When You Feel Like Giving UP

So many times in my life I’ve thought about committing suicide. There have been few times when I was so obsessed with it that I wasn’t even sure what the outcome would be.

No, I’m not suicidal now.  My head is still really full and I’m sleep deprived… but I am nowhere near that place. Lord willing, I will NEVER go back to that place ever again.

Into the mental storm that I am dealing with God has been trying to speak. The other night he didn’t let me sleep at all, but I only started trying to listen to him around 4am. I took notes because I didn’t want to forget what he said. This morning he decided that 2am would be a good time for a chat. I guess I’m too busy worrying and obsessing during daylight hours to hear him.

I want to continue my series responding to my friend’s questions… but this morning I have to take a break. I was feeling really tired and really weepy this morning. A song came to mind, “Can’t Give Up Now” by Mary Mary. It is the ultimate “Consider it pure joy whenever you face trials of many kinds” song and I needed to hear it this morning because I needed to remember. I also needed to cry. When I hear it I cry. When I cry I feel a little bit better.

When I heard it this morning, I thought of another friend, Gerry. He was a Christian I knew who was battling sexual addiction, drug addiction, and mental illness. He struggled for a really long time and the struggle got to be too much. He killed himself. He tried once — he even emailed me his suicide note. We got help to him in time, but once he was released from the hospital he tried again and succeeded.

No matter how defeated I might feel…
Jesus is ALWAYS there.
He is always God.
He is always good
and I do NOT
believe he brought me
THIS far
to leave me…

 

DON’T Say What You CAN’T Say

Rehearsing the line in my head did not help.

I tried to say it at home by myself and it felt awkward. Like wearing somebody else’s underwear. I mean you could wear somebody else’s underwear… but why?

I could say the sentence to myself all I wanted to, but I kept wondering why I even had to say it.  And the very idea of saying the words aloud in a group of total strangers filled my  heart with dread unimaginable.When you see people say it on tv it sounds kinda cheesy. It’s as if there is a faintly artificial cheese aroma wafting in the air when people utter the words:

“Hi. I’m Bob and I’m an alcoholic.”

To which everybody in the room says, “Hi Bob.”

I don’t mean to offend the thousands of people who have said this. I’m just saying that it sound weird to me. Hundreds of thousands of Bobs and Tims and Susans and Helens have been saying those words ever since the Recovery Movement took  the first of those now famous 12 Steps. I’m all for moving forward…but this was one step I did not want to take.

I still think it’s easier and more acceptable to say that you have an alcohol or drug addiction than it is to admit to having problems with sex or porn. I’ve blogged the words. I even printed them in big letters on a piece of cardboard and walked on the stage at church holding the sign. I’ve said them to a few select “safe” people… but it is still hard for me to say the words out loud.

Saying that I had a sexual addiction cost me my family. With Mother’s Day just around the corner it smarts that my own mother chose to discard me like so much rubbish when I told her about my addiction. It still hurts that she called me a liar and does not believe my allegations that my older brother molested me as a child. So much of my life has been destroyed by an addiction that was thrust upon me when I was too young to know that most little girls didn’t know the things I knew. I’m not saying this to get pity or advice. Both of those things tend to make me mad. This is just the path that I’ve traveled and I share it because I know that I am not the only one.

Yet I felt like the only one when I drove to the church where the anonymous meeting of sex addicts was to be held. I didn’t want to go. I figured it’d be a bunch of old white men sitting in a circle. Being the lone black woman would make me feel like a freak of nature. I was praying that at least one woman would be there. And I contemplated not saying anything at all because  those words still wouldn’t come out of my mouth. They conjure up images of skanky crack hoes or women who went out trolling for different sexual partners every night of the week. Even at my very worst, I never did that. And I didn’t want people thinking that I did.

Yet, I couldn’t even use the out of saying that I’m a Porn Addict because my life-long addiction to porn is essentially gone now. If I stumble upon it, I can still be tempted… but I don’t seek it out and don’t want to. But explaining my sexual addiction is complicated and I don’t  like going into embarrassing details about it. So I’m stuck with a label that makes me cringe.

When I got to the church I was still cringing. It wasn’t my church. It wasn’t even on my side of the island. I didn’t expect to know anybody. When I got there there the room was full of people and the meeting was already in full swing. This older white guy with shocking white hair was doing all the talking. I noticed a few women sprinkled around the room… but there was no way that I was going to walk into a room full of older white people and announce to God and man that I, Lori, was a sex addict. I hung outside the door hoping beyond hope that it was the wrong room, the wrong meeting, and the wrong alternate universe. Turns out it was the wrong room and the wrong meeting. I was directed to the right room where I sat and waited.

I kept waiting. I knew I was in the right place because the calendar on the door had the meeting time on it. I kept waiting trying not to look like a sex pervert to the people in that packed meeting room. I got out my bible hoping that God would say something to me. Everything in me wanted to leave. It was already 15 minutes into the 1 hour meeting and nobody was there. Tears started to well up in my eyes. I’d felt like a lone freak of nature before I got there… this seemed to confirm it. I prayed and read my bible hoping that one person would show up… even if it was an old guy. I felt embarrassed and stupid and alone. I couldn’t believe God would make me go to this meeting knowing how I felt about being alone in this only to show me how alone I truly was. I gave up after waiting for a half an hour. Nobody was coming. What was more cheesy: practicing saying the words or having nobody to say them to?

When I walked back to my car I was ready to fall apart. What happened to the big change?? The big step forward?? Going to that meeting was supposed to be one giant step for Bipolar kind. This meeting was supposed to be the next step in my journey to wellness. The LIFE guide (Living In Freedom Everyday) that I’ve been working through insisted that I attend meetings. It insisted that I find a sponsor. I hadn’t done those things, so when I got to Principle Seven I got the Chutes and Ladder Expressway back to Principle Four (the accountability step). They also wanted me to call my sponsor daily and keep in regular phone contact with my support group. I’d rather wax off my eyebrows than use the phone daily. But sitting there in my car, not knowing where to go or what do t do… I did what I don’t generally do when I’m in crisis: I called somebody.

Unfortunately, I got her voicemail. In the past this would have daunted me. I would have gotten mad at God. Why tell me to call somebody if they aren’t there when I call?? I called another friend and left a message for her. Two calls with no answer?? Normally, I would have given up after the first failed attempt. Being alone and upset, however, was not an option. I called somebody who I totally did not think would be home… and she picked up.

This woman is like a mother to me. I went over her house only planning to stay for 20 minutes. I figure 20 minutes of me whining and crying is more than any one person should have to put up with on a Saturday. What happened there surprised even me. By the time I got to her house I was not upset. God must have worked some kind of mojo in the car because by the time I got to her house I wanted to fill her in on all that God has been doing in the last few months! Sure, there have been some difficulties… but all of it has served to make my faith in him stronger. It has also gotten me to step outside the Bipolar Bubble and start serving him in the places where he has me. The more I talked to her the more I had reason to praise God. By giving testimony to what I have seen him do where I live and where I work, I was remembering how far God has brought me. I was excited and glowing.

No longer was I upset that there was no meeting. God had sent me to the other side of the island to be with a woman who loves me like a mother. She knows all about my sexual addiction and my mental illness… and has never judged me or thought less of me because of it. She would also never leave me or forsake me the way my biological mother did. I left her house and went to the aquarium. I love that place. Seeing God’s creation up close and personal always humbles me.

I think God asked me to go to that meeting to see if I would. He knew I’d go… but I didn’t. I think God regularly tests my obedience for my sake not his own. If he asks me to try again next week, I’d do it although I’m seriously hoping that he doesn’t. He also showed me that if I had to choose between waxing my eyebrows off and calling people who care about me… I’d actually opt for the phone call. My first response to stress this past month has been to isolate myself even though I know that there is danger in isolation. The LIFE guide says that I need to attend meetings and get a sponsor and do a bunch of other stuff that just is not going to work for Bipolar Girl. God is showing me that I don’t have to follow some book or steps to the letter. They are merely tools. He wants to heal me of this addictive behavior more than I want to be healed… and he will do so in his time.

I’m going to skip Principle Seven. I’m not going to accept the Chutes and Ladders trip back to Principle Four. The way the program is set up, it recycles back to Principle One/Assignment Two anyways. I am moving forward. When God wants to send me a sponsor, he will. And if he wants me to find a support group on the island it’s going to be Christian based. Maybe I might just start my own support group using the workbook. If only one other woman showed up that’d be enough of a group for me anyway.

“Hi. I’m L-”

I didn’t say it on Saturday because I couldn’t and God didn’t make me. He will never push me or force me to do something I cannot do. He will send challenges and trials my way to strengthen me enough so that, in him, I can.

Another good thing to come out of all of this? I spoke to another woman on the phone the other night. I’m trying to call somebody each night just to connect with another person. I chose to call this woman because she is also like a mother to me. There I was whining and moping about how my mom doesn’t love me and how I’m boycotting Mother’s Day when God reminded me of this woman and how much she loves me. She, too, knows about my addiction and loves me anyway. Since I became a Christian I don’t just have my biological mom. I have had different women over the years come alongside of me to mentor me and care about me and love me more than my birth mother ever could.

So while it felt like I took one step forward and two giant steps backwards… I know that no matter what the dance looks like, as long as Jesus is leading, it’s all going to end beautifully.

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What Color is YOUR Pony?

When I woke up this morning I was exhausted. I didn’t want to get out of bed. I didn’t want to go to work. I just lay there and prayed.

I expend way too much energy trying to deal with difficult people or change things that cannot be changed or trying to meet expectations that have been put on me that sound good in theory, but aren’t really realistic. Trying to find the pony in that kind of hailstorm of hooey gets hard even when I’m trying to be optimistic. I am, by nature, pessimistic. Yet into my  haze of stress, God spoke: Be still and know that I’m God.

I kept hearing that in my head yesterday , but completely ignored it  to my own peril because I was so busy. The pile of crap that I had to wade through was so big that I even if I’d found the pony I would not have been able to dig it out. Eventually, I decided that being still and letting God do what he does best was my only option. What he said did not sit well with me.

In recent weeks I mentioned that I was working through some of the issues surrounding my sexual addiction. I also think I said that I wasn’t too keen to be digging through all of that stuff again and I’d really rather be done with it. Well, last night I hit a wall. I made it to “Principle Seven” (the sit in a circle and sing “Kumbaya” principle) only to be told that I could not proceed! The workbook said that if you hadn’t had six weeks of “sobriety” you needed to go back and do Principles One and Four! WHAT??!! Were they kidding?? I felt like I was playing “Chutes and Ladders!” The past six weeks have not been easy as I worked through the other six principles. It didn’t help that life got really stressful either. I have had some monumental slips. The more stressed out my life seems to be the more I seek to “self-medicate.” Only thing is, the “medication” is worse than the problem.

Being a Christian woman with a mental illness was hard enough. The church is only just beginning to understand mental illness, but it’s a lot more accepting than it used to be. Lots of Christians are admitting to having mental health issues and Christian therapists are springing up all over the place. It’s pretty safe to say in church that you have a mental illness. Being a Christian woman with a sexual addiction sucks. Nobody talks about that. Guys do… but women don’t. If I was a drunk there wouldn’t be much shame in recovering from that. I could bop on over to the local church and attend a Celebrate Recovery meeting and connect with other Christians who also have drinking problems. I know a number of Christians who are recovering drug addicts and alcoholics.

I do not know a single other female on this entire island with a sexual addiction. As my stress has gotten greater I have acted out more. I recently crossed a line that I hadn’t ever thought I’d cross. All of this has only added to my stress and I haven’t had a single soul that I felt like I could tell. Don’t get me wrong. I have wonderful women in my life who love me. They know all about my issues — mental and sexual. I have been able to turn to them for accountability and prayer in the past… but none of them actually struggle with a sexual addiction. I need to connect with somebody who’s been there so they might show me which way to go. I feel so isolated in this addiction. Sex is still such a touchy subject in the church. Besides, church has been stressing me out lately and I’m back to wanting to retreat into my bubble… but my bubble spells death to my spiritual growth.

God is telling me that if I want to be well, I must be willing to change. The accountability that I had in my life has not expanded to cover what I’m dealing with now. The workbook says I need a sponsor. I am resisting this. I’ve been resisting this ever since Principle Four. I made a half-hearted attempt to find a sponsor and then gave up when I couldn’t find one. And nothing changed. Actually, it did. My stress got worse and life pressed in on me and I began to isolate myself from pretty much everybody. I put on a mask and acted like I was ok. As the walls of my bubble began to contract the loneliness began to press in on me, suffocating me. My chest hurt. My mind hurt. My life hurt. I started to feel like there wasn’t a single place in this world where I belonged. There was nowhere that I fit in. So I did what I do when I’m in pain. I self-medicated.

Eventually, I cried out to God. That’s when he pulled out the “Chutes and Ladders” game and told me that I wasn’t ready for Principle Seven! I needed to go back to Principle Four. I needed to ask myself did  I really want to get well? I had to face the sad truth that I didn’t. Not if “getting well” meant changing what I do to protect myself from outrageous people. Not if “getting well” meant surrendering my safety net or deflating the bubble. Shutting people out is what I do best. People at work pushing my buttons? Completely ignore ALL of them even the cool ones. People at church pushing my buttons? Don’t go to church! Stay in my little two room studio singing the Bipolar Girl Anthem.

Isolation, however, is not what God calls the Christian to do as a life-style. My life has become really unbalanced.Work and home. That’s it. I’ve backed off from pretty much everybody else.

I cannot control anything in my life right now. My sexual addiction is getting the worst of me. Admitting that is Principle One. I tried to do an online group to get support, but it fizzled out. Maybe I need to ask at church can I start a recovery group. Of course, that could backfire. I could put myself out there and NO other woman come forward to get help. Then I really would feel like a lone freak of nature. Of course, I could step out and try to start a group and one other woman could step forward because FINALLY somebody else was admitting to having a problem. The stats about Christian women struggling with porn and sexual addiction are growing, but evidently in Hawaii it’s in the “Don’t Ask. Don’t Tell” category of sin. Alls I know is God is telling me that I have to step outside my isolation. I need to seek out real accountability. I need to also find a sponsor.

Not that I want to do this… but Saturday I’m going to get in my car and drive to the other side of the island. There’s a meeting at a church for sex addicts. I have NEVER attended a meeting for this (12 step or otherwise). I always did my recovery work by myself or with a therapist. The idea of opening up face-to-face in a group of total strangers and talking about sex  weirds me out to no end… but the idea of staying like this the rest of my life weirds me out even more. I have been struggling with this addiction since I was eight years old. I have looked at the roots of my issues backwards and forwards. I’ve read books. I’ve watched ministry tapes. I’ve done workbooks and online courses. The one thing I have not ever done is actively sought out other people who struggle in a real time setting.

I can look for the positive in bad situations all that I want… but if I’m not willing to change, then no matter how many ponies I find, I am never going to be free. People equal stress and pain and more stress to me. I generally see them as threats to my mental health. Yet  avoiding them has not helped. It might lessen the stress… but if I end up isolated and acting out, that’s not healthy. My life has got to change. God wants me to be healthy. I want me to be healthy. The one fault I have with the Ronald Reagan joke is that the optimistic kid is looking fanatically for something that’s not there. I don’t want to spend my life  searching for something that’s not there. Maybe instead of obsessing about obtaining sexual purity I need to obsess about getting closer to God. Maybe as I do what he calls me to do (open up my life and love people), I will find that there is no need to self-medicate. As my life begins to be characterized by love of God and love of people… it will be so full of peace, joy, and all that other good stuff that I won’t have time to wallow in my addiction.

Of course, since I’ve put all of this out there, I now have to go to this meeting. People are going to ask me if I went or not. I could delete this post and nobody would be the wiser… but there’d be no growth or change in that and I need God to help me grow. I need God to change me. The only thing that’ll really mess with my head is if there are no women at this meeting. So if you’re reading this and you’re a praying person, pray that I go to the meeting and pray that there’s at least one other woman there. There may not be a pony in all this stuff that I’ve been dealing with, but if I follow God wherever he’s leading me, I’m bound to find something better.

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Fruit of a Poisonous Tree

Lately I’ve been tiptoeing around the fact that I’ve been rather…mad. I’ve tossed in some “commercial interruptions” and a few “best of Bipolar Girl” moments… but I haven’t come out and said why I’m mad. Yes, my coworker is still standing on my last nerve. Yes, the physical pain post-op still continues to cramp my style. Yes, the dental pain has now put me on my  third course of antibiotics in three months — and the mouth guard that I had professionally made is the only thing stopping me from grinding my teeth down to nubs at night.

I don’t spend a lot of time blogging about any of that because, for the most part, nothing has changed. I’m a bit over talking about it. I pray to God and nothing changes. I keep praying to God and still nothing changes. Under this much chronic pressure my inner whiner starts to come out and for all our sakes, I try to keep that part of my personality out of the blogosphere.

I prefer to look for the positive note in the challenging rock-opera that is my life. There is always a lesson to be learned behind ever dark melody. My life’s song is being played on the cello. Deep, soulful, resonating in me in rich tones I cannot ignore.

If life was all that I was dealing with,  I probably wouldn’t be this angry. I’ve spent years warding off the slings and arrows of outrageous people. I’ve finally realized that whatever drama du jour that I’m dealing with now will be gone six months. The stuff that pushes my button will get pushed aside by other, more pressing challenges. So I’m not all that worried about the surface drama anymore. God’s using it to prune me and I am certain there will be fruit. I just have to wait for it.

So what’s been up my nostrils twisting my nose hairs in knots? A different kind of LIFE.

About three weeks ago I started down another path “less traveled” and I never said a word here. Living In Freedom Everyday (L.I.F.E) Ministries is a Christian group that tries to help people overcome sexual addiction. About three weeks ago I started working through their LIFE Guide for Women which, hasn’t been pushing my buttons, it’s been standing squarely in the center of all them, refusing to budge. When I did that intense prayer counseling last year I asked God to help me get to the roots of my anger. I wanted to have some full-on, surround sound flashback of the day my brother molested me so I could lay that demon to rest. I felt certain the prayer counseling would pull off a bunch of scabs but then leave me traumatized and unchanged. I felt certain that it would not fix my sexual addiction. In some ways, I was totally wrong about the prayer counseling. It did change my life. I will never be the same again. I’ve got a clarity of mind and a boldness that I never had. My faith is stronger. My hope is stronger. My ability to persevere and press on rivals the Energizer Bunny. My rage was dialed back to anger and I even came to understand that not all anger was wrong.

But I didn’t get the flashback. All I got was “wait” and “be still.” If God wanted me to remember details he’s perfectly capable of making that happen… but he didn’t. He also didn’t wave a magic wand and make my sexual addiction go away.  And then I had both my surgeries and God started talking to me again about what it would take for me to recover from  my sexual addiction. He led me to LIFE Ministries and I bought their Guide for Women. It’s supposed to be done in a 12 step group format… but there are evidently NO WOMEN on the entire island who struggle with sexual addiction, so the group meeting thing is out. Since I’m a moderator on HPCR (that site for Christians who struggle with porn and sexual addiction) I decided to start a cyber group there. Unfortunately, there haven’t been a lot of takers, but it’s what I feel like I need to be doing right now. So I’m on Week Four now and it hasn’t been an easy journey. Dealing with broken pieces isn’t easy.

My family broke me and there are pieces of me that still do not work properly. I want to be healed. I want to be whole. And I am not going to stop pursuing those things until God heals me. I feel like God is doing another surgery on me… but this time it’s not my teeth or my innards. It’s my soul. Soul surgery?? It seems to fit. And unlike my other surgeries, there is no anesthesia. I’m wide awake for all of this and as I deal with old issues that have been left to fester below the surface anger bubbles up like sulfur coming out of a underwater volcano. People and circumstances are reminding me of my family and how helpless, hopeless, and useless they made me feel. God is telling me not to be afraid; that the monsters of the past are dying on all sides of me. I do not have to fight this battle. I just have to be obedient to him as I walk out the precepts in this program.

I’ve had to surrender some sacred cows and distance myself from someone I love dearly. Right now I’m looking at entering a level of accountability and transparency that even has me feeling pretty skittish and I’m pretty dang open. But this is the narrow path that I have to walk if I want to be free. I does not help that I do not know a single other Christian woman in real life who is a sex addict or struggling with a sexual addiction. That kinda makes me feel like a freak of nature… and I don’t like feeling like a freak of nature. Especially when I have to go to church.

I walked into church with a heavy heart this morning. I mouthed the words during worship because I still can’t really sing since my abdominal surgeries. Then the elder gave the message. Psalm 22. Parts of it felt like God was speaking directly to me. My sexual sin? It might feel like God has forsaken me at times, but he hasn’t. It’s not news to God. It’s not even new. There are other women on this island who struggle with sexual sin even if I don’t know any personally. I’m certain that at some point in my future, God is going to ask me to be there to support other women who struggle with sexual addiction and porn because nobody is here to help me and I know how lonely and isolating that can make you feel. I really could use some help, but since there isn’t any for me, I will be that help for somebody else in the future.

After the service the worship leader sang a few songs and the congregation was dismissed. He stayed on the stage singing songs and for all the world it felt like he was singing just for me, which he pretty much was since most people were gone or hanging out talking to other people. I sang because I had to. My heart was clawing it’s way out through my throat and was being forced out by my sobs. I did not know I had all of that in there. It was cathartic or, it would have been, had he not stopped abruptly after the last song. It was not like God to take me to that kind of emotional precipice and then leave me there. I felt raw and exposed and all I could think of was this line from a song: I’m forgiven because you were forsaken….

He had to sing that song.

I was all set to ask him before he exited the stage, but he whizzed by me and started talking to other people. I wiped the tears off my face and followed him. I was not going to let him leave without playing that song. When I finally found him I asked how was he at transposing songs in to different keys without any notice whatsoever. He didn’t even blink. He grabbed his guitar and we eventually ended up in the area outside the nursery. I was embarrassed to sing where people could hear me. My post-op voice has sounded really bad and I am really self-conscious, but today I felt a deep need to sing that song and he was going to help me.

I made him turn around as I started to sing. I wouldn’t have been able to sing with him looking at me. As I started to sing he found my key and he played. It was amazing. I could actually sing. I mean REALLY SING. I am one who belts out music. You will not find a dainty soprano in me. I don’t even know what range I am… but I am the human equivalent of a cello – deep, soulful, and my voice resonates with everything I feel for Jesus when I sing. I did not realize that all that resonating would attract an audience or that he would expect me to keep singing. But he did, so I did. And it was incredible. I feel like God released my song today. Nothing in any of my circumstances changed, but God transformed something in me today.

I was telling one of my accountability partners this and how the only thing that changed was my attitude. God may or may not deliver me from all that is ailing me, but even if he doesn’t… he is still  my LORD and I will continue to worship and praise him. It doesn’t matter what my family did to me. All my anger and my sexual addictions and all the other fruits of that poisonous tree? God is going to redeem those things so that I can use them to reach out to other people in his name. That doesn’t mean that tomorrow I’m going to wake up anger free or addiction free, but it does mean that my God, the one I love,  can use even bad fruit for his glory.

 

 

 

Commercial Interruption: The Bipolar Girl Anthem

When I first heard this song he seemed to be singing the thoughts as they rolled around in my mind. I heard it after my last break up. That relationship was doomed. Blame it on my mental illness… my sexual addiction… it doesn’t matter now although it mattered the world then.

The song? “Unwell” by Matchbox Twenty

 

Only thing is… I’m not “unwell” anymore
and I KNOW that I’m not crazy.
What I am
is MAD.

People and circumstances
have been tap dancing on my nerves
and my edges are a bit frayed.

Did Jesus ever say, “Don’t be angry??”
He says that there are consequences
to being angry.
Paul didn’t say don’t be angry.
Ephesians says do not to sin
in your anger.

Some of this anger I feel??
It’s a growth phase.
God IS going to show me
how to handle my anger in godly ways.
He’s going to show me how to speak the truth in love…
and he will show me the fruit of self-control.
He’s going to teach me when to confront.
He’s also going to teach me how to forgive.
He is going to grow me
and I am going to see fruit.
I feel like all of those anger lessons
are up in the air
like juggling balls
and I keep dropping them.

But that’s ok.
Please don’t mistake my posts
as a cry for pity.
I neither need
nor want pity.
I’m handling more
than I ever could have
when I was unwell.
And my faith is growing
stronger
every day
because of it
People and circumstances
might be making me feel a bit crazy…
but the point is: I’M NOT.
Crazy (I mean)… or unwell.
I’m just a little… mad.
Ok.
A LOT MAD…
But that’s going to pass too
and growth is going to follow.

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Comfort #4: The Reason

First, I’d like to say that I wasn’t going to go in this direction at all with this series. I wanted it to be a reflection back on things that have been comforts to me over the years that could apply to anybody — whether you had a mental illness (like I do) or not… and whether you were a Christian (like I am) or not. So I purposely didn’t talk about stuff like getting medication, because if you don’t have one “medication” becomes illicit drugs and that’s illegal. I also didn’t want to go the God route because not everybody who reads my blog is a Christian so I wanted comforts that the non-believer could relate to.

Personally, I don’t understand why non-believers read my blog since I’m so un-apologetically  Christian and my blog fairly oozes most times, but they do. Knowing this I wanted to put out the top five comforts that really could apply to the “neurotic in all of us.”

That song, “The Reason” and the events of the last few days made me see that I’d be less than honest if I left out the real reason for any comfort that I have received as I’ve struggled with my mental illness. Jesus IS the reason for any and all comfort that I’ve received and the source of all comfort that I can provide other people:

Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God. For just as the sufferings of Christ flow over into our lives, so also through Christ our comfort overflows. If we are distressed, it is for your comfort and salvation; if we are comforted, it is for your comfort, which produces in you patient endurance of the same sufferings we suffer. 2Corinthians 1:3-6

When I was suicidal I used to wonder about this. Where the hell was this “God of All Comfort?” He sure as heck seemed to be absent from my universe. When I was in the grips of my sexual addiction and violating all my values, why wasn’t this “God of All Comfort” comforting me?? Where was he when I was molested? Or when my dad tried to kill me with a butcher knife?? Or when my mom told me that my Christianity was a lie and that she didn’t want my prayers?? Those things hurt me and I could have used major comfort… like his audible voice… or some smiting. Instead God kept sending more trials my way that I despaired of life. I was certain that I’d commit suicide before I was thirty years old.

I actually wrote a paper in college saying just that.
Scared the everlasting gobbstoppers out of the professor.

It is a comfort to me that I am not dead now. Especially since I’m way past 30. With some of the things that I’ve done, I should be dead but for the grace of God. The best thing I ever did in my life was to hit bottom and look up. My first pastor used to say that Jesus hangs out at the end of ropes — because people generally have to be at the end of theirs before they will call out to him. That was me. Prideful to extremes. I didn’t think I needed God. I’d seen enough of him in church growing up to know that he was no good. Having my nephew murdered my first year at Berkeley cemented my belief that God was either powerless, evil, or imaginary. Whatever comfort this “god” could offer I did not want any of it.

It would be four years after college that I reached the end of myself. When I hit bottom I called out to Jesus and he caught me. But that didn’t make my mental illness go away or any of the problems that I had before I became a Christian. In fact, some things got worse. I was now working out of a different play book. The rules had changed and some things that weren’t issues for me when I was a non-believer, became big fat flamin’ issues once I met Jesus. The whole sexual addiction thing bothered me before I became a believer, but knowing that I was called to a life of purity that I personally couldn’t sustain was not a comfort for me. I felt like a pervert on most days, a nympho on others, and a lying hypocrite on all.

There were short seasons of comfort… usually because God sent some Christian into my life to help carry my burden. He also sent Christians who loved me and provided for my needs in his name. That was a comfort. Once, this pastor who was the father of a friend just sent me money out of the blue. Enough money to buy my medication when my paycheck wouldn’t stretch to cover it. That was a HUGE comfort. Jesus has sent people to listen to me. People to pray for me. People to stand with me when I could not stand life anymore.

Now I’m at the healthiest point I’ve ever been in my life. My mental illness seems to be in remission. My spiritual health is at an all time high thanks to that intense prayer counseling. My financial house is in order and I accept that my physical health is as good as it’s going to get right now. God has used people to comfort me in more ways than I can count because the body of Christ extends everywhere I could imagine living. No matter where I go, Jesus will send Christians there to comfort me in his name.

Jesus.

To many people around the world that name alone is a comfort. To others it is a named to be mocked and reviled. To those people who would treat this comfort that way, I wonder… have they ever sought to really know him? So many hurting people the world over are missing out on the comfort that only Jesus can give. They say that they know enough about him to know they want nothing from him. I used to be like that. What turned my life around? I started looking for truth. Literally. I decided that the only way my life would change was if I went on a search for truth and didn’t stop until I found it.

I am a firm believer in people searching for truth and not God… because people believe in a lot of stuff masquerading as God that couldn’t be any further from the truth. I tried to find comfort in erotica/porn, romance, men and sexual relationships, alcohol, academics success, and a bunch of other things that were no real comfort at all. And when I finally met Jesus, I erroneously believed like many people do, that he would do a mojo and make all my problems go away. Jesus never promised that. In fact, he promised that we would have trials in this life, but that he had overcome them. Jesus helps me overcome my trials and there is much comfort to be found in that.

If you are searching for comfort and don’t yet know Jesus… what’s stopping you? We live in a western country. There is a McChurch on just about ever other corner. The net is full of churchy websites and religious blogs like mine. This is not rocket science, but neither is it Russian Roulette where you spin around until you land on a church. Playing that game with churches is just as dangerous as playing with guns. Lots of cults talk a good “God game.” How can you find that comfort of which I speak without ending up with more than you bargained for??

1. Talk to Jesus: You got issues with him?? Tell him. He already knows anyway.
2. Open a bible: Read the book of Matthew. You want to meet Jesus?? Here he is: http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Matthew%201:%2018-&version=NIV1984
3. Commit yourself to a search for truth: Even if you aren’t a believer, if you sincerely look for truth…  you will find Jesus at the end of that journey. He says that he is the Way, the Truth, and the Life.

I do not apologize with this blatant plug for Jesus. Yes, the meds have been a comfort. The therapy has too… and all those other things that I put in the last few posts as well, but without Jesus I would have had no real and lasting comfort and neither will you. Jesus is the only guaranteed source of comfort for the “neurotic in all of of us”… if you don’t believe me, investigate him in the the New Testament and find out for yourself.

 

Comfort #2: Neurotics Need Prayer Too

Yesterday I wasn’t sure what I’d include as “Comfort #2. I also wasn’t sure how far I wanted to take this particular train of thought. For now I think I’ll go for the Top Five comforts for the “neurotic in all of us.” And it wasn’t until 4:05pm today that I knew what that comfort would be.

It was the end of a rather busy day. I’m still trying to find my feet with the new program we’re doing. I no longer have a TA to do my administrative paper work so it’s falling on me and I’m falling behind. All of this will pass — I know it will (it always does). And I love my job enough that I’m willing to go above and beyond while I wait it out. But the stress is still there and if enough of my buttons get pushed I react. Another co-worker came into my classroom and 4:05 and pushed the one button guaranteed to make me implode. I won’t bore you with the details. Things got heated for a while. I cried. We talked. We tried to get the other to see our side of the situation. The entire conversation was tense but after an hour we finally resolved things enough and agreed to meet on Monday.

When she left my entire body was tingling. The whole fight or flight response had been triggered. Generally, when I cry it’s because I’m mad. That’s just the first way I express my anger. I have never liked it because it makes me feel weak, but I can accept it for what it is. I wasn’t crying because I was sad or depressed or wounded. I was pissed. Rather than give vent to what I was feeling and thinking, I kept trying to breathe. I wish I could say that I prayed… but I didn’t. I was too mad to pray but at least I didn’t just erupt into anger. In the end, we were able to talk… but I still had all that pent up residual anger.

It was already after five. School was over the building was quiet but I didn’t want to leave. I knew that if I came home that angry it would not be a good scene. I was still crying as I wrote on my board. I asked God why he was allowing this particular co-worker to continually push my buttons. For the last four weeks she’s been tap dancing on my buttons and all I’ve wanted to do was choke her neck. Not the poster child for Christianity, am I?? I wish that I was all warm and fuzzy… but I have come to grips with the fact that when God was handing out all the warm fuzzies, I didn’t get many. So there I was, standing there crying at my board all cold and fuzzy-less. Going home would lead to bitterness, resentment, binge eating, and wrestling with my sexual addiction…. all of which would open the door to rage… and left too long unchecked, rage turns to depression for me.

Clearly, I was in need of some comfort. I needed to talk to a Christian friend who would just pray. One reason I don’t like sharing my problems with people is because they assume I’m asking for advice when all I really want is prayer. They start trying to fix me or my problem and that just makes me more mad. If I want advice I will ask for advice. And when I actually do ask for advice, I’m going to go to people whose lives demonstrate that they are walking in faith, wisdom, and righteousness. When I ask somebody for prayer I need them to intercede for me with God. Just listening to their words for me takes me out of my own head for a moment. When my soul is taking a bashing just knowing that somebody is willing to help me carry my burden, even if only for that moment, makes all the difference. But I couldn’t think of anybody to call… I just stood there trying to fight back tears.

“Lord, I need somebody who will just pray for me.”

It wasn’t even a long prayer but it was the only thing on my heart to ask. I didn’t want God to smite this person or even make the person go away. I, for one, think conflicts are learning opportunities. They are chances to learn how to honor God in the conflicts that inevitably come with life. Seconds after I uttered that prayer aloud, I hear a loud voice coming up the stairs. The audible voice of God?? Nope… but it was the one person in the building I know to be a Christian. I thought I was alone in the building, but God had a different plan. I motioned her into my room without uttering a word because I was too overcome by tears to speak. She came in and just prayed for me. I felt instantly better because it got me out of my own head. I was able to calm down and go home where I stood outside my door and prayed. I was not going to allow the anger to come in with me. Sounds stupid but I felt it necessary.

Guess I should have stayed out there longer because anger piggy backed in with me. I was blogging about the importance of reaching out to others for prayer when my internet connection died. I tried to reset it with no luck. My “outlet” was effectively fried. I called their Customer Dis-Service Department and got no help whatsoever. I could feel the angst rise up in me. I needed to get this stuff out of me. The emotion was so thick it was clogging my pores. I don’t even remember what happened after I got off the phone with her but something else happened and I just gave way to another wall of tears.

“In your anger do not sin”: Do not let the sun go down while you are still angry, and do not give the devil a foothold.” Ephesians. 4:26-27

Anger in and of itself is not sin. It’s what I do with that anger that turns around and bites me in the butt. I should have got somebody else to pray for me when I got home. I should have reached out and got somebody to pray for me when I lost the internet connection… but I didn’t want to. How’s that for hypocrisy?? I’m writing about the importance of reaching out for prayer and I didn’t want to. It’s hard to ask for prayer when you are in a dark place. As I felt the anger spinning out of control to rage I knew I needed to call somebody. Actually, I knew I needed to call somebody when I called the 1-888 tech support number and somehow got a sex line. I can’t prove it, but I think Satan’s messing with me because I gave him a foothold big enough to scale Everest. An accidental sex line call for a sex addict whose biggest trigger is anger/rage??

I called a friend but she was busy. When I hung up I got mad at God, “SEE?!!! Reaching out to people doesn’t help.”

That’s a lie from the pit that I used to believe back in the early days of my struggle with Bipolar. I used to think that it was pointless to try to reach out to people and if I tried and they were too busy that just seemed to confirm it. Tonight I only bought into that life for a second. She promised to pray and I know she will. I know she wasn’t blowing me off. The point wasn’t whether or not she could drop everything to pray for me. The point was… was I willing to put down my hypocrisy long enough to ask for prayer.

In the end, I posted on facebook that I needed prayer. I emailed my prayer group and asked for prayer. I posted on the website where I moderate for Christians who struggle with sexual addiction… I put out as many prayer flares as I felt were necessary to help me calm down and be still. And you know what, I’m glad God showed me where m hypocrisy was showing. I can’t put stuff here that I’m not willing to do in my own life. So while I needed the outlet and I needed the prayer… I need to make sure I really have learned my own lessons before I try to pedal them to you. I am exhausted now and concerned about acting out tonight and having nightmares…. but there was still comfort to be found tonight. I am being pressed in on more sides than I thought I had and I am not breaking. The house might be shaking, but the foundations are standing firm.

I’m too exhausted to go back and edit this… so I’ll end on a “Good night and God bless.”

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Merry Christmas from Bipolar World

One day I looked up at a Christmas tree and felt every inch of brokenness in my soul. Mentally ill (though I didn’t know it at the time) struggling with a sexual addiction (though I wouldn’t have called it that at the time), I felt like I’d fallen so far by the wayside that there was nothing of any worth in me. The year was 1993 and I was two years out of UC Berkeley. My life was supposed to be taking off. The world and all of its oysters were supposed to be mine. Instead I was staring at big gaping emotional wounds that I couldn’t control. Depression, suicidal thoughts, depraved behavior… it all attacked my mind making me feel like a totally unregenerate person. Nobody would ever love me and I would always be alone. I’d live alone; die alone; and never be missed. I’d leave no footprints on this planet.

I’d tried to get help over the years. I’d tried therapy and support groups. I’d even tried to save myself by writing something I called my “Phoenix Folder,” but it wasn’t until I saw that tree that I knew that I could not save myself. Of course, it would take me another year of trying before I finally got the point.

I needed hope and that hope would not come from me or from man.

 

 

How I met Jesus in 1994 is a wild ride of a story. I would love to be able to say that the day I met him he took away the mental illness along with the deep depression and suicidal episodes — but he didn’t. It wasn’t until 1998 that I even knew that my personal demon had a name.  And it wasn’t until 2010 that Jesus delivered me from actively struggling with it. But today I can praise Jesus that I don’t struggle with Bipolar Disorder anymore. And he didn’t just snap his fingers and make my sexual addiction go away either. I continued to struggle with porn until 2006 when I found online support for Christians who struggle with sexual addiction. I still struggle with some aspects of my addiction but I have hope for the day that he saves me from that as well. So I don’t have one of those testimonies of radical transformation. But I have been transformed and am still being transformed into the image of my Savior Jesus Christ. And that gives me hope.

Today is Christmas. I know there are a lot of people celebrating Christmas home alone or worse… on the streets in the rain or the snow. There are people who feel like their lives are a mess and that there is no hope. There are Christians who wonder when is Jesus EVER going to show up and make their problems go away. Honestly? I don’t know. I can’t answer that. I wish I had an answer to that question, but while I do not know the “when” I do know the “will.” He will come and save you because that’s who he is and that’s what he does.

I no longer think that I am irredeemable. My life has meaning and value. I’ve been tempted to whine and feel sorry for myself lately because of my recent surgery and the pain. But I’ve been reminded that Jesus loves me and I am a part of something bigger than myself even if I’m alone. Especially if I’m alone. Jesus knows exactly where I am and exactly what I need. My faith and trust in him has grown stronger the longer I wait on him, not weaker. He is my hope and it my prayer is that he’s yours as well. I still hope to find love in this life. I hope to give it too and I wanna  leave BIG GIANT footprints in this world that lead other strugglers and weary travelers to Jesus.

I started not to post anything today because Christmas still really pushes my buttons, but what has self-pity ever accomplished for anybody? I would rather speak my truth even if it isn’t full of a bunch of fa-la-la-la-las… because somewhere out there, somebody else identifies with this. They are alone and feeling broken and they just wish the holiday would go away. I hope that person reads my blog. I hope that person hears my words and takes hope. You don’t have to stay in that dark place of brokenness and isolation. I know because I didn’t. For years I tried to find answers to my problems in the world: therapy, relationships, self-help books, Cosmo… but I needed something more.  I saw a tree and it pointed me towards a saviour. If this is you… you don’t have to be hopeless anymore. You just have to admit your need. The road might not be smooth, but you won’t have to travel it alone.  I end this post with a poem somebody gave me on a Christmas card yesterday:

God Sent Us a Savior

If our greatest need had been information,

God would have sent us an educator,

If our greatest need had been technology,

God would have sent us a scientist.

If our greatest need had been money,

God would have sent us an economist.

If our greatest need had been pleasure,

God would have sent us an entertainer.

But our greatest need was forgiveness,

So God sent us a Savior.

Merry Christmas!

Train Up a Child

Yesterday we had an earthquake.  I was at my laptop, sitting at the kitchen table when I felt the movement. Not big by California standards… but island folk aren’t used to quakes. At first I wasn’t sure what it was because it was so slight but then a harder, more definite jolt was enough to send me dashing off to stand in the doorway. Of course, with the recent heavy rain and my leaking ceiling, I doubted that the doorway would protect me all that much, but it was an ingrained habit for me to stand there because I grew up in California. In the Land of the Quakes and the Flakes you grow up having “earthquake drills” in school. At home we’re taught to  hide in doorways and at school we’re told to get under desks and we practiced it so much that now, at the age of 42, I reverted to childhood training. It didn’t matter how questionable the doorway, I was going to stand in it.

This morning that made me think of another verse that has impacted my life. Not because I memorized it and use it when I feel threatened or anything like that, but because it is a truth that has played out in my life:

Train up a child in the way he should go: and when he is old, he will not depart from it. Proverbs 22:6

That didn’t just hold true with earthquake drills for me. Unfortunately, it held true with other, less helpful things. A lot of my blogging in the past has been about fear. I used to be a very fearful person until very recently. I’ve also blogged a lot about my struggles with porn and sexual addiction. I wish I could say that when I became a believer Jesus just made those things go away. The fact that he didn’t makes me think that there has to be a higher purpose to why he allowed me to struggle with them for so long. I’ve come to the conclusion that Jesus wants my life can be used as a cautionary tale. Y’know the, “DON’T LET THIS HAPPEN TO YOU” sort of tale.

As a child, I was trained up to be fearful and I was trained up to think about sex. None of it was intentional, but it happened. My stepfather kept porn where any one of us kids could get into it and since I was the reader in the family… I guess I got hooked on porn because I “liked reading the articles.” And when I was about eleven years old my mom started giving me Harlequinn “Romance” novels to read. Some people think that they are harmless, but for an impressionable pre-teen, they were like a gateway drug for me. I became compulsive about reading them to the exclusion of all other things. When I applied to Harvard for undergrad I had to lie on my application about what books I’d read that year because every single book that I’d read (and I’d read tons) were romance novels. Eventually they fed into a need to read hardcore erotica. My mother maintains to this day that there was nothing wrong with giving me those books and denies that the resulting feelings they inspired in me had anything to do with my current addiction. She also maintains that it was my fault that I got hooked on porn. I shouldn’t have read my stepfather’s magazines. I beg to disagree. If he didn’t want us to read them, he shouldn’t have left them where we played.

The point I’m trying to make? Whatever you put into your kids’ minds is going to stick somewhere. If they are exposed to something long enough or if parents give the impression that they approve of something then kids are going to engage in it not knowing the far reaching consequences. I actually think my stepfather’s porn and the “romance” novels from my mom had a greater impact on me than whatever incest issues I have with my brother because I actually remember what happened with the magazines and the novels. I remember my mom giving them to me and I remember all the new and exciting feelings I felt when I read those books.

By giving them to me, my mom was participating in my training without saying a word. And the words she did say when I got into high school contradicted what she’d taught me earlier. In high school she went all heavy handed about what I shouldn’t be doing with boys and how my deeds “done in darkness would be seen in the light.” But those words couldn’t stand up against the years of unspoken training that she’d given me in those books. That training said that sex was not only acceptable, but that it was necessary. Train up a child in the way that they should go? Yeah, they trained me without saying a word.

But what about my fearful training? Most kids are not fearful. If you’ve ever looked out over  a playground at recess you’d see kids doing things that would make your hair stand on end and then turn white once it got there. Adults make kids afraid. Ok. Adults and bullies… but where do bullies learn their behavior?? When I was a kid I used to watch these movies with my siblings. Killer bees, killer ants, killer piranha, killer sharks, Cujo the killer dog... there was a whole series of low budget horror movies that pit nature against humans and the humans usually got the crap kicked out of them before they won. Then there was “Twilight Zone” with Rod Sterling and “The Outer Limits” series that made me fear all things in black and white. And let’s not forget “Psycho” and “Helter Skelter” which made me fear serial killers and violent death. I watched all of that before I was in middle school. Up until very recently the list of things that I had a paranoid fear about could fill pages. Now I’m down to about a page, but it makes you wonder how I became so fearful.  Why was I allowed to put all of that garbage into my head growing up?? Train up a child a child in the way they should go? Yeah, I was trained.

I’m not saying that my parents scarred me for all time by allowing these things to come into my life… but it hasn’t helped. Just like I was trained to go to a doorway during an earthquake, I was also trained to turn to porn and masturbation when I felt left out , unwanted, or unloved. I was also trained up to have a paranoid fear of just about everything because those movies said that I should fear just about everything... no matter how irrational. Now my innate personality has to play a part on it. I think I’m fearful by nature. The movies just kicked the fear up a notch. But come on… Ants. It’s only been until very recently that I stopped being afraid of ants. Of course, now I can kill a centipede without too much stress or mess… but conquering my fears hasn’t come easily.

Good thing God is bigger than anything my parents or my childhood could have ingrained in me. I might have received really poor training growing up, but my life belongs to Jesus now. At just the right time he shows me what areas of my life are coming under his watchful care and then he goes to work. He has been working on my fears for the past year. He has been leading me through my fears causing me to face many of them. I’m personally hoping I don’t have to confront my fear of serial killers and violent death with an actual encounter — but something tells me that I’m safe on that front. He’s also been drawing me to an end of my addictive behaviors. If I say that I am a “sex addict” that is to say that Jesus cannot change me and I know better. He has changed me and he is changing me. There will come a day when I don’t instinctively turn to addictive behaviors to self-medicate. I’ve had to learn and accept that as a child of God, my father can and will train me up however he wants me to go.

If I could change one thing about how I grew up, I would have wished somebody had told my parents not to expose me to sexually charged material and violent, fear based movies. All of that and the problems it created for me fed into my mental illness in ways that could have been avoided. Tomorrow is Thanksgiving and I will not be getting a call from my mom. We haven’t spoken in a long time. I’m actually not looking forward to the holiday. I plan to spend it alone. I just don’t want to deal with other people and their happy little families. It’s kind of like a slap in the face. But I do have a lot of things for which I am thankful. This year, my father has trained me well. I will not turn to addictive behaviors to self-medicate. I might be feeling a bit down this holiday… but it’ll pass. Train up an adult child in the way that they should go?? Hmm. Bears considering.

Manic Sunday – God’s Response

When I woke up this morning my first coherent thought was of abdominal pain. I didn’t want to go to work, but as an on-call employee without job security or benefits I cannot afford to call in sick. That’s what weekends are for. Besides, my mental health was good. I want to go to work or at least I did until I took out my earplugs and heard a sound that sent fear coursing into my heart. Rain. Not that rain has ever scared me in the past. This was a new thing. A lot of my phobias have started to recede like the tide, but even still… rain never quite made it to the fear list until today.

The last time that I house sat and it rained this hard I had an accident. While trying to get the dogs (who are rather hyper) and their bowls of food down the wet concrete stairs one of the dogs pulled the leash off balancing me. I fell down the last part of the stairs, my foot connected with the mud, and my legs flew out from under me. The dogs went running, dog food went flying, and I hit my rear end, hip, and the back of my head on the ground. It hurt, but I was able to get up and shake it (and all the dog food that had landed on me) off. I limped for a long time after that.

Ever since then I’ve been ever aware of the danger of those stairs. What if I’d knocked myself out?? Nobody would have known. But God had a bigger purpose than just covering me in mud and dog food. That fall actually had to do with a larger lesson that God was teaching me about pride and, thankfully, I learned the lesson that day. So, I wasn’t up for a refresher course this morning. Last night I was grappling with some weighty questions: Does God answer prayers for healing? Does God heal? If I fell down the stairs and cracked my head open would he heal me or would I bleed out never to be missed??? Personally, I didn’t want to find out. My first thought was to post a prayer request on FB… but then a thought came to me: Why do I always think that God will answers OTHER people’s prayers for me faster than my own prayers for me? I told God that I was afraid of falling down the stairs, especially since I feel so crappy this morning. As I prayed it started to rain harder. It was also darker than normal because of the clouds. Great. I wouldn’t even be able to see the stairs and with both hands full of bowls I would have nothing to hold on to.

I got my jacket and my resolve. Going down the stairs is easier when I take the food to the kennel first and then go get the dogs from their night time kennel, but even still… I almost slipped. Fear kinda grabbed hold of me and I started reciting the Lord’s Prayer. And would you believe the rain started to let up? It was still slightly drizzling… but nothing close to what it had been. I hiked up to the upper kennel and got the dogs, who were oddly compliant this morning. Normally, the younger one tries to drag me all over the yard which, with bum knees and a bad shoulder, is always fun for me. This morning she was as easy to manage as a lamb. I got them into the other kennel with no drama and no rain.

The minute I was safely back into the house the heavens opened up and it started pouring again. Seriously. It almost seemed like God was saying, “See.” And as I finish typing this I now see blue sky. I do think that it’s ok to question things of God with the intention of understanding him more. He has grace for that. One of my favorite scriptures is in the book of Jude when he says, “Have mercy on those who doubt.” God knows all of my questions, concerns, issues… and doubts. He, who created the ends of the earth, also created me. He could make my sexual addiction go away as quickly as he controls the rain. Why doesn’t he? I don’t know. My understanding does not stretch to fully understanding the will and the mind of God. But I am incredibly thankful that this morning’s lesson was about prayer and wasn’t about pride because I REALLY didn’t want to have to try to scrape mud off my backside and dog food out of my hair.