You can't see them, but you know they're there. They make sure of that. Sometimes they begin their work in small, subtle ways. Sometimes they come roaring in like a hungry bear just waking from a long hibernation. They take pleasure in the kill no matter their tactic as they destroy your motivation, your focus, your ability to comprehend and maintain some semblance of normalcy. As the minutes tick by and your energy drains, they take pleasure in knowing each time you fake a smile or a laugh, all you really want to do is curl up in bed and cry or sleep for a hundred years. They attack men and women alike, older and younger as the days go by, and because they are invisible, they are often dismissed by those that do not fight them off themselves. The medical professionals lump them all into one category called "chronic pain," but for those of us who battle them every single day, they are invisible assassins.
Mine began plaguing me several years ago in the form of an inflammatory disease called Costochondritis. This is when the cartilage between the ribs becomes irritated and so inflamed that even the smallest amount of pressure can feel like a jolt of electricity is being sent through my body. Even wearing a bra can be intolerable on days when it's bad. One time, my dad poked me in the ribs because he didn't know I was having a day and whatever happened on my face and to my body must have scared the living daylights out of him because he just froze as his eyes bugged out. I turned white as a sheet and my eyes filled with tears, and my mother hastily explained why what he had just done was the wrong thing to do. It comes and goes. I'm happy to say it is an infrequent occurrence these days, but when it does come around, it definitely camps out for a few days and likes to be as strong a presence as possible.
Lately, I've been dealing with some unexplained nerve pain. A neurologist I went to a while back said it was Fibromyalgia. I knew it wasn't. My new Neuro knew it wasn't. It's idiopathic, meaning no one can figure out the source or cause, which 40% of chronic nerve pain is. I don't know if she told me that in the hope of making me feel better about it, but it didn't. Didn't make me feel worse, but it definitely didn't make me feel better. All I know is that I have certain spots on both arms, hands, my back, and my left leg that are sensitive to the touch. When I say sensitive, I mean to the point that even washing my hands brought me to tears because the simple feeling of a gentle stream of water on them made my bones feel like they were shattering. Still does at times. So I stand in the bathroom and cry until it's out of my system, collect myself, and go back out to rejoin life. I don't do it to be deceitful, I do it because, frankly, I don't want to dwell on it, I don't want to complain, and no one can fix it for me anyway, so why bring it up?
As of this morning, I'm on day four of waking up with deep nerve pain in my left tricep. It literally feels like fingers are reaching into my arm and trying to pull the muscle from the bone. I'm exhausted. I'm sad. I'm...so sad. There are things I want to do with my life, and for some reason, God is letting me go through this right now, leading me down this path that seems so contrary to the path I want to be going down. I don't quite get it. But that's not the reason why I wanted to write this post.
We talk to dozens of people throughout our days, our weeks. Be aware of people. Be kind to people. I promise you that those in your life who make you smile the most, who go out of their way to be helpful or kind are often the ones who are hurting the most, and they're the ones who are the best at hiding it. That's just how it seems to work out. Just...love one another and have patience. We're all so busy rushing around and it's only going to get worse as the holidays approach.
Don't judge people based on what you think you know.
Breathe.
Relax.
Love.
As we like to say at CenterPoint, go be a blessing. You don't know who needs it today.
Showing posts with label personal. Show all posts
Showing posts with label personal. Show all posts
Tuesday, October 24, 2017
Monday, October 31, 2016
The Cute Girl at the Gym
How many of us feel, on a normal day, that we look good? How many of us feel like we'll pass but get no high marks? How many of us think we look like we rolled out of bed at 2 a.m. with one eye sealed shut by sleepy goo and the other one wide open with the pupil dilated for no good reason all day? If you're like most women, you fall in the middle. You feel okay in what you're wearing. Your hair is fine. Your make up, if you chose to wear make up at all, doesn't look like it was done by a three-year-old so, yay! Overall win for you! What about when you go to the gym? Yeah...totally different story.
Every time I go, I look at myself in those huge stupid mirrors on the other side of the room and hear this little voice in my head that says I don't belong there. Because, you know, the gym is for skinny beautiful people who really just go because they're narcissistic and like to watch their muscles flex in those evil mirrors and make kissy faces at their own reflections. Before you tell me I'm wrong, I'll beat you to it by saying I know that is not the case. Always.
I went to the gym tonight for the first time since getting my heart monitor on three weeks ago, and boy did my body feel it. I was sweating, my round, bean shaped face was red, I was panting like Tom Hiddleston had just come in the room, I had a bandana on my head to cover my sweat-drenched hair that makes me look even more balding than I really am. I mean...messy, gross, and not feeling all too great about myself. But I was there. I kept telling myself that. I was there, and that mattered.
And then I saw her.
Here I am, this four-foot-eleven-inch tomato doubled over on a glutes machine as I try to push and extend, the wheezing coming out of my mouth reminiscent of a chain smoker on her death bed, and this petite little blonde girl walks over near my station. She's got the classic all black ensemble of skin tight yoga pants and black sports tank. Her hair (which was totally dyed, I'm sure) was curled in that way some women can do, making it look effortless and natural even though it would take me at least five hours to get it done right and then it would fall pin straight five minutes later. Her make up was done beautifully and she had ruby red lips that glittered when the unnaturally bright lights above her caught the top coat of gloss she'd applied at one point.
I hate you, was the first thought that ran through my mind, subsequently and immediately followed by, I hate myself. For once, I was able to get my thoughts out of that dark place fairly quickly and direct them to a more healthy place: back on the girl. What? It was healthier for me at the moment. I scowled at her with my inner Gremlin, thinking, Really? You have to come here looking like that when the rest of us feel like gross piles of slime? I actually stewed in my irritation for the rest of the thirty minute circuit I was on, watching every male head turn in her direction when she passed them, blissfully unaware. It wasn't until I was driving home that grace tried to edge its way into my heart.
Once upon a time, I had a friend who could not do anything menial without looking cute. I mean, cute outfit, cute hair, full on makeup. She literally could not leave her apartment if these things were not in place, and it was because she had so little confidence in herself. I was one of the lucky few to see her without all her trappings (pun fully intended) and got to see how vulnerable, uncertain, and uncomfortable she was in her own skin. When she was all done up, even to go do laundry, she was a totally different person. She was sure of herself, funny, easy-going. Remembering this friend made me wonder if this cute Barbie-esque girl at the gym was like that. My friend was, and still is, gorgeous. This girl was gorgeous. But I don't know her struggles. Maybe she does have issues with confidence, maybe she doesn't. Either way, I had no right to assume the things I did about her, and I should not have compared myself to her. I shouldn't compare myself to anyone, because no one else is me, and no one else is walking my path.
As annoyed as I was by her presence, I'm actually really glad I saw her today. Not only will she be something of an inspiration for me to keep going to the gym and working hard, but she served as a much needed reminder that what we see on the outside is not always what is going on in the inside. I think that's a reminder we could all use from time to time.
Every time I go, I look at myself in those huge stupid mirrors on the other side of the room and hear this little voice in my head that says I don't belong there. Because, you know, the gym is for skinny beautiful people who really just go because they're narcissistic and like to watch their muscles flex in those evil mirrors and make kissy faces at their own reflections. Before you tell me I'm wrong, I'll beat you to it by saying I know that is not the case. Always.
I went to the gym tonight for the first time since getting my heart monitor on three weeks ago, and boy did my body feel it. I was sweating, my round, bean shaped face was red, I was panting like Tom Hiddleston had just come in the room, I had a bandana on my head to cover my sweat-drenched hair that makes me look even more balding than I really am. I mean...messy, gross, and not feeling all too great about myself. But I was there. I kept telling myself that. I was there, and that mattered.
And then I saw her.
Here I am, this four-foot-eleven-inch tomato doubled over on a glutes machine as I try to push and extend, the wheezing coming out of my mouth reminiscent of a chain smoker on her death bed, and this petite little blonde girl walks over near my station. She's got the classic all black ensemble of skin tight yoga pants and black sports tank. Her hair (which was totally dyed, I'm sure) was curled in that way some women can do, making it look effortless and natural even though it would take me at least five hours to get it done right and then it would fall pin straight five minutes later. Her make up was done beautifully and she had ruby red lips that glittered when the unnaturally bright lights above her caught the top coat of gloss she'd applied at one point.
I hate you, was the first thought that ran through my mind, subsequently and immediately followed by, I hate myself. For once, I was able to get my thoughts out of that dark place fairly quickly and direct them to a more healthy place: back on the girl. What? It was healthier for me at the moment. I scowled at her with my inner Gremlin, thinking, Really? You have to come here looking like that when the rest of us feel like gross piles of slime? I actually stewed in my irritation for the rest of the thirty minute circuit I was on, watching every male head turn in her direction when she passed them, blissfully unaware. It wasn't until I was driving home that grace tried to edge its way into my heart.
Once upon a time, I had a friend who could not do anything menial without looking cute. I mean, cute outfit, cute hair, full on makeup. She literally could not leave her apartment if these things were not in place, and it was because she had so little confidence in herself. I was one of the lucky few to see her without all her trappings (pun fully intended) and got to see how vulnerable, uncertain, and uncomfortable she was in her own skin. When she was all done up, even to go do laundry, she was a totally different person. She was sure of herself, funny, easy-going. Remembering this friend made me wonder if this cute Barbie-esque girl at the gym was like that. My friend was, and still is, gorgeous. This girl was gorgeous. But I don't know her struggles. Maybe she does have issues with confidence, maybe she doesn't. Either way, I had no right to assume the things I did about her, and I should not have compared myself to her. I shouldn't compare myself to anyone, because no one else is me, and no one else is walking my path.
As annoyed as I was by her presence, I'm actually really glad I saw her today. Not only will she be something of an inspiration for me to keep going to the gym and working hard, but she served as a much needed reminder that what we see on the outside is not always what is going on in the inside. I think that's a reminder we could all use from time to time.
Tuesday, September 13, 2016
An Explanation For My Angst
Before I begin this painfully raw blog entry, I feel like I need to throw out a disclaimer. Nothing I say here is directed at anyone in particular. My heartache is my own and is not caused by anyone. If you read this and think, "I wonder if she's talking about me," I'm not. In fact, if you read this and think that, then I didn't write this entry very well because I don't want anyone to take anything here personally. That being said, I think it's time I explained my angst from the past few days...
Some years ago, a very wise woman taught me an important lesson that I will never, ever forget. She told me that Satan really amps up his personal attack game when God is doing or is about to do something incredible in your - my - life. That singular thought has been my saving grace throughout the years. If it felt like everything was going wrong, it was because God was on the move. That was exciting, even in the middle of the turmoil. Well, sometime over the past five or six days, I lost that. I was hit with one thing after another that hurt, that depressed me, that beat me down enough for me to lose that. There were times this week that I cried out to God in anger and desperation. Never once did I remember that hope I had always clung to, the promise of things to come, until today.
I've always been told I was the type of person people feel comfortable just word vomiting to. Though I still scratch my head about that, I don't mind it. In fact, I love that people trust me and feel comfortable enough to do that. I'm a good secret keeper, I guess, and I don't often interject with my own stuff. I think that's why I often forget that I need people I can do that with myself. Today I got the opportunity to just get it all out, and get some better perspective.
For anyone that's known me for very long, knowing I have a congenital heart defect is no surprise. For those that don't know, I have a murmur, a leaky valve, weird palpitations, and a pulmonary aneurysm. Lately, my heart has been doing this weird thing where it will beat perfectly fine, then it feels like a car engine trying to turn over with no success. That's the best way I can explain it. It's not racing, it's not slow, it's just beating hard. And then it skips beats. It's uncomfortable, and it's pretty darn frightening at times. I went to the ER for it at the end of July...and it led to this whole sequence of events that, quite frankly, just makes me angry. Long story short, I can't see my cardiologist until October. It's been suggested to me by a few people that I look for anew doctor but I've decided to wait until after this appointment to see how it goes. It took me three tries to get an appointment with him because of one person in the office telling me twice that she would set things up and call me back, and never did. By the time the appointment was set up - three weeks later - I was feeling frustrated, forgotten, and not very important.
Another thing I have never hidden from anyone is my desperate want to be a mother. I confessed to a close friend this week that there is honestly not a day that goes by when I don't think about it on some level. Some days are easier to deal with than others, and this week, after certain events transpired with not only friends, but things I read in the news...this longing was not so easy to deal with. I felt the loss of something I've never even had so greatly, and I grieved deeply. I was angry, questioning why God would give children to some and not to others. I felt overlooked.
The final nail in my pity party coffin came from a Skype call with my editor. Jessica, I'm calling you out by name simply because I can, and because it's easier for me. When your editor says she wants to Skype so you can talk about the chapter face to face rather than in notes and email...it doesn't cultivate a great sense of confidence in the matter. As it turned out, the anxiety that was growing within me while I was at the gym was justified. Jess and I talked, and it was not good news. In fact, it was pretty horrible news. Apparently my main plot for this third book in my series could pretty much have been ripped from another book/movie I had never even seen before. I was crushed to say the least. Months of hard work, of poor sleep because my brain wouldn't turn off, of research and planning...all of it was now out the window. I was going to have to start back at square one. I found the movie online and watched it, thinking after the first twenty or so minutes, it wasn't really that bad. Then the movie progressed and I could not believe the similarities. How in the world could this movie and my book be so similar when I hadn't even seen it? That was it. I was done. No new book for the faire in May. I would have to tell the person working on my cover that all his work has been for nothing. I would have to disappoint people who were counting on me having my third book for sale next year. I felt...a lot of things.
This morning I got to get all of this out with someone I love and trust, and she reminded me that God is always working behind the scenes and pointed my attention back to Him. In talking to her, admitted that this book had been so hard to write at times. There were moments I was literally in tears because I was constantly feeling like it wasn't as good, it wasn't as dynamic, it wasn't BIG enough. I know now that my feelings were right. Jess told me point blank that she feels book 2 is better, and is there any wonder? Book 2 came so easily to me! There was never the struggle I had with this one. Then I also realized that the chapters Jess loves the most of book 3 so far are the ones that came so easily. Of course the rest of it is crap. I was trying too hard. I was trying to do it on my own, rather than letting God take the lead as I had last time.
So now I'm feeling sort of...disillusioned, I guess. I needed the reminder to trust God this morning, and that it's okay to be upset, and to question, and even to rage because God is a big God - He can handle it. I just can't let myself wallow in it. Jess is confident we can fix this, and I trust her without question. If she thinks there's still a story here, even if it needs to be tweaked, I don't doubt her. In fact, I'm so thankful she told me, no matter how uncomfortable it made her to do it and how many tears I shed hearing it. Words cannot express how grateful I am for her honesty, even when it's painful. My series would not be what it is and what it will be without her hand in it.So I have a tentative hope that this will not all go down in flames. Half, maybe, but not all, and that's something.
As for the other things...y'all, I don't even know. It's going to be a fight every day to trust God knows what He's doing. But I'm going to keep fighting, and I appreciate the people in my life who go to battle for me when I can't do it myself. You are truly invaluable.
So there you have it, an explanation for my angst. Now that I've gotten it all out, I think it's time for me to go back to work and get this book back on track.
Some years ago, a very wise woman taught me an important lesson that I will never, ever forget. She told me that Satan really amps up his personal attack game when God is doing or is about to do something incredible in your - my - life. That singular thought has been my saving grace throughout the years. If it felt like everything was going wrong, it was because God was on the move. That was exciting, even in the middle of the turmoil. Well, sometime over the past five or six days, I lost that. I was hit with one thing after another that hurt, that depressed me, that beat me down enough for me to lose that. There were times this week that I cried out to God in anger and desperation. Never once did I remember that hope I had always clung to, the promise of things to come, until today.
I've always been told I was the type of person people feel comfortable just word vomiting to. Though I still scratch my head about that, I don't mind it. In fact, I love that people trust me and feel comfortable enough to do that. I'm a good secret keeper, I guess, and I don't often interject with my own stuff. I think that's why I often forget that I need people I can do that with myself. Today I got the opportunity to just get it all out, and get some better perspective.
For anyone that's known me for very long, knowing I have a congenital heart defect is no surprise. For those that don't know, I have a murmur, a leaky valve, weird palpitations, and a pulmonary aneurysm. Lately, my heart has been doing this weird thing where it will beat perfectly fine, then it feels like a car engine trying to turn over with no success. That's the best way I can explain it. It's not racing, it's not slow, it's just beating hard. And then it skips beats. It's uncomfortable, and it's pretty darn frightening at times. I went to the ER for it at the end of July...and it led to this whole sequence of events that, quite frankly, just makes me angry. Long story short, I can't see my cardiologist until October. It's been suggested to me by a few people that I look for anew doctor but I've decided to wait until after this appointment to see how it goes. It took me three tries to get an appointment with him because of one person in the office telling me twice that she would set things up and call me back, and never did. By the time the appointment was set up - three weeks later - I was feeling frustrated, forgotten, and not very important.
Another thing I have never hidden from anyone is my desperate want to be a mother. I confessed to a close friend this week that there is honestly not a day that goes by when I don't think about it on some level. Some days are easier to deal with than others, and this week, after certain events transpired with not only friends, but things I read in the news...this longing was not so easy to deal with. I felt the loss of something I've never even had so greatly, and I grieved deeply. I was angry, questioning why God would give children to some and not to others. I felt overlooked.
The final nail in my pity party coffin came from a Skype call with my editor. Jessica, I'm calling you out by name simply because I can, and because it's easier for me. When your editor says she wants to Skype so you can talk about the chapter face to face rather than in notes and email...it doesn't cultivate a great sense of confidence in the matter. As it turned out, the anxiety that was growing within me while I was at the gym was justified. Jess and I talked, and it was not good news. In fact, it was pretty horrible news. Apparently my main plot for this third book in my series could pretty much have been ripped from another book/movie I had never even seen before. I was crushed to say the least. Months of hard work, of poor sleep because my brain wouldn't turn off, of research and planning...all of it was now out the window. I was going to have to start back at square one. I found the movie online and watched it, thinking after the first twenty or so minutes, it wasn't really that bad. Then the movie progressed and I could not believe the similarities. How in the world could this movie and my book be so similar when I hadn't even seen it? That was it. I was done. No new book for the faire in May. I would have to tell the person working on my cover that all his work has been for nothing. I would have to disappoint people who were counting on me having my third book for sale next year. I felt...a lot of things.
This morning I got to get all of this out with someone I love and trust, and she reminded me that God is always working behind the scenes and pointed my attention back to Him. In talking to her, admitted that this book had been so hard to write at times. There were moments I was literally in tears because I was constantly feeling like it wasn't as good, it wasn't as dynamic, it wasn't BIG enough. I know now that my feelings were right. Jess told me point blank that she feels book 2 is better, and is there any wonder? Book 2 came so easily to me! There was never the struggle I had with this one. Then I also realized that the chapters Jess loves the most of book 3 so far are the ones that came so easily. Of course the rest of it is crap. I was trying too hard. I was trying to do it on my own, rather than letting God take the lead as I had last time.
So now I'm feeling sort of...disillusioned, I guess. I needed the reminder to trust God this morning, and that it's okay to be upset, and to question, and even to rage because God is a big God - He can handle it. I just can't let myself wallow in it. Jess is confident we can fix this, and I trust her without question. If she thinks there's still a story here, even if it needs to be tweaked, I don't doubt her. In fact, I'm so thankful she told me, no matter how uncomfortable it made her to do it and how many tears I shed hearing it. Words cannot express how grateful I am for her honesty, even when it's painful. My series would not be what it is and what it will be without her hand in it.So I have a tentative hope that this will not all go down in flames. Half, maybe, but not all, and that's something.
As for the other things...y'all, I don't even know. It's going to be a fight every day to trust God knows what He's doing. But I'm going to keep fighting, and I appreciate the people in my life who go to battle for me when I can't do it myself. You are truly invaluable.
So there you have it, an explanation for my angst. Now that I've gotten it all out, I think it's time for me to go back to work and get this book back on track.
Wednesday, July 20, 2016
Time to Get Real
I think it's been about fifteen minutes now that I have started and restarted this blog entry. Every beginning I come up with just doesn't work, and I end up deleting everything I've written. I want the first few sentences to hook my reader, as all bloggers do, but I think this one is just going to be raw and honest, and may not be the most well written or witty. There's an issue that needs addressing, and I've been trying to figure out the best way to do it. So I guess I'll give it a try.
A lot of non-believers think Christians are all cookie cutter copies of one another. We all act, think, speak, and carry ourselves the same, as well as have the exact same beliefs on every single subject in the history of everything. Honestly, I know people who think this. It frightens me mostly because I have seen many people who say they are Christ followers, but what they worship most are things of this earth and not of Heaven. I digress, though. This entry isn't about Christianity in a generic sense. It's about something much more personal.
I was blessed with the opportunity to go to an event this past Saturday where I could sell and sign my books. I've done this twice before at the New Hampshire Renaissance Faire, as well as at a local bookstore. Now, being perfectly honest, the NHRF feels like home to me now. I don't know if any other signing event will top it because they gave me my first shot and welcomed me back with open arms this year. I've even had people threaten me if I didn't return next year with at least one new book. It's my Ren family and I love it. It was through this faire that I met Jeremy Oneail. He approached me this May at my booth and said he was going to be hosting several wizarding (read Harry Potter) events in the coming months and thought I would be a perfect fit for a vendor. I took his info and told him I'd think about it. My gut reaction was "no," but I told him I would think about it, and I was going to do just that. I was also going to pray about it because that is what I do. I try not to make any big decisions like that without talking to God about it first...try being the operative word. I am not a perfect Christian by any stretch of the imagination.
This first event would be a market day, something set up like Diagon Alley in Harry Potter where people would get to come in, shop, see some shows, drink butterbeer, and meet some of the teachers for the school days in the fall. I was hesitant because of the stigma, quiet honestly, one that was drilled into me from a very early age. This kind of stuff, even if it's fiction, is not okay for a Christian. But, reminded a small voice in my head, I'd read all the books and seen all the movies. God gifted me with a very sensitive spirit when it comes to discernment. I know almost immediately when someone or something is not okay for me or my walk. I get this icky, uncomfortable feeling that tells me something is toxic, and, if I'm smart, I walk away. Harry Potter was never something that made me feel that way. So I prayed about it and received an answer almost right away, a knowledge that this was something I should do. I committed to the three days and looked forward to the new venue.
I have to tell you, it was crazy! The venue itself was perfect for the atmosphere. If you've ever been to the Higgins Armory in Mass, you'll know how cool it looks inside. If you haven't, look up pictures on Google. It's just a perfect location. I ended up selling 23 books which, again, being honest, was nowhere near what I had wanted or expected to sell. However, Saturday night I learned from many people posting on the event page that there were numerous cases of people wanting to stop at different vendors but they simply couldn't because it was so over-crowded. The total number of people who came through the doors that day was over 1,900, and no one was prepared for that kind of traffic. Keep in mind, this was the first year this event has been held, so no one really knew what to expect. To be over capacity for the building and still have a line of over 100 people out the door waiting to get in? Pretty sure no one planned for that. As the day went on and I sold such a small amount of books to such an overwhelmingly large crowd, I expected to be disappointed. Yet with each book or set of books I sold, I felt the Holy Spirit telling me to pray. I don't know that I have ever prayed for strangers so fervently before. As I packed everything up at the end of the day, I actually felt at peace. I knew those who would read the books were the people that needed the content within the most.
At one point during the day I had an older woman approach my table. She looked my books over, then eyed the Celtic cross I had next to Heritage. "Are these Christian?" she asked, a mixture of confusion and disgust on her face. Cheerful, I replied, "Yes they are." She looked at me with her brows drawn together. "So you talk about Jesus in these books?" I nodded, the smile never leaving my face. "I do indeed. The names are changed to fit in with the whole fantasy element, but God and Jesus are in there. The story of the crucifixion and salvation are laid out pretty plainly in the first book, and scripture is and will be woven throughout the rest of the series." She didn't say anything for a moment, but glanced over the covers of my books one more time. Then, still confused, she asked, "I thought your people didn't like Harry Potter."
It was God's grace that kept me from laughing, y'all. Your people. My first thought was, "Lord, help me if I am ever chosen to represent my people." And then it hit me. That's exactly what I was doing. I nodded again, my smile slipping just a bit because I had two people tell me just the day before that they were disappointed in me for even considering doing an event like this. "This sort of genre is very polarizing for Christians. They either think it's bad and should be avoided at all costs, or they recognize it as fiction and can separate the fact from reality with it. I know Harry Potter is not teaching children how to be a real witch or a real wizard. It's fiction, fantasy...just like my own books." She paused with one more glance at my books, then gave me a small, awkward smile and said, "Well, I don't know if your books are any good, but if they are, good luck," before moving on.
That conversation was the reality check I needed. How many of those 1,900+ people walking through those doors knew Jesus? How many of them were even open to hearing about Him? How many of them, in this world that has become so full media that boasts of sex, violence, and graphic language, would even get a taste of Christ if it wasn't in an engaging story? I may have disappointed some people by going to this event - heck, I found out this weekend that I have family disappointed in me for writing fantasy to begin with; the devil is a dragon in the bible, you know - but I know God placed me there on purpose.
Friday was not a good day for me. Besides having the lack of support for my doing this event and it being shown so publicly, I have been struggling with severe depression and self-worth when it comes to my writing. I sat in my bedroom, crying much of the afternoon, questioning whether or not I was doing the right thing. Each time I asked (Thank you, Lord, for never losing patience with me.) I felt that cherished peace come over me that told me my path was the one I was supposed to take. Though friends and loved ones sometimes think they are correct and that their paths should be my own, I am on the one He wants me on, and He knows I know the second I stray from it.
I know this has been a long entry, and if you've stayed with me to the end, I thank you for having patience with me as well. All of this has been to say that it's okay if someone's walk looks different from your own. You don't know how God is going to use them. If you know their heart truly seeks after God, then you have to trust they are seeking Him still when they go into situations that you might not be comfortable in yourself. Each person is convicted of and by different things in their walk. It's not up to you to condemn them, but to pray for them, to support them, and in private, voice your concern so a dialogue can happen between you and not the rest of the world.
I love the people in m life who care enough about me to address concerns. I need people like that in my life. We all do. Just remember the next time you see something going on with a friend or loved one that worries you or gives you pause, it is biblical to address it with them and it is healthy to talk about it, but don't condemn anyone for making a choice you would not make yourself. Love, support, and pray when all is said and done. It's what we are called to do as brothers and sisters in Christ.
Have a fantastic Wednesday, everyone, and happy reading, no matter what your genre!
A lot of non-believers think Christians are all cookie cutter copies of one another. We all act, think, speak, and carry ourselves the same, as well as have the exact same beliefs on every single subject in the history of everything. Honestly, I know people who think this. It frightens me mostly because I have seen many people who say they are Christ followers, but what they worship most are things of this earth and not of Heaven. I digress, though. This entry isn't about Christianity in a generic sense. It's about something much more personal.
I was blessed with the opportunity to go to an event this past Saturday where I could sell and sign my books. I've done this twice before at the New Hampshire Renaissance Faire, as well as at a local bookstore. Now, being perfectly honest, the NHRF feels like home to me now. I don't know if any other signing event will top it because they gave me my first shot and welcomed me back with open arms this year. I've even had people threaten me if I didn't return next year with at least one new book. It's my Ren family and I love it. It was through this faire that I met Jeremy Oneail. He approached me this May at my booth and said he was going to be hosting several wizarding (read Harry Potter) events in the coming months and thought I would be a perfect fit for a vendor. I took his info and told him I'd think about it. My gut reaction was "no," but I told him I would think about it, and I was going to do just that. I was also going to pray about it because that is what I do. I try not to make any big decisions like that without talking to God about it first...try being the operative word. I am not a perfect Christian by any stretch of the imagination.
This first event would be a market day, something set up like Diagon Alley in Harry Potter where people would get to come in, shop, see some shows, drink butterbeer, and meet some of the teachers for the school days in the fall. I was hesitant because of the stigma, quiet honestly, one that was drilled into me from a very early age. This kind of stuff, even if it's fiction, is not okay for a Christian. But, reminded a small voice in my head, I'd read all the books and seen all the movies. God gifted me with a very sensitive spirit when it comes to discernment. I know almost immediately when someone or something is not okay for me or my walk. I get this icky, uncomfortable feeling that tells me something is toxic, and, if I'm smart, I walk away. Harry Potter was never something that made me feel that way. So I prayed about it and received an answer almost right away, a knowledge that this was something I should do. I committed to the three days and looked forward to the new venue.
I have to tell you, it was crazy! The venue itself was perfect for the atmosphere. If you've ever been to the Higgins Armory in Mass, you'll know how cool it looks inside. If you haven't, look up pictures on Google. It's just a perfect location. I ended up selling 23 books which, again, being honest, was nowhere near what I had wanted or expected to sell. However, Saturday night I learned from many people posting on the event page that there were numerous cases of people wanting to stop at different vendors but they simply couldn't because it was so over-crowded. The total number of people who came through the doors that day was over 1,900, and no one was prepared for that kind of traffic. Keep in mind, this was the first year this event has been held, so no one really knew what to expect. To be over capacity for the building and still have a line of over 100 people out the door waiting to get in? Pretty sure no one planned for that. As the day went on and I sold such a small amount of books to such an overwhelmingly large crowd, I expected to be disappointed. Yet with each book or set of books I sold, I felt the Holy Spirit telling me to pray. I don't know that I have ever prayed for strangers so fervently before. As I packed everything up at the end of the day, I actually felt at peace. I knew those who would read the books were the people that needed the content within the most.
At one point during the day I had an older woman approach my table. She looked my books over, then eyed the Celtic cross I had next to Heritage. "Are these Christian?" she asked, a mixture of confusion and disgust on her face. Cheerful, I replied, "Yes they are." She looked at me with her brows drawn together. "So you talk about Jesus in these books?" I nodded, the smile never leaving my face. "I do indeed. The names are changed to fit in with the whole fantasy element, but God and Jesus are in there. The story of the crucifixion and salvation are laid out pretty plainly in the first book, and scripture is and will be woven throughout the rest of the series." She didn't say anything for a moment, but glanced over the covers of my books one more time. Then, still confused, she asked, "I thought your people didn't like Harry Potter."
It was God's grace that kept me from laughing, y'all. Your people. My first thought was, "Lord, help me if I am ever chosen to represent my people." And then it hit me. That's exactly what I was doing. I nodded again, my smile slipping just a bit because I had two people tell me just the day before that they were disappointed in me for even considering doing an event like this. "This sort of genre is very polarizing for Christians. They either think it's bad and should be avoided at all costs, or they recognize it as fiction and can separate the fact from reality with it. I know Harry Potter is not teaching children how to be a real witch or a real wizard. It's fiction, fantasy...just like my own books." She paused with one more glance at my books, then gave me a small, awkward smile and said, "Well, I don't know if your books are any good, but if they are, good luck," before moving on.
That conversation was the reality check I needed. How many of those 1,900+ people walking through those doors knew Jesus? How many of them were even open to hearing about Him? How many of them, in this world that has become so full media that boasts of sex, violence, and graphic language, would even get a taste of Christ if it wasn't in an engaging story? I may have disappointed some people by going to this event - heck, I found out this weekend that I have family disappointed in me for writing fantasy to begin with; the devil is a dragon in the bible, you know - but I know God placed me there on purpose.
Friday was not a good day for me. Besides having the lack of support for my doing this event and it being shown so publicly, I have been struggling with severe depression and self-worth when it comes to my writing. I sat in my bedroom, crying much of the afternoon, questioning whether or not I was doing the right thing. Each time I asked (Thank you, Lord, for never losing patience with me.) I felt that cherished peace come over me that told me my path was the one I was supposed to take. Though friends and loved ones sometimes think they are correct and that their paths should be my own, I am on the one He wants me on, and He knows I know the second I stray from it.
I know this has been a long entry, and if you've stayed with me to the end, I thank you for having patience with me as well. All of this has been to say that it's okay if someone's walk looks different from your own. You don't know how God is going to use them. If you know their heart truly seeks after God, then you have to trust they are seeking Him still when they go into situations that you might not be comfortable in yourself. Each person is convicted of and by different things in their walk. It's not up to you to condemn them, but to pray for them, to support them, and in private, voice your concern so a dialogue can happen between you and not the rest of the world.
I love the people in m life who care enough about me to address concerns. I need people like that in my life. We all do. Just remember the next time you see something going on with a friend or loved one that worries you or gives you pause, it is biblical to address it with them and it is healthy to talk about it, but don't condemn anyone for making a choice you would not make yourself. Love, support, and pray when all is said and done. It's what we are called to do as brothers and sisters in Christ.
Have a fantastic Wednesday, everyone, and happy reading, no matter what your genre!
Friday, November 7, 2014
Adventures in Depression
I'm not exactly sure when it happened. For years I'd managed to keep everything under control, and not just on the outside. Sure, I got good at hiding it for awhile, but at some point I wasn't "faking it until I was making it", I was actually doing all right. And it lasted for quite a few years. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, it hit me. It was this sudden weight tied to my ankles and heaviness in my chest. I knew what it was but I was afraid that if I gave it a name I would be admitting it had returned. I was sad. I was tired. I was lonely.
I was depressed.
For safety sake, I'll say here that this is a trigger warning for what you will find between the stars. And some of what you read may be unsettling. Especially if you only know me as the happy, smiling girl you see at church every week, or the producer who is always giggling and cheerful in cast meetings. You have been warned.
Admitting I was depressed was such a hard thing to do. Harder than anyone knows. *In fact, many don't know that in my early twenties my depression was so bad that I had suicidal thoughts on more than one occasion. I remember nights I happened to be alone in my apartment, sitting on the floor and having vivid imaginations about how to go about doing it. Obviously I never went through with it, but I did find other very unhealthy ways to cope.* I suppose cope isn't the best word to use. Distract would be more accurate I suppose. But back then I had nothing going on. I had precious few friends, health issues no one understood, anxiety beyond description, no job, and no real picture of my future. I saw no way out and I had plenty of reasons to be depressed. Now? Now....everything is so different.
I was depressed.
For safety sake, I'll say here that this is a trigger warning for what you will find between the stars. And some of what you read may be unsettling. Especially if you only know me as the happy, smiling girl you see at church every week, or the producer who is always giggling and cheerful in cast meetings. You have been warned.
Admitting I was depressed was such a hard thing to do. Harder than anyone knows. *In fact, many don't know that in my early twenties my depression was so bad that I had suicidal thoughts on more than one occasion. I remember nights I happened to be alone in my apartment, sitting on the floor and having vivid imaginations about how to go about doing it. Obviously I never went through with it, but I did find other very unhealthy ways to cope.* I suppose cope isn't the best word to use. Distract would be more accurate I suppose. But back then I had nothing going on. I had precious few friends, health issues no one understood, anxiety beyond description, no job, and no real picture of my future. I saw no way out and I had plenty of reasons to be depressed. Now? Now....everything is so different.
Post Secret
I've never had so many truly awesome things going on at once in my life. Let me tell you, when you ask God to use you and mean it with your whole heart...hang on. Because He'll take you for a ride. Don't ask to be used if you don't really want to be used. I'm just saying.
For awhile last year my relationship with God was a little strained. Not because of Him but because of me. I was questioning everything I thought He was telling me to do, all the while asking to be led in the direction He wanted me to go. I knew I was doing it but I couldn't stop myself. I couldn't trust enough to really, well, trust. It's like I was asking a cartographer for the right road to take, then asking a barber, a shoe salesman, and a blind man what they thought the cartographer's very straightforward directions meant. Texas didn't happen. Ben and I didn't work out. My car....my car... So I kind of kept my distance from God without moving too far away, if that make sense.
I knew, at least I felt, I had disappointed Him. So I kept Him at arm's length until fairly recently, actually. Through a group I was part of at church I had things stripped away and it was like a new beginning for my spirituality. That was when I asked God to use me. It was the true cry of my heart. And He began using me. Sometimes in ways I wouldn't have even expected. But then things He was doing with me and through me were amazing. So when did the bad stuff come back, and why couldn't I get rid of it?
For a few weeks I was having random anxiety attacks over silly things. Sometimes over nothing at all. Then I started having them in the middle of the night. They weren't things that woke me up, but happened in very vivid dreams I couldn't escape. So I'd wake up the next morning exhausted because my body had reacted as though I were having these massive attacks. A very dear friend of mine began praying for me (as I know others were) and the panic attacks subsided. But sleep was still elusive for awhile. I was so afraid of sleep that I did what I could to stay awake. And when I did fall asleep I could constantly wake up in fear of falling too deep asleep.
Then there is the depression. I'll have you know I have never been happier in my life before than I am at this moment. But I've also never felt more broken. Wounded. Exposed. Raw. Insanely lonely. I hurt, and most days I hurt deeply. And for no reason. I praise God through it all because I know it's what I'm supposed to do (SO thankful for Alanna Story's newest album!)...but it won't go away.
Some Christians believe with everything in them that medication for depression and anxiety is a cop out. They'll tell you that you need to pray harder, or that there is some sin nature that is separating you from God and allowing these oppressive feelings to control you. I say that's crap. I say, unless you've ever struggled with these issues and have been on medication for it, you can't understand. It's not a crutch, it's not something to hide behind, and depression/anxiety not something anyone can willingly turn on or off.
For those who have the time (and can overlook a bit of language) I suggest you read this entry in "Hyperboloe and a Half" as well as part two because they are so accurate. I was there before for all of it from beginning to end. For a long time. I'm not going to allow myself to get there again.
So next week I'll opt to pick up the phone and call someone, a professional who will let me cry in her office while I try and will and pray away this chemical imbalance in my brain that makes me more prone to anxiety and depression than some than cry over a bowl of milk and soggy Wheaties. And instead of worrying about how people are going to judge me as I use to, I'll remind myself of the truth; that there is absolutely nothing wrong with seeking this type of help. Science has proven depression and anxiety are not simply "mood disorders" but real medical issues. If someone judges me for looking to correct that chemical imbalance they also judge the person who takes vitamins to make up for deficiencies, who takes cold medicine for a nasty cough...anyone who seeks medical treatment for any medical ailment.
This long-winded post is mostly my confession, but also an offer of encouragement to anyone else out there that may be struggling. Don't ever feel ashamed for asking for help and actively seeking it out. Ever.
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