

truth-

she’s knocking on both sides

wanting in

begging to be let out.

it’s the truth, you know.

and god only knows what

the truth will do.

the truth will set you free.

Part IV

does the truth

never build

but only destroy?

she is selfish

thinks only of herself

what is best for her.

she takes for her own glory

extinguishing races

ravaging lands

pilfering plundering pillaging

what is rich from the ground.

the dirt

sands of time running

through my fingers.

you should never lie

always tell the truth

it’s better

it’s bitter

caustic

antagonizing

she won’t let me go

standing at my door

knock

            knock

                        knocking

reminding me.

Part V

i am vanquished

by images and scenes

that flood over me

calling for the telling

whispering their secrets

in a tongue only i understand.

i am asked to translate

the trace of her touch

the heat of her embrace.

in her presence

i am powerless

and bowed at her glory.

the brief aura of truth

the burning rage of secrets.

what i don’t remember,

is this true?

the appalling horror

of what i won’t speak.

contradiction

is equally as true.

it brings me to my knees.

the announcement,

“i don’t know.”

this is truth.

the line i draw in sand

marking borders

where i build my castle

held in my lover’s arms.

shivering in the light of oblivion.

lost and found.

known and still cared for.

smiling at the tranquility of routine

the rote, everyday.

without the fight

of losing her-

what i desire.

this is truth.

language,

the sign

the symbol

of our struggle to remember

what we have forgotten.

what we were

without interpretation.

the blinding beauty

shining

ringing…

This is truth!

This is truth!

Brokenness: some poetry

This week I thought I would share some poetry I wrote during those dark days.

Conversations with my Lover

Once

i wanted to know you so well

that when you whispered

across a crowded room

i would hear you.

the hurried meanderings of

unsuspecting others

would not block but rather

carry the depth of my knowing

you.       And you me.

Now

even in a silent solitary

room

i cannot hear you.

you are here next to me

but i’m afraid

our own hurried conversations

leave us none the wiser about

the other.

and my unsuspecting heart

cannot remember

what you whispered.

````````````````````````````````````````

the prayers of the praying

black words white spaces

what to say whom to thank.

gaps

telling, as much as they ask.

perhaps

i’ve never truly prayed

but only spoken

inky language

signifying the

hardness appropriate of those,

of me, afraid.

thy will be done

in this crowded icy corner

as it is in heaven.

```````````````````````````````

today is holy

i sat in the sun

with you, my friend.

we talked laughed read ate.

under a topaz sky

framed with pointy chartreuse maple

leaves, i discovered the miracle

of resurrection, the sustenance of

communion,

in my tank top and shorts.

today is holy.

That Broken Piece: more on depression

I wanted to say
that usually something triggers depression.
Mine, I thought, was being old and single.

It wasn't.

The trigger,
was not belonging.
That life wasn't what I wanted it to be,
or had expected.
And so maybe I wasn't who I'd thought I was.

And the woman that emerged in that time,
I didn't know her or recognize her.
She did things, thought things, became things
I wouldn't have believed.

Because I believed a lie,
that left me hollow
and hating my life.

I also fell into this pattern
of needing to be something more,
something else
other than who I was. Who I am.

And these lies,
these triggers,
I still feel them.
I fall and fall and am swept away.

And so,
this is what I mean
when I say,
that this broken piece,
keeps me laid low
before Love.
So I can listen to it
whisper it's sweet song of belonging and truth.

Our brokenness is a mercy.
Our brokenness can speak truth.

Brokenness: my depression

Not so long ago,
I felt myself spiral
down and down and down.

Life what was not what I'd expected.
Past the age of 30
I was single and childless and going no where fast in a career.
I felt so insecure in who I was...
because I wasn't like anyone else I knew.
Everyone had a marriage and family.
And I felt punished for not having received this gift.

No end was in sight...just days and nights alone.

And it all seemed to slip away from me...
my hope,
my desire,
my longings.
Until all that was left was chasm,
a yawn
that forgot to end.
For the rest of my life,

And then anxiety set in.
And panic,
And stress.

I started therapy.
I started medication.

And things began to settle,
but not end.

Because I felt more calm and settled,
after a year,
I stopped taking meds.

I also began volunteering
with victims of human trafficking in Seattle.

I started writing and editing.

Getting out of myself,
out of my own head and heart,
helped.

And then.
I went to India.

A four month trip
that pushed all boundaries of my comfort and justice and heart,
exploded in me.
And for the first time,
I saw and felt and knew
my giftings,
my value,
my belovedness.

In a country that was so broken
I brought my own shattered heart,
and knew healing.

Part of it, I believe,
was just getting out of myself...
serving,
giving my life away.
Dying to myself.
And,
I also believe the talking, the meds...
it all helped me find some wholeness.

Still, here's the thing...
times exist
when I feel myself spiral again...
and as I'm twisting down,
I try and find a foot hold...
a hand hold...
something to grab onto
that speaks truth...
about life and love and me.

Mostly,
I find those words or people to grab.
And,
I think,
as long as I live,
I will struggle with this brokenness.

That will find me flinging myself
again and again
into a Love bigger than me,
greater than service,
more true than whatever is true about me.

It is humbling.
And I believe,
that this life,
depression,
anxiety,
panic,
stress,
will always find me
where I am supposed to be.
Broken.
In need.
Humbled.
In Love.

Heart canvas art by Debbie Arambula