by M.H. Hanson (originally posted December 7, 2010, updated December 7, 2011)
I do not know where the
words come from. They are like
water that gushes from a spigot.
I don’t question their existence. Only quickly place the
bucket of my heart underneath praying my confession.
Come.
And as I try to catch it I Hope that the drops will fall where they should.
In or outside the cup of my heart, dependent on a fate I do not control.
I have a thirst that lives within me, always with me.
And I must live with it every day. And with my commitment to be authentic.
This is an adventure that began with my cavernous need.
If it is true that God suffers with us in our grief, then I am grateful for the comfort of his companionship.
Even for this longing, a thirst that lives ever within.
Always thirsty. I don’t question the
Water’s existence. Only quickly place the
Bucket of my heart underneath praying.
I woke up “in a state.” I cannot shake the foreboding I feel. It conjures up thoughts of very bleak times in my life.
But I start my day just like any other by popping out of bed, drinking strong coffee, sitting and opening my heart to the day.
Days like this I cannot run from or even slip out from under out of timidity, no matter how hard I try. The gloominess sticks to me. That is until I figure out what’s bothering me. I’ve learned, if I don’t slow down and pay attention to it, this mood will pitch a tent inside me, lurking there for as long as it takes. Eventually plundering my heart and mind. And if I’m not careful, my soul.
Shivering from the fear of it, I cede to the fact that I must not ignore it so some things won’t get done today. I resolve not to be overcome by the anxious ideas or allow my heart to be looted by what I cannot tease out. My thoughts like are tangled and knotted up in such a way that the only result is my head and heart ache. Jumbled thoughts, but some along these lines …
Why must women work so hard for less money than their male counterparts?
Why is the Church the most subtly bigoted place I go to in my entire week?
Why are so many Christian marriages “women as modern-day maids serving ‘grown up’ boys.”
Why don’t more women question these things and speak up.
Why do I get hurt by the subtle ways of discrimination in our culture that don’t change: the old boys club that excludes women historically from the organizations, clubs, pulpits, schools, boards, Presidential jobs of institutions, rock and roll bands, television, important movie roles, and so on?
Why is it so hard just to be equals? And why do women accept it? Why is this still true?
I’m not hurt for myself, but I feel a deep empathy for these women. And for our daughters who are growing up in this world.
The suffragists managed to vocalize their concerns and in time changed things. And yet, even as I write this things stay the same. In doing research for his review of the movie Made in Deganham, about the women strikers against Ford UK, Roger Ebert wanted to find out when equal pay for equal work first became the law in the United States.
“I didn’t discover what I expected. Only two weeks ago, a Republican filibuster in the U. S. Senate prevented passage of the Paycheck Fairness Act, which would have added teeth to measures for equal pay…” Here’s his full article.
Yeah, you read that right less than a month ago.
Why do I lose sleep, live with heartache, and write about this. Because it matters, to me.
Jesus
I have read a book recently that parallels the words and work of Jesus through the Gospels: Matthew, Mark, Luke and John. His spiritual journey, guiding the three, twelve, the 70 and all the people he met. Many many things have struck me, but here’s something stunning that’s relevant here.
There is a story that is found in all four books. That makes it striking right off. Simon the Leper and the Woman found in Matthew 26.6-16, Mark 14.3-10, Luke 7.36-50 and John 12.1-8.
In these stories these things are true: A woman (unnamed in three books or called a “sinner” and Mary, sister of Martha and Lazarus in the book of John.) used very expensive, perfumed oil, called Spikenard, to wash Jesus’ feet. She wept on his feet, knowing that he was to die. She was anointing his body for burial. The men in the room disregarded her (and her importance) saying she should have sold the oil for money and give it to the poor. Jesus said, not only did you NOT wash my feet when I came, or honor me treating me with any sort of revere, but you also do not know who this woman is. She will be remembered he said. Because they were calling her “sinner” and implying bad things about her, in one account he even tells a story of the creditor with two debtors, one for 500 and one for 150. He forgave them both equally. And then, in all except Luke) Judas betrays Jesus. Yeah, right then and there.
Jesus promised the woman a place in history for she has done the thing that called out to be done if one is attentive, ready and attentive.
All I can do is highlight the thing that stands out to me.
The nameless woman heard of Jesus somewhere, and believed that Jesus was the son of God and would soon die. She came to honor him. She wept over his upcoming death, anointed his body in an action of believing faith after which Jesus said she was forgiven.
The Disciples saw her come in and wanted to throw her out. Pointed out what a terrible choice she made. Scolded.
Judas rather, one of the twelve disciples who learned from the Rabbi for years, betrayed him for a few coins not believing. Not learning — seemingly — anything.
I do wonder, if women were at the table with the twelve, oh wait she was there. Not “welcomed” at the table with them as a guest, but … If women were in the discussion, affirmed and given similar choices and opportunities to men, how would the world be different? How would I be different? And you?
I believe it is women who have been most betrayed in this life. As over and over again in our society message are sent that diminish and demean. I believe that Jesus has a different message for women. It’s just that men (some, not all of course) just don’t see and hear the truth of Jesus message to the Church about how men and women relate.
More to come.
————————————————————-
Reading Jesus: A Writer’s Encounter with the Gospels, Mary Gordon, Pantheon Books, NY, 2009.
Today I read in the New York Times
about how little men are threatened by their [more successful] women.
Significant or otherwise,
he doesn’t want her
to pay for dinner.
Or drive him here or there. He insists
on opening the door. A pretense
as he drinks to her, because she pays for their sweet vacation
and the fancy car he drives.
But in bed he needs her to know
he’s the “man” and she’s
the “little woman.”
Yes, that’s the way he likes it
and needs
the game
to feel like a man.
I have to say it makes me wonder how often
his fear is comes into the pew?
Into the pulpit?
Into the meetings and the holy readings?
God made us human.
Whether Him or Her.
Woman and Man. In God’s image.
That image [I don’t think]
involves a penis.
We are simply people,
worthy.
People, beautiful.
We are people, unworthy
and messed up.
God made them
perfect.
Both
fell
into temptation. Yes,
both made that bed.
I wonder how long the Church plays
this game just to make Adam feel
like a big man?
I was asked to write some brief thoughts about the application of Philippians 2.1-11 to my life.
My thoughts are neither brief nor, sadly, do I see them applied very well thus far in my life. Thankfully, the journey of faith is a road slowly traveled and full of grace.
Melody
“Therefore if you have any encouragement from being united in Christ, if any comfort from his love, if any common sharing in the Spirit, if any tenderness and compassion, then make my joy complete by being like-minded, having the same love, being one in spirit and of one mind. Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit. Rather, in humility value others above yourselves, not looking to your own interests but each of you to the interests of others.
In your relationships with one another, have the same attitude of mind Christ Jesus had: Who, being the very nature of God, did not consider equality of God something to be used to his own advantage; rather, he made himself nothing by taking the very nature of a servant, being made in human likeness. And being found in appearance as a human being, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to death–even death on a cross!
Therefore God exalted him to the highest place and gave him the name above every name, that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue acknowledge that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.”
Paul’s letter to the Philippians.
Obviously one cannot compare their life, whether you are a spiritual person or not, in any way to what Jesus Christ, the Son of God, gave up — his stature in heaven with God the Father — and Jesus did that for you and me. And yet, that’s the irony right? And the beauty. We are so very human and yet in the words of the Apostle Paul in Philippians we are taught to behave so unnaturally, even supernaturally. And we can’t. We can’t do anything like that. A human life can’t possibly compare. What then?
Reread this section of Paul’s letter to the Philippians 2.1-11 in Today’s NIV (above).
Honestly, the Apostle Paul rubs me the wrong way, at times. Especially the way he seems to command the church to do and not do so many things. That I have issues with control is no secret. So, I struggle with Paul’s emphatic tone and his sometimes enigmatic letters full of instructions that are not always clear in their application today. (Just my opinion here.)
But I have come to respect Paul’s story; his passion, his purity of purpose, his agape love for each church that he started, his strong prayer life, and especially as it applies here, his willingness to make personal sacrifices every day for the cause of Christ. What he was instructing the Philippians to do, he most definitely lived out himself.
Writing from a prison cell, it is striking that he says “fulfill my joy” or “make my joy complete” (depending on the translation) by having “the same mind and the same love, by being of one spirit and intent on one purpose.” He’s not saying here’s a way to become a “cookie cutter Christian” thankfully. What he is saying emphatically is do this to be united! And he continues, be humble because it is impossible to be “one church” if you are living for yourself, for your own desires, agendas and needs; If you are constantly seeking those things that only create a better life for yourself, you are not united. And then, as if that were not clear enough he goes on to say don’t do anything out of selfishness and think of others as better than yourself. And if you do this, the result will be unity.
I’m thinking at this point: “Okay, no biggie. Have some humility. Live for others. Give up your “rights.” Be unselfish. Wow, I need to work on this!” I just haven’t had it put so emphatically before. It is as if the message of Christ depends on it. Unity. And I should want to live that way! I guess it’s time to spend some time reflecting on whether that is true in my life. I’m four verses in and I’m totally convicted that I rarely live as if others are more important me.
Incredibly to me, at this point Paul becomes gentle so I guess he has a softer side. I’ve judged him from the lists of dos and don’t in Corinthians.
In a poem he goes on to describe in beautiful words the utter humiliation of Christ for us — Christ’s descent from the throne of God to death as a human on a cross. That is the humility Paul challenges the church of Philippi to and that is our example — Christ chose humiliation. As Christ became human, he gave up being seen as God and emptied himself taking on the limitations of human flesh. He never ceased to be fully God, but for a time he actually gave up GLORY for us. If your mind isn’t blown at this point, well, you’re not fully taking it in. It’s mind-boggling. It is worth pondering a while over the Advent season. It’s incredible.
Christ became human for me and wants me to become humble and unified with other believers in order to be more like him? NT Wright, in Paul for Everyone, says that an inner life of unity seems unattainable. No kidding. But, as we mature these things (paraphrased) should be true about us:
“1 We are to be bringing our thinking into line with one another.
2 Know the Gospel is the the final aim, not simply unity. If “it” doesn’t align with the Gospel, we could be unified around Krispy Kreme donuts, but that’s not what Paul’s promoting.
3 We are to perform the extraordinary feat of looking at one another with the assumption that everyone else and their needs are more important than our own.”
Humility is hard. Humiliation is harder.
When Paul was writing about this idea to the church in Philippi, it must be said, that they didn’t hold a high view of humility. No one aspired to be humble or to humiliation in the Greek world. If I am totally honest, do I really hold that high a view of humility? Being humble is hard! When was the last time I gave up my rights? My power. That is a form of humility and I honestly do not even know. That’s not really esteemed in our culture too much. Paul says we are to regard others as higher than ourselves. And in case we’re still unclear, we are to voluntarily give up our rights (like Jesus.)
As a part of the bigger picture of Philippians, Paul says “True people of God are united by thinking of others as more important than themselves.”
These are difficult times. The recession has effected so many people, that if you happen to have kept your job you feel incredibly grateful! If you have lost a job or may have been forced by circumstance to live with family or a friend, you know you are one misstep away from potential disaster. Perhaps even from joining the most powerless in our society — the poor, the elderly, many children, victims of domestic violence, youth fleeing abusive homes, many immigrants working two or three jobs to get by. None of these groups of people have power or influence in society. They are definitely “the least of these.” Their lives are a struggle and at times unbearable. At the bottom of this list, rock bottom I think, are those that are have lost their home and live now on the streets.
We make assumptions about the homeless and never question them. For the most part we avert our eyes and walk quickly past. There are homeless downtown that are the “stereo-typical homeless person — male, impoverished, smelly panhandlers that smell like alcohol and are acting slightly off.” But, actually, the average age for the homeless in Dane County is nine years old. My youngest is nine and he’s just a kid lucky enough to live in a house. Why him?
1 degradation;2 the state of being disgraced; shame; 3 a humiliating condition or circumstance.
I cannot think of anything more degrading or humiliating than being homeless. Often, if we think of the homeless at all, we convince ourselves that they somehow deserve it. It’s not a clear thought and if we keep it ambiguous and undefined we don’t have to face it. But we probably think that somehow homeless people chose. I challenge that idea completely.
When you are homeless no one knows who you are or where you are. You have lost everything: your old life, important relationships, job safety, the security of a locked door, and more importantly being known by someone, giving and receiving love, feeling content, the goodwill of being in community or a family — They chose to give up all that to be a wanderer known by no one? With no history — “lost” to your family and society — invisible — and somehow you chose that? This idea is absurd and is based on our chosen ignorance. Even selfishness.
Yes, the truth about homelessness is that it makes us uncomfortable.
A few facts:
The top three reasons people are homeless are:
1 mental illness,
2 domestic violence,
3 inability to pay rent.
In Dane County in 2008:
3,894 people were served in emergency shelters.
3,636 were turned away.
More than three thousand children, teens, elderly, veterans, mothers and fathers, uncles, aunts, PEOPLE were turned away from shelter for lack of space and resources in Madison alone.
A Simple Story.
As a member of BH Downtown, I was recently asked for$ .75 by a panhandler just outside of the Majestic. I was disconcerted because this wouldn’t happen on the west-side of Madison and I was unsure what to do. But I was with my kids. So I dug in my pocket and gave it to him, mainly thinking we have so much and my kids know it. And I wanted to show them that generosity is important. (Subsequently I learned giving money to panhandlers in Madison is illegal.) Looking back I think it is laughable that they might learn anything from our giving up less than a dollar to a homeless person. There was no sacrifice and there was no lesson learned.
Actually, I have learned because as a member of a downtown Life Group I learned that there are “real” ways to help. (more later)
When it comes to the homeless in Madison, in the past I have consoled my aching conscience with a few dollars and moved on. And I spent some hours thinking, reading, fretting about the complexity of the homeless situation, growing ever more hopeless about resolving the grander issues of funding and public apathy.
But, being downtown every week, if I choose to see the homeless, they are there.
There is a group here in Madison that does see the homeless.
Free Food gathers once a week, at three o’clock in the afternoon on Sundays, at the top of State Street, bringing whatever food and goods they have and giving them away. Variations of this group have been doing this for years. They give what they have — any kind of food, sometimes new socks. And now that it is cold they are seeking hats, gloves, blankets and anything to help someone stay warm on the street. (If purchasing some of these things interests you, shoot me an email and I can connect to pick them up.)
As I’ve thought about the Apostle Paul’s challenge to give up yourself for Christ, I see the actions of this group as an example of what Paul is talking about. I cannot think of anything more humiliating than living on the street, not knowing your next meal will come from; perhaps only having water and a meal once a day. Being constantly cold. It sounds horrible.
Homeless people likely did not lose everything by choice, perhaps simply bad luck or a series of unfortunate circumstances. The less power you have the more difficult it is to regain it. Powerlessness begets powerlessness in America, that’s a fact.
Paul says regard others [the homeless, or anyone] as higher than yourself. Voluntarily give up your rights. One way to do this is to serve the humiliated. Seethem. Go to where they are. Listento their story. Be a friend. Or just be a meal. In these cold nights of Wisconsin winter you might even save someone’s life by providing a coat or blanket or warm meal.
If you want to help on any given Sunday you will find these good people giving away food and other resources. Week in and week out, over the years, people have given up their time, money and things for the lowest and most humiliated in our city.
So even as I write these words in the comfort of my heated home and my belly growling just a bit from “forgetting” to eat dinner, I am convicted. In my humanity I cannot do anything and I don’t really even want to sometimes. It’s unnatural to put yourself in a situation like that. And, it is moving into winter and Sunday afternoons are cozy family times at home. My mind is full of dozens of reasons why I don’t really want or need to help out.
But we are instructed to behave supernaturally. Jesus Christ, the Son of God, gave up equality with God for you and me. That’s the rub. So I need to perhaps get cold and uncomfortable. Go be something more than I really am, because Christ did so much more for me. Not because I owe Him but because I am so grateful and humbled.
Do nothing out of selfish ambition
or vain conceit. Rather,
in humility value others above
yourselves, not looking
to your own interests
but to the interests of others.
I am challenged by these words of Paul to be more like Christ. Jesus was known for giving up his rights for the sake of the world. What am I known for?
And you?
———————————————————————————
Paul for Everyone: The Prison Letters, Tom Wright, Westminster John Knox Press, 2002.
The NIB Commentary, Volume XI, Abingdon Press, 2000
Very early in the morning before the sun is up and hours before there is noise
in my sleeping house,
I rise.
As I creep down the stairs,
I hope that no-one hears them creak loudly.
After I have made the blackest coffee, it sits hot and comforting between my cold hands.
I sip it as I sit, read and pray. Pondering things that I do not understand.
Laying down my fears
as if by writing them, somehow I will let them go.
//
I stretch out my legs for a moment and my cat jumps
and sits on them forcing me to settle, just as I was going to be done she forces me to sit back and to truly stop my spirit, just when I think I am finished there.
At this point I am not inclined to sit any more, all–too–ready–to–get–on–with–my day.
//
Though when I wake, my heart is full of longing to sit with Them, waiting
to hear the sweet whispers of the Father, Son and Spirit.
But soon my restlessness–overcomes–my–eagerness
and hunger to Be With.
By my heavy, sleeping cat on my legs I am suddenly
s l o w e d–d o w n; just for a moment,
I suppose, I will linger. Suddenly, gone are anxious thoughts and my busyness;
I let it all briefly go.
Forced by my sleeping cat with her heavy weight holding me down.
//
I am reminded
God always longs for me.
God waits for me.
To settle in This quiet presence.
To sit with my questions.
To set aside my wonderment of the pain that surrounds.
To feel the awe of being with a Father that wants me.
There, as my legs fall asleep I am struck by how difficult it is for me to sit.
To receive Holy company.
To receive a Holy welcome.
To settle in and completely BE with Them.
It is as if my cat with her wish to be close to me, to take a nap on my stretched–out–legs,
is the Spirit’s hold, gentle but firm, full of love. Telling me to stay.
//
I am uncomfortable, but my cat sleeps on. I wiggle my toes to get the blood flowing again.
She blinks sleepily at me. She is annoyed when I jostle her a bit too much.
My cat just wants to be with me; she has no expectation, no need, no fear. She has complete trust. Stay, stop squirming she says with a hard glaring look and her nails beginning to claw my leg.
At the end before I quit completely, I was a messy drunk because by then I had to drink a lot to be messed up. More than I want to admit I had occasions of being a mess, stumbling to bed. And many, many Sundays I sat through church with the world’s worst hangover. My faith was shot.
I don’t really know why I was in church, except that I was still keening inside for God to help me. I am glad I was there, in the end. Thankful!
Those days were vile, don’t misunderstand. But I do not feel ashamed. I’ll tell you why in a minute. Anyone who regularly reads my blog also knows I also suffer from major depression and that too wrecked my life. You’re basically non-functioning when it is at its worst.
But I’m talking about why I am not ashamed of suffering from depression or of being a recovering alcoholic.
Why should I be ashamed?
I recently told a group of new friends (They are perhaps more like close acquaintances that I believe will become friends eventually) about my years of depression. I told them quite matter-of-fact, asking for prayer for the process of slowly stepping down from the anti-depressant I take. Afterwords, one of them came up to me and whispered out of the side of their mouth, full of embarrassment and clearly full of fear, “I struggle with depression too!”
In that moment I saw how frightening and risky it was for them to tell me. And I realized all of a sudden that I did not feel that self-consciousness or shame. I quite accept my lot in life. Should I feel ashamed? Am I supposed to be, because I’m a Christ-follower, perfect? I think too often people feel that same reticence. They fear judgment.
This is the real deal. Life is not perfect. Life is what happens when you’re making other plans right? I don’t know who said that? But don’t get me wrong, I have not always felt this way — free and unashamed.
I have been there — Where I could not say these words in one sentence: I– am– an– alcoholic. That four-word sentence took me five years to say out loud and two more to another human being. (Yes, I talk to myself.) And now that I have, I am not going back to live in that shame. So, no I don’t look at the person who shared with me in any judgmental way. I understand the fear.
It took me almost two months to admit to anyone, including Tom for five weeks, that I was depressed. There is an incredible bias or self-conscious reluctance (for Christians especially) to admit to the illness of depression. I run into people all the time. Well forget it. I am not ashamed.
I’ve talked a lot here about alcoholism and family history. Depression runs in families too. Both of these things are simply my Thing. My challenge. My opportunity. Other people have other Things.
As a Christian, what I hope people will hear the WOW in my story— the thing is that God is healing me! Yes, that is what I said. That is what I believe. There’s a psychological aspect to getting past/through/beyond these things, of course. Doctors have played an important part. Medication. Finding balance. But it came down to believing this simple statement:
You are the one Jesus loves.
My father sent me a postcard with this written on it, when I had the first episode of major depression eight years ago. It was framed when I got it and clearly very important to him. He had taken it right off his desk, stuck it in a padded envelope, wrote on a post-it that he loved me, and mailed it off to me. The glass didn’t survive the journey, but the postcard did. And over the years that statement has stayed with me.
When I read that day that “You are the one Jesus loves” I recoiled. My stomach lurched. Because, at that time in my life, I did not believe in the claims of Jesus I don’t think. I believed in the historical figure and in most of what the Bible said. But, as for Jesus, the human and the son of God, who gave up life in a gruesome way FOR ME, well, I did not believe it. I never believed I was loved growing up. Not by God, not by my parents. And definitely I hated myself.
So the healing that came in discovering how much Jesus actually loved me, well … as you can imagine that changed me. Changed my life. Changed my belief system. Changed how I interacted with and treated others. Changed my priorities.
I am a different person.
I not only like myself, but today I believe I am loveable. I guess psychiatrists would say that my “self-esteem” is stronger. Yay! It’s true. No wonder my mood is better. But in all seriousness, knowing — believing — that Jesus would have given his life for me, and me alone, only me, well, that’s incredible!
[This wasn’t one of those miracles that happened quickly. It took lot a of Bible study, times of prayer, listening to and working hard with my Shrink, giving up shit (drinking, smoking, being mean to people, compulsive spending, obsessive self-centeredness, … still working on perfectionism and a lot of other things.)
What I mean to say is this process took years. Deep times in the word of God (ie. Bible). Time with friends in long conversations. Opening my heart to love from others – especially Tom.]
So, no I am not ashamed of my ills, damn it! (Yeah, Tom thinks I should give up cussing for Jesus too. It’s the last cheap drug to go aside from caffeine.)
You see, all of these thing they are a “weakness” of a sort that humble me and help me stay connected to the true source of everything. And for that, I am oh — so — grateful!
And in that magical place where I know Everything,
I am Powerful.
My prayers are Answered.
I am Whole.
The future holds no surprises, for I am filled with
Visions telling me All.
As I walk the streets of Perfect Knowledge I asked
what’s left?
After Total Acceptance
Complete Understanding,
Perfection and Glory
what’s left?
I have no Need.
No Confession.
No Sorrows.
No Desire.
No Curiosity.
No Thirst.
No Need and All Knowledge is in fact Unbearable.
In that Dream Land, I found myself
Longing to Wake Up
to My Life, where my days and nights are Full of Questions.
Where I wonder about Almost Everything and every day
still hope for Perfection.
Sure, I shake my fist at God because I remember that Place Without
Hate, Pain or Suffering.
Here Without Complete Understanding, I cannot imagine how
it will come again.
I can only
Rest in Him.
And be grateful for the Absoluteness of My Unknowing.
[in singular] a reassessment, especially one that results in changes being made.
I am thinking about many things including the future of this blog. I was particularly challenged by a conversation this weekend. My sister questioned why I “live so much in the past?” She was wishing for me that I would be able to “get on with my life.”
Long before that conversation, I have asked for a clear insight about what is next for me. I have been seeking — praying — listening.
Rethinking What I Know about Myself.
I need to know that my life contributes to a grander and larger story than simply my own.
I have certain passions — God-given, I believe. Most notable photography. biblical studies. women. any injustice.
One spiritual gift I have seems to be Mercy. My heart breaks over the corruption and greed in some that leads to poverty and pain for others. Over persecuted people groups. Over homophobia, racism, sexism. Over anyone being homeless.
My voice, in writing, is loud and clear and sometimes even challenging. Out loud I am meek and unclear, which I experienced this weekend to my dismay.
Rethinking Biblical Translation & Interpretation.
I have a hunger to understand scripture for myself. Dare I say this? It frightens me that so much of (most or all) biblical interpretation throughout history was done by men. It gnaws at me from inside out.
I am not a raging neofeminist or even a strong proponent of a feminist or liberation theology. (I guess I don’t know enough about them to say one way or another.) Simply put, things have been stacked against us:women.
A patriarchal society& culture brought us the message of the scriptures that we live our lives by.
Another group of men translated it into the language for “everyone.”
And, then in most churches today men stand up and interpret scripture every Sunday and all week long.
“The Bible has shaped the life of the church in a way that nothing else has done and Christians today are the product of the history of its interpretation.” 1
Why should I trust their translations and interpretations categorically without question? This is simply foolish, in my opinion. And still I pray for a spirit of humility — that I would be a fertile ground. I ask why do I think these things and if my motives are wrong or I am simply being foolish in my thinking, that this thinking would change. And, I have thought of many responses to this conundrum, from applying to be an unpaid intern at my church in biblical hermeneutics, I would hope, to bring a feminine voice to the teaching being done, to going to seminary.
Rethinking My Role.
As I seriously consider the perception of being a “woman of leisure” which I wrote about recently, I get mired in my own frustrations and can’t pull together clear thoughts. Because it is emotional for me! I don’t care about the money (perhaps I should) but I want respect. And I know if I don’t respect women who stay home, then how can I expect others to respect me?
And before you email me about the value of being at home with kids, know that I’ve had more than ten years to ponder this subject. I don’t need “encouragement” in that regard. It is an incredibly complicated personal decision for every women and I do respect the difficult place women (so much more than men) are in. So if you are a man, butt out. No one can make this choice for a woman or explain away her doubt, fear, aspirations, goals, or desire for “accomplishment” or get why she cries to be away from her babies.
Recently, First Lady Michelle Obama was named Most Powerful Woman of the Year, beating out heads of state, chief executives and celebrities in Forbes magazine’s annual listing. Some women came out saying Ms. Obama talks about herself as a wife and mother and were questioning how that makes her influential? Gr…..
But I digressed into an issue that is only a side story in my search for a place to make an impact and contribution.
And I am still left thinking at this point, is this blog much ado about nothing? Is it time to stop?”
Rethink Everything.
It is difficult for me, at times, to look back over the last decade of my life. In human terms — quitting a meaningful, challenging job, succumbing to clinical depression, becoming addicted to alcohol, and straying far away from the LORD — it was all failure on my part. And yet, it was through those experiences, as mortifying as they are and were to me, that I have come to recognize many things.
I am actually grateful to have been brought so low. I can only hope that I am still learning and am becoming a person useful to the LORD. I had to trudge through the violence of my childhood and my feeling of betrayal and disappointment towards my parents — and forgive them. This has opened me up to a new life.
Christ’s broken body for me was real and meaningful in a new way never understood until my humiliation. And gratefully I can say, this drove me to my knees. I went from someone who felt she was competent, powerful, knowledgeable and puffed up with my importance to a broken reed, hardly knowing up from down. Alcohol devastated me — became the thing that I lived for. The passion, the dreaming, the hoping, the living stopped.
I am so grateful to not have lost everything. It is humbling to sit here in the comfort of my home knowing that I am loved by my husband and adored by my children. Undeserved, as I know how close I came to losing all that I now hold dear and even my life.
As I consider what the future holds for me I want to be fertile ground. Looking back, mostly glad to have fallen. To have learned. As I look ahead there is no perfect plan. I must trust while serving, not knowing the future. Trust that I have a contribution to make, but if that “thing” the “plan” never happens, hope that I will continue to be grateful and if I am never made whole, still I will ask for it. And hope. And stay open.
===================================
I have more than fifty poems I have written here. This one, is called addict.
Being an addict catches me by surprise. Today,
seemingly innocent things — a drink, a smoke, a purchase, food, even exercise can become
urgent
need.
In the time that it takes to feel a flash of happiness, sadness or regret;
less than 60 seconds of my life
and I remember,
I am an addict. How could I have forgotten?
Today I must ask what brought this on?
For tomorrow I must fill the need
with OTHER.
As for yesterday, I can only look back and remember
I am an addict, but I am stronger than my need.
And as for this moment — I know I am an addict;
I am. I was. I always will be, always will be
an addict.
ADDICT written april 9, 2009 by melody harrison hanson
Those that have no background in addiction look at the word ADDICT and the word alcoholic as kind of wicked and weak. Face it, our culture doesn’t understand. But if you’ve been there, if you live there, if you love someone who does or has you know exactly what I mean. And I thank you for understanding.
1 Bray, Gerald. Biblical Interpretation: Past & Present, 1996, IVP
it’s fall and yet i walk about the yard in shorts, constantly aware of the heat. cool enough. gorgeous leaves, made of reds, yellows, browns chewed into smaller pieces, set aside for the spring. the grass is still green and growing, fighting. for it has something more to show for itself. as i blow the remaining sticks and other fall debris i wonder if it is tomorrow that will bring the cold?
it’s fall and yet the windows are open, as i sip a cold clausthaler and listen to the neighbors’ rowdy party music, i long hop the fence. i’m not finished with summer yet. somehow the heat makes it linger on. the nights are starry and the moon was bright last night. with the windows open a perfect sleep comes. down comforters likely out too soon but feel anticipatory. as i put the fire pit aside to mow, perhaps the last of the fall, i hope we use it again!
one last fire, outside before the morning dew on the lawn freezes and i wish again for a heated garage. i blow the leaves out of the garage — again — and again as they seem to fight me. wondering how it got this way, again. the indiscriminate pile-up of bikes, discarded furniture, forgotten projects, and garage sale finds all manage to keep it something other than what it was supposed to be.
and as i sweep the summer’s storm of activity away i think of winter wishing, wondering, what will it hold? if summers are for friendship, and water toys, laughter, smoky grills, and cold beer what does winter’s promise hold? for those of us who hold on tight to the warm weather and outdoor chores, the possibilities and hope that come from growing things. Somehow, i must allow winter to come.
then i will settle in to short nights and freezing toes in the morning. pull out the wool sweaters, accepting that summer is fully gone.
And isolation breeds isolation which creates the stigma and discrimination we need to eliminate. The brain is an organ — just like the heart, liver and kidneys — and we need to encourage everyone to treat it as such from both a medical and social perspective.
If are new to my blog, I have clinical depression. The first time I experienced the REAL, genuine, gut-wrenching, debilitating, life altering, horrible, sink hole depression started in the Spring or early Summer of 2002.
Each person has a birthright of joy to reclaim. — Foust
What I didn’t know.
When I fell into my worst (and first) case of clinical depression eight years ago, neither Tom or I knew a thing about real depression. What I mean by real is not that there is “fake’ but clinical depression is different than mood swings or melancholy. I have since studied and I could give you an ear full on the topic. But I won’t. This is some of what I have learned over the last eight years.
One of the most impressive things I learned over the years is that you have to fight it. And it’s a fight lemme tell you, at certain points for your own life. Sometimes it’s fight someone who loves you takes on as well. You have to want something better. That’s difficult when you are so depressed that you can’t sleep, eat, talk, move, and lost all pleasure for life — but if you have received professional help to get out of that place, THEN you have to fight AGAINST the next time.
I have worked hard for the emotional, physical, and spiritual healing that I’ve achieved. All the while I am confident that this is going to be a lifelong struggle. I have a propensity toward it, this illness that involves the mind, body and the soul.
That is not true of everyone. Some lucky people only have situational depression where a life event like a divorce, illness, death, birth of a baby, job loss, or other tragedy occurs and we become depressed in response to it but you don’t have regular episodes for the rest of your life.
Depression affects how you feel. It changes your thinking in crazy ways. And it causes you to behave in a way quite unlike yourself. These can be a clue for a friend or partner that something isn’t right. If not dealt with it can lead to a variety of emotional and physical problems. And eventually, in scary cases, you may come to feel as if life isn’t worth living. You most definitely lose sight of the belief that you have a right to joy.
Major Depressive Disorder is the leading cause of disability in the U.S. for ages 15-44.
Major depressive disorder affects about 14.8 million American adults, or about 6.7 percent of the U.S. population age 18 and older in a given year.
While major depressive disorder can develop at any age, the median age at onset is 32.
Major depressive disorder is more prevalent in women than in men.
I will never forget a relative** (changed to protect the ignorant) calling when she heard about my depression, saying,
“I’m sorry that you feel so sad.”
My heart sank. Depression is not sadness or the blues or even a bad mood.
The Stigma of Getting Help. Let others help you.
Contrary to what many people believe, depression it is not personal weakness that you can “snap out of.” Depression is a chronic illness that may require the treatment of a Psychiatrist and the counseling from a Psychologist. A medical doctor should not be diagnosing it, unless it is to send you to psychiatrist. I would not (now) trust a Medical Doctor to treat depression with medication. I have learned that the medications are so unique in their effects on each person, that it takes someone specially trained to help you called a Psychiatrist.
Some liken it to diseases like diabetes or high blood pressure that are serious but treatable. For me it feels more like a cancer in remission, life threatening but you can fight it. But it is true that most depression is treatable.
It is easy to get discouraged with the diagnosis. Easy to begin to feel you will never be free of the stigma of depression. You will never be happy. That is I thought for a long time, when I was in weekly therapy working my ass off in counseling. That is some of the hardest mental work I’ve ever done, not to mention emotional and even physical. You have to be committed and even when I was there were lengths of time when I had to take a break from weekly therapy. I simply wanted to enjoy a month or so of feeling okay. Then something would trigger, and I’d be back at it. My work was on the past, learning to rewrite the negative tapes in my head, attacking the lies. Waking up grateful. On taking risks and daring to succeed.
As I mentioned I have received a lot of help from psychological counseling and eventually at a dangerous point, began to take medication.
I do not want this to be a life sentence. I have worked hard. But there’s also a spiritual aspect that cannot be overlooked. And as a person who believes in the message of Jesus, I have disciplined myself to be open to the Holy Spirit and I have quit a few bad habits because of that including admitting that I am an alcoholic July 17, 2008. My last alcoholic stupor… (that’s it’s own story. Check the TAGS.)
Through writing poetry I have made inroads into my Life Story and discovered how it made me who I am. I have discovered a lot, admitted to anger that I didn’t know was there. The opposite side of the coin of depression is anger, but I thought I didn’t have any anger. Perhaps most important, I worked on forgiveness and on being a more honest person.
Over the years I have had a lot of help and support. Number one being my husband Tom who not only carried the load of a full-time job but during those very difficult times he did everything else. I have a number of incredible friends who are always right there when things are really bad.
So many people tell me how amazing it is that I am so frank and all I can do is thank them. Alcoholics are liars. Addicts are liars. Whether you lie to yourself or to everyone else, you convince yourself of many things that are untrue. I protect myself from that by being brutally honest. I have worked very hard to give up the destructive things that were impacting my body for the worse. I will always be an alcoholic. I’m not ashamed of that. I’m strong enough to have quit and let me tell you, there are a lot of people out there who struggle with drinking habits but are unwilling to consider giving it up. I get that. It took me about five years to admit it finally.
What I’ve learned.
So beyond what I’ve already said I came up with a list of eight things that I have learned along the way. If you don’t suffer from depression, you likely know someone who does and it is hard to know what to do. Perhaps these thoughts will offer some help and hope.
1] Each person must find the healing path for themselves.
(with the help of professionals, family and friends.)
Because I’m a curious person and I want to help myself, I read a lot and have learned there are many, many opinions for how to get help or to help yourself. There are new things to try all the time and you have to keep working until you find what works for you. New to me is Yoga something that I have never done. Up until hearing about Amy Weintraub (see below) I had not heard Yoga described as a practice for healing from depression. I have tried an eight week class in Mindfulness and found it to be terrific, but like any discipline it must be maintained for it ongoing benefits. Exercise of any sort is the same way. Research shows that exercise is equal to or more effective than medications for treating depression. Both exercise or medication must be combined with the therapy work of a counselor.
What I do know is that I do not want this struggle my whole life. But I accept that I may never be free of depressive episodes. I know this. If this is the case then my ability to work on being healthy will be important. My commitment to managing the pain also important. Perhaps I will have to work on acceptance of it so that I don’t get resentful or bitter. I think it is important to prepare either way.
2] You can learn to feel it coming.
Though you can’t pull yourself up by your bootstraps when clinically depressed, YOU CAN LEARN TO FEEL IT COMING. And before it completely takes over, you can fight back. But how does one fight back? Keep reading.
3] You should listen to your body and take care of it. Also, listen to your mind.
Get back to counseling. Sometimes just a check-in with your Psychologist can help get back on track. For me the voice of reason asking me “What’s the worst that can happen?” or “And you believed that, why?” is good! Logical questioning helps me immensely. Tom is also able to do this for me now, but not at first. I’m stronger now so I “hear” him differently.
Make sure you are exercising regularly.
Make sure you are eating regularly and well (fruits & veggies, protein, whole grains.) I crave sugar and it’s the absolute worst for my moods. I stop eating meals and binge on bad things. It’s true. When those habits pop up again it’s a sure sign something is up.
4] Take care of our soul — whatever that means for you.
Get back to church (if you go) no matter what it takes.
Pick up the phone. Get together with a friend; one on one is best.
Learn to be a friend even when you aren’t well. I was completely knocked out recently by the realization that my good friend was also suffering and in my complete focus on myself I didn’t even know it. We got together and laughed, cried and hugged, and listened to one another. It was a profound lesson for me that one can heal by giving and receiving.
Perhaps the next suggestion should be first, underlined and italicized.
5] Don’t be afraid to admit that you are depressed.
Tell a trusted person what’s really going on. This is sometimes the first and most difficult step. My pride, my fear, my feelings of failure and personal responsibility for “allowing” it to come back — the lies that crowd in — are hard to overcome, but when I finally admit what’s going on it is such a relief. A trusted person will help you walk through getting help. I guarantee you will get to a point where it gets more and more difficult the longer you wait. Once you start to fight back against what is happening to you, you will get better. And fighting is good and necessary. Do talk to your spouse, partner or a parent. Anyone who has walked with you through life’s challenges.
It isn’t wise to tell an acquaintance or a friend on the periphery of your life because you will be disappointed by their inability to stick with you. It is not because they are bad people or even that they don’t care, but because they just cannot be there.
Don’t let pride get in the way. Need is humbling. But it may come down to a life or a death.
Your friends cannot help you if you are unwilling to tell them. People live busy fractured lives. Good, caring people rush from one activity to the next, especially in the Christian community. So busing doing, slowing down to notice you is difficult. It’s simple a fact of American culture. Tell a friend.
If someone tells you they plan to take their own life, no matter who they are to you ALWAYS believe them. Get them help.
6] Repeat after me.
I have intentionally written this in the first person. (Tom always has to remind me. Yep, every single time…) Say it with me now:
I am not responsible for my depression coming or returning.
Depression is an illness, not a weakness or character flaw or sin. It is not a spiritual mistake.
I will be “happy” some day!
7] Work on your relationships when you are not struggling.
Life brings all sorts of people to us. The ones that will stick with you when you are at your lowest or “worst” are the ones that we can be investing in when we are at our best. Never forget that the people in your life need you as much as you need them. Remember the corny phrase “You have to be a friend to have a friend.” Well, as silly as that sounds it is true.
I hope my life will include months and some day years where I am healthy and my depression is in “remission.” I want to pour myself into the people I love.
Depression has given me a sense for people that I never had before, or at least an empathetic ear. I never ask “how are you?” unless I have time to hear how they are doing. Once the answer took three hours. Sometimes it is just a hug.
People are hurting all around us. They have physical trials and pain. They live most of their lives alone or lonely. They hurt and I will never know that if I don’t ask. You will never know unless you ask, and mean it. Unless you notice the people in your life and push back when they say “I’m fine” you won’t be able to show them that you heard them.
8] It is important to have a creative outlet or a hobby that you love.
There is a woman in my neighborhood that I don’t know well, but I enjoy very much. She has Multiple Sclerosis. She uses her blog to chart her illness’ progress and to write about something that she loves, which also nourishes and heals, which is FOOD. It arose out of her wish to pay attention to her body and her healing. She says on her blog:
“I am working with what I am given, trudging through difficulties without turning away.”
I love that. That’s why I write about my depression. That’s why I blog. I want to encourage others and I need to be continuously learning and reminding myself of the progress. By writing I make discoveries about myself. I can celebrate the journey I am on and not turn away from it. I can tell the truth.
But I also have my photography which has been an incredible place to express myself, even on the worst days. When I feel so badly that I don’t pick up the camera, that’s an alert.
My Complete Honesty Now.
When the clinical depression is at its worst, it is hell — It saps your energy, your self-esteem, your passion for life, your decision-making ability and steals everything that makes you unique. It is a liar and a thief. A betrayer. (I have some powerful poems about it.) Here’s a powerful one .
I Am Destruction
I wake with the familiar headache.
Deeply tired. My bones in protest.
Emotions already chafing; dazzling, fluorescent, raw. Ablaze.
Coffee the first panacea of the day.
Sip by sip, its power over me if not to heal, then to awaken.
Slowly flooded by familiar disappointment.
Weary, I begin to See myself. I am Destruction.
I am Broken Promises wielding their power.
The surge of rage, justified.
It hurts.
My body adjusting to an awareness
of this old enemy within.
Destruction’s impact yet unknown.
Fury toward the innocent who contribute to the chaos
of my life and toward, the hell inside me.
10/27/08
But I have learned, over the years, how to live with depression and “manage” it. I do believe this strategy is the only hope for me and perhaps something here will help you or someone else. That is my hope.
Be well, friends.
Melody
I recently learned about Amy Weintraub who worked to cure her own clinical depression over time by practicing yoga. She tells her story in her book Yoga for Depression. I can’t wait to read it. The thought that I might be free from depression some day; I do not believe it if I am completely honest with you. I am a realist when it comes to dealing with pain. Pain just is. And so I have imagined the diagnosis of clinical depression as a life sentence from which there is no long-term cure. Unless I can find something more to help or experience a modern-day miracle life will be challenging to manage. Who knows, perhaps yoga. As I said, search until you find what works.
My definition of clinical depression was from the Mayo Clinic.
If you suspect that you or someone you care about is that depressed, check-out the list of symptoms which you should have experienced for more than two weeks. And get help.
In my dream, I experience a cluster of events all surrounding my father and his behavior toward me. Decisions that he makes, that he doesn’t bother to tell me about, though they change my life. They embarrass me. They scare me. And most of all they make me so angry that I am shouting. Screaming at him. Spittle flies. My breath catches in my throat. I am shaking. I am choking on bile and rage. I scream: “Look at me! SEE ME!”
And then along with my mother, her look back impassive, nonchalantly he walks away.
I wake with pain behind both eyes, daggers. pointing. through my retinas out the front of my face I am sure. Heart aching. I can’t do anything about it. Slowly the rage slips away to wherever it goes in between Rage Dreams.
Our tears so blind our eyes that we cannot see our mercies.
-- John Flavel (1627-1691)
The thoughts by Dr. Parker Palmer below are beautifully expressed and echo my experience with clinical depression. If you’ve never suffered, it may enlighten or expand your notions and ability to empathize. Reading it was a comfort to me and perhaps it will be to you, as well, if you have suffered.
I also have a poem I wrote a while back about being in the middle of clinical depression titled “Sink Hole.”
How could depression lead to a richer spiritual life?
“I can answer this question only after the fact, because in the midst of severe clinical depression I have never felt anything redeeming about it, spiritually or otherwise. But when I emerge back into life, several things become clear.
* One is that the darkness did not kill me, which makes all darknesses more bearable—and since darkness is an inevitable part of the cycle of spiritual life (as it is in the cycle of natural life) this is valuable knowledge.
* Two, depression has taught me that there is something in me far deeper and stronger and truer than my ego, my emotions, my intellect, or my will. All of these faculties have failed me in depression, and if they were all I had, I do not believe I would still be here to talk about the experience. Deeper down there is a soul, or true self, or “that of God in every person” that helps explain (for me, at least) where the real power of life resides.
* Three, the experience of emerging from a living hell makes the rest of one’s life more precious, no matter how “ordinary” it may be. To know that life is a gift, and to be grateful for that gift, are keys to a spiritual life, keys that one is handed as depression yields to new life.
Sinkhole
the woman thought to herself,
what’s really important?
[some days I wake up so lost I can’t remember
why I got up the day before;
what mattered enough to make
me want to get up?]
the woman told herself
breathe, just breathe in.
exhale, do it because you can.
[I haven’t had a day like this in a long time.
such a long time that it almost hurts worse
than before when the bad days
were constant.]
the woman laid down, her skin hurt
she gave in, just for a moment, an hour.
thinking perhaps if I sleep
this feeling will flee, and it will almost be
as if it never happened.
[I know from experience
you can NEVER give in to it.
depression is like a Sink Hole.
FIGHT, get up. Don’t let it win.]
the woman thought to herself
and took a breath.
and another, and accepted
again,
that this was a fight, but it was her fight.
and one that she wanted to win.
Logic & Imagination 