It’s pretty obvious that I’m a Christian. It’s also obvious that I make no claims to having my act together. My struggles with mental illness, sexual addiction, dysfunctional family, horrible relationships… have all been shared here, but I never want to let people think that this is anything other than a Christian blog telling anybody who will read it about Jesus Christ and the transformation he’s brought about in my life.

The themes that advance my cause (his cause really) are forgiveness, reconciliation, dealing with root issues,spiritual healing, conflict management, and unity.

I’ve blogged a lot about the masks that people wear and our need to be transparent. I frequently pull out my soap box encouraging people to  figure out how God has wired them  up so that they can use their talents/gifts and abilities to work with other people who believe in The Way so that, together, they can do his will which is to love the world on his behalf.

Unfortunately, people are people... and, like me, they bring a lot of garbage packed in baggage to the table. The very same people we’re supposed to be loving on “in Jesus name” are often the people who get voted off the island. They somehow made their way into a church only to find that people in church wear masks too. That’s probably why so many non-believers have so many issues with “The Church” or “Organized Religion.” They haven’t been able to see past the masks people were to see the hurting people behind them. That’s what churches are. Groups of hurting people who have been drawn in by the promise of love and eternal life that is Jesus. People come in with these great expectations and often leave disappointed rather than wait around to see how Jesus deals with masks.

I wore my mask like it’d been Super Glued on for so long I thought that I’d born that way. It took Jesus years to get me to remove my mask so that people could see who I really was. But the mask didn’t come off in isolation, it came off as people within the “body” of Christ took off their masks, so that I could see who they really were. As people acted like his hands and feet in my life, my life began to change. As his heart for me began to beat through the people he’d placed around me, my heart learned to respond. It wasn’t one person or one church. The body of Christ is made up of many different people and congregations and denominations spread out over different cities, states, countries, and continents. But the body of Christ only works if we take our masks off; and if we help those who seem more broken than we are… to take off theirs.

I found a video that, seemed kinda lame at first… but it picked up on a few of my motivating themes and eventually it made me cry. The song is sure to be in my head for a few days. Now, I hope it stays in yours:

Yet, I really wanted to hear what he had to say because the topic is one of my major passions. He was talking about discovering how God made you so that you could walk effectively according to your “DESIGN.” If you’ve been following my blog for a while you might have read the series I did on “Knowing Your DESIGN.”

My church does this workshop to help you discover how God wired you up by looking at your Desires, Experiences, Spiritual Gifts, Individual Style, Growth Stage, and Natural abilities. That way you don’t waste time spinning your wheels doing things you were never designed to do. I did that workshop and realized that I don’t like working with children. They push all of Bipolar Girl’s buttons and lead to gnarly depressed episodes. Shortly thereafter I quit my job as an elementary school teacher (I’d been a teacher for eleven years), and it was the best thing I’d EVER done. I still teach, but I don’t teach children and I LOVE my job… even when it’s pushing my buttons. Finding out how I was wired changed my life, so I really wanted to hear what this guy had to say even if it took him forever to get to his point.

He started out with an illustration that really had an impact on me. He talked about “Extreme Makeover: Home Edition” and how he saw this family’s crummy home go from being a dump to a home designed specifically with each of them and their needs and desires in mind. The home was designed to help them function optimally as a family. He said that God was in the business of doing extreme makeovers and since my life is an extreme makeover in the process, he had me at “Hello.” I wanted to hear more, but my eyes just weren’t cooperating. The speaker wasn’t cooperating either. He just would not get straight to the point. I had to force my eyes to stay open because every now and then he’d slip in something really fascinating.

Like when he said that this makeover took time and that it happened in the church. Not “a” church. He was talking about the Church… the entire body of believers… people living in community, living lives authentically. Since I passionately believe in the subject matter, my passion for the topic overcame my desire to sleep. I watched the video all the way through the first lesson. When I’m not tired I will watch the first lesson again because, despite my issues with long winded people who won’t get to the point, I really want to know what stage of the makeover I’m in so that I can go on to fully walk in the way that God designed me.

Before coming to know Jesus I was a mentally ill woman trapped in a very dark place. I’m intelligent, creative, and talented, but my mental illness stopped me from using those attributes to the fullest. Jesus didn’t just bulldoze the house and start over. He has been in the process of doing an extreme makeover on me for the past 18 years. Over time I went from having some vague unidentified mental illness to being diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder. From there I went from being a surly loner to being willing to attend church. And it has been through the church… that God has renovated so many parts of my life so that I’m finally at a point where I can participate in community. I want to live my life authentically with other people… but it took people to get me to this point in the first place. The makeover did not happen in isolation. The Bipolar Bubble was not like the Bat Cave. And even when I hid out in my Bipolar Bubble God sent a few brave souls to knock on the door and keep knocking until I let them in.

The point the speaker seemed to be making was that extreme makeovers happen when people put people first. We are designed so that we can use our talents, gifts, and abilities to help transform the lives of other people. He said there were basically three reasons why people like extreme makeovers and when I heard those reasons I thought about my own life and what extreme makeover means to me. There’s four more DVDs so I sense another one of my series coming, so this is a good place to break as any. It’s 9pm and I’m beat. Time to take my lithium and go to bed.

Why We Like Extreme Makeovers:

1. We like to see positive change. (People keep coming up to me and telling me how much I’ve changed in the last year).
2. We are curious about the skill of the person responsible for the change. (In my case, people are amazed at what God has done in me).
3. We all want to have an extreme makeover in some area of our own lives. (God has delivered me from my struggle with Bipolar. Now I want him to deliver me from my struggle with my sexual addiction. I want the door closed on that part of my life for good). 

I’m sure there was more in the video that I’ll pick up when I watch it again, but I figure that’s enough for now. I used to think God was NEVER going to change me. Year after year after year I’d beg him to change me, sometimes to the point of being suicidal. It is by the grace of God that I never gave up hope in him or I’d be dead now. No matter how bad it got, there was always the hope that he would hear my prayers and do an extreme makeover in my life. Now that I’ve seen all of the changes that Jesus has made in my life… I have absolutely no doubt that “he who began a good work in me will be faithful to complete it.”

“90% of my first day back at work was GRAND!

Not gonna sweat the 10% that sucked. “

And I meant it yesterday… but today is a new day. The lessons of yesterday did not happen in the 90%. I’ve come to realize that life lessons rarely come when things are going really well. I have a tendency to coast through the good times never stopping smell the roses, drink the coffee, or do lots of other things that get overlooked when things are going well.

On Sunday the speaker at church talked about unity. Since this is something that God has been speaking to me about very loudly and very clearly since 1995, I pay attention when people talk about it. I agreed with most of what was said except one point. He said that “Unity is the norm.” I think he’s a good guy, but I really wondered what planet he was talking about because all you have to do is watch the news for 10 minutes to know that unity is not the norm.

Conflicts are all around us and if you don’t know how to deal with them or you try to avoid them things generally tend to get worse. Yesterday things got worse. I could go on and on about the 90% that went well yesterday, but it will be the 10% that I will remember. At 7:00 I had to cope with my buttons being pushed.  I adjusted my expectations and reminded myself to breathe. I’m a teacher, not a brain surgeon. Nobody was going to die if my first day back was less than perfect. I made it through the entire morning overcoming my obstacles so well that I was really happy by the end of the day. I couldn’t believe that I wasn’t exhausted and in pain.

At least I wasn’t until 4pm. School’s over at 4:30 for me. If I’d begun my day at the starting line by 4:00 I could see the finish line in sight and I was going to breeze over. Or I would have if a big fat obstacle hadn’t slithered into the middle of my race course causing me to spin out: The staff meeting.

Put a bunch of tired teachers in a hot room on a MONDAY thirty minutes before they can leave and you’ve got a recipe for conflict. Me? I hate meetings. I know they’re necessary, but no matter what meeting I’m in one or two people tend to dominate the conversation. Our “half an hour” meetings have been known to go until nearly 6pm. Since I’m not running the meeting there’s not a lot that I can do to keep them on track, so I sit there helplessly as my prep time gets devoured by people who seem to enjoy talking for the sake of talking.

My problem is that I should have said something months ago. If I had things might have turned out very differently. I was fine while we discussed relevant business. We were actually making good time. Then we got to the “round table discussion” where everybody is supposed to share. We got through two people before things went south. The third person had this situation that really shouldn’t have been brought up in the group. It was like watching somebody beat a dead horse until it turned to glue. They just kept going around and around and around on the exact same points. My head was throbbing and I was getting mad.

Eventually it was my turn. I had planned to keep it short because it was already past 5pm and I wanted to go home. I was mid-sentence when another teacher just cut me off.  She hijacked my time and started a cross conversation with another staffer who’d already spoken at length.

I don’t know who was more surprised, me or the other teachers when I started waving my arms like I was an umpire calling an out before shouting, “No! This cross talk has got to stop! It’s my turn to speak and I don’t like being interrupted. I’m tired, cranky, and I don’t feel well!”

The room was dead silent.

I am not that person. Y’know… the person who vents on other people like that. I’ve been there for two years and I’m only ever been nice and smiling. I’ve worked hard to cultivate an attitude of gratitude at work and that has given me the rep of being really positive. And I was positive… positively pissed off. When I resumed speaking I figured “in for a penny” and all that… so I said that I thought the meetings were too long and that people were engaging in a lot of really irrelevant stuff and being really repetitive. Talk about a way to end a meeting.

Afterwards, I felt really embarrassed about my outbursts so on the way out I apologized to the woman I’d dumped on. She’s actually a Christian, so her snarky response really surprised me. She wouldn’t accept my apology. Fine then. BE that way. The words that Jesus and I had about her on the way home don’t bear repeating. I was so mad by the time I got home I couldn’t sit still. I knew I was in the wrong, but she’d been wrong first!  Unity? She could go sit in the sugarcane field and rot for all I cared. God and I wrestled with this all night. By morning I knew that I was even more wrong than I’d originally realized.

If I’d only spoken up months ago about the meetings my real feelings wouldn’t have come exploding onto the scene like Mt. Vesuvius. Because I was trying to “keep the peace” by remaining silent, I’d allowed bitterness and resentment to fester. I have nothing against the women I’d vented at. I would have lost it on anybody who’d interrupted me (which they are prone to do since I’m rather quiet at work). It’s not the people. It’s the practice. They way that we communicate in our meetings needs work.

I wasn’t wrong in what I said, but the way I said it was really inappropriate.  I sent a public apology to all the people who were at the meeting saying that I meant no offense to my supervisor, the woman, or the two other people that I’d addressed about wasting time in the meetings. It was really short and I made no excuses. But I did not apologize for what I said because what I said was spot on. It just wasn’t said in love.  It was said in red-hot livid rage. The bible says to speak the truth in love.

I got one immediate response. He made a joke out of it and things were good. Another staffer came to talk to me and told me not to apologize for saying what needed to be said. God went one step further in sending me on an unexpected errand to the classroom of the woman I’d offended.  The second apology had done the trick. When I spoke to my boss about it she agreed that we needed to streamline the meetings and she was glad that I’d taken the first step by apologizing because if I hadn’t, she’d planned to speak to me first thing.

Saying nothing is what got me into that situation. Christians tend to think that the “Christian way” is to remain silent in every situation and just pray about everything. I’d like to know what bible they’ve been reading, because the one I read is full of conflict. The New Testament is full of stuff about how to correctly handle conflict. Unity is not the norm. Disunity is. Being at the center of a conflict that stemmed from poor communication only makes me more steadfast in my beliefs. Sure, I caused the ruckus yesterday and I’m still embarrassed by it… but I learned a lot from it. I can talk about unity all I want, but if my actions don’t back up my beliefs when I’m  in a conflict, then I’m a big fat flaming hypocrite. Yesterday I got a chance to practice what I preach about conflict management.

My take home lessons:

1. Conflict is going to come. When it does, own your share of it.
2. Be willing to see the other person’s side of the story.
3. SPEAK UP! Be a peace maker not a peace keeper
4. Be willing to say that you’re sorry.

By the end of the day I’d spoken to just about everybody there and we all agree that the meetings need to change. Amazing. Total unity.

A few posts back God showed me that I was at the starting line raring to go. Tomorrow I go back to work after taking the last month and a half off to recuperate from my surgery. No more feeling like a stalled car. Don’t get me wrong. This season was good. I spent lots of time drawing closer to God and I read most of the New Testament. But I knew going in to it that it was for a limited time. There would be lessons to learn and, if I didn’t waste my time, I might learn something. Well… it was a limited time, but I think I used my time wisely for the most part. I also think that I learned the lessons.

Now, it is time to get back to my regular life. I know that there are going to be challenges since I’m not fully recovered yet… but I am so thankful that this particular season of my life is over that I’m looking forward to navigating these challenges with Jesus. I also know that if I feel overwhelmed or need help that I am not alone. There are so many people in my Christian family who are there for me if only I bother to let them know that I need their help or their prayers. In the past I used to think that it was just “me and Jesus,” now I know better.

The last few days have been busy and I’m wiped out, so bedtime is rapidly approaching. I want to get an early night so that tomorrow I can be ready when God waves the flag and yells, “Go!”

People first! Yeah!
Change of heart! Yeah!!
Guard your mind….

Uh… right after I watch this “romantic comedy” about friends who decide to add benefits to the menu. I was already in a weird head space yesterday because my addictive behaviors were reasserting themselves. I had determined that I was going to keep gory images out of my mind. One would have thought that I’d have also avoided watching the movie whose sole premise was to objectify people for purely selfish sexual pleasure. The thing about addictive behaviors? Once you do anything it’s almost like leaving the barn door open. The cows are already gone, so why the hell should I bother trying to lock it now?

When I first became a believer I thought Jesus would work some mojo on me and make my mental health issues and my sexual issues just go away. When that didn’t happen I got pissed. By the time I joined a church that told me that transformation was a process, I already had a bunch of my own ingrained beliefs about transformation and what it should look like. Most of those beliefs were lies studded with just enough truth to keep me hoping for stuff that Jesus NEVER promised to do… and as my hope continued to get deferred I got mad at Jesus. Yesterday I write some sweeping post about changing my heart only to fall back into my old ways before the cyber ink was even dry. Does that negate what I wrote yesterday? Does that make God any less faithful because I’m so faithless? Not hardly. Stuff like this doesn’t have the ability to rock my world like it used to. I’m not doubting Jesus or his ability to change me. I’m not even doubting myself. I had a set back. It happens.

God wants to change my heart but yesterday was a reminder that as much as I might want change, it’s not going to come in my own strength or in my own time. If it did then I would have no need of a Savior. I would no need Jesus if I could really do it all myselfI would no need Jesus.

Those thoughts were marinading in my head as I went to the dentist. Yep. Another visit to another dentist in the quest to find out why I’ve been having dental pain since my root canal in March. If my car is a big fat metaphor for  my  life, the dentist’s chair is too. I’ve learned so many object  lessons about God while stretched out in various dental chairs. There’s one thing I’d like to know: Why can’t I learn life lessons in Baskin Robins?? Or Krispy Kremes?? Surgeries and car problems and dental chairs… oh why?

I guess it’s so I will actually remember the lesson. Today I was referred to a specialist. Oddly enough, I saw this dentist in back in 1996. Nothing odd about that… other than the fact that  I have absolutely NO memory of it whatsoever. When I checked in the receptionist went to get my chart which I thought was odd since I’d never been there. When she showed me my chart I was shocked. There was my signature from July 1996 and a bunch of information that I had evidently long since forgotten like my old address, my former doctor, and my former dentist. I didn’t remember any of it. I didn’t even remember this dentist when he came in and shook my hand. How can my memory have so many giant holes in it?

Turns out I need minor surgery.

WHAT??!!

God cannot possibly be serious.

The area around my root canal has become inflamed. I thought he could just drill and put some spackle or something in there, but no. No Krispy Kreme solutions for me. As the dentist explained how he’d have to peel back my gums and drill through the bone and scrape stuff out I just about hurled. He explained another possible procedure to me, but by that point I was too grossed out to function. He also said that the risk of going in is that we create the environment for more inflammation. Which is pretty much what they told me about the surgery to remove the adhesions. It’s a never ending cycle. He told me that at least I know what is causing the pain. Which is also what they told me before my adhesion surgery. With this new minor surgery I’d be swollen for a week and I’d have to come back to have the stitches removed.

I thought about it while he looked at me expectantly…

and then told him, “No.“

Remember, I’m rather done with having people cutting me open and taking stuff out. As I left the office I tried to come to grips with what had just happened. As I drove to go fill the prescription he gave me I started to vent my anger. I was mad at God. On the radio the Christian pastor was talking about Jehovah Rapha — God Who Heals-- but I was in too big of a snit to really listen. I have exhausted my sick leave. I cannot take another week off. I don’t want to take another week off. So in that respect, I guess I am going to have to be still and trust God because there’s nothing else I can do.

Eventually, I’m probably going to go ahead and have the surgery since not having it will only invite more problems… but I’m going to have to wait until I accrue some sick leave, so I’m looking at about four or five more months of chronic dental pain. Oh joy.

I came home with a massive headache right between my eyes, so I took some Ibuprofen and laid down to rest. When I woke up my headache was still there and the dental pain isn’t going to go away any time soon… but I’m ok now.

I called a friend on the mainland and we just talked. We talked about all that God is doing to bless her and all the good things in her life. We laughed. I didn’t want to go into a whole lot of detail about me right now, because I really did want to put her first, but she asked, so I shared enough so she’d know how to pray for me and then we ended the conversation.

Absolutely nothing in my life changed during the 45 minute conversation… except my attitude. The prospect of needing another surgery does not give me reason to rejoice. I’m not that kind of Christian. But I am the kind of Christian who trusts God. I may not like everything that he does, but I believe he has a reason for everything that he does.  He thinks I’m going to need another surgery this year. Ok. I’ll be ready for it when it happens. I’m not read for it now. I’m also the kind of Christian who tries to obey her God. He said to put people first and to connect with people, so I did. Twice today I connected with real people to let them know that I was struggling with this latest wrinkle. One prayed for me on the spot. The other will pray for me when she is alone.

My part in all of this?? God wasn’t expecting changed behavior or a changed heart outta me today. He expects me to be obedient and to engage with people and I did. Somehow God is going to use people to change my heart and my behavior. I’m not sure how… but I believe. I reached out to connect with other people today and that made all the difference.

Dead bodies!

Correction: one dead body totally desecrated and very vivid in the detail.

No, I wasn’t having an apocalyptic vision.  Out of all of the memories cataloged in my brain, my mind opted to settle on scenes from the tv show I’d watched the night before: “Bones”. The CSI wanna-be that isn’t quite a cop drama that prides itself on coming up with really twisted ways to maim and mutilate bodies each week. My guilty pleasure (besides having a sexual addiction) is that I like to watch tv episodes on my laptop. Lots of tv episodes. When you’re alone in a bubble without people to talk to you have to find an outlet and tv doesn’t add calories. I use to lean towards stuff like “Buffy the Vampire Slayer” and it’s spinoff “Angel” then I moved towards all of the Law & Order type shows until I realized that they were heavily influencing my nightmares. Now, I watch stuff that I deem “harmless entertainment.”

At least I did until Sunday when images graphic enough to make me want to hurl would not get out of my head no matter how much I tried. It was disturbing. What used to be harmless entertainment is no longer harmless for me. Now this is NOT some “thou shalt not watch tv” message. I’m not going to talk about the evils of tv because I happen to like tv. Watch whatever you want. It’s your mind. I’m talking about my mind and what I learned about it on Sunday.  As I listened, my pastor spoke out of Psalms 51 about needing to have an inner heart change before we can experience an exterior behavioral change. I felt like I’d been given a poke….in the eye… hence, the “Ow! My eye!”

My mind wouldn’t have been able to call up those images if I hadn’t taken such pleasure in putting them in there in the first place. Which made me feel sick because watching the total desecration of another human’s body shouldn’t be entertaining to me. God’s been telling me to put “people first.” How can I do that when I will readily devalue them in the name of “entertainment?” I’ve hesitated to write this post because… I like me my tv and I sense a change in the wind that I might not want to readily follow. Just as I had to stop inhaling porn like it was a new flavor of Ben and Jerry’s, I’m going to have to change what I put into my mind by way of my eyes because my mind affects my heart and my heart affects how I live. And I want to live by putting people first.

Six days ago I decided to make myself accountable for 40 days to somebody else regarding my sexual addiction. It’s not some “purity pledge” where I pinky swear not to do anything immoral for 40 days. It means I’m willing to humble out and confess if I actually do anything immoral during the 40 days. That person will hold me accountable and pray for me. If 2011 was about getting to the roots of my more dysfunctional behaviors, 2012 is going to be about dealing with the fruit. I’ve been saying that I want God to deal with the thoughts and the desires that fuel my addictive behaviors because the actions are just the tip of the iceberg.

Evidently, this can’t be true for just one isolated area of my life. I just want God to deal with the sex issues, so I could feel good about myself. He wants to deal with my heart. I want him to… really… I do, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to ditch all my favorite shows in favor of Christian television. I’m not. I just need to start putting people first even in what I watch because it affects me and how I relate to people. I did get rid of “Bones” of my tracking list on Sidereel.com and I will try to ease up on really violent viewing. I even told God that I’m willing to adjust my viewing pleasures as long as he gives me something else to fill the void, because I know from past experience that I, like nature, abhor a vacuum. If there’s an empty space of time I will fill it and I won’t always fill it with good things.

Somebody once said you can’t overcome that which you are willing to tolerate. For too long I’ve been content to see people as objects of entertainment. And since you can’t form healthy relationships with objects, things have got to change. What that’s going to look like… I have absolutely no idea. I’m sure that in his timing Jesus will tell me…but for now, being mindful of what I put into my head is a good place to start.

The ignition needed to be replaced.

Guess cars can’t really go anywhere without that. And since I want my car to be able start… to head towards “whatever” or whomever is next…. I shelved my objections and took it in at 8:15am. The plan was to drop it off and have their shuttle drop me off at the mall. Evidently, they don’t have a Saturday shuttle. I didn’t really mind having to wait at the dealership instead of going to the mall.  Sure, I had a fun day hanging out there the last time I had to get my car fixed…but one fun day does not a mall rat make. I’d brought my bible with me for just such an eventuality and hunkered down in the waiting area and started to  read the book of Mark. It wasn’t very long before I read something that gave me pause. Made me think about  something I’d written years ago because the circumstances under which I’d written it, made me think about my church and everything that it had gone through last year.

Last year was a rough year for my church…. but it survived. I still think many other churches in similar circumstances would have folded and everybody would have walked away bitter and broken. Yes, some people did walk away bitter and broken, but I have hope and faith that the Divine Physician will heal them. I also have hope and faith for what God is going to do in my church this year. Without blathering on any further,  here’s the relevant portion of the piece that I wrote:

Some of the gifts that God gives you are so unexpected that you aren’t really sure what to make of them… like last night… so much feeling; so much emotion…

The gift was like a deep full-bodied burgundy, poured out by the loving hand of the Father.

Now, for this analogy, you must bear with me. I don’t drink, so I can only imagine the sensation of drinking a truly rare and treasured wine. When I did drink, I drank lots and I drank cheaply. Having no appreciation for the truly worthwhile, I didn’t know, as I chugged down stuff named after barnyard animals that there was something more… something better.

Someone gave me a message the other day, “You don’t put wine in a cracked bottle.” This made perfect sense to me because I was a cracked bottle and it takes one to know one. Over the years I’d been handled badly. I’d allowed myself to be tossed around from hand to hand. Used for a short time and then set aside. Only the finest of hairline fractures marred my surface. I tried to pretend that it didn’t matter. I tried not to feel my life slipping away through the cracks.

I didn’t know that I was becoming an empty bottle, and by the time I did, so much filth and dirt had seeped in through the cracks that my insides were bleak and bitter to the touch. I couldn’t patch up the cracks no matter what I tried. So, frantically, I looked for someone to fill me and make me whole, afraid that I’d crack up and be gone forever– never to be missed, as if I’d never even existed.

… and then He spoke to me.

“Neither do men pour new wine into old wineskins. If they do, the skins will burst,
the wine will run out and the wineskins will be ruined. No, they pour new wine into
new wineskins and both are preserved.” (Luke 5: 37-39)

For years He’d watched silently as clumsy hands created cracks in me and with each fracture he wept... as if his side were being pierced… as if his blood were being poured out over me… like a rare and precious wine. And all the while he knew. He saw the cracks and he knew: You don’t pour wine into a cracked bottle. So, he began to call me to him and when I took the cup he offered and drank of it in memory of him, a work began….

He began to point out the cracks!

He began to chip away at them one by one and I cried, “NOoooooo! I thought you meant to save, not destroy!” I figured he’d just patch up the cracks; plug the holes; and fill me… but he was determined to break me… and with each probe I cried. The cracks got bigger and bigger until I lay in a heap at his feet… broken… chards… of glass. No longer a cracked bottle… just a bunch of pieces.

Then, as if adding insult to injury, he began to turn up the heat.
I’d like to know who came up with the bright idea of the “Refiner’s Fire??” I thought being broken was enough. Why was He hurting me??? Where was this “God of All Comfort” that everybody except me seemed to know??? Didn’t God love me? Where was my friend Jesus? What had I done to deserve this??? The fire got hotter and hotter until I cried out, “Why have you forsaken me???!”

And still the heat continued as his hands began to turn me this way and that, molding me. His touch was infinitely gentle– lighter than an angel’s breath. As he worked, he talked to me… I heard his still, small voice as I looked into the light of his fire (which had suddenly ceased to burn). I reached out to him and the light grew brighter and brighter still, until finally, he turned the heat away from me and held me up to the light.

No longer was I a cracked bottle unworthy to hold the cheapest wine… in the palm of his hand he held a cut… crystal… decanter. Wonderfully, and fearfully made. As the light reflected off my many facets, he smiled. Finally, he could pour out his gift… and what a gift it was.

To appreciate the truly rare and wonderful, I had to be made new…

The original story that I wrote back in 1995 when I was a missionary had a different ending. Today I realized that Jesus didn’t give me the gift so that I could sit back and feel good about myself. He wanted me to do something with it… but I was too immature to understand the lesson. I had to go through a lot more breaking and refining over the years, each time coming close to understanding… but then running back into my little bubble, too afraid to venture too far out. Today I realized that the gift that Jesus has given me is meant to be shared with the people he places in my life even if that means learning a new ways to relate to them.

The same can be said for my church. He’s poured out a great gift on my church that is meant to be shared with the people in the community around us and not just kept in the four walls of our church building. God wants to do something new in me and in my church, but we needed to be broken to receive it. Our old ways need to be replaced with whatever it is he has in store for us. We needed to be broken to receive more of him. Jesus poured himself out for all of us so that we could be filled up and, in turn, pour ourselves out for others.

The gift? It’s Jesus himself  and he’s not to be kept in broken bottles or Bipolar Bubbles or whatever it is that we hide behind. He’s meant to be shared. Life is meant to be shared. Our struggles, our joys, and everything in between are meant to be shared. There’s that whole “people first” thing again. I’ve got a vague idea of what that’s looking like for me right now, but I have no idea whatsoever how that’s going to pan out at church… but I’m not worried. God is faithful. If he breaks it — it’s because he can fix it. We just have to remember that we’re all in this together.

That sounds great… but what does it look like??

I wondered about it since God had told me that that’s what I was supposed to be doin’ and all…

but I really couldn’t figure out what it meant.

I knew immediately what it didn’t look like:

So much of life is a competition where people are trying to win. They’re looking out for number one; trying to be better than everybody else; jostling for their 15 minutes in the spotlight. I used to live like that. Before Bipolar took over my life I was a Type A overachiever. From every indications I was destined to succeed in school and go on to make a name for myself doing whatever it is that Type A overachievers do. Growing up “gifted” I got used to hearing teachers tell me that I was going to do something amazing. I didn’t count on mental illness. I guess you can say that struggling with depression and suicidal ideation for over two decades and coming out on the other side alive and normal is amazing…. but I’m pretty sure that that’s not what they meant. Mental illness is something you pretty much cannot outrun. It takes you outta the race.

For years my life looked a lot like this:

Me standing alone at the starting line. I wasn’t racing against other people trying to win. It was just me running around in circles trying to stay alive.

People first?? Great commercial slogan… but what did it really mean??

I  asked God what that meant, so shouldn’t have been surprised when he started showing me. He had a friend call me yesterday. Even though I hate talking on the phone with an intense passion, this friend and I talked for nearly 2 hours. It was wonderful to reconnect with him and just hear to hear his voice. He needed to talk to me and he needed me to listen and to understand. When I put me first the phone stays off and I return calls when I feel like it. Eventually people stop calling because they know I won’t pick up. God had another friend call today. Again… the fact that my phone was even on was an act of God. She and I haven’t spoken in months and it was good to talk to her. Her life has undergone some major upheavals and because I wasn’t putting people first, I had no idea. I wasn’t there when she really needed me… but I was there today because God wanted me to put people first. Again, we talked for nearly an hour and I’m glad.

Then another friend came over today. She facebooked me and asked could she come over for prayer. We had an awesome time of prayer and then we just talked. Could putting people first be as simple as that??? Being accessible to people when they need an ear or a prayer?? Well damn. That seems so simple. Why hadn’t I ever thought of that??? It didn’t involve me needing to be lobotomized. I didn’t have to sprout warm fuzzies. I just had to be there and listen… and since I have two ears, that’s not so much of a stretch. I had another friend come over for our Friday Night Prayer group. It’s usually anywhere from 2-4 people. Tonight God wanted me to just be there for her. She needed to unburden herself and that kind of stuff usually works better without spectators. It was good. It was intense. It was a lot of things… none of which involved us racing against each other trying to get ahead. There wasn’t anything to be won and being “first” didn’t even apply.

Tonight I feel more alive than I have felt in years. Sure, when you engage with people there is a very real possibility that you might get hurt. People are people and as long as they are people… the potential for getting hurt is always going to exist. For years I had to put me first because I couldn’t handle more hurts from people….but I’m finding that if I engage with people now there is the very real possibility that something wonderful might happen.  Putting people first??

Maybe it looks something like this:

People taking time to help other people get where they’re going…

The last two days have taught me that we’re in this together.

Last week I had to take my Saturn in to get fixed AGAIN. Same problem that I’ve been having with it for years, but each time I take it in I’m assured that it’s a “computer glitch” and there’s nothing really wrong with my car… until the problem happens again. And since the problem entails my car not starting when I want it to, I don’t care how many glitches are in the computer… there’s a problem. The day I posted that car/life/metaphor post I was exhausted from hauling my post-op carcass around the mall while I waited for the dealer to work on the non-problem. There’s not much to do in town other than go to the mall and as much as I hate the mall, I actually had a good day. At the end of the day I was too tired to blog, so I thought my post featuring mostly nostalgic videos for people who own Saturns was fun and clever. I imagined a whole series of blogs commenting on the different stages of my life…

And then I realized that I’m over it. I’m tired of paying money to fix a problem that won’t be fixed. My car is my car and my life is my life. The metaphor ran outta gas. I’m kinda done resurrecting all the childhood memories that I can scrounge up in an attempt to help me deal with my mommy and daddy issues. I’m not saying that dealing with your past isn’t important… but there comes a point when, after you have dealt with it, you need to let it stay dealt with.

I don’t want to rehash my childhood or high school or college years anymore. I’m also kinda over talking about my family unless God brings them back into my life. Who I was and where I’d been helped make me into who I am now… but I’m more interested in who I’m going to become. I left childhood and high school and college behind me… and I have a whole lot of scratches, scars, and  dings to prove it. But unlike my car, I’m still running. There is still so much more of “whatever’s next” that looking back will only stop me from appreciating whatever it is now.

I’m not saying that all looking back or reflection is bad. I used to be a big fan of navel gazing in an attempt to color code the belly button lint found there. But after two abdominal surgeries my belly button has been shot to pieces. Too much gazing at my scars and even I get grossed out. I keep thinking that if I ever wear a bikini (not likely) I can tell people that I got the scars in a knife fight. Sounds so much cooler than how I really got them. Then again, since the scars are going to be with me for the rest of my life, I need to accept my scars and come to peace with them. My past, like my scars, happened. I can’t continue to blame my past for making me feel like my life is stalled. Especially  not after all that Christian prayer counseling I went through last year. It was like my prayer counselor was riding shotgun as we drove through each one of those Saturn commercials helping me to come to grips with whatever had happened there… helping me deal with the root issues once and for all. The entire wild ride that was 2011 brought me to this point in my life…

A bit dinged up and scarred, but fully accepting that no matter how the dings and scratches actually got there I can’t go any further without people. My past cannot come first anymore. People need to come first. I’m not sure what that’s gonna look like, but I realized that for the first time in my life I feel capable of living. Not merely existing… living. Full on arms-spread-wide-head-thrown-back-lungs- expanded-laughing-out-loud living. And in order to do that I need people, which are in short supply while I’m laid up recovering. This frustration that I’ve felt about not being able to do much as I recover from this surgery fooled me into thinking that my life was stalled. Therefore, I needed to do something to jump start things. I needed to come up with a plan or a list or a purpose in order to save me from this malaise called boredom.

When all the while God has been telling me to be still and to rest. No, not  to do my best imitation of a sloth and sleep the entire time. God wants me to use this time wisely, but he wants all the striving to stop. I am no more defined by what I do than I am by what I drive. Incidentally, Saturn was evidently not ready for “whatever was next” because if it had been it wouldn’t have gone bankrupt and shut down. God is ready for whatever comes next in my life even if I can’t see it. ESPECIALLY if I can’t see it. Last year he prompted me to look closely at my past so that I could deal with it his way and then be done with it. This year?? It holds a world of possibilities. And rather than think of my life as being stalled... God suggested that I look at it this way:

This season of surgeries and down time is almost over. I didn’t accomplish everything I’d hoped to. So what. I’ve gone back to my church and soon I’ll go back to work. I know that I need to find balance and that I need to put people first. For so  much of my life I had to put me first because if I hadn’t I would’ve ended up dead. I kept people out because I feared more dents and dings that only people can cause. Jesus says that the only way to find true healing is to be a part of his body — to live with, love with, and handle conflict with other believers. This season of being alone is over. My life is neither stalled nor in second gear… I’m waiting at the starting line and I’m raring to go!

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• For Whatever’s Next (theadventuresofbipolargirl.wordpress.com)

And the itemizing kept going til it got to the grand total of $16,174.00.

My heart stopped.
I’m sure of it.

If I wasn’t awake when I opened it, I definitely was by the time I got to the total line of the letter. Where was I going to get $16, 174.00??? Then my heart re-started when I got to the very bottom and it said:

*THIS IS NOT A BILL*

I’d like to know what sadist thought to put that on the bottom of the letter??

It did get me thinking about counting the cost, though. I had no idea how much my surgery cost. I have insurance. All I had to pay was the $75 a day co-pay for my room and board for the six days that I was in the hospital. Actually, the hospital only charged me for five days and my dear friend and mentor paid for two of those. SO I got off paying very little. Counting the cost? I thought I had. There is no way that I could have come up with that kind of money, so if it had’ve been a bill… the check was never going to be in the mail.

Counting the cost? It made me think of Jesus and how I needed to count the cost of what he’s done for me. And that’s when I hit a wall. Writer’s block doesn’t hit me often, but when it does the silence echoes in my mind. I don’t understand all that he’s done for me… and anybody who says that they do has put God into a box and there’s no box big enough to hold him. Having never been to heaven or hell I have no real idea what he saved me from or what he saved for… and I haven’t gotten a whole lot of answers during this down time either. I did not have some big “spiritual experience” in the hospital like I did last year. Since I got out of the hospital I’ve plowed through most of the epistles and the book of Revelation and I still don’t have a clue. There have been no angelic visitations, audible voices of God, prophetic visions… it’s just been me staying home being me.

I tend to feel better about myself when I have a plan or I’m involved with some project. Too much time on my hands generally ends up being a really bad thing. I’ve been struggling with my sexual addiction. The only thing is when I’m too entrenched in my plans and lists and charts I start to think that I’m saving me. I tend to act out less when I’m gainfully occupied. I know that God will love me and accept me no matter how short of the mark I fall. I know that when I sin he sees me even if I never tell another soul. It is not God’s acceptance that I’m trying to earn. It’s not even the acceptance of people because I know that my friends and my church love me. They accept all the unlovely bits of my life and nobody judges me. The only person who really judges me is me... oh and that ex-friend who wrote me that snarky email a few months ago. But since neither one of us is God, when am I going to realize that the only judgments that matter are his??

I started actively trying to kick my sexual addiction in 2006 and I have come a LONG way. 2012 is the year I want to nail it to the cross and crucify it. If you are only a slave of that which you allow to be your master, then it’s time I found the Underground Railroad and made a break for it. I reached that realization today… that I’m not God and I need to stop trying to save myself. Then I found this video on YouTube that showed me once again that God knows exactly where I am. There is no way I can save myself. If I was presented with a bill for my salvation I couldn’t pay it. There’s not enough money in the world to cover that check. There is no way for me to count the cost of what Jesus did for me because he’s still doing it. Last year he freed me from struggling with a lifelong mental illness. This year I’m praying that he breaks the chain of this lifelong sexual addiction. What is the cost of freedom?  I’ll never really know the answer to that question…I just have to be thankful for the fact that whatever the cost, Jesus paid it.