A Visit with Depression

I was sitting at my computer tonight, trying to work on my lesson for Sunday, when Depression stopped by for a visit.

"I can see your heart's not in your study, so I thought I'd just, you know, drop in and talk with you for a little while."

I looked at him with that piercing glance I reserve for individuals who have taken my parking space, but he stared back and me with those big black eyes has has. I hate that stare.

I sighed, and closed down my lesson. "Yeah, I'm a little distracted. My heart's not in this tonight."

"I know" he replied in that silky, sort of soft undertone that sounds so sad and so vicious at the same time. " I tried to speak with you earlier, but you weren't listening."

"Look, I'm sorry. You remember today was my last day, right? I tend to try and put these things somewhere else."

"I know. It's almost scary when you consider the totality of it."

I shot him an annoyed glance. "You been talking with Fear again? Is he just out around the corner."

Depression laughed - one of the few times I think I've heard him laugh. "No no, he's got the night off - I think he said he was running out for a Jamba Juice and visit to Borders. He thought, given the situation, that it might be awhile before he could slip out again."

Fabulous. Even my emotions are taking time off to prepare.

I refocused my thoughts. "So what's on your mind? It's late. If I'm not going to get to this lesson, I might as well go to bed."

Depression looked at me with that silly smile I hate so much. "Oh, nothing. Just thought I'd check in. I figure we're going to be spending a lot more time together in the near future. You know, last day and all."

I stared back with as fierce a gaze as I could muster. "The heck we are. We've been down this road before, you and I, and a lot of other roads than this. Worse roads than this. You always promise me something, yet you never can seem to deliver."

Depression jerked his eyebrows up in surprise. "I? Promises? I never make promises - you know that."

"You absolutely do" I responded. "You promise me that following you and wallowing in it constitutes action. We both know that's not true. You're a liar."

The smile, I noted in passing, was gone from his face.

"Fine. Have it your way. You're heart's not in that lesson, and it's not in facing reality either. I'll be back. Say Monday - I figure the first day of being unemployed will make you want to have a more in depth conversation with me. I'll pencil it in." And with that, he swirled and almost stomped out of the room.

I sat in the stillness after his passing. A liar? I called him a liar? I never thought of that way before, but now that I did, that was right. Being depressed was a lie - it offered inaction and emotional torment as a way of taking action and solving problems when in fact, it was so self-focused and bent purely on feeding the emotional appetite of things which could not help me, but only harm me.

Feeling better, perhaps the first time in years, I settled back with a book. Sure, Depression was upset now, but maybe he'd come around. I could always see if he was willing to accept a job transfer.

It would probably beat dressing in black all the time.

Last Licks

So today was my last day at my job.

For me, a somewhat atypical end (you know, as opposed to the ones where I didn't get laid off). Usually, I have slowly phased my work out to others, and spend the last day making the grand tour of cubes and offices, checking in and saying goodbye. Here, I was working literally up to the last hour I was there - partially a condition of company, which is new and still has systems in need of establishing, and partially a function of the fact that the work I do now will spare others later.

I have always hated saying goodbye, almost to the point of avoiding people. I'm not sure why - there's just an intense pain associated with it, that sense of everything packed in to 5 minutes that you never took the time to say while there was all time in the world: "You are a pleasure to work with", "You look great today", "I enjoy your company". Odd (and probably the subject of another post) that only at the end do we take time for such things which we view as vanities in daily life.

And so, card turned in and armed with coffee mug and pictures in hand, home I went.

God obliged me with a beautiful drive home, one that if I were Buttercup would cause me to deeply and eloquently reflect on God's glory (see Vintage Chick Blog to the Right; alas, I am no Buttercup). As I burst across the Benecia Bridge, the Sun was still high but it was cold enough that a slight haze of fog hung over the steel blue water and below the bridge, enough that the hills at the end of the Bay were submerged beneath a veil of faded white. The hills to the North were green in the sunlight and a sort of verdant purple where the sun no longer touched. I drove along, belting out Styx's Greatest Hits (a sort of full circle I have not yet completely grasped) as I headed out into the sunset, not knowing where I was going, but enjoying the view and the Author who had kindly arranged a spectacular natural sendoff on my last day.

Anger

Anger burst into my office this afternoon.

I working on a job submission, so I ignored him, hoping he’d take the hint and go away. Not my luck – he stomped about, realized I wasn’t immediately going to cater to his need, went out, and rolled a chair in. As my current office is my closet, he blocked the only egress.

Sigh. I was going to have to deal with him.

I hit the “Enter” button and made sure that I waited until I got confirmation on the screen. I was not going to mess anything else up with whatever the crisis du jour was.

“I know why we were abandoned” Anger blurted out, the words tumbling over themselves in their eagerness to escape and strike their target.

“Why were abandoned.” Darn. I had half a cup of coffee, slightly cold. Chances of that getting resolved soon were minimal.

“Himself. Why he abandoned us?” Again with the rushing words.

I sighed. Anger was always quick: spoke quickly, acted quickly. Trying to follow his reasoning was like trying to determine what kind of car had passed by the cloud of dust it left.

"Let's start back at the beginning."

"Himself. Abandoned. Us. Found. Out. Why."

My coffee was definitely not going to get a warm up.

"And we found this out how?"

"On the internet. You know I surf when you're busy. Keeps my mind distracted. Anyway. I did a search on The Firm, because you know that I'm always curious how things turned out, and sure enough, there was a new name listed, and he was the Senior VP, and obviously you were abandoned because you were now longer needed-"

5 seconds. He said the whole thing in 5 seconds.

I put up my hand and cut him off. "Okay. Back to facts. We left because things were not working out, and I needed a new job. I paid my debt and walked away. That company died and was replaced. Happens all the time."

"But the guy-"

"Yes?"

"It was a little after, and suddenly he appears and you go away."

"And it makes you angry?"

"Well, yeah! No one abandons us-"

"Blood pressure."

"Huh?"

"Your blood pressure. You've got to watch that."

I stretched out in the chair, leaning my back over until I heard the "Pop" of my ribcage. "You know we were growing apart anyway. If he found a person with better job skills, so much the better for him and the company. He has to provide for his family too."

"But-"

"And friends and associates grow apart over time as well. How do we know that this person did not fill a need in his life, a need we could not fill?"

"But-". Slower now. He was starting to think things through.

"And remember the conference in June. Didn't we write a letter dealing with all this and then cast it aside, putting it aside?"

"Well, yes." Anger looked reasonable now, much less offended. "We really can't control their actions, can we?"

I shook my head. "Nope, only our reaction to them. Remember: Be Better or Be Bitter - Your Choice."

He sat silently for a minute, looking down and away, looked at me, and then got up. "I feel better now. I think I'm going to go get some coffee."

I smiled as he left the closet, dragging the chair behind him. It had only taken us 3.5 years to get to this point. Maybe we were finally making progress.

And then it hit me: He was going to have coffee. Probably the last cup.

There went my warm up...

Excursis: Automatic Paper Towel Dispensers

Yesterday, I stopped at my local upscale supermarket because their milk is actually cheaper than my local less than upscale supermarket. As part of the experience, I arrived at the bathroom sink station for the 13,0002nd time to wash my hands. I squirted soap onto my hands (this itself is a luxury not afforded me everywhere), placed my hands under the sensor in the sink which distributes water at a temperature which is precisely calculated, I am sure, to a fine balance between cleansing of bacteria and cost of heating/transporting the water, and advanced to the automated towel dispensing unit. For the 13,002nd time, I got one allocated length of towel, which was not enough to dry my hands. So, for the 13,002nd, time, I waved my damp hands under the sensor and was issued another unit. Voila, dry hands.

I am certain, with certainty of a man that counts pennies, that the precise amount of towel has been carefully calculated by accountants and engineers deep in a hidden bunker for the precise amount of towel required to dry someone’s hands – that is, if you have the hand size of a six year old. For anyone with normal sized hands it’s not enough, leading me to requisition another towel with the wave of a hand, thereby circumventing the very reason the allocated towel amount was created in the first place.

It’s maddening. Here I sit, with dripping hands as the towel dispenser silently mocks me in the bathroom and the Demi-Gods of Towel Dispensing (and their Overlords, The Gods of the Automated Bathroom and the Bottom Line) mock me from on high, crying out “Foolish mortal! Thou needest not two towels to dryeth thy hand. Be content with one. We have carefully considered the type and amount of hand drying, and if thou canst not use one towel, there is something wrong with thee!”

Nothing will change of course, except perhaps the towels will get smaller. But I will be there, one man in a bathroom with his fist clenched high, shouting “From Hell’s heart I spit at thee, O thou Demi-Gods of Towel Dispensing (and thine Overlords, The Gods of the Automated Bathroom and the Bottom Line)! Behold! I reach out mine hand and causeth thy servant to dispense not one but two towels to mine own hand which I will useth and then callously casteth in the refuse. I am the Master of my Bathroom Destiny!”

Right up to the point the Automated Door will not letteth me out…

Turn Right at the Spork in the Road

There are times I have gotten a sense this week of excitement, of life taking a direct right turn. I'm not sure what that means, just that it is.

It makes wonder as well as I job search. I am currently looking in my industry, obviously (I guess from my point of view) that this is what I have done for 11 years, so this is what I should do. It's been a good industry, and certainly financially rewarding.

At the same time, as anyone who has listened to me for the past 9 years, or even if I look at my writings, there is an intense unhappiness for what I do. Part of it is the fact that there is a sense in which it doesn't matter: for example, all the paperwork I've carefully assembled and worked on for the last 5 months will most likely go into a box and never again see the light of day. Even at my previous employer, I had the same sensation, especially with some types of records: we're completing, reviewing, and filing these so that they will never be seen again. It's the most frustrating sensation in the world.

Well, really the second most. Putting a dollar in a vending machine and not getting change is actually more frustrating, I suppose.

The other thing that strikes me as frustrating is the sense that I have no control. I did my job, did it well, did it completely - and it still got cut. I don't like being at the mercy of others. I especially feel for Otis in this regard - oftentimes he'll jump through all the hoops to set up a series of meetings and presentations, only to have the rug pulled out from him at the last minute.

Huh. Hadn't realized right up to this moment that it was such an issue for me. But it is.

I won't be in this position again.

Willing the Phone to Ring

Even yesterday, at the beginning, another reminder of what I am looking forward to, and what happened last time, and time to be ready for it.

The sense of not being involved anymore.

I remember this most vividly from The Firm. Suddenly, I went from 10-20 phone calls and 40-50 e-mails a day to virtually nothing. A little bit at first, of course, catching up with people, redirecting projects and so on, but then it rapidly falls away until you physically have to force yourself not to check your mailbox every 10 minutes because you know, in your heart of hearts, that there is nothing new.

Your first reaction to this void is to start calling and e-mailing your friends, following up with them – and then you realize that although they are your friends and although they do care, in fact they still have jobs and lives to attend to. They cannot fill the void left by coworkers or clients or projects.

Your need to talk, to be engaged and active and involved, is still there: it’s just that those things aren’t.

As I indicated, this already raised its head yesterday – and I had to reign myself in from calling one more time, or e-mailing one more time. That’s where, I suspect, the importance of a list is so critical: rather than fumbling about waiting in front of the screen as it refreshes your e-mail box, you go on to the next thing.

Probably too, it’s that we don’t like to spend a lot of time with ourselves. Too much self examination, that sort of thing. The irony is, that taking the time to go through the self-examination can be a project all its own, its discoveries as interesting (to myself, anyway) as any project I had going (filing, anyone?) and certainly more profitable in the long run.

Dias de los Muertos

My first day back for my last week.

The feeling here is one I cannot fully categorize, as it is one that I have never fully been through before, either not having been involved in layoffs or this being a special case as many of these people have worked together for 4+ years.

Simply put, it is the Day of the Dead.

There are brief discussion in the breakroom, but not much interaction - or for that matter, action-in corridors. People flit from office to office, or go into the labs. Senior management, except for floating by once, is not in evidence, apparently bunkered in preparing the next steps.

But even more than the relative lack of interaction is the sense of silence, the lack of conversation, or perhaps the conversation of the dead. There is a pall, unseeable, indefinable, but laying like a thick cloak over the area. It wanders the hall in a thick dense invisible fog, penetrating every crack of every room, flowing under doorstops and around desks - the cold fingers of reality, reaching through the illusion of normality seen in operating lights, dimly glowing computers, and even the ordinary sounds of laboratories in operation.

My only companions are the hushed pushing noise of the forced air as it surges through the diffuser into my office and the clickety clack of my keys as I type.

A sense of something being dead, but just not realizing it.

Mazes

I had a mental picture last night of human relationships - one of those that the mental picture is so vivid that it stays with you, even when awake.

The picture is that of one of a form of a fun house glass maze, the mirrored ones that you keep running into reflections of yourself as you try and make your way through - except, like in The Gods of Mars (and there's an obscure reference), it's of clear glass, so you can see your way across to the other side.

In this case, the relationship becomes the room, with each individual on each side of the room. So often, over time, we erect these barriers, these glass walls - invisible but present. The first few aren't so bad -"It's right there in front of me" you say, "I know where it is and I can always get around it."

But as time goes on, you realize that the barrier has become a maze - you can still see across the room, but it is terribly difficult to get through. If you try to get through, even though you can see clearly, you keep slamming into the glass and whirling around, trying another direction, then slamming into the glass again. You make progress, but it is low and painful - or perhaps you realize you have ended up in a different part of the room entirely.

The part that has me wondering is when the glass goes up: do we realize it as a barrier? Or have we become so reliant on sight and physicality that we assume that if we see, we can always communicate?

Tempting God

I am sitting yesterday morning, reading my first four chapters of Matthew (using the John MacArthur Bible Study method: take a book or portions of a book and read it for a month. You really do become familiar with what's there). As I'm reading, Nighean gheal squished in beside me and starts reading. She looks over my shoulder as I'm reading through Matthew 4, points to verse 7, and says "What does it mean to tempt God?"

"Well, let's look at the references" I replied. "I think it means to test Him, but let's look at the reference to give us the context of the verse." A brief journey back brings us to Deuteronomy 6:16, where Israel is commanded by Moses not to test God as they did at Massah. Okay, back to Exodus 17:17, where the children of Israel, three chapters after the parting of the Red Sea, are complaining to Moses because he brought them to a place with no water. They shout at Moses for water, saying that he brought them out for them to die, apparently almost ready to kill him. God provides, and water does come out. The key is probably in verse 7, where it says "...they put the Lord to the proof by saying 'Is the Lord among us or not?'"

"Is the Lord among us or not?" This, in the light of the fact that the pillar of cloud and pillar of fire are with them, day and night, at their head.

"Well, it seems to mean that we are not to presume on God or demand of Him. If we have a need, we need to ask Him - not demand things of Him, or argue that He is being unfair, or say that if He won't do something, He can't do something. He knows our needs - we just need to have faith."

"Like you and your job?"

Long pause. "Yeah, kind of like that."

I hate it when God makes things clear that I don't want to hear. Of course it means that too. I try to be conscious of demanding, but in reality, it always lurks just beneath the surface, the more so when I believe my demands are just.

The problem is, I, like the Israelites before me, fail to look around and already see the presence and provision of God in my life. Like the Pillars of Cloud and Fire, God's reminders are present everywhere: the peace I had on Friday, the reminders from others, the Spirit speaking through His Word and others. Yet, like the Israelites, I so often push my demands to the fore (and present them as demands) rather than having faith and presenting them as requests.

I've never gotten a drink in the desert, but I would imagine that water in oasises is muddy and particle laden, wet but not delectable. I would also be willing to bet that the water that came from the Rock was cold, clear, and refreshing. I'm sure the Israelites, when they thought of water, were thinking of an oasis watering hole like they knew, the only thing they had seen. God, in His grace (to rebels, no less) gave them far more and far better. How would it have been if God gave them what they expected rather than what He wished to give?

HWMNBN

I had coffee with He Who Must Not Be Named (HWMNBN) this morning. As always, it was a pleasure - the man's wit is drier than a martini. As he pointed out, "The last time we had coffee, it was right before my brother passed away. Now, we're having coffee right before you get laid off. Perhaps we should consider having coffee in between major bad events!"

Helpful, that.

Still, a great encourager none the less. One always needs perspective and a laugh in times such as these. And sometimes, it takes time such as these to make us willing to receive them as the gifts they are.

Cut to the Core

"I long to accomplish a great and noble task, but it is my chief duty to accomplish humble tasks as though they were great and noble." - Helen Keller

The Fear

So the Fear showed up this morning. Actually, I'm a little surprised, as last time it took two to three days to make its appearance.

The Fear, you ask? It is that gnawing emotion which I assume is peculiar to the experience of being laid off - the "What am I going to do?" and "It's going to be impossible to get a job" sensation. Honestly, it makes me queasy just to think about it.

The problem with being laid off before, even by yourself, is that you remember. "Take no counsel of your fears" it is said, but do not believe for a moment that they are not there, real, and have powerful voices, no matter how insubstantial they may be.

On a purely practical level, one thing that is useful to combating them is simply being real about them. No, the chances of me landing a position next week is not great. No, that does not mean that I will not land one in two months.

Another thing is to use the time not worrying by finding other things to do. In reality, there is a big burst of activity the first week (and trust me -there was one today) followed by a decreasing amount of actual time as one becomes caught up with the opportunities at hand. Sure, there's always additional research you can do, another site to follow up on, but I know from past experience that it will be a decreasing curve.

So I've got to do it differently.

This an opportunity - yes, perhaps forced upon me, but an opportunity none the less. I started my Big Laid Off List today, and some of the things are not directly related to my job: write more, do some organization, some other projects that have been lurking in the background.

Another conscious decision will need to be what I read. I need to read uplifting and positive oriented material. The Bible, of course. But I need to make a concerted effort to ensure that what I'm putting into my mind is not material that will predispose me to think about failure.

Yes, it's a rough time out there. Yes, things are not good. But at the same, time, I can assure you that companies still have positions. People are still making money and thriving in this economy. How? Not sure, but I think at least one aspect will turn out to be thinking outside of the box. There are opportunities for me even right now, in front of my nose, if only I will take them.

The question is, can I adapt? Will I take counsel of my fears or something else?

The Blinking Cursor

If you're a blog writer, you know the curse of the blinking cursor (sounds like a Hardy Boys Mystery Title: The Missing Cursor of the Curser. Lovable Chet will inevitably get lost or tangled up as the case comes to its dramatic denoument, but none the less the Hardy Boys will solve the case, get the girls, receive a rousing pep talk and pat on the back, and already look forward to the next case inadvertently: "The Boys couldn't imagine, but their lives were soon to become even more complicated in The Mystery of the Violet Fire Poker.")

(I have, apparently, finally cracked...)

The cursor just sits there, blinking at you on an empty entry page, on and off, saying "Hey! What are you doing? Why aren't you writing? I'm waiting!" Now, I admit that it is somewhat unusual to hear the voice of an electronically generated series of binary digits; however, the fact is that every day is exactly like that. No blinking cursor, of course (Although that would be something: get up in the morning, go outside, look up, and see this giant blinking cursor in the sky above you, or worse, see it typing) but we do get a blank sheet of paper called twenty-four hours.

But unlike my blog entries, there is no delete key. I can't go back and correct the misspellings and errors I find once I post it. I cannot write or rewrite something to change the impact it has on another: once something is done, it's done. It becomes another page in the book of our lives, added to the binder awaiting our final entry and subsequent turning in and grading.

Yet, like a blog, every day is a fresh page. Every day, I get to to make another entry.

Someone asked me once why I like to write, especially because I don't get (formally) reimbursed for it. I admit that I write a lot, both here and personally for my own consumption, but the point of fact is that I can't help but write. Even in my jobs, even for things that I was not necessarily schooled in, I write. For me, in a real way, to write is to live.

But really, to live is to write. We don't all put alphanumeric characters onto a page, but we do put our deeds into the lives of others, influence the lives of others by our thoughts, words, and actions, and create a book that will be read by those who come after us (your children take the volume with them) as well as in eternity (where, in the biggest bookshow ever, God will display everyone's volumes).

Yes, I write this in the context of yesterday, where I was able to have perspective and have a number of people comment about my attitude and in at least once case say "Yeah, I know God has a plan and will provide - I just don't know what it is yet." I can assure that yesterday at my company, that was a view voiced by precisely no-one else. But I also write it in context of explaining to An Clann that I was laid off yesterday, that I had a sense of peace and God with me, and that God would provide for us.

Every day in every way, we write. What did you fill your empty screen with today?

Giant Flaming Sardines Crashing Through My Ceiling

"And so" asked the interviewer "how do you come up with titles and blogs?"

The writer sighed. "There's not really a formula. Sometimes you just start writing, sometimes you just make a title and see what it brings. Of course, I always hope I remember to change the title to match what I'm writing about. Nothing more embarrassing than a title that seems unrelated or out of place."

The interviewer laughed. "Does that happen often?"

"A lot more than you'd think.

The Longest Day

or at least, that is what it feels like. The adrenalin seems to have worn off about two hours ago, and I think higher brain functions are shutting down quickly.

In a way, a very surreal experience - although the last time I got laid off, it was myself laying myself off and all I got were company debts. Now that someone is laying me off, I am actually getting money instead of debt. That's a plus.

There's also a sense, as I told some folks at work, that I could have gone to an office where a doctor could have told me "You have pancreatic cancer and three months to live". In the scheme of things, this is not the worst thing to happen.

Not the best either. And not the best time - but as much as those that laid off need prayer, so do those that are remaining behind. They are going to essentially get double the work with no added pay and no guarantee that it will pay off in the end.

And still, that feeling that God is in this and this is a Moment, one of those moments you look back and say that something different happened, something significant, a life changing sort of thing.

Hammer Fall

So today at approximately 10 AM, I was laid off. I can now check off the "Been laid off by someone else" column on my big list of things to do (the "Laid off by Myself" column is already provided for).

Not totally unexpected, but not what I was hoping for either. There is a package, and by my lights it is a pretty good one.

Sorry. My thoughts are a little disjointed at the moment. Go figure.

I know there's a purpose in all of this, there's a reason for this: This month, the nice Christmas we had, the getaway this last weekend, the fact I am being laid off today. God is here, even if I can't see Him or know why.

Lots of questions (hindsight being 20/20): Why did this opportunity open up? Why did I choose to take it? I'm supposed to have learned something from time here: what is it?

"Riddles in the Dark" , Gandalf's reference to the discovery by Bilbo of the One Ring. There is something here, even if I can't grasp it at the moment.

The Pinch Collar of God

Most of you know that we acquired a Black Lab in July: Syrah the Mighty (See left). One of the many joys having her in our lives is the discovery that she is not all that well trained. She sits right enough and I have even gotten her to lay a bit, but the stay and general calmness are not there. Cute in a 10 pound ball of fur. Not so cute in a 75 pound energetic thunderbolt that will bowl you over - and then lick your face afterwards.

My solution (as is my solution to all things was, say it with me, buy a book. So I bought two (my mother got me one as well - apparently I looked as lost as I felt). I've got something of a training plan together.

And then we came to the second part: actually training her - which is ongoing in a slow, meandering way, but which made realize that dogs are as trained or untrained as their owners. As I look at myself and read in my books, what I realized is that those owners that trained their dog would have other aspects of self-training in their own lives - not all to the same degree, of course. but more so than those with untrained dogs.

One of the things that made walking the dog more of a pleasure as part of the training program is a pinch collar - a metal collar which freely moves to contract but not to the point of choking, as is equipped with a set of relatively dull metal prongs to remind the dog (trust me, I tried the regular collar for walking first. My arms almost gave out trying to restrain her). We have done some more concentrated work with heeling, and it seems to work: she gets outside the zone, a tug, and she will come back into the zone. The goal, of course, is to get to where the pinch collar is not necessary at all.

And then I realized that I have the same issue. I am constantly trying to run off, do other things, be anywhere I need to be but at God's side, or the place where He would have me. I keep wondering why I feel like I keep getting tugged back to a particular point, reminded of where I need to be and what I need to be about. Now I know - I've my own pinch collar, placed there by the Hand of God Himself. He's training me, and I'm sure He hopes that someday we can move to a regular collar and leash or, glory be, to off leash entirely - that part, I assume, is up to me and how well I am willing to take the training. But training or no, He is there every day with the leash and collar as I walk, making sure I will do what He needs done, not necessarily what I think needs to be done.

I get so frustrated when Syrah won't listening. Does God get as frustrated with me?

Stuffing in the Cracks

Otis' post (see below) is continuing to resonate with me - especially in the part about stuffing time with God into the cracks of our lives, rather than making time with Him at least a regular and fixed appointment, if not more regular than that.

Part of what screams at me is from Phil Vischer (see Me Myself and Phil Vischer) where he found himself doing so much for God that He forgot to do things with God. I say this in the context of trying to figure out a way to move forward in my life, do the things I think that I am called to do. I say it in the context of continually coming up against the wall of time: trying to do the things I want to do versus trying to do the things that are important to do.

Example:

Time with Family: Important
Getting enough Sleep: Important
Having a job to support said family: Important
Having some sort of physical exercise program: Important

- which after all is said and done, takes about 22 hours of my day. Out of 24. And then, if I gave God the attention He deserved (boy, is that a silly sentence looking at it), it drops more. But if I don't have that, what does the rest matter?

I always feel like when I think or write this, I'm so far behind the curve. I know so many others that seem to be doing more than I and appear to be balancing things far better than I. I know I can't see into the hearts of others, but Saints and Martyrs, am I just obtuse? Or just perpetually slow and behind the curve?

A life instead of a lifestyle

Otis the Mighty has a fine post on Christians embodying their life style. Click below:

Fighting with God

Change and Courage

I'm having one of those "I think something is going on inside of me" moments.

There are moments, few in my life, where I can consciously say that "yes, I changed. I really changed" and point to a moment in time. More often - even in this case to some extent - there is a feeling of looking back and seeing the trajectory of it: suddenly realizing that "Oh, this is where that idea came from" or "I can see where I started to do X". But the moments where things seem to crystallize almost immediately are rare.

The buildup, I think, is two events: 1) The conference the Ravishing Mrs. TB and I attended last June (link here and here), because it actually made me sit down and think about goals, goals I really wanted to accomplish, and give a time frame; 2) My job change (acceptance here) because (and much as I miss you, Songbird), it forced me outside of my comfort zone (which, I might add, it does every day). I got into the rut of being in a comfortable environment and not challenging myself to grow. Here, I have no choice.

But the change sees to have popped into place this last weekend: partially because of the trip to Tucson, partially because I am using this vocal program which has challenged me to use the voice of the person I am, partially through giving a name and time frame to my writing (and re-establishing that as the thing I want to do), and partially because I am being brought face to face to face with a much younger man whom I used to know: me.

If you had to ask me what is emerging from it, I would have to say courage. Which is an odd thing to emerge from the amalgamate of what I've listed.

Benjamin Franklin had a fine saying "What you seem to be, be really." We trot that around quite a bit - "Be true to thyself, and thou canst not be false to any man" - but we also are equipped (loaded?) with the expectations of others and how they view us, and therefore what we will do to be viewed correctly (ah, the dreaded peer pressure). It then seems like we spend the rest of our life learning to bring out those things that God gave us that we buried away.

I've seen this happen with others. Go read Buttercup (Vintage Chic Blog - it's on the right). I cheat in the sense that I've known her far longer than she has written, but even in her work you can see the parts of her that were buried for various reasons (her ability to write, for example) being fanned into flame - the thing that was always there, and that God has been waiting for her to be courageous about and do.

(And no, before you think it, there are plenty of things that are not good gifts or personality traits that are buried and should not be brought out, but put to death. That's sin. Not everything that is hidden should see the light. Another entry for another day.)

Because that is part of what the world needs to see - they can see plenty of self-actualized people, people following their goals and dreams - but do they see us as Christians having the courage to live out what God has given us and called us to in a God honoring way, who are not self centered in what we do but neither are pouring ourselves into the mold of what the world thinks Christianity could do?

My model again is Buttercup, an intelligent woman who is cheerful, bright, outgoing, tand talented, but is not these things because she self actualized or is choosing a better You, but because she has Christ -and would be happy to tell you about it. How countercultural is that?

I want to grow up and be like her.