I can’t sleep tonight. One question has plagued me throughout the day and often over the last several months: How did I get here? I swear I blinked, and I went from a mom of 35 with a young family to an almost 57-year-OLD woman with that family scattered and in disarray. I was on cruise control, taking care of my responsibilities until my responsibilities didn’t need me anymore. Suddenly, I am here.
Where am I going? Will the next blink of the eyes find me 20 years down the road with nothing to show for it? This can’t be all there is to life. If this is it, I’m not sure it’s worth finishing. Wandering around in a daze with no purpose is exhausting and stupefying. There’s no sense of accomplishment in that. It’s just a lonely road of maintaining speed.
So many people I know have done wonderful things with their lives. They are important people who contribute important things. Some have done that so well they have been able to step back from the rat race and enjoy their time more. That’s great, especially if they have a partner who has similar interests and the money to have that kind of freedom. I do not have these things.
I settled a long time ago. In being “only” a wife and “only” a mom, along the way I lost me. The me that graduated from college and taught elementary school. The me that started working on a Master’s Degree in curriculum writing. No one seems to even notice that me is gone. No one notices the amount of time this lost me spends alone, crying over so many missed opportunities and chances where decisions could have been made better.
I’ve read that it’s never too late to start over, but that’s not true. There comes a time where there is just no way to turn that leads to anywhere but a dead end. Too much time has passed. You watch as those around you,–younger people, smarter people, wealthier people, supported people– make forward progress while you stand waiting for the star of life to just burn itself out.
I love to read. I devour books voraciously as soon as everything is done for my day that needs to be done. That’s usually not a long list. Being empty nesters, there is a dramatic decrease in how fast rooms in the house need cleaning. The only toys I now need to pick up are the cats’ toys, and even then, only if I run the vacuum. My Bible study is always attended to first, but when all of that is done, it often leaves me with a four-hour block of time to read. I spend the monthly fee on Kindle Unlimited because it takes me only three or four days to read a book. I also have Audible although I find I don’t use that as much anymore. I have a few genres that I particularly enjoy, and I usually switch between them. Most of last year my list of books read contained nearly all historical fiction with a subcategory of World War II stories. This year, I find myself gravitating towards memoirs and autobiographies.
Most people who write a memoir do so because they want to tell their story of how they overcame something that threatened to stand in their way of success. Others write a memoir to teach the public sector something about their jobs. One of the books I read along this line was a book penned by an emergency room doctor. In it, he told story after story of real-life emergency room scenarios he had been a part of. Some of them ended happy; others ended with the subject of the story not pulling through. I thought I could imagine what went on in an emergency room, but it turned out I was wrong. I had no idea all the different issues and fast decisions ER doctors need to make. I was definitely educated by reading this book.
I find the books written by people who have overcome extreme hardships in life the most fascinating and inspiring. As I read about extreme neglect, poverty, abuse, abandonment, instability and other factors that have made life nearly unbearable, I am firstly amazed that a human being can overcome such small odds of survival let alone success. Secondly, I find myself wondering how any human being can treat another human being the way that many of these books portray the situation to be. Most of the time, the neglectful person is a parent. Tales of parents feeding their child only rotten, moldy food after the rest of the family is done eating a healthy meal simply because they hate their offspring tear at my heartstrings. I am familiar with forms of abuse, but these stories take it to extreme levels. In one of the memoirs I read, a mother called her child names like stupid, cow, ugly, fat, and useless. Some parents have taken their children to an orphanage, dropped them off and left without even saying goodbye and certainly no intent of retrieving them at any time.
As I was finishing up a particularly sad memoir last week, I began to think about my life compared and contrasted to that of the book’s subject. In reality, the only thing I had in common with the subject was I was also born into a family. I had a mom, dad, two brothers and a sister, all older than me. Just having a happily married set of parents put me one step ahead of many of the subjects I read about. My life wasn’t perfect, far from it. I would bet everyone who reads this can say the same about their lives. It’s a universal fact that life on this earth is not always easy, even as a child at times. The only thing is my definition of life being hard when I was a kid was being forced to eat green beans for dinner or force-fed potatoes because they were supposedly good for me. I defined life as hard when I didn’t get what I wanted (which actually didn’t happen very often). Realistically, though, my life has been pretty easy when I look at a recent memoir next to my own life.
I never went to bed hungry, unless that was my choice. For a little while, if I didn’t eat what was put on my plate, I had to go to bed without dinner. Those times were worth it to me. Eventually, even that wasn’t the case anymore. There came a point where if I didn’t like what my mom was serving, I could make myself a bowl of cereal. I practically lived on cereal. My parents never made me eat moldy food or food from a garbage can. I used plates and silverware like a civilized person. I got dessert which to my father was just as important as the meal he had eaten.
I never had to wear dirty clothes. My mom washed my clothes regularly. She also washed the sheets and blankets on the bed at regular intervals. My pajamas were always clean, and I had several from which to choose. Not once did I ever have to dig through piles of laundry to find something that was less dirty than something else. I was also always clean. There were regular baths and showers at my house. Soap and shampoo were always provided as were towels and washcloths.
I never had to live with a scum feeling on my teeth. I always had a toothbrush and toothpaste to use. My teeth weren’t in very good condition because of all the candy I ate, but there were trips (traumatizing trips which still haunt me today) to the dentist to fix the cavities that had befallen me.
I never had to live in a car or a tent or on the streets. I was two years old when we moved into the house that would be my home until I married seventeen years later. I didn’t shiver when the temperature in my northern town dropped below zero. I had a roof over my head, electric to turn on lights, and a furnace that cycled on and off to keep the house at a comfortable temperature. Certain area of the house were colder than others, and I did happen to get a room that wouldn’t stay warm no matter what my dad did to try to fix it. Still, I was safe from the elements, and I had sweatshirts and blankets to pile on to add heat.
I always had something to do. My shelves, even back then, were full of books that I would read and reread to my heart’s content. My closet held games and puzzles. I had a radio, a Walkman, (dating myself here) and a TV in my room. To add to that, we had a family room downstairs that had all the same things plus an Atari game set.
My mom never called me names. Oh, like every mom in the world, she would lose patience with me, tell me to go to my room, (a punishment I loved) or ignore me for a little bit. Not once though, did she call me bad names that would do nothing but damage the psyche in the long run.
Every week I went to church. Seldom did I go with a smile on my face; in fact, I hated going to church for the most part, but if making me go to church Sunday mornings, Sunday nights and Wednesday nights is the worst thing my parents ever did then I consider myself pretty blessed.
Yes, blessed is a good word to use when describing my childhood life. There are other parts that are considered tragic, but I choose to not focus on those. I let them make me a person I didn’t like for my entire life so far. I’m still a work in progress, but aren’t we all? Adversity can be an ally, pushing one to better themselves and move on from the trauma experienced in early life. Blessing can also be an adversity. Someone who is handed everything doesn’t tend to figure out life soon enough to make a difference. The latter happened to me. I wasn’t prepared for marriage or parenthood when they happened. I made many mistakes and I know I left a bit of trauma in the lives of my kids. I don’t get a do over. It is on them to not pass on to another generation what they inherited. They are responsible for their own decisions just as I was for mine.
I lived a blessed childhood, though. I know this to be a fact. There was security growing up knowing my basic needs would be met, and even more so when my wants were often met as well. I really don’t know how some people do it. Poverty, single parenthood, abuse, neglect and other horrible things were forced upon them through no fault of their own. Their adversity became a steppingstone to a better way of living for themselves and their offspring. My life, contrasted to theirs, was a walk in the park. My parents always made sure I knew they loved me. That is a blessing that so many take for granted. I did for a very long time. I no longer do. I am thankful to God for placing me in a family that always cared and did the best they could with what they had at the time.
In the not-too-distant path, I decided it was time to speak honestly about mental health and, especially, my battles with it. I admitted the struggles I had been through with depression. While I didn’t elaborate too much, I mentioned that at one time years ago I attempted suicide. Suicidal thoughts are greater when mixed with bipolar depression, something I also wrote about. I could have written about my more recent experiences with suicidal thoughts; three years ago, I was back into the darkest pit I’d ever been in. It was recommended more than once by my doctor that I be hospitalized for my own safety. Each time he brought it up, I managed to lie my way out of his recommendation. I knew, though, he was right. It was not safe for me to be alone. My husband made sure I almost never was alone. Fortunately, his job at the time was 100% work from home. I had a few people I could call in an emergency too: A dear friend and my ever-supportive sister. Neither lived close by though. I lived in that dark pit for three years.
I’m amazed I made it out alive.
When the thoughts were at their strongest, after I had made a plan and written the note, I found a safe haven in the gallery of pictures and videos on my phone. I would scroll through pictures of my grandchildren. I would remember the fun times every one of those pictures held. I also participated in practical things like DBT. I had a mental health appointment four days out of the five-day work week. I learned skills that supposedly would help me when staring down suicidal thoughts. Honestly, though, the pictures and videos on my phone was the main catalyst for keeping me alive. When I became a gramma for the first time, I fell instantly in love with the role. My own kids are old enough that they would remember me had I gone through with it. Maybe they would have even tried to understand the hell that lived in my head. But my grandchildren wouldn’t remember. I would have left a horrible legacy had I taken my own life. The fear of leaving that was stronger, mostly, than the promise of escaping by death.
Over the last year, I began to see a small flickering light at the end of my pitch-black tunnel. It was a constant light; in fact, November and December of 2023 had me writhing to escape the deep darkness of depression. I told myself I couldn’t do that to my kids and grandkids. If I did, the holidays for them would always be marred with the horrible thing I’d done. So, I held on. I pushed myself farther than I should have trying to please everyone while still wallowing in the darkness. As I recovered slowly after the new year, I began to feel the darkness slowly lifting.
The thing with depression, especially when it has been part of one’s life since childhood, is that it becomes such a part of a person it is hard to know how to function without it. That left me open to new attacks by my number one enemy, depression.
A few weeks ago, on a day that proved to be the hardest I’d had in a while, I sat in my home while no one else was here, and I cried. I cried nearly the entire day. I had Bible study that morning. One of the ladies spoke of her children, grandchildren, and great-great grandchildren. She repeated the Scripture that talks about the joy of knowing your children are walking with the Lord. That’s the best legacy to leave. The more I thought about it, the more depressed I became because I couldn’t say those words about my family. Of course, only God knows hearts. I couldn’t totally discredit it, but I also couldn’t totally say I was in the same legacy boat. Around me there was stuff that needed to be done: vacuuming, dishes, laundry, sweeping, and more, yet I could not stop the tears and muster up the will to do any of it.
As I thought about the situations I am facing, I cried to God–again. I couldn’t even estimate the number of times I sat in a chair crying out to God for His help. I have Psalms memorized where the Psalmist is asking God why he had been forsaken. That is what I felt. Forsaken. Forgotten. Unloved. These were all the lies depression had been telling me for years. A thought crossed my mind as the tears continued to fall: “Had I ever cried out to God asking Him to heal me?” I couldn’t remember ever asking for healing. I prayed to God, confessing that I had countless times called out to Him for help (which is the right thing to do too) but couldn’t recall asking Him for healing. I asked Him that day, pleaded with Him, acknowledged that only He had the power to perform a miracle.
As the tears started to slow down, I felt a warm sensation throughout my torso, eventually settling around my heart. The tears stopped. The darkness lifted. I could sense hope where there was none before. My shoulders felt lighter. I had no doubt that God had touched me and healed me. I was in awe. I shouldn’t have been. I know God can do anything that we ask. Still, living over 40 years with something weighing you down, that becomes your normal. Suddenly I was feeling a new normal. God had performed a miracle for me, and the joy that erupted was joy I don’t think I had known before. Satan used underhanded methods to try to make me give in to my thoughts, but God was (is) more powerful.
I wish I could say every day since then has been one of skipping through life. Healing didn’t take away the painful situation I found myself in. What it did do was teach me to allow the sadness, the grief, the pain to wash over me and run to God with it. My tears weren’t completely wiped away. I have cried often since that day. Satan is still trying to destroy me, but I now have a sense of lightness and hope in the midst of the tears and sadness. I know God is with me. Always. I know someday all my tears will be wiped away by Jesus. I don’t know for certain that I will leave any legacy except a broken one. It is not mine to know nor to try to fix. It is my job to pray for my family, to allow God to work in His way. I will praise Him through tears as long as I walk this earth for the miracle of healing He gave to me.
The other morning I read a Facebook post from a friend who lives in the very northern part of our state. I have never met her in person, but she writes wonderfully and also speaks to various groups about Jesus. She is the mom of adult children and is a fairly new grandma. What was so special that this particular post really got me thinking deeply?
She told the story of one of her adult sons waking her up in the middle of the night. Every mom knows that’s never a happy moment. There is a reason a child, of any age, wakes up mom and dad to summon them. Sometimes it’s a bad dream. It could be a thunderstorm. That was me when I was a kid. I was terrified of thunderstorms at night. Sickness is also a possibility. There are a variety of reasons a kid feels the need to get mom and dad. My friend’s son’s reason, though, brought to the surface a situation we found ourselves in years ago with one of our daughters.
Her son said he was being attacked. At this point, I was like, yay for mom! She didn’t just assume it was a nightmare and send him back to bed. No, she asked him what he was being attacked by. His answer must have sent shivers down her spine.
“Demons.”
That’s all he said. You know what? She didn’t brush him off, tell him he was fine, etc. No, she instantly got out of bed, went into the hallway so as not to wake up her husband, and prayed for him on the spot. Her actions shouldn’t have surprised me. In fact, part of me wasn’t surprised, but part of me remembers when my husband and I were in a similar situation.
Our younger son had a friend who had a difficult home life at the time. He spent many nights in our downstairs family room on the couch. At one point he got into a card game called Magic. He had a deck of cards. I had banned all of my kids from buying these cards. I didn’t like what they represented. I felt as Christians we should have nothing to do with things that represented evil. I didn’t say anything, though, because I figured this kid was already going through enough. Only, that’s why I thought I was allowing it. The real reason was…I wanted my kids and their friends to like me, to like coming to our house. It was a serious parenting flaw on my part. I relied on my wounded self to make decisions that shouldn’t have been made by a wounded person. Those were my own demons.
Back to the demons.
One night during that time period, everyone had gone to bed and gone to sleep, except our older daughter. About midnight she came running into our room screaming that something was wrong with her sister, who was in the bedroom downstairs where both our sons and our son’s friend were asleep. Of course, both my husband and I sat straight up in bed, instantly feeling the very real terror our daughter was in. We ran downstairs to check on our youngest. We passed the couches where our son and his friend were sleeping. They groggily looked at us like we were crazy. We opened the door to our daughter’s room and looked at her, sound asleep in her bed along with our dog, a beagle whose ears perk at the slightest noise. She barely woke up and looked at us. If there had been screaming or anything had happened to our daughter, the dog would have been up pacing and panting. My older daughter was literally shaking and sobbing. My husband went back to bed while I sat up with our girl to try and help calm her down. At the time I believed she had a nightmare, which we all know can be very real to us, and with a little time would be okay. She eventually went back to her room, although I don’t think she slept that night.
The next morning, I asked our younger daughter about it. She said she had no idea that anything even took the place the night before. I put it in the back of my mind as I made lunches for my son and his friend to take to school. We went about our normal daily activities of cleaning and homeschooling the youngest. I had not forgotten about the magic cards sitting in the garage, and I was thankful that our son’s friend grabbed them to take to school with him.
That night, we all went to bed as usual. My husband and I first because we are old. I never really knew when the kids finally went to bed, and I didn’t care as long as they were keeping up with life. As I laid there trying to fall asleep, I saw something out of the corner of my eye. It was on top of our bedroom door frame. It looked like a small ball of fire, orange and yellow. It moved quickly; so quickly it was gone in a blink. I got strange chills down my spine. I kept watching that same spot to see if it came back. Nothing ever did. Eventually, after several hours of feeling slight panic, I fell asleep.
The next morning I remembered the strange occurrence. I gave my youngest her schoolwork for the day and hopped into my car. I needed to ask someone an important question. I drove the couple miles of road it took for me to get to our church. I knew if I could say anything to anyone it would be our pastor whom I respected greatly. Fortunately, he wasn’t busy. I sat in his office and told him the whole story: the magic cards, the certainty our older daughter had that she heard a scream, and whatever I caught out of the corner of my eye the next night. We both came to the same conclusion: there was a demon in our house. It was the only explanation that made sense, although I assume if you are not a Christ-follower you may think the idea of a demon is a bit “out there”. I did at first, but the more I thought about it, the more sense it made. Magic cards are a devil’s game. The pictures on the cards proved that.
As time has passed, that memory is still as vivid as though it happened last night. I can even see in my head the little object that ran across our door frame. I have also grown more in faith. I realize now the first thing I should have done was pray. I was too immature to recognize that back then. Our pastor told me he could call some of the elders so they could pray through our house. I wish now I had taken him up on his offer. I didn’t because I thought for sure the elders would think me crazy. That’s always been a problem for me: worrying about what others think. I let my son’s friend bring the magic cards in because I didn’t want him to feel I was being mean to him. Hindsight is 20/20. As a Christian, it is important to always be prepared for spiritual attack. Our struggle is not against flesh and blood but against the evil that runs through our world. God gives us spiritual armor, but we have to put it on every day.
Belt of truth
Breastplate of righteousness
Feet fitted with the Gospel of peace
Shield of faith
Helmet of salvation
Sword of the Spirit
These are the elements God gives us to fight off our attackers. I am guilty of forgetting about them thereby leaving myself open for attack. As I grow more in Christ, though, I remember more often than I used to. My life depends on it as does yours. Did you put on your spiritual armor today? Are you ready to fight the enemy?
The year 2023 was not an easy one, although I have to say, most years haven’t been easy. When I think back over the last 12 months, the words “mental health” become forefront in my mind. It was indeed another difficult year fighting against my own brain. There were days I still wonder how I survived. As one who has to research everything, I learned a lot about myself this past year. I had light bulbs going on and bells ringing when I realized the why behind many of the issues I faced. What else would I associate with this past year?
There was a fair amount of loss in 2023. Nothing as serious as many other people went through. I wasn’t widowed and didn’t bury a child, but my losses were a significant part of making 2023 one of my worst years. I finally decided my heart was ready to be a cat mom again. I knew I wanted 2 kitties on the younger side who got along. One day I came across a picture of a brother and sister pair who sounded perfect for us. They were gray and white beautiful cats. We did a meet and greet and their foster mom agreed we would be the perfect couple for them. Before we could officially take ownership, though, the sister cat got sick. Multiple appointments with a veterinarian led to no answers. It seems she would begin to bounce back only to regress again. A specialized vet, who happened to be at the office when she was being seen yet again, happened to mention a possible diagnosis. Within a day that diagnosis was confirmed, and she was scheduled for surgery. Sadly, she couldn’t keep going long enough to make it to the surgery. She passed away a day before it was to take place. I sobbed, both for her passing and for her brother who was very dependent on her. I was angry that the diagnosis took so long. I thought it was a sign that maybe cats shouldn’t be part of my future.
Another loss in 2023 was losing my son. No, not an earthly death thankfully. Some words were exchanged that were misunderstood. He decided he didn’t want us in his life for a while. Having already gone through this scenario once before, I was able to keep my words in check. My heart, though…Oh, my heart was broken. It seemed too much for God to ask me to carry. I became angry at God and then a root of bitterness took hold. It had such a grip on me I wanted nothing else but to die. I had no one to turn to, to talk to. I saw myself as nothing but a failure and lost any desire to spend time with God. I spent most of the year in that mindset.
In addition to mental health, physical health also was a gigantic issue this past year. The medication I’d been on for several years for my RA was canceled when my husband changed jobs and got new insurance. My rheumatologist offered a different drug, which eventually was approved, but it took over a month to get it all straightened out. I received one shipment, then received an e-mail that our next copay would be $1500. There’s no way we could afford to pay that every month, so I refused the drug. I went several months with nothing for my disease. I could definitely tell, too. My pain levels kept creeping higher and higher. I was living on a pain medication that technically interacted with one of my mental health medications, making the latter rise to dangerous levels. It really was a no-win situation. We still don’t have that completely straightened out. I underwent 3 endoscopies and one esophageal ablation this past year as well. Those issues are still not fixed which means I walk around feeling like there is a grape stuck in my throat all the time. The new year will bring yet another endoscopy to keep working on fixing whatever is causing the problems.
One final loss is one that some may consider minor, again, because there was no death involved. Still, the loss took a lot out of me. For all intents and purposes I lost my mom. She didn’t die. She is very much alive, about to turn 95 years old, and living in an assisted living center. She isn’t happy anymore though. She misses her own apartment, a place she lived in by herself up until last year. She baked and cleaned with some help coming from friends and family. She reached a point, though, where it just was no longer safe for her to be living alone. She stopped calling to chat. She also stopped answering her phone. Both my sister, who also lives in another state, and I would call hoping she’d pickup. We left messages on her voice mail. The calls were never returned. I think at one point three months had passed without talking to her. Since I was already experiencing intense loneliness and isolation, it was a hard blow to take. I finally did get to talk to her at Thanksgiving, again on Christmas, and also New Year’s Day. She doesn’t talk long anymore, and she repeats a lot of what she says, but it was still good to hear her voice a few times.
Did anything good happen in 2023? I want to blurt out “No”, but I would be wrong. The surviving cat of the brother/sister pair ended up being adopted by the foster family. It was the right decision. They had other cats that he already knew, and he needed other cats. Slowly I allowed myself to look again. I found a pair of brothers, tuxedo cats. Their picture was adorable, and my husband and I decided to apply to adopt them. Another round of problems were had as the two tested positive for ringworm. Until that cleared up we were unable to take them home. It took a month or so, but eventually they were given a clean bill of health. On a Sunday afternoon in May, we picked up Monty and Dom and gave them their furever home. Monty is the larger cat with the white nose, and Domino is the smaller cat with the black nose. They are my emotional support animals. I am so thankful that they love sitting on my lap and sleeping on the bed with us. I still wonder how things would be different if we had gotten the other pair of cats. Would they have also tried to climb into the Christmas tree like these guys did?
Early in November of 2023, my phone rang. Caller ID showed my son’s picture! I answered tentatively since I wasn’t sure what direction the conversation would go. He called to apologize and reconcile our relationship. I was so excited that he would be celebrating the holidays with us. I don’t know all the why’s of it all, but I do know God has restored our relationship and for that I am extremely grateful.
We are still working on getting the medication issue straightened out, but for now I have a one month’s supply in the refrigerator. Now we wait and see what the next step is.
If I stop and think about it, 2023 made many wonderful memories. My daughter-in-law donated part of her liver to her sister. I was able to go stay with my son and grandson for 10 days while she was out of state for the procedure. We walked to school every morning and walked home every afternoon. We built many Lego projects, played a lot of balloon soccer and spent an entire Saturday at a local farm when Grampa came to visit for the weekend. I treasure those pictures I was able to get. We also did a small celebration of his 6th birthday while there. September also brought my granddaughter’s first birthday. She had a fruit themed party which was so much fun. Just last week was my other grandson’s third birthday. We did Christmas with my daughter, son-in-law, granddaughter and said grandson last weekend. After opening Christmas and birthday gifts we went bowling to celebrate him. It was a fun day! My husband and I went to our state fair yet again and enjoyed the cooler day we were there. My mental health is an ongoing project. The new year will see that work continue. With the exception of several months when life’s circumstances really got to me, I can say I grew closer to God in 2023. I continue with my online BSF group. Once a week our group gathers on Zoom. They are a wonderful bunch of women who are always there for me if I need something.
Most of all, though, I ended 2023 alive and breathing. There were many moments I didn’t think that would happen. Looking back on those excruciating days, I know only God sustained me through those times. I can’t really put into words how serious the situation became at times. I just know that the new calendar went on the wall, a calendar filled with pictures taken throughout 2023, and I was alive to hang it. The boxes are all empty. Soon they will be filled with appointments, birthday reminders, and notes about when the cat’s water fountain was taken apart and cleaned. I don’t know what the next 12 months will bring. It will definitely bring times of great joy; it will most certainly also bring times of pain. My hope is that whatever it brings, I will stay anchored to the only One who can hold me steady regardless of what may be happening around me.
Most everyone is familiar with the movie, A Christmas Story. The star of the show is eight-year-old Ralph Parker. It is set at the beginning of the Christmas season. Right off the bat we are told what Ralphie wants the most for Christmas: a Red Ryder carbine-action 200-shot range model air rifle. He dropped a hint for his mom by placing an advertisement for the gun within the pages of her Look magazine. He wrote about his wish in a theme paper his third grade teacher assigned titled “What I want for Christmas”. He even told Santa about it, figuring it wouldn’t hurt to drop a hint to the “Big Guy”. He got the same answer from all three wish-hearers: “You’ll shoot your eye out.”
Christmas comes fully loaded with expectations. I have been under the pressure of these expectations this season. It is made more difficult this year because we have to see each of our kids and their families on different days. This has put tremendous pressure, in addition to deep sadness, on me. What cookies should I bake and will they keep long enough to see the last of our kids New Year’s weekend? I’ve wrapped all 2,649 presents (okay, maybe that’s a little exaggerated) and have marked them all as to who they will go to. Where do I put the ones we won’t be using on the day we are using others? We don’t live in that big of a space. How much food do I order? I’ll have 2 days with kids in our house. How do I make that work? Because of my perfectionism, it is important to me that gift numbers be equal. If someone has fewer than someone else I feel the weight of heavy guilt. Guess what. This year I don’t think I ended with the exact same number for everyone. It is taking all I have to not run to the store and even it out. The problem is, besides the fact that I’ve already WAY overspent, I wouldn’t know what else to buy.
All of this is taking a tremendous toll on my mental health. I was looking through memories last night on Facebook. I noticed on one of my posts a comment by a former friend, former because she isn’t here this year for Christmas. She ended her life this past fall. I found myself envying her. She is now free of depression, of constant sadness and of emotional exhaustion. I couldn’t hold back the tears as I told my husband he just doesn’t understand how hard it is to live like this, to feel so alone, to hate yourself so much, to feel like you are always disappointing someone, and to be not as important to your family as they are to you.
When I was younger and my husband and I were just starting our lives together, I had a vision, a mental picture, of what I believed our family would look like over the years. I taught elementary school for a bit. I became a mom five times (with four living children). I homeschooled them–at least I felt my teaching degree got some use. Everything was happening just like I thought it would. Then suddenly, the earth shifted. What was really a small change in the grand scheme of things exploded to one that was larger than life in my mind. After that came others. Some came from family. Those never stopped. It was direct hit after direct hit on my heart. Others came from the world; things like addiction and lifestyle spun out of control. I was slowly dying inside. I nearly lost the battle. No one but me knows how close I came to the end. And while readers of this might know, it is impossible to know the probability that I shouldn’t be here right now. It’s amazing what a broken heart can do to a person and how many areas of a person’s life that break can affect.
After opening all the presents under the tree, Ralphie is sitting on the couch with his mom and dad. His dad asks him if he had a good Christmas. Ralphie’s response is “Pretty much”. To that his father replies, “Well, there’s always next year.” Not always. My friend’s family never could have guessed that Christmas 2022 would be the last one they would spend with her. I wonder what would have been different if they could have known what the following year would bring. Would her kids make sure to make seeing her on Christmas a priority? Would those who had broken relationships leaving deep, deep scars behind changed their treatment of her? Would her family look at the intense love she had for her grandchildren and promise to make sure she would see them more often? Or would they all laugh at the thought that this could even be a real possible outcome? I wonder the same about my own family. So many moving parts can usually only lead to chaos, at least for the person responsible for it all. My heart has been in a chaotic state for several years. The last two years could be seen as the nail in the coffin. Do they know how much I love them? Do they know how fierce my love is for my grandchildren, those little ones with parts of my blood coursing through their veins? Do they know I wish I could do so much more for them? Do they know the tremendous pain it takes for me to pull of a Christmas that spans a whole week in different places? The exhaustion that comes with all the physical labor involved? Do they know I do it because I get all the happy feels when I watch them open gifts I have carefully chosen for them?
Ralph’s story has a happy ending. After all presents are opened, his dad spots a present hidden behind the desk. Even his mom is stumped as to what it could be. As Ralph pulls the paper off, the camera vacillates between Ralph and his dad. One is just as excited as the other. It’s the kind of Christmas moment that warms even the coldest and miserable hearts. Despite the problems of the day, especially the turkey being eaten by the neighbors’ dogs, the Parker family’s Christmas Story ends with the whole family, dressed in their Sunday best, sitting around a table at the local Chinese restaurant. They laughed as the duck was brought to the table and was further prepared for those who were waiting to dine on him. Everyone likes a happy ending.
As for myself, I will not get the happy ending I so desire and have desired for the last eight years. My Christmas wish will, in all probability never come true. In Fact, from last year to this year it got worse because adult kids make their own decisions, and those decisions sometimes tear my heart from my chest. I’m finding this spot to be trying beyond words, but I do know one thing. Over the weekend I will have a grandchild, his mom, and his dad here. I will watch with delight as each opens their presents. The excitement of a 6-year-old is contagious! I haven’t had much reason to smile so far–even the weather is miserable for me–but I know I will. I will smile while we have conversation around a good meal. I will smile as favorite Christmas cookies are chosen. I will smile mostly because, by God’s grace, at least for now, I am still here to see the wonders of Christmas through the eyes of a child. Ralph’s dad got that feeling too, and it was the biggest smile he’d had throughout the whole movie.
Having Major Depressive Disorder (MDD) means more often than not, I am trying to live my life alongside some degree of depression. The degree can vary. It can be influenced by weather, number of changes going on at any given time, relationships, both positive and negative ones, diet, or thought patterns. It sometimes is all of the above. Sometimes, it is none of the above, meaning the dark clouds swoop in and envelop my world for no obvious reason. I am finding myself in this spot right now. This is the nature of the beast. My MDD apparently is treatment resistant. That basically means I have tried multiple medications, but none have really worked well enough for me to say I have a high quality of life. I’ve written before about my disdain for medication, especially mental health medication. The process is trial and error, and in trying several remedies, I have to be prepared for all the side effects that could come with the drug. Some side effects are okay with me; if the medication helps even a little bit, but it gives me a headache or makes me tired I’m okay with that. On the other hand, if the side effects cause extreme nausea or makes me too dizzy to stand up, I usually tend to ask to move on to a different one. Of course, complicating the matter are the other diagnoses I have, including several autoimmune disorders. Too often I feel like a walking pharmacy: and expensive, walking pharmacy.
Recently I found a website that is comprised of writings by all kinds of people on all kinds of topics. The mental health crisis in the United States is vast. This lends itself to large numbers of people writing about their experiences with mental health issues. A few nights ago, I stumbled across a collection of articles written about depression. They number greater than fifty. I have not even gotten close to reading them all, but I spent 2 hours that night riveted to my computer screen, nodding in agreement every ten minutes or so. Some of the authors are professionals, people like psychiatrists, psychologists, therapists, educators, and scientists. Some are written by normal people who unfortunately have experience in the field. One article in particular caught my eye. Its title: “Do we Really Feel Better in Blue Spaces?”.
The term “blue spaces” refers to a place by water, usually the ocean, but it can also include lakes, rivers, streams, or waterfalls. Coincidentally, I was talking about this same subject with my husband the other day. If I can get away from home, if my anxiety allows me to enjoy it, the one place I would pick every time would be somewhere along the southern Atlantic Ocean. There are many beaches along that stretch. My favorite, probably because it’s the only beach on the Atlantic I’ve visited, is Cocoa Beach. It is about an hour’s drive from Orlando. We have visited several times. The year 2015 was our visit to Cocoa Beach and my first time seeing the ocean. I fell in love with it. It wasn’t until after going back a couple times that I realized while on the beach, I felt better both mentally and, to a little degree, physically. The sound of the waves rolling in was music to my ears. I could have stayed all night on the beach listening to it. Even the heat of the Florida sun in late August didn’t bother me as long as I was by the water. The smell of the salt air filled me with a peace words can’t describe. The salt water seemed to soothe the chaos of my mind, and while there, I can honestly say I enjoyed life. I know there is healing in the ocean. I enjoy being by any body of water, really. I don’t swim in lakes or rivers anymore, but I love the peacefulness of sitting by one. I grew up on an island and often swam in the river that surrounded it. Science has shown, though, that the most benefits from blue spaces are derived from being at the sea-side.
Not to be left out, the article also discusses “green spaces”. In this case green spaces are forests, although it did make clear that any place that has groups of trees can have the same effect. Walking a path through miles of trees is something I thoroughly enjoy. This past summer my husband and I visited a state park that is only 30 miles or so from us. We have lived in east central Minnesota for twenty-six years and have never visited this park, despite passing the sign for it most every time we went somewhere. It was a breath taking walk. The path was not paved–my favorite kind–and led deep into the center of the park. The mosquitos were a bit rough. Next time we will get better bug spray. Still, there was a calmness walking among the trees. The sun was shaded by the tree cover, and there was just enough wind to rattle the leaves on the tree. There is also, coincidentally, a lake in the park where turtles often swim. We stood by the lake for a little while watching for any sign of one but did not see any. I didn’t want the hike to end. The air seemed fresher. The realization that I was surrounded by other living things–trees, grass, weeds, flowers, birds, squirrels and other life found among the woods came to me with new meaning. Of course I know trees are a living thing. It just hit differently when I looked up and noticed how small I was compared to the circles of trees around me.
What is it that makes blue and green spaces so magical? According to the science noted in the article,
“The research suggests that the fluid movement of the water as well as the free, open space of the environment help boost the mood in the moment and can reduce negative thoughts and feelings.”
These spaces are also the source of life. Without water there would be no blue. Without blue there would be no green. Without green there would be no life. The water and trees are essential to our human bodies. God designed us that way. We need to inhale what plants exhale. Our bodies can go longer without food than they can without water. Perhaps putting ourselves intentionally in blue and green spaces is the best medication available. As my husband and I were discussing all of this, I pointed out that no doctor I have ever had has given me information on how nature can be so balancing for me. No, doctors, at least all I have had, rely on pharmaceuticals to make life better. The reality is they usually can’t do an adequate job, and if they do, how great is an “adequate” quality of life?
I wish I lived near the ocean. I can’t imagine how different my life might be if I had access to its healing effect. For now I have to hope that we can continue to visit the sea-side. I will take in as much healing as I can and pray it will last for a time. I will walk into the salt water rushing up around my ankles and let the water carry my darkness back out with it. I will breathe the salt air and hear the roar of the ocean, and, for a time, all will be right with my world.
When I was young there were countless times I made a decision that I later regretted. Whether it was choosing to watch TV instead of studying for an important test or spewing hateful words to someone and wishing I could take them back, I remember the intensity of wanting to turn back time for just a little bit so I could have a do-over. Sometimes I would lament to my parents about my decision. My father said the same thing to me every time this happened: “Too soon old; too late smart.” I knew what he meant, but those words hold a much deeper meaning for me now that I am closer to the end of my life.
Over the summer, my regular Bible study group takes a break. This past summer I felt the need to continue in some kind of Bible study. I had grown so much over the year we met, and I didn’t want to lose that progress. I searched my overstuffed bookshelves to find one that appealed to me. Of all the ones I have, the one that jumped out at me was a study on the book of Ecclesiastes. If you’re familiar with the book you know it isn’t a book resounding with joys and praises. A little background on the book may be helpful.
The book doesn’t mention an author; however, it does proclaim the author as a wise teacher. and the son of David. Based on that and what the book says, Bible scholars believe Solomon is its author. Solomon was the son of King David. It was Solomon who was charged by God to build His temple. God offered Solomon anything he wanted. He asked for wisdom that he could always discern what is right and true. He introduces himself in the first verse of the book, then dives right into the point he wants to make:
“‘Meaningless! Meaningless!’ says the Teacher. ‘Utterly meaningless! Everything is meaningless.’ ”
Wow. That is not a very encouraging opening to the book. He makes his point with examples from the world. The sun rises and then sets. Everyday. People are born while others die. Everyday. All streams flow to the sea. Everyday. Interestingly, the sea is never full. Solomon often repeats the phrase, “There is nothing new under the sun.” My husband and I actually joke about this. We were kids in the 1970’s. It was the age of paisley shirts, mini skirts, and wallpaper. The legs of jeans were wide at the bottom. A mustard yellow and green were common colors for clothing. Clogs were popular footwear. Beads and large earrings hung off the heads of young people. Long hair for guys was cool. As we walked through the mall not too long ago, we both commented on how the “new” fashions strongly resembled those that our older brothers and sisters wore in the 70’s.
Being all-wise must have held many advantages, but Solomon makes sure he communicates that being all-wise also had its drawbacks:
“For with much wisdom comes much sorrow; the more knowledge the more grief.” (Ecc. 1:18 NIV)
Our world has become much smaller in that we can, in an instant, know what is happening in a country thousands of miles away. My parents always watched the news after dinner. There was limited information about what was happening in a country across the ocean, and what information there was, my seven-year-old self didn’t understand it. My world consisted of school, swing sets, pools, bikes, roller skates and four channels on TV. If it was a nice night, we could sometimes pick up the Canadian channels too. Now, to scroll through the channels we can get could be an all-night activity, especially when streaming services are added. As I got older, and cable TV finally came to our island, my world expanded. I then understood what war meant, and I could see some realities of it. That’s even more true today with Google and the magical internet. War is not new, though. Remember, “There is nothing new under the sun.” War has been around since the fall of man in the Garden of Eden. My increase in years on this earth have proven over and over how right my dad’s words were when he told me old age would come soon, and wisdom would come late.
A little over 36 years ago, I married my high school sweetheart. Well, I was in high school when we met. He had graduated a couple years before that. I got married thinking, “How hard can it be? It’s just the two of us, and we love each other. Nothing could possibly be hard about that.” Oh, how naive I was! Both of us are the babies in our families. Both of us were used to getting what we wanted when we wanted it. Both of our sets of parents were close to and over 40 when we finally came along. They were established in their jobs. I grew up in a nice house. I always had my own room even though at times there were four kids living there. I grew up with a dishwasher. My older brother and sister were quick to remind me that they had to wash the dishes by hand when they were growing up. We had two cars by the time I came along. The floors of our home were nicely carpeted. Again, we were reminded that they grew up with ice cold hardwood floors in the wintertime. I foolishly assumed all these things would stay the same except that I could finally live by my own rules. Foolish is the exact opposite of wisdom, and foolish I was. Those years were hard. They became even harder when we added kids to the mix. Four kids in five years pushed me beyond my limit most of the time. I had a dog growing up, but since I was the youngest, I had no experience with babies and little kids. The night we brought our firstborn home from the hospital we put him in the bassinet when it was bedtime. I can still see his open eyes looking at me. Seconds later, as I was crawling into bed, the crying began. It didn’t stop most of the night. I was shocked that a little human could cry that much. As I learned on that poor guinea pig of a firstborn child, I was more adept at handling the others as they came along. I had learned to expect the crying, and I had figured out ways to help calm the chaos.
I can look back now, almost 34 years since that firstborn broke me in as a mom, and see all the things I did wrong. I didn’t interact as much as I should have. I let my toddlers watch way too much TV. I didn’t know emotional needs of children were just as important as physical ones. I didn’t mess everything up, of course. I read countless books and stories over the years. I homeschooled when it became apparent that the public school wasn’t going to work out for one reason or another. They always had food and always had clean clothes. There was no shortage of toys either. Using today’s vernacular, I was a “good enough mom”. I didn’t beat them every day, nor did I completely let them fend for themselves. They were healthy and growing–good enough. I wasn’t a “good” mom though. Years and gray hairs have shown me all the ways I failed.
I am now old, and that wisdom came a bit too late. Something that really frustrates me is the fact that I now have all this wisdom and nowhere to use it. You see, those kids, now grown with families of their own, don’t desire my wisdom. They want to do it their way. They have to make the mistakes I made. I’ve often asked God why He gave me wisdom that is useless? I know the unhealthiness that too much screen time brings. I know how important it is to play with your kids. I know that wearing two different socks is fine, and that getting a stain on a new shirt really isn’t the end of the world. I know that clutter causes chaos. I know all the things now that I needed to know 34 years ago. It is of no use to me now though. I know there is nothing new under the sun.
I’ feel the need to redeem the book of Ecclesiastes. While Solomon does seem like an author depressed by the world around him, he was trying to make a point. Everything on this earth is meaningless–in the long run. I can chase all the world offers, but things won’t satisfy me. That new car I so desperately want will eventually rust. The clothes I buy, if I can avoid getting too big to wear them, will get holes and wear out. So will the $300 shoes I just had to have. Worldly things are meaningless because they won’t last. They won’t satisfy. Solomon tells us at the end of the book what is important:
“Fear God and keep his commandments, for this is the whole [duty] of man. For God will bring every deed into judgment, including every hidden thing, whether it is good or evil.”
I wasn’t a perfect parent. I never thought I was, but time has shown me just how much I missed out on by not having the wisdom needed at the time. My kids weren’t perfect kids. They will someday see what they are unable to see right now. Wisdom comes too late.
It is reported that 20% of Americans get help for their mental health. At the current population numbered at 331,900,000 that equals about 6,000,000 people. Look at that number again. Six. Million. That’s staggering. Most everyone knows somebody who has been negatively affected by their mental health. Depression, anxiety, Bipolar Disorder, Borderline Personality Disorder, Schizophrenia… the list could go on. Some people work quite hard to keep on a mask, trying to block others from seeing what they are really feeling. Others manifest it so intensely that it leads to a hospital stay. On that spectrum sit many points that people find themselves, their friends, or their loved ones. Children have not escaped these diseases either. The statistics say 37% of 12–18-year-olds currently take prescribed antidepressants. Are doctors too quick to write a prescription thinking it will be a cure all?
I am currently taking 9 prescriptions for mental health. I also take 3 additional pills for autoimmune diseases I have. So everyday I ingest 12 pills. Some are colorful, some are round, others are plain white, and some are oblong. The shape and size doesn’t matter. They will be a part of my life forever most likely, and I will honestly say I am NOT okay with that. Every prescribed drug has side effects. Some are mild like fatigue and headaches. Some are serious such as an increase in suicidal thoughts (yes, from a mental health medication). It’s always a balancing game on whether the benefit of the drug outweighs the side effects it causes. One thing many mental health medications have in common is they all cause weight gain. I am definitely not okay with that. Three years ago I was headed in a dangerous direction with my weight. I was pre diabetic from using food to fill the emotional void of losing a loved one. Then I got sick. Really sick. At first my appetite waned. I would eat a few bites and be full. I had some serious stomach pains. The weight started coming off. I dropped 100 pounds without trying. While I wasn’t thrilled with how it was all going down, I was thrilled to be able to buy much smaller clothes. As I got rid of the big ones, I vowed I would never go back to that weight again. Fast forward to today. I am still way under that heavy former weight, but I am way above what I was at my lowest point. It has caused me to have serious issues with food. I will only say that my body is not getting nowhere near the nutrients it needs. My lab tests scream that fact. My doctor knows what is causing the weight gain–which drug it is. This is where I lose respect for doctors and drug manufacturers.
Pharmaceutical companies in the United States make billions of dollars a year on drugs that are supposed to help people. There are so many to choose from, but it seems every doctor has one or two they like the best and that is what is prescribed. Now, when I get an infection such as strep throat, I am prescribed an antibiotic for ten days. If I faithfully take it as prescribed, the infection will disappear and I’ll be good as new again. But what if that doesn’t happen? What if the infection is stronger than the antibiotic? Well, that can happen. My doctor will just prescribe a second round of antibiotics with a slightly stronger medication. That usually works. If it doesn’t happen, most likely tests will be run to see if there is another infection hiding somewhere. Eventually, almost every time, it just takes a few rounds of drugs, and I am good to go. The problem is, not all conditions are straightforward. Illnesses like Cancer, diabetes, and mental health conditions are complex. What works for one may not work for another. I don’t have any personal experience with cancer or diabetes thankfully, but I’ve been cursed with mental health issues as far back as I can remember. I didn’t seek any kind of treatment until I was in my 30’s though, mainly because I didn’t know that was the problem. I assumed it was just how I was and nothing could change my thoughts. Seeking help for mental health, though, is not for the faint of heart. It has only been recently that I have started to do my own research as opposed to just taking the doctor for his word. I have learned some amazing things.
I have a complex mental health diagnosis. I have Major Depressive Disorder (MDD) which causes my every day kind of depression–sadness, moody, crying, unproductive, etc. I also have General Anxiety Disorder (GAD). This is more than being just a worrier. This is full blown always butterflies in my stomach fear and anxiety. There are many days I do not leave my house because of this condition. That’s for another time though. Many people stop at those two. Depression and anxiety tend to go together. My diagnoses don’t stop there though. I also struggle with Bipolar 1, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD), Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD), and anorexia. I’ve learned to also become really good with acronyms! Of all of these, the most difficult to treat for me has been Bipolar 1. Because this is an illness of major highs to major lows, it supersedes the highs of ADHD and the lows of MDD. In fact, bipolar depression is the worst kind of depression, in many people’s opinion, because the low is ultimately paralyzing. I don’t just cry with Bipolar. I sob for any and all and no reason. My thoughts ruminate. I get nothing done, sometimes just sitting in a chair for hours staring and thinking. Treating Bipolar and all of these conditions is not an exact science. There are a multitude of drugs on the market for mental health issues. Most people take a cocktail of medications and finding the right cocktail is a long and treacherous process. Sometimes a certain drug will work, but the cost makes it impossible for a person to obtain it. Sometimes a drug works wonders for a while then suddenly stops working with the body. Then the search starts over for a new cocktail of medications. One of the biggest drawbacks to any drug one has to take for the rest of their life is side effects. Let me explain.
Anything chemically formulated, like antibiotics and other drugs, was not part of the original design for our bodies. The overwhelming majority of pharmaceuticals are made in a lab, not in nature. Our bodies will have different reactions to different drugs. Sometimes there is no reaction. I could have great success with a drug for my mental health while you, with the same diagnosis, could be harmed by the same drug. It’s a guessing game, and I have found there aren’t many doctors who are really patient enough to go the distance with a patient until the right combination of drugs is found. I can’t even count how many medications I have been on in the past, especially for MDD. I have been on numerous mood stabilizers for Bipolar 1. Many of the ones I’ve had to quit have been because of side effects. Have you ever watch the commercials on TV advertising medications? They ramble off a list of possible side effects, many of them “including death”. Not what a person wants to hear when prescribed a drug that is supposed to help them. My current doctor, who is fairly new, is not great at searching for what might work. He is convinced what he has me on will help deal with my mental health and put me in a stable place. The problem is, I am on two medications that cause weight gain. This has caused me to have a dangerous relationship with food. I limit myself to one meal a day and still the weight won’t come off. His suggestion when I saw him last week was to have my primary doctor prescribe a weight loss drug, Really? That means I would be taking a drug to combat the side effects of another drug. What if the weight loss drug has side effects? Do I just keep adding medications? When does it stop? The pharmaceutical industry exists to make a profit, NOT to help people. If they really wanted to help, a medication for Rheumatoid Arthritis (RA) wouldn’t be $3000 a month. You read that right. Yes, insurance covers some, but usually not until a deductible is met. I’m at the pharmacy around 5-6 times a month, and every month I cringe at what we have to pay. My doctor doesn’t take that into account. He just prescribes. Pharmaceutical companies don’t care. They just charge outrageous prices
As someone who struggles with mental health, all of this only makes it worse. It adds anxiety to an already anxious brain. It adds guilt for being so expensive. It adds anger that my doctor doesn’t take my fear of weight gain nor my nutrition seriously. Over the years I have seen many doctors. All but one have had the same approach: prescribe—-> side effect—–> prescribe additional. The pattern never ends until I eventually stop taking all medicines which ultimately sends me into a tailspin toward a dangerous place mentally. It’s not anything I can work or wish or pray away. These illnesses are my brain misfiring where others’ brains fire correctly. Yes, God can take it away, and I pray every day He will, but so far, He hasn’t chosen to do that. I live with it, and fear it is what eventually take my life if a stable place can’t be found.
(Writing this has taken me over a week. The stigma surrounding mental health is very much still there. It’s scary to write about something negative that looms large in one’s life. I always hope when I do, that someone out there gains a little understanding about mental illness and all it entails. I hope someone is able to better understand their friend or loved one who struggles with these issues, usually alone. I hope it opens the door to more conversation about how encompassing mental health issues are to a person.)
The last month has been tough. I have found myself working through the same grief steps I thought I had left behind. Grief can be like a boomerang. Even the hardest of throws does not guarantee it won’t come whizzing back at you. Just when I think I have finally graduated from a place of grief, I find myself right back there again. It has been said that grief work is exhausting. That feels like a gross mis understatement to me. While working through such grief, it is normal to feel down. The degree of the negativity differs with each person. Some are able to function normally, seeming just a little sad over it all, while others border on suicidal because the pain of repeating the process has just become too much to bear. Some even take that final step of suicide. Those are the people who feel most alone in the process of grief and recovery. With no encouragement, no support system, it is easy to become overwhelmed and give in to the voices that whisper, “This is too painful.”
I have been there. I have reached that point, more than once, where life became too much to keep going, and I took the steps necessary to put an end to it all. Obviously, they didn’t work. Someone stepped in and saved me each time. To this day, I resent those people for depriving me of my chance to leave this cruel world and go to my heavenly home with Jesus. How utterly perfect my life would be right now if I had been able to shed the sinful body of this world and put on the heavenly body of the next. I know now God has His reasons for everything. I can’t say I know what the reason for my survival is; it seems I’m not serving any good purpose down here, but my faith is growing and even though I don’t have all the answers, I am starting to see I don’t need to.
This leads me to the subject of this entry: music. I have always loved music. It has always extremely annoyed me that I am not good at it. I’d give anything to be able to sing beautifully. I’d even settle for okay! So often growing up I dreamed of singing in front of the church like I had watched others do. To being joy to people via music would have been a dream come true. Sadly, like the dream of owning a small hobby farm in the country, my music dream will never come true. Still, music is a go-to when the grief of life’s trials are weighing me down. There are a plethora of songs I have on my Spotify playlist that I turn to in grief. Some speak to me with the words of the song. Others evoke a happy memory that takes my mind off the grief at hand. Others point me to the One who is able to make me whole again even as others trample me under foot. I want to share twelve of the top songs I listen to when dark, intrusive thoughts begin to fill my head. Any of them can be looked up on You Tube if you want to hear all of the song and/or watch the video. Most are Christian songs but not all of them are.
**Remind me You’re Here by Jason Gray: The perfect song to start with. Reasons do not take the pain away. Reasons do not fix the situation. Only God can do that.
“And I won’t ask You for reasons ‘Cause a reason can’t wipe away tears No, I don’t need all the answers Just be here beside me Father, remind me You’re here Here”
**Weary Traveller by Jordon St. Cyr: This song is so encouraging with its lyrics. It implores those who are weary to keep going, for this is not the end but only the beginning of our journeys.
“Weary traveler, restless soul You were never meant to walk this road alone It’ll all be worth it so just hold on Weary traveler, you won’t be weary long.”
**Battle Belongs by Phil Wickham: I love this song because it reminds me who is really in charge of my life. The battles I face I don’t have to face alone. I also especially love to hear my son sing this one.
“So when I fight, I’ll fight on my knees With my hands lifted high Oh God, the battle belongs to You And every fear I lay at Your feet I’ll sing through the night Oh God, the battle belongs to You.”
**Hold on to Me by Lauren Daigle: This song reminds me that I don’t have to muster all the strength in the world to survive. Even in the darkest of nights, God will hold on to me.
“Hold on to me when it’s too dark to see You When I am sure I have reached the end Hold on to me when I forget I need You When I let go, hold me again”
**Class of 57 by The Statler Brothers: This is one of those songs that bring back happy memories. I wasn’t even alive in 1957, but my older siblings had this album. I had dreams when I graduated from high school. Most of them blew away like dust. The older I got the more I understood the last stanza.
“But living life, day-to-day Is never like it seems Things get complicated When you get past eighteen But the class of ’57 had its dreams.”
**Sunday Morning Coming Down by Johnny Cash: This song has a hollow feel to it, the same hollowness that a Sunday morning brings to my soul. I’ve never been able to explain it, but Sunday mornings have always left me with a melancholy feeling.
“On the Sunday morning sidewalk Wishing, Lord, that I was stoned ‘Cause there’s something in a Sunday Makes a body feel alone
There ain’t nothin’ short of dyin’ Half as lonesome as the sound On the sleepin’ city sidewalks Sunday mornin’ comin’ down.”
**I Know Who Holds Tomorrow by Alison Krauss: Again, a reminder that I don’t need to know what is going to happen because I can trust the One who does.
“Many things about tomorrow, I don’t seem to understand; But I know who holds tomorrow, And I know who holds my hand.”
**Suppertime by Joey + Rory: The older I get the more I spend time thinking about the past. This song evokes strong memories of carefree days of childhood spent outside until my mom would call us to come home for dinner. It is a comforting song.
“Many years ago in days of childhood I used to play ’til evenin’ shadows come Then windin’ down an old familiar pathway I heard my mother call at set of sun
Come home, come home, it’s suppertime The shadows lengthen fast Come home, come home, it’s suppertime We’re going home at last”
**Sow Mercy by Mark Lowry: This heartwarming song is about a boy who is learning to plant a garden with his grandma. While she teaches him about seeds of the earth, she is also teaching him about seeds of the soul.
“Sow mercy Sow grace Sow kindness Sow faith Words are like water, sprinkled with love You will harvest all your heart’s been dreaming of Sow mercy”
**A Place in the Choir by Celtic Thunder: This is just a fun song that reminds me that God created us all to have a place. This is a hard concept for me since I feel like I don’t belong anywhere and no one really cares, but God has made a place for the opera-like bird to the bullfrog singing bass to the cricket who “sings” with his legs.
“All God’s creatures got a place in the choir Some sing low and some sing higher, Some sing out loud on a telephone wire, Some just clap their hands, or paws, or anything they’ve got now”
**Me on Your Mind by Matthew West: Everything God did He did for me. He created color and beauty for me. He created delicious tastes and heavenly smells for me. He came to earth and died for me. This song reminds me how special I am to God.
“Who am I that the King of the world Would give one single thought about my broken heart? Who am I that the God of all grace Wipes the tears from my face and says, “Come as you are”? You paid the price, You took the cross You gave Your life and You did it all with me on Your mind”
**Run to the Father by Cody Carnes: This was once my little grandson’s favorite song. I can picture myself running to the only place that knows exactly what I need and being received there by the only One who can give it.
“I run to the Father I fall into grace I’m done with the hiding No reason to wait My heart needs a surgeon My soul needs a friend So I’ll run to the Father Again and again And again and again”
Ramblings of a Snow-Loving Pilgrim 