Loving our kids has melted my hard heart into a malleable ball of ever-transforming-in-love magma. My whole life has been filling my heart with ingredients, some good and some bad; and now God is mixing them up in a refining boil, removing the harmful ones and deepening the nourishing ones. He continues to create something beautiful in me, and I know he won't give up until the work is complete. The sensitivity I have to what I collected in my heart, how much it hurts to relive or reorder some of the difficult things, the parallel of past trials with present ones, makes supporting our children's hearts an epic journey of humbling proportions. The trek spans the spectrum of emotions from bitterness to gratitude and everything in-between. Everything belongs, taking one step into the next. We make mistakes, our parents make mistakes. We do things right, our parents do things right. We support our kids in ways they'll never understand, our parents support us in ways we'll never understand. God supports us all.
The way I used to perceive my relationship with God, a very volatile connection based on my weakness, harmed me. What point did I serve, except annihilation? Now that I can digest and process how my existence--the good and bad responses--is contained in the gracious salvation of Christ's not-prudish, not-immature, not-elementary, not-competive-doctrine love for me, I can grow and move forward. Knowing my kids, in all their very human glory of weaknesses and strengths, are more than imperfections to be annihilated, helps me feel more supportive of myself and others. Grace abounds. Each created person is an impossibly complex and dynamic combination of experiences, feelings, and thoughts.
I happy to be a very neurotic person, who holds every.failure.ever (my own and others') too close to my heart. Shame for the past isolates me, fear for the future paralyzes me. At the peak of my depression, two to five years ago, I turned a corner in my journey. I claimed that spirit of power and love and self-discipline that Jesus gives me. I still have to claim it most days, intentionally choosing not to be timid and fearful. Some days I have to choose it multiple times. I sometimes even hit an invisible START OVER button in the air over my head on days that call for tactile support.
Getting my thoughts in order is a journey, not at arrival:
First, I listened to my counselor, husband, and family and started an antidepressant. I admire the dutiful mentors in my life, who have the mental fortitude to survive wars and dysfunction, literally. I tried to push through the minefield of my brain chemistry with sheer will to stand in those ranks. But then my counselor gave me a helpful metaphor for how our brains move our thoughts: All of us experience anxious thoughts, and healthy brains can wave goodbye as they pass; but brains with a chemical disorder will trap those anxious thoughts in a mental tunnel of Velcro, until there is no way to see around them. And if all a person can see are fears, then (s)he'll likely sink into depression. It took a few adjustments, but after two+ years of taking medication, YES, that metaphor is true. It is powerful, loving, and disciplined to accept help. My lens affects the people I love the most.
Then, once I got my thoughts un-constipated, the flow of healthy psychological tools and biblical support in my heart could rush to the places that needed healing and continue reconstruction. A list of cognitive distortions can easily be found on Google. The amount of automatic lies we tell ourselves is devastating. Learning what those lies are is the beginning if a battle against what is false to claim what is true. Once I know how to confront my thoughts, become ever more sensitive to what is true and what is not, the biblical truths can be what they're meant to be: strength for walking in salvation through a world of unpredictable weather. Saying goodbye to blind optimism and toxic cynicism is a journey worth enduring. That's why I am sharing this now. Jesus is part of the ongoing physical, mental, and spiritual creation of this world. And how amazing is this time of psychological pioneering to walk hand-in-hand beside Him as he points at the beauties of what He made. Don't discount psychology.
My bookclub read Dark Matter by Blake Crouch a few months ago. A physics professor is kidnapped into an alternate reality in his multiverse. It seems impossible for him to find the way back to his reality, so when he wants to give up, he repeats:
"I am not allowed to think I'm crazy. I am allowed to solve this problem."
When I get bogged down by the heartaches of others; by my own inadequacy to heal my own aches, much less others'; by my own weaknesses as I train for spiritual warfare or a marathon or one day parenting teenagers; by disappointments in my heritage; I repeat that mantra to myself move forward.
And I have different versions for different situations:
"I am not allowed to drown in this pit. I am allowed to climb out."
"I am not allowed to step forward off this cliff. I am allowed to take steps back and find a different route."
"I am not allowed to injure myself. I am allowed to either rest or gently test my adjustment edges."
"I am not allowed to predict the future. I am allowed to take the next right step."
"I am not allowed to panic. I am allowed to take a deep breath for calm."
Here is a note card that my counselor wrote years ago to help me identify harmful thoughts:
Solutions are everywhere, and God made us incredibly creative to grow in His strength and courage. Peace and joy to you, friends.
The way I used to perceive my relationship with God, a very volatile connection based on my weakness, harmed me. What point did I serve, except annihilation? Now that I can digest and process how my existence--the good and bad responses--is contained in the gracious salvation of Christ's not-prudish, not-immature, not-elementary, not-competive-doctrine love for me, I can grow and move forward. Knowing my kids, in all their very human glory of weaknesses and strengths, are more than imperfections to be annihilated, helps me feel more supportive of myself and others. Grace abounds. Each created person is an impossibly complex and dynamic combination of experiences, feelings, and thoughts.
I happy to be a very neurotic person, who holds every.failure.ever (my own and others') too close to my heart. Shame for the past isolates me, fear for the future paralyzes me. At the peak of my depression, two to five years ago, I turned a corner in my journey. I claimed that spirit of power and love and self-discipline that Jesus gives me. I still have to claim it most days, intentionally choosing not to be timid and fearful. Some days I have to choose it multiple times. I sometimes even hit an invisible START OVER button in the air over my head on days that call for tactile support.
Getting my thoughts in order is a journey, not at arrival:
First, I listened to my counselor, husband, and family and started an antidepressant. I admire the dutiful mentors in my life, who have the mental fortitude to survive wars and dysfunction, literally. I tried to push through the minefield of my brain chemistry with sheer will to stand in those ranks. But then my counselor gave me a helpful metaphor for how our brains move our thoughts: All of us experience anxious thoughts, and healthy brains can wave goodbye as they pass; but brains with a chemical disorder will trap those anxious thoughts in a mental tunnel of Velcro, until there is no way to see around them. And if all a person can see are fears, then (s)he'll likely sink into depression. It took a few adjustments, but after two+ years of taking medication, YES, that metaphor is true. It is powerful, loving, and disciplined to accept help. My lens affects the people I love the most.
Then, once I got my thoughts un-constipated, the flow of healthy psychological tools and biblical support in my heart could rush to the places that needed healing and continue reconstruction. A list of cognitive distortions can easily be found on Google. The amount of automatic lies we tell ourselves is devastating. Learning what those lies are is the beginning if a battle against what is false to claim what is true. Once I know how to confront my thoughts, become ever more sensitive to what is true and what is not, the biblical truths can be what they're meant to be: strength for walking in salvation through a world of unpredictable weather. Saying goodbye to blind optimism and toxic cynicism is a journey worth enduring. That's why I am sharing this now. Jesus is part of the ongoing physical, mental, and spiritual creation of this world. And how amazing is this time of psychological pioneering to walk hand-in-hand beside Him as he points at the beauties of what He made. Don't discount psychology.
My bookclub read Dark Matter by Blake Crouch a few months ago. A physics professor is kidnapped into an alternate reality in his multiverse. It seems impossible for him to find the way back to his reality, so when he wants to give up, he repeats:
"I am not allowed to think I'm crazy. I am allowed to solve this problem."
When I get bogged down by the heartaches of others; by my own inadequacy to heal my own aches, much less others'; by my own weaknesses as I train for spiritual warfare or a marathon or one day parenting teenagers; by disappointments in my heritage; I repeat that mantra to myself move forward.
And I have different versions for different situations:
"I am not allowed to drown in this pit. I am allowed to climb out."
"I am not allowed to step forward off this cliff. I am allowed to take steps back and find a different route."
"I am not allowed to injure myself. I am allowed to either rest or gently test my adjustment edges."
"I am not allowed to predict the future. I am allowed to take the next right step."
"I am not allowed to panic. I am allowed to take a deep breath for calm."
Here is a note card that my counselor wrote years ago to help me identify harmful thoughts:
Solutions are everywhere, and God made us incredibly creative to grow in His strength and courage. Peace and joy to you, friends.
