Lent 2020, Week 3: Jealousy

I'm here.  "Here" looks and feels very, very differently than it did 1 week ago.  I'm having a difficult time believing Lent will end this year.  I'm having a REALLY difficult time replacing jealousy with abundance.  The sight of empty store shelves sends me into a panic attack.  After one week of running a small business, teaching 1st & 4th grade, canceling numerous vacations & work trips, I am tired and scared and sad.

I debated even posting, wondering if this was a relevant enough topic for "Living in a Pandemic."  Turns out, it is.  At least I think so.

Jealousy stems from comparison & scarcity.  Two things we have in abundance during a pandemic.  The fear of scarcity has been a constant hum for the last week- scarcity of toilet paper, income, sleep, sanity........And it's been a nearly constant practice of feeling scarcity & searching for security. I have not been able to trust abundance of the toilet paper, financial, or canned food variety this week.  I have looked HARD for abundance and found it in:
--The amount of time my dog will spend walking with me.
--The number of jigsaw puzzles waiting to be done in my family room.
--The encouragement & compassion from a small village that helped me pull off a 10 year old's birthday on Wednesday.

There's still more panic than peace.  But I'm trying. And when it's too hard to ditch the scarcity, I've tried to ditch the comparison.

One way I search for security is through connection.  The Truth that is connection is more than a hum....it's an energy that runs through my work and my parenting and my partnering.  Connection has gotten, ahem, complicated these days.  In the moments I do find meaningful connection, I'm quickly slipping into comparison.

Crystal, comparing to Person A:
"Person A has a job with paid leave & a supervisor to make all of these decisions. Person A took their vacation last month."  I feel jealous just typing this.

Crystal, comparing to Person B:
"Person B lost their job & was evicted last week, before the eviction ban happened.  Person B can't visit their family member in the hospital."  I feel deep, deep shame for being worried or jealous or angry compared to person B.

So on top of a pandemic, I am alternating between Jealous and Ashamed.  After a few days of this, it quickly became unsustainable and I began to engage option C: me.

Crystal, comparing to Person C(rystal):
"There are no plans or answers that are sticking right now.  You are tired and sad and scared.  And you are worthy of rest and joy and peace."  I feel a bit more steady as I type this.  I used to believe this thought process was selfish.  But, the thing is, Person A and Person B are no worse off because of my dialogue with Person C.  I actually believe they are better.

My February self thought it'd be a good idea to spend the next week meditating on the idea of letting go of resentment & replacing it with gratitude.  I may or may not be posting next week.  In the meantime, a meme & music:



Just today, Jason Gray launched the "Disorder" series of his latest album.  I postponed family movie night to listen to the live concert & cry.  I still can't really even talk about it.  But I encourage you to check it out!

Lent 2020, Week 2: Fear

Well, isn't that timely.  Not sure about where you live, but in my town, the only way to currently get toilet paper at Costco is to line up an hour before they open.  Because an abundance of toilet paper in your basement will prevent you and your loved ones from contracting COVID-19.

Wait. What?!

Fear is a beast.  I'm not an infectious disease doctor, but I am, by a lot of definitions, an expert on pediatric anxiety.  And I know that fear is convincing, contagious, and catastrophic.  It's a big barrier to my relationship with God.  And, apparently, getting toilet paper.

I've heard that "do not be afraid" can be found 365 different places in the Bible.  And I find something oddly reassuring about that.  Matthew 3:34 asks us to not worry about tomorrow because today has enough worries of it's own.  And, turns out, today also has it's very own Bible verse for not worrying.  I'd love to have a journal that has the "Do not be afraid" bible verse of the day across the top.  Maybe not a journal, because I don't actually get to the opening or writing part of keep a journal.  Maybe a flip chart?

Something that makes fear particularly difficult for me is that (1) when fear is driving, scarcity is riding shotgun and (2) there are very, very real scary things out there.  Kate Bowler reminded me on social media this week that we do no cling to the "do not be afraid" scripture when we are healthy, snuggled in bed with a whole weekend in front of us.  No.  We cling when there is a diagnosis or a scary person or risky decision.

At the end of the day, I refuse to believe Truth starts with scarcity and ends with fear.  Instead, I believe that there are enough "do not be afraids" to cover me the whole dang-a-lang year.  I believe God creates and loves from secure abundance.  When I started throwing my fear into faith, I started to notice security, not scarcity.  There's the time I was audited for improper documentation & had to pay back HUNDREDS of dollars.  While I was crying and raging at this news, I received an email that offered me a contract to teach at a conference for an amount within $1.00 of my "fine." 

My prayer for me, and you, over the last week is that God can open our eyes to security instead of scarcity.  Faith instead of fear.

My songs for the week are "The Wound is Where the Light Gets In" (Jason Gray-you are turning into the soundtrack of my Lent) and "confidence" by Sanctus Real.


PS-I recognize it is a Leap Year & so I do not technically have a verse for day 366.  I can do hard things but I cannot do math. That is all.

Lent 2020, Week 1: Grief

I used to rush from grieving to forgiving to resurrection in the space between Good Friday & Easter Sunday. I'm learning that grieving and forgiving is much, much bigger than that space. So this year I'm going to try and dig into the areas in my life that I feel farthest from God. This week is Grief. 

The scene is Ash Wednesday service.  The organist plays Canon in D while I walk down the aisle, get anointed with ashes, and receive communion from Husband. The last time I walked down an aisle to Canon in D was at my wedding. The last time Husband officiated an Ash Wednesday Service, he did so knowing a precious family member was transitioned to Hospice earlier that week. 

Weddings and Ashes. Communion and Hospice. Broken and Blessed. 

That precious family member passed away two days later. A year ago this week, actually. Despite grief being a constant companion, I am really grappling with it is, exactly.  While walking my dog, I thought about how maybe grieving is about showing up in the space where something precious is missing. The empty space where a person's laugh and phone calls were. Or the empty space where a job title and business cards were. Or the empty space where healthy scans or graduation dreams or ________________ were. My heart gets tight just thinking about it because that empty space is so lonely and sad and quiet. 

But it's also so, so precious. It's like when Pooh Bear said: “How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard." How lucky I am to have empty spaces that are shaped like laughter and accomplishments and delicious memories and _________________.  My heart gets light just thinking about it because the space is so precious and joyful and warm.  

Throughout this study, I'm going to share quotes & music that speak to the journey better than I can.  I'd love to hear the soundtracks and quotes of your grief journeys in the comments. 

"Not Right Now" by Jason Gray

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ullv_XN2d8M

"Laughing with God" by Regina Spektor

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-pxRXP3w-sQ

Glitter!!

Back in my reception room corner office.  Today we are talking about glitter. 

Not because the week has been particularly glittery, but because the week has been very not glittery and I need a sparkle infusion.  

I spent a solid 10 minutes looking up glitter memes.  The majority of them were inappropriate, but made me laugh.  If you need a dose of sparkle today, please search "glitter meme."  I settled on this one, because it seemed the most appropriate for public consumption: 

Kiddo 1.0 has dabbled in the theater world with a summer camp here and there.  This past Saturday, she jumped into the deep end of the pool with an actual audition for an actual production.  Kiddo 2.0 and I were poolside for FOUR HOURS, which is apparently how long actual auditions take.  After scrambling through a fast food drive through, Kiddo 2.0 and I settled in and watched.  

Guys. 

I spend the next 3.5 hours in tears.  

Not because it was sad, but because it was BEAUTIFUL and BRAVE and COMMUNITY.  Kids from kinder through high school hopped on stage, one at a time. Some of them sang and danced like the soundtrack of their life was a showtune. And I cried because they were so authentically brave.  Some of them crawled on stage and could not remember their name.  And I cried because they were so authentically brave.  Whenever this happened, the director asked the kid to get off stage, come sit by her, and whisper-sing their prepared song.  Every single kid, and there were over 60, completed their audition to a round of applause.  Every.Single.One.  I tear up just recalling the memory.  

Kiddo 1.0 got a "call back" which is theater-speak for another round of auditions for the really big parts and I realized we're in the deep end for awhile.  I'm so proud and scared and in love with the fiercely talented human she is. Seems like an appropriate time to introduce you to my spirit animal: 

Medical appointments and new stories have been rip-my-heart-out tender and hard this week.  And audition courage and applause was also rip-my-heart-out tender and joyful.  Because, I think, that's the journey of living life with your whole heart.  

Allergy shot timer just went off, so I gotta run.  But remind me to tell you about the kickboxing disco ball sometime, dear-hearts. 

Caterpillar Soup

Back in the waiting room again.  This time, for 1 shot instead of 8.  Shortly after I hit "publish" on my last post, I started showing signs of a systemic adverse reaction. Nurse zoomed in and traded out the immunotherapy for mega-doses of antihistamines, steroids, and discouragement.  A week later, the antihistamines and steroids have worn off but the discouragement is still lingering.  It just feels so *ahem* vulnerable. Turns out writing eloquent posts about vulnerability doesn't play out like an emotional version of immunotherapy and vulnerability still SUCKS.  I was in clinical supervision earlier this week, ranting about how difficult it is to be a therapist, mom, and wife while also trying to be some sort of vulnerability warrior.  She nodded and said "Did you know caterpillar's have to digest themselves before they turn into butterflies?"

Um. What?!?!

For a long time, I've held onto the imagery of butterflies as a source of hope.  It seemed like a really beautiful nod from nature about the process of change:

Step 1. Caterpillar
Step 2. Cocoon
Step 3. Butterfly

Turns out, that's the "social media" version of transformation.  Supervisor enlightened me in the scientific details of what *exactly* happens in the cocoon.  Specifically, THE CATERPILLAR DIGESTS ITSELF.  I'm not making this up.  The actual steps to butterfly are:

Step 1. Caterpillar
Step 2. Cocoon
Step 3. Caterpillar Soup

Step 4. Caterpillar Potluck

Step 5. Butterfly

Lets get our Bill Nye on.......After getting all snuggled into the cocoon, the caterpillar releases digestive enzymes that eat away the caterpillar until it is mess of caterpillar/butterfly DNA and ooze.  Also known as caterpillar soup.  Then, the DNA eats the ooze until it grows until a butterfly.  Also known as caterpillar potluck.  I am simultaneously mortified and intrigued and convinced that this is a biological representation of what it is to slog through vulnerability. 

I had to pause writing this post to see the doctor.  I *maybe* tried to bargain.....the reaction wasn't that bad.....I didn't react until shot 6, could I do a session of 4 shots.....no, nope, and no.  Sigh. 

So, I'm leaving the office with a big ole' bowl of caterpillar soup.  The oozy parts:
Vulnerability of being so allergic and med-dependant for the forseeable future. 
Shame of sucking at vulnerability even though I'm literally credentialed in Shame Resilience.
Grumpy at the thought of another round of pharmacy/insurance dueling to get next month's meds filled. 

The butterfly-DNA parts:
Gratitude that I'm still a candidate for immunotherapy and, minus the reaction, am having a positive result to treatment.
Relief that insurance is covering the bulk of the expense. 
Joy that I got to wear jeans & sneakers because it's a not-seeing-clients sort of work day.

How about you, friends?  Maybe take a moment to inventory what's in your soup bowl.  I'm sending courage and peace as you navigate the oozy and the butterfly-y parts. 

Rapid Desensitization

Helloooooo cyber-friends.

It's been awhile.  And I'm here now. 

Where is here?  The reception area of my allergist. Turns out I'm highly allergic to a couple of things & I'm a good candidate for "immunotherapy."  This treatment involves exposing my system to threats until my system gets used to the threats and stops reacting. 

The doctor presented a couple of options:
Once a week for 45 minutes for 40 weeks.  Um, no.  I didn't come to the doctor that often if you COMBINE my pregnancies & I got 2 babies out of that deal.  I don't have time or patience for that tomfoolery.

He raised his eyebrow at that response and went on to describe option 2.

Rapid desensitization. 

Get a shot, sit in office for 30 minutes, check for a reaction, repeat.  Repeat for 4 hours, assuming you don't go into respiratory distress.  Cuts 6 months off the protocol.

Sign. Me. Up.

So, here I am.  I'm working on a care package while I sit here.  I've worked on a lot of care packages in my life.  But I'm struggling with this one.  The details will need to wait for a future post because I'm still grappling.  But the summary is this:  Last year, a family very dear to me was ripped apart by murder.  Some family members were the victims, some were the perpetrators, and some were the survivors.  The first round of trials begins this month.  In my work as a pediatric counselor, I've had to testify on very intimate details of my client's lives.  At its best, the justice system is a tedious, technical process.  At its worse, it is a public display of a family's most horrific moments being put out for public opinion and official judgement.  There's no Hallmark card for that.

As I walked into the hospital complex today, past patients and families and employees, I began to wonder (and wander, because this hospital complex is complex and huge and has stairwells to nowhere) if "rapid desensitization" is an emotional concept too. 

Instead of precisely measured doses of serum, it's those time-stands-still-moments. If you've spent any time human-ing, you've experienced these moments or know people who have experienced these moments.

It's the call that a family member is being discharged.  To hospice.
It's the news article that the homicide victims have been identified.  As your friends.
It's leaving work at the end of the day.  With a pink slip & your belongings in a box.
It's the family road trip and a distracted driver. Who over-corrects their car into yours. 

And we're left reeling with the emotional immune response: shock, grief, anger, sadness, numbing....the list goes on.  Our culture often judges and shames the response.  "You're dating already?!" "You hated that boss anyway."  "Well, you LOOK fine."  But what if the accepted practice was to treat them as signs of a body's brilliant design working through the experience?  What if the anger is giving the person a sense of empowerment or courage?  Or the shock is slowing the person down enough to let their village step in and help? 

Yet, for me right now, the shot-in-the-arm isn't the hard part.  It's the waiting.  It's the empty, vulnerable aftermath.  The more of these shot-in-the-heart moments I experience, the more I trust the brilliance of that vulnerability.  Vulnerability is not easy or pretty or popular.  But it sure is authentic and brave and unavoidable.

To all of you getting proverbial shots-in-the-somewhere:  be gentle with yourself.  Treat yourself to the fancy coffee or the early bedtime. And thank you.  My world is better because you show up. 

To all of you watching the aftermath: send a card anyway.  Don't send a dumb one like "may your showers grow flowers" or a different sapped up version of everything happens for a reason.  When in doubt, send a blank one and fill the space with a grocery gift card.  And thank you.  My world is better because you show up.

Prayer & Action

Lots and lots of hard things have been happening.  I think I lamented about it in a recent post.  As humans, we all have different ways of managing hard things.  Husband is a pastor with a strong social justice orientation.  When hard things happen, people look to Husband's response.

Sometimes, Husband shares something along the lines (my paraphrase here) of "We can't just send thoughts and prayers because we are called to DO things.  Calling your Congressman, volunteering in your child's school, testifying at Legislature are important."  Husband gets backlash for this type of comment.  Responses like (not a paraphrase): "How do you call yourself a religious leader, a man of God?  We are called to repent and pray.  What you're preaching is wrong and a disservice to your congregation.  I'm praying for you and your misled people."  

Sometimes, Husband shares something along the lines (my paraphrase here) of "I am praying and learning."  Husband gets backlash for this type of comment.  Responses like (not a paraphrase):  "Prayer is not enough.  We are in this situation because people are too busy praying and thinking.  Please consider taking some action in your local community."

The guy can't win. I wish these people would understand what the poor man is up against.  The guy has loved me through 10+ years of mornings before 9a.  To see if he was really legit, I threw in a couple pint-sized protestors who commonly take on issues like pants and protein.  And still, he shows up.  He shows up with compassion and courage.  He shows up by playing Polly Pockets and nerf guns.  And as I watch him, I've come to realize that prayer and action aren't mutually exclusive.  I think they could maybe be considered like my co-parenting relationship.  Let's say I'm action & Husband is prayer.  Just hypothetically, of course.  

  

Action:  

When I'm left to my own devices to parent, it gets done.  But it gets done in a impatient, outcome-focused way.  See: morning routine.  I'm not sure WHY or HOW it could take 25 minutes to put on socks.  All I really care about is the tardy bell.  So, I take action now and assess collateral damage later.    

Prayer:

When Husband is left to his own devices to parent, he is present.  He focuses on what's important (swimming, snuggling, time together) & sometimes makes individual sacrifices to make it happen.  See: fun-filled Saturday.  Also see: empty fridge and over looked library books. 

Action AND Prayer:

It all (mostly) gets gone.  AND it gets done in a way that honors our priorities while checking things off the list.  Prayer allows me to connect with a perspective other than mine and settle into truths that transcend momentary stressors.  Action allows me to move closer towards that "thy kingdom come" principle.  When I watch horrific news coverage, I pause to look for God (prayer).  I pause to consider what scripture may say (prayer).  I pause to honor my big feelings about it all (prayer).  Then, I make a phone call to my congressperson (action).  I show up to the community meeting (action).  I arrange a wine and girlfriends night (action? prayer? not sure.  but important, regardless).