Would you, if you could?

If you could eliminate the emotional pain of a difficult or traumatic event in your past (without actually getting rid of the memory), would you do it? Think of the worst, most difficult, tragic, painful experience you've evre had and the ways in which it still affects you today. What if you could still remember but you could neutralize the emotions attached to the memory? You could get rid of the depression/anxiety/tears/pain/fear/embarrassment or whatever it is that comes with the memory. It seems so often that the emotions attached to traumatic or difficult experiences affect our ability to live a whole and healthy life. We make poor choices out of the woundedness and scars.

I'm reading a book called The Promise of Energy Psychology, which claims that through the stimulation of a sequence of accupressure points, the scenario I just described in the previous paragraph can happen - remember the trauma without the emotions. A person can eliminate phobias, anxiety and post traumatic stress by calling up the memory while interrupting the emotional response of the limbic system by massaging or tapping pressure points. Those with experience in this type of therapy say that the whole procedure takes only a few minutes and the effects are long lasting. People who have been through this type of therapy report that they are still free of their emotional distress even 2 years later.

At first, this seems entirely too good to be true. My first response was to say OF COURSE I want to get rid of the anxiety and depression I experience. OF COURSE, I want to stop feeling the upset whenever I recall particular instances of childhood trauma. I want to stop living with the drive to be perfect and the fear that I'm going to totally mess things up. I know that much of the fear is driven by painful life experiences. What if I could interrupt the emotional response and, thereby, the unhealthy behaviors?

The book gives examples of energy therapy working to relieve phobias. This seems pretty wise to me. And, yet, the book also mentions that people who have been treated for phobias often end up with even less of an emotional response to the object of the phobia than the general population. For example, a person with a fear of heights might eliminate their phobia and then some. Generally, people have some physiological response to heights, keeping them alert and cautious. The book says that the treated person with have less response then most of us but still have a healthy caution. This leads me to 2 questions. First, HOW does the treatment stop at a "healthy caution?" Who defines that? How do we know what degree of caution is healthy? And, second, what if the response of the average person is actually healthy and a certain degree of fear is necessary to keep us safe? Do we really want to deprogram our hard-earned responses that have taught us how to be safe? Of course, phobias are generally unhealthy, and we want a more balanced response, but can we garuntee that this type of therapy automatically stops at a good balance, a healthy place?

The book also gives an example of a woman who was raped by her stepfather at a young age. In one meeting with her energy therapist she went from shaking, flushed, crying, rapid breathing, and over-all very upset to calmly stating that the rape was a long time ago, it didn't have power over her any more, she is old enough to protect herself now, and she is able to protect her own children. Basically she went from very upset to telling herself and her therapist that there was really nothing to be upset about and she's over it now. Two years later the therapist followed up with her, and she still had no emotional response to recalling the rape. She had been able to "move on" with no depression, anxiety or post-traumatic stress.

This last story seems ideal on the one hand and scares me to pieces on the other. It doesn't seem right somehow. It seems to take some of the humanity out of the person. We were made to feel. God created us with a limbic system, an emotional response system, with the capacity for love and joy...and pain and sadness. And feelings serve a purpose - to protect us, to teach us, to connect us to others. What happens to a person's compassion if they disconnect or neutralize their emotions related to pain or trauma? I'm entirely in favor a balance and learning to come to a balanced place with emotional responses. I do see how getting lost in the haze of our emotional over-response leads to unhealthy and even destructive choices sometimes. I get that there are sometimes reasons to take medication to balance emotional responses. I understand that brain chemistry is a powerful thing. I'm scared stiff by a therapy that ELIMINATES the negative emotions. How can it do that?

Even considering the possibility that this might be possible brought me to some conclusions that I feel somewhat ambivalent about. I've learned a lot. I guess it upsets me that I had to endure some kind of trauma to come to some profound realizations, but it seems to be the case. I've learned things about God and faith, life, community, families, and even my own capacity for love, joy and sacrifice through the really painful things in my life. And much of the learning has happened through actually feeling the pain. If I had done some energy work to change my emotional response, I'd feel fine, but I wouldn't be the same person I am today. I wouldn't think as hard about things. I wouldn't know the depth that's out there, that's available to me.

And there's something else, too. If I hadn't been wading my way through so many tough emotions, I wouldn't have experienced the love and compassion of my Mango in the same way. I wouldn't know the depth of his love for me. I wouldn't know about love so deep and fierce, so patient and gentle, so persistent and unwavering. I wouldn't know who he really is on the inside. Maybe he learned something, too, about his own capacity for love and sacrifice.

Yes, I think people were made to feel. And nothing about feeling is clean and neat or simple.

I still have a lot of questions. I mean, if God made us with pressure points that change the flow of energy in our bodies and neutralize emotional reactions, maybe there's something valuable to be had there. Maybe it's not so all or nothing as the vibe I'm getting from the book I'm reading. It probably isn't. It's been a journey for me to process this, though...to think about the role that broken and desperately painful emotions have played in my life. I know I haven't experienced the worst pain out there, either, and I wouldn't ever fault anyone for seeking salve for their wounds, balm for their bleeding emotions. Who could find fault with that? I can only say what I say here from the other side, for the most part. More days than not, I'm free from the emotional fallout of painful memories. What if I hadn't found the other side yet? What if no other side was in sight? Ultimately, I am left with more questions that answers.

What would you do?

Stomach

Having a stomach is like having a baby.

Especially when that stomach has an ulcer.

It'll keep you awake at night. Though, as time passes, you'll get longer stretches of sleep.

You'll have to feed it at regular intervals. If you hold out too long for a feeding it'll get crabby and you'll have to spend some time settling it down.

You'll spend some time figuring out what it likes and doesn't like, learning what makes it upset and what calms it down. It can't talk and tell you what's the matter. So, you'll have to do some troubleshooting. Try one thing and then another. And never really know for sure why it turned out the way it did this time.

You'll read about it on the internet, ask your friends, and comb the library for information trying to be as informed as possible. Though you're still going to make mistakes. It's ok, though. We're all human. And what matters is that we learn from our mistakes.

You'll take it everywhere with you, cautiously introducing it to new situations.

You'll do the very best you can in hopes that it will all turn out alright in the end.

Yep, that's what it's like to have a stomach. Take good care of yours!

Reentry

I'm tentatively stepping back into The Midnight Cafe, maybe ready to reenter the blog world after the immigration story.

...and I'm working on reentering life. After nearly two weeks of total exhaustion, I feel rested. I might be ready to take on the rest of life...you know, life after reentering the U.S., life after The Visa Process, the post-really-super-high-stress life. In this new life, different stresses have stepped to the fore but none so intense as immigration.

The reentry has been surreal. So surreal, in fact, that there are more feelings and pictures than words. What's happening here is so very hard to say. Maybe because we don't know what it is yet. Or who we are now. I predicted this would happen, and it still ambushed me.

Now, nobody start worrying. We are well. We're just unfamiliar to ourselves.

On Monday night the guitars came out again. There's something about having everyone in the living room and most of them strumming away on guitars that brings us back to our center, brings us into focus, allows us to "reenter" when life has us all befuddled. We are, after all, still just "us."

I think of the astronauts when the space shuttle reenters the earth's atmosphere and for 4 minutes they can neither send nor receive communication from earth. Or the moments under water right before breaking through the surface. Or the timeless minutes between the crowning of a baby and the birth of its whole body.

The time between here (Consulate of the United States of America):


and here:

Finals

Despite the rough afternoon, yesterday ended with sweetness and peace, and we all trundled ourselves off to bed around midnight, feeling relaxed and loved. Mango has his voice back, Vespera is feeling better, Mane has slept well for 2 nights in a row, and I am no longer overcome with anxiety...though I still apparently have a low grade fever.

It feels like finals week when we all just have to push through to the end. We have to give the last ounces of energy to be sure we've dotted all our "i"s and crossed all our "t"s in order to make the grade and be done. I remember during finals week in college the way that everyone's physical health seemed to decompensate, and mental health teetered on the brink. Even the computers seemed to have had enough - crashing and coming down with viruses. As horrible as it sounds, if I can think of this trip to the Embassy as finals week in college, I think I can stave off the tides of anxiety...or at least hold my breath and let the waves roll over me rather than drowning. It's just something we have to get through.

Honestly, I feel...

Anxious. Very Anxious. Almost incapacitated. I'm sitting here waiting for the Rescue Remedy to kick in. In a few short weeks this will all be over. ...and then who will I be? What will it be like to be me without the huge knot of worry about immigration hanging over my head? What will it be like to be our family? What kind of new dance are we going to have to learn once our stomachs are no longer tied in knots?

Vespera has been suffering migraines...not helped, I'm sure, by her new braces. I've had a fever for 4 straight days. Mango has lost his voice. Mane can't sleep at night.

This is where a life of total faith begins.

Again.

I thought I knew what faith was before. But it appears that...

"Faith is being sure of what you hope for and certain of what you cannot see." Hebrews 11:1

And I don't really think that verse has anything to do with desired outcomes or being sure of the things we really want. It's being sure of the final outcome. In the end justice, mingled with grace and mercy will surely triumph.

But I still really want MY desired outcome. I want what I am hoping for. Desperately.

Fight the anxiety...Naturally

I wanted to share some of the things in my collection that I use for stress and anxiety relief, aside from blogging and journaling and a lot of prayer. I very much believe that we are whole human beings, meaning that mind, body & spirit are interrelated. Writing a blog or a journal, praying, and meditating on scripture attend to the mind and spirit, but these things can also bring healing to the body through the healing of the mind and spirit. Likewise, I believe that treating the body can sometimes bring healing to the mind and spirit. Who cannot relate to the way that a good night's sleep can change our whole outlook on life? Or the way that physical pain produces impatience and crabbiness. Alleviating the bodily ills brings healing, or, at the very least, makes way for healing in the mind and spirit.

So, here are the body remedies I use - aside from trying to eat well, sleep enough, and exercise regularly...



First, I do drink coffee. In moderation, coffee gives me a boost of mental clarity. This helps when I'm tired and mentally foggy. It's also a bit of a "comfort food" and helps me feel relaxed just by smelling good and sitting nearby in my favorite mug.

Too much caffeine, however, as we all know, can lead to restlessness and higher blood pressure. For me, it also creates too much stomach acid. So, I have to pay attention to my body, and stop when enough is enough. For me, this averages out at about 1 cup of coffee a day - some days 2 and some days none.

When anxiety (or too much coffee) has tied my stomach in knots, I drink teeccino:



Teeccino is full of naturally good-for-you ingredients, including lots of potassium for a healthy heart and a calmer nervous system. (Potassium is also good for menstrual cramps, as it's related to the ways that nerves and muscles fire messages.) The biggest perk for me is that teeccino is alkaline, meaning that it reduces stomach acid. AND you make it in a coffee pot, it looks and smells like coffee, and the flavor is very reminiscent of coffee.

My very favorite soothing drink, though, when I know I need a serious stress reliever is Kava Stress Relief by Yogi Teas.



It works. It's a little sweet, tastes good with cream, and also relieves minor aches and pain.

Finally, I've discovered Rescue Remedy.



I'm very much a skeptic with regard to this kind of thing. I don't know why. I just don't see how a little Bach Flower Remedy can help with real life anxiety. But, I can tell you this. I've used it 3 times in the past week, and it has worked within minutes. It's a short term homeopathic stress remedy. It worked so well I told my mom about it!

So, there you have it.

Philippians 4:6-8 says,
"Do not be anxious about anything,
but in everything,
by prayer and petition,
with thanksgiving,
present your requests to God.
And the peace of God,
which transcends all understanding,
will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.

Finally, whatever is true,
whatever is noble,
whatever is right,
whatever is pure,
whatever is lovely,
whatever is admirable—
if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—
think about such things."

Just Put Your Feet Down Child

Mane is a dramatic child, and it seems that so many things in her life are an emergency. She spills water and starts hyperventilating. She can't get something out of her closet and starts crying, "Mama, Mama, MAMA, I NEED YOU! COME QUICK." I wish she could be a bit more calm, but this seems to just be who she is.

When we took her swimming in Lake Superior this summer, I carried her out into the deep water. Then I brought her toward shore & told her she could let go of me now, that the water wasn't over her head. She clung to me in panic, afraid that the water was too deep. I held on to her & said, "Just put your feet down." She put her feet down, and sure enough, the water wasn't much higher then her waist. She looked surprised and said, "Oh, I can touch."

It reminded me of some song lyrics that someone at GCM has posted in their signature by Kate Bush:

He said,
"Just put your feet down, child.

"Just put your feet down child,
The water is only waist high.
I'll let go of you gently,
Then you can swim to me."

Is this love big enough to watch over me?
Big enough to let go of me
Without hurting me,
Like the day I learned to swim?

A lot of people have taken a lot of different meanings from that song. (Yes, I looked around on the internet to see what other people had to say, and, no, I don't actually recommend her music, but I liked these particular lyrics.) For me, I've created my own meaning, about God, about God's love, a love big enough to let us make our own choices, let us swim, be free, find our own way back to God...because I just love the analogy. And I've seen it first hand with Mane and her panic about swimming. I sometimes want to laugh, but her fear is so real. Maybe God feels that way toward us sometimes, too. God sees us here clinging and panicking, and God is there to say, "Just put your feet down child. The water is only waist high." It's like when Jesus stepped into the boat, and the wind and the waves were still. God will hold us until we're ready to put our feet down, will carry us in the deep water, will speak softly to tell us when the water is only waist high.

I don't think it means that nothing bad will ever happen or that everything always turns out perfectly if we believe in God. For me, this has something to do with inner turmoil, with the calming of the anxiety storm. If I would just stop panicking and put my feet down, I'd see that God's rock is under my feet. The water is swirling all around, and I'm not going to get out of it, but I can plant my feet.

I think God carries us, though, carries us into the deep water sometimes, holds on to us when we're too afraid to put our feet down, speaks gently to us until we can unfold gently and walk in the water. God isn't going to let us drown. Jesus didn't let Peter drown when he walked toward Jesus on the water, and we aren't going to drown, either.

No, we're not going to drown. Be still and be carried or just put your feet down child, whichever place you happen to be in right now.

Leap, and the net will appear.

The experts say that the most difficult circumstances to live with are those that involve ambiguity. Interestingly, we seem to do an awful lot of ambiguity over here at The Midnight Cafe. Between moving houses, totaled cars, varying degrees of relationship with Vespera's birth family, and, most recently, a health scare involving Novio's heart, our ability to live with the ambiguous, the not-knowingness, has been stretched to nearly breaking. When I awoke with a headache and Vespera with a sore throat, I knew the ambiguity was getting to us.

Dictionary.net defines ambiguous as:

Doubtful or uncertain, particularly in respect to signification

The quote on my sidebar right now says it another way:

Leap, and the net will appear.

We often have no choice but to close our eyes, leap, and wait for the net to appear. There is no prior assurance. We cannot know how it will turn out. All we can do is be faithful to our own part of the journey.

Novio's heart felt like the last straw. When the doctor said "left ventricular hypertrophy" and ordered an echocardiogram, we felt the free fall and wondered what happened to the net.

Today Vespera and I accompanied Novio to his echocardiogram. When his heart appeared on the screen, the sonographer smiled and announced, "He has a heart. Now we know he's lovable." Yes. Indeed. And this is why we are here embracing all of life's ambiguity...because we love. Later, the sonographer turned on the doppler, and we heard Novio's heartbeat. Vespera whispered that it was like a drum chorus, and the sound filled the room.

My own heart beat in my ears like jungle drums.

It seems that Novio has a heart murmur and that his heart is otherwise structurally sound. He is not in any imminent danger. We had been waiting for this moment for over a week, hoping to hear those sweet words of reassurance.

The net. We fell into the net. For this moment, we will rest.

And go out for ice cream.

What's up with the boats?

As you may have noticed, my blog got a facelift. And some boats appeared on the top of the page. Now, I was really going for the coffee cup, as this is The Midnight Cafe, and we're always drinking coffee over here. But, I absolutely loved the template as soon as I laid eyes on it. I think we're all fascinated by boats and ships in one way or another. In the same way that the vastness of the ocean captures us, the ships that sail across are fascinating, grand and dangerous.

That's the way I want to live my life, too. Grand and dangerous, I mean. I chose a couple of quotes for my sidebar recently to reflect that. The first is a verse from the Bible, and the story goes like this:

The disciples were in a boat when a storm came up. They were afraid, and then they saw Jesus walking across the water to them ...which really got them going. I mean, here they are in a crazy, wild storm. They're trying to keep the boat afloat and on course, and then they see somebody walking toward them on the water. I imagine it was probably dark, and, perhaps they were seeing him in quick flashes of lightning. They thought they were seeing a ghost. I can't say that I blame them. Though they may have desperately wanted Jesus at that moment, they had no reason to think He could actually get out to them. Perhaps they even thought that their wishful thinking was causing them to see visions. Perhaps they thought they were dying, and so they were seeing visions of the afterlife.

In any case, much to their surprise, they heard Jesus voice coming across the water, and he said, "Take courage. It is I. Do not be afraid." What sweet relief to hear that comforting voice, though, again, they may have worried that their ears deceived them. So, "Then He climbed into the boat with them, and the wind died down." (Mark 6:51)Sweet Jesus. Strong, powerful, tangible Savior. He stepped into the boat, and the wind quieted. Their hearts were still. They could rest.

That's what I want for the sailboat of my life. I want Jesus right next to me, quieting my racing heart, my fear and anxiety. The storm that troubles me is so often inside me. I cannot see God clearly for all the darkness and the lightning and the rain. But Jesus is right there, walking across the water, climbing into the boat, saving my life. I want to hear that voice, "Take courage. It is I. Do not be afraid."

I Am Bound For the Promised Land

I was listening to Jars of Clay the other day. They have a song on their Redemption Songs album that goes like this:

On Jordan's stormy banks I stand
And cast a wishful eye
To Canaan's fair and happy land
Where my possessions lie

All o'er those wide extended plains
Shines one eternal day
There God, the Son forever reigns
And scatters night away.

I am bound, I am bound, I am bound for the Promised Land
I am bound, I am bound, I am bound for the Promised Land

No chilling wind nor poisonous breath
Can reach that healthful shore
Where sickness, sorrow, pain and death
Are felt and feared no more

I am bound, I am bound, I am bound for the Promised Land
I am bound, I am bound, I am bound for the Promised Land

When shall I see that happy place
And be forever blessed
When shall I see my Father's face
And in His bosom rest

I am bound, I am bound, I am bound for the Promised Land
I am bound, I am bound, I am bound for the Promised Land

And every time I hear the chorus, I get all choked up, tears spring to my eyes, I get chills. And I've been completely puzzled by my own emotional response. What is it that gets me about this song? So, it's about heaven, the promised land. It's just a regular song. Not even any especially provoking lyrics. (Though the musical artistry is amazing.)

I was pondering this in the car the other day. And I had this instant of clarity. The promise of heaven means that I can spend my life on this earth to the very last breath following God on every scary, dangerous, wreckless, extravagant path, and I don't have to be afraid or anxious. Let's see if I can say this right. I can do that, not because life here doesn't matter, but BECAUSE life here really matters. It matters too much to sit around on my hands and do nothing. And since I have the promise of eternal life with Jesus, I can spend this life, I mean SPEND it, use it up, squeeze it out and it's ok because the end is not the end. Then I'll go be with Jesus. God arranged it so that we can live our whole lives here for things that really matter, and, if we have to, even sacrifice our lives, and it's not over. Hmmm... I've no idea if this is coming out right. But there's something about being bound for the promised land that means I can live this life without fear. In fact, it means I can put away the anxiety I keep struggling with. It isn't relevant.

None of this is to say that life here doesn't matter, that the small things are irrelevant. Maybe it's an oxymoron. Maybe it makes no sense. Yet, somehow, the relationships we have here, the community we build, the way we treat people, the things we fight for, the way we live our lives...those things really matter. I believe that. I don't believe that God has us all here on earth living pointless lives. God is a God of relationship, and each one of us is an infinitely valuable image-bearer. In some way, for those who choose God, the relationships we have here will exist for eternity. Though we have no idea what that means or what form they will take.

What we do here is valuable, it's meaningful, perhaps eternally meaningful. And yet, the hope of heaven, the promise of eternal life, the Promised Land that lies before us means that this life here, this human life does not have to be handled with kid gloves. As much as it matters, we can still dive in, drink deeply, live freely, and TAKE RISKS because when it's over, it's not over.

I am not a risk-taker by nature. God has led me into some of the most serious risks of my life recently, and I can only hope that somehow it's because God believes that I am ready for this stretch. I cannot begin to think that somehow I've earned this, nor am I willing to believe that this is God's way of teaching me a lesson. I only know that I am finally becoming ready to open my heart with faith and really and truly live fearlessly.

The Opposite of Faith

I just wanted to say a little something about the quote that's been hanging out at the side of my blog for a while. "The opposite of faith is not doubt, but certainty." Anne Lamott said this in an interview on NPR a while ago. She probably had no idea it would end up in print on somebody's blog. But, in any case, it resonated with me in a way I could never have expected, and the concept has come back to Mango & I numerous times in the several weeks since I wrote it down. It's just a little gem of wisdom that fits some thoughts together neatly in a new way. Lots of people scratch their heads at this idea. But here, let me break it down. If you are CERTAIN, you are not employing faith. Faith means you are believing in that which you cannot see, that which you cannot know. I am so comforted by this. Faith is not a religious platitude to make us feel better. Faith is messy. Faith is when you are living on the edge. Faith is when you are so confused and unsure and blind and scared. And you believe God anyway. Just God. You don't know anything else, except that God is. And you know the tiny glimmers of God that have flashed through the dirty lenses of life. You know some little bit of who God is. And that has to be enough. Because nothing else is certain. You simply have faith. And that isn't cute or religious or easy.

Anxiety

Between the IRS, the neighborhood, Mango's graduate school & the school where he teaches, and Mane's potential allergies my anxiety levels are reaching unparalleled proportions. Apparently just when you're really convinced you've got a problem whipped, it's time for the devil to bring it back to life. And God is sitting there waiting for me to just trust.

"Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus." Philippians 4:6-7

Help me, help me, Jesus.

Through Faith

We talked about faith in Bible Study yesterday, and I realized something.

I am not afraid.

We talked about "through" faith that takes you through things rather than around them, about how God promises to be with us but doesn't promise the easy way. Somebody said to me the other day that they're afraid to pray about something because they're afraid that God will give them something awful and miserable to do. They're afraid they'll have to go "through" something. Somehow we seem to understand God as overly fond of difficulty.

I am not afraid, but I have been in the past. I know the feeling. I used to worry about praying for who God wanted me to marry, convinced that God would send me someone good but ugly. Or sweet but boring. I don't quite know why I thought that. I just remember thinking it. I was sure that what I wanted was too much to ask and that looks or excitement didn't concern God much. But God gave me every desire of my heart in my sweet Mango.

And I've learned something. I've been married to Mango for almost 9 years. And we have been through much. We have been through school together, through the losses of our grandparents, through struggles with neighborhood crime, through the sleep-deprived years of early parenting, job changes, job challenges, and a whirlwind adoption. I realize that God gave me a partner who matches my passion and intensity, my desire to follow God wherever God leads. And God has given us some tough assignments. We laugh about how nothing good comes easy, about how everything worthwhile requires blood, sweat & tears. We groan when we realize in the middle of a challenge that this just isn't going to come together easily. God is taking us through, not around.

But there's a certain excitement because we know that there will be some shining gem when we're through. We have seen it enough times now to know that we will get through.

And I am not afraid.

At the edges of faith

I suppose that when you start wishing that life was easier and that you could just run away and live a quiet boring life somewhere, then you're probably exactly where God wants you.

When I start to get that scared feeling I know I am at the edges of my faith. I am at the place where all I can do is pray. Literally. Many are the times in my life when I've been frustrated by the placating response, "I'll pray for you," or, "All we can do is pray." I have never ever before known what it really feels like to be in THAT place where all you can do is pray. I mean, sure I've been in places where there isn't anything I can do. But, that's just the point. There's nothing I can do. Try being in a place where there are lots of things you can do. You must, in fact, do something. And you have no idea what the right move is. That's where my life seems to exist right now. In that place. ...where all you can do is pray. And then, slowly, quietly the move you must make unfolds. It comes from without you, not within you. But you will not get the answer before it is time. You must wait. Patience. And all you can do is pray. I don't have words yet to explain what happens next, when it's time to make the move.

This is a place of great anxiety for me. I suppose I will have learned faith when this place is no longer a place of worry.

The Road Less Travelled

I wanted to say that this blog isn't about anything. It isn't about adoption or granola living or politics or homeschooling. Though all of those things are high on my radar. And it isn't about Harry Potter or Tolkien. Though, I have an awful lot to say about both of them. It just is. It's where I'm at. Day by day.

So, last night I drove home from my cousin's house and I listened to Amy Grant in the car. First, I thought how disgusted certain people might be that I still listen to Amy Grant. Then, I decided that it was me & Mane in the car and we were going to play it as loud as we wanted. The song of choice was I Surrender All. I am captured by the lines:

Take me, Jesus.
Take me now.

I am here. And I have given my life over and over to do whatever it is that I'm supposed to do.

So, I took the road less traveled, and it's totally as unclear and untraveled further down, ok folks? Don't kid yourself into thinking that once you get so far upon that less traveled road, you'll suddenly find the way sunny and clear. Yes, there are patches of sunshine. And sometimes we just sit in them for a while to warm our backs. But then we get up and move on with our pocket knives at the ready to cut through the brush. Because we can't just sit. Then the road would start to look like that well-traveled one we didn't take. Maybe it would even morph into that road...become that road if we sat too long, getting sedentary, complacent.

And I don't mean it to sound like such a downer. It's exciting and exhilarating, and I wouldn't trade it for anything. I get tired, and I get sick, frustrated, sad, angry. But I also get those moments of complete contentment, awe, wonder. I get the moment of sheer joy. We talked about joy in Bible study...how the Hebrew word that is translated "exceedingly glad," actually means to "jump for joy." This road has those moments...the moments when we skip and leap along the narrow path rather than fight through the brush. The moments of breakthrough are well-worth the struggle.

I wouldn't trade this for easy.