Poetic Breathing

Trying to explain my anxiety (or depression) to others is a tall order.  Generally, my list of responses include: “Oh, we all get anxious!” (Uh-huh.) “I get nervous about going to the doctor, too.” (Is it a week-long obsession for you?) “Trust in the Lord!” (Who says I’m not?) “I totally understand!  One time in [insert year], I went through terrible anxiety.  Thankfully, the Lord delivered me from it [and He will deliver you, too.]” (Sometimes we all just carry around our own “thorns in the flesh.)

I know that most people want to relate to me and are only trying to encourage me.  I used to feel exactly the opposite—misunderstood and discouraged.  Then I met others who shared my struggle, who knew what it was truly like to lie in bed with a Bible as a way to chase away the demons, who understood that getting dressed and brushing my teeth is a major accomplishment some days, and who truly walked this path hand-in-hand with God.

Due to my recent health concerns, I’ve been feeling anxious.  While I am doing a much better job of seeking God in my trials, adrenalin still courses through my veins and my mind screams, “You’re not safe,” while my heart pounds in my ears.  So, the other day I wrote a poem about anxiety.  Sometimes a girl’s just gotta say it with poetry.

“The Panic Attack” by me

Right brain, left lobe

Bouncing to and fro

Never ceasing, never ending, never letting go

Nausea, adrenalin coursing through the veins

Breathe in, two-three

Out, three-four

Hold on, hold still, as the world spins

Heart pounding, hands shaking, sweat dripping

Breathe in, four-five

Out, five-six

Fighting, ripping, raging, screaming

Left brain, right lobe

Breathe in, breathe out

Fifteen minutes go by

Just keep counting

Just keep breathing

Just keep living

It will be over soon

In a reading of “The Panic Attack,” I will quicken my pace as I read to mimic how a panic attack grows and rages and then eventually ends (usually in fifteen minutes).  Unless I make a vlog, most of you will never see this reading, so you’ll just have to use your imagination.

“Breathe In, Breathe Out” one of the tracks on Jason Gray’s latest album, A Way to See in the Dark, says that we breathe the name of God.  And I even found a video of Jason explaining the song and playing it (by the way, this is almost exactly what Jason said at his concert.  He would probably also want me to tell you that he sounds perfect on his albums, so you should buy one.  If you can’t afford it, you will have a chance win an autographed copy here in the next couple of weeks!)

Let me tell you how, “Yah (1, 2, 3) Weh (1, 2, 3)” can really help during a panic attack; it’s gasping a prayer to the One who can truly provide peace. 

Do you suffering from anxiety or panic attacks?  If so, what silly things have well-meaning people said to you?  What does a panic attack feel like to you?  Do you like Jason Gray’s song?  How can breathing the name of God help you when you are anxiety-ridden?

Friday Faves: Dealing with Bummed-Outness Edition

Since I’m going to a Women of Faith conference (full story) this weekend, you’d think I’d be in a great mood.  I mean, what a great opportunity to commune with the people of God, right?  Absolutely!  And I feel the need for it now more than ever.  Looking for a church in the area is taking its toll on me.  So is the pressure of leading a weekly small group.  I’m giving out, but not filling up.   The rainy weather doesn’t help.  Even the local schools are closed due to flooding.  (Is it even safe to go out there?  Should I invest in a house boat?)  Really, I’m just plain ol’ bummed out.

I don’t know what to do for this depression (and anxiety) except to walk through it and know it, too, will pass.  I spend more time praying, thinking, talking to God and less time social networking, hanging out, and uh, showering.  Hopefully, the Women of Faith weekend will kick start my spirit.  Until then, here are some “faves” that help me get through the murky times.

*Bebo Norman is my go-to guy for hard times.  Whether I’m about to have a panic attack or cry my eyes out, I pop in a Bebo album and I feel immediate relief.  It reminds me of when David played his harp for King Saul when Saul was overcome with bouts of madness.  Bebo’s music is a gentle reminder that someone’s been in the depths, made it out, and that God is still very much present.  Lately, I’ve also listened to Jason Gray and Andrew Peterson, and of course, my old stand-bys–Rich Mullins and Fernando Ortega.  I used have specific playlists on my iPod for “sad times” and “mad times” and “happy times,” but they somehow got deleted.  Another song that resonates with me is “Hold My Heart” by Tenth Avenue North.  While I enjoy artists like Tenth Avenue North and Josh Wilson, when I’m down and out, their upbeat songs feel like salt rubbed into an raging wound.

*The Book of Psalms is an inspiration for many, and when nothing else makes sense, the psalms usually do.  I particularly love Psalms 42 and 46.  I also turn to the book of Hosea, which may sound like a strange choice, until you consider this passage from Hosea 3: 19-20,

“I will betroth you to me forever;
I will betroth you in righteousness and justice,
in love and compassion.
I will betroth you in faithfulness,
and you will acknowledge the LORD.”

As cliche as it sounds, the Bible is an amazing source of comfort in its prose, stories (Elijah, for one), and guidance.

*One day someone who is very dear to me gave me a copy of Henri Nouwen’s The Inner Voice of Love as a present.  She told me to read it, but not all at once, just bit by bit.  So I did, and still do.  In Nouwen’s most personal work, he shares his journal entries from a time when he underwent extreme hardship (some may call it a “nervous breakdown”).  At the urging of his friends, Nouwen published this book.  I rarely read an entry without bursting into tears. I also read Jesus Calling by Sarah Young (read review), which is great for use in small groups or for personal devotions.

*It may sound silly, but online games like Gnome Town and Words With Friends (both on Facebook) provide needed distraction.  I cannot always live in the pain, focus on the hurt, feel the depression, deal with the anxiety.  So, instead, I build a world of friendly forest creatures and get my butt kicked by high school kids who know more words than me.

*Since I’m a writer, it should come as no surprise that words at a healing balm to my soul.  In his song “The Cure for Pain,” Jon Foreman sings, “So blood is fire pulsing through our veins.  We’re either writers or fools behind the reigns.  I’ve spent ten years trying to sing it all away.  But the water keeps on falling from my tries.”  Like Foreman, I keep trying to write, not sing, it all away.  Still, I keep my journal close by and consider my notebooks full of scribbles among my most treasured possessions.  One of these days, I’m going to get a nice leather or mole skin journal (usually, I get them for 50% off at Barnes & Noble or as gifts from friends).

*Dogs, not diamonds, are a girl’s best friend.  Lonely days seem a little less lonely because of my two dogs–Cassie the Peekapoo (left) and Maddy the Shih Tzu (right).  They sense my mood and cuddle with me more often when I am down.  My bird, Kylie the Cockatiel, chirps praises to God when my spirit feels faint.  Animals are truly a gift from God.  And so are friends and family, who are willing to listen, even they don’t understand or don’t know what to do.

I’m not going to apologize for my less-than-chipper mood because it is my goal to be real, rather than entertaining.  Ideally, I like to be both, but real trumps entertaining.  Pray for me and I will pray for you!

How can I be praying for you right now?  What do you do when you feel bummed out?  Do you suffer from clinical depression and/or anxiety?  What kind of pets do you have?  Do you journal and/or blog to relieve your stress?

Imagine… A Women of Faith Weekend

On Friday morning, BFF Sarah and I will be heading to Philadelphia to attend the two-day Women of Faith weekend (WoF).  Thanks to BookSneeze, I received two free passes in exchange for telling y’all about my experience.  Sounds good to me!  Ah, the perks of being a blogger.

I’ve never been to a Women of Faith weekend, so I don’t really know what to expect.  According to the WoF website, outside food and drinks will be confiscated—does that mean I can’t shove a pack of Mentos into my purse?  Will I be forced to pay $4 for a small soda?  I know that Jesus is the living water, but will He be handing out Deer Park at the event?  Keeping us dehydrated could cut down on those infamously long lines at the women’s restroom I suppose.

Anyway, the theme of the weekend is “Imagine,” and I will, “be refreshed, encouraged and inspired. Because the God who loves you can do far more than you can ever Imagine.”  (Refreshed = free water, I’m sure of it.) Lately, I’ve been feeling parched, discouraged, and vacant.

I’m so thirsty for something more.  (More of God?  Definitely more than just slogging through the day.)

I don’t feel like I can make it through another minute.  My strength is failing me.  Not only do I need courage, but I need to be encouraged.

I have so many thoughts running through my head.  I want to do this and that, but I get so tired—I’m too tired to start, too depressed to even try. I ache for inspiration (and motivation).

And I think, I can’t go to Women of Faith this weekend.  I’m too weak, too depressed, too me.  My anxiety is kicking up at the thought of being closed into a stadium with thousands of women.  The thought of being touched or hugged by a stranger gives me knots in my stomach.  O, God, please don’t make me go.

His response? “I love you far more than you can ever imagine.”

I won’t let my fear control me.  I will bask in refreshment, encouragement, and inspiration.  I will let it fill me up and surround me like a warm bubble bath, and seep into my dry soul like aloe vera. 

Just let go of the fear and imagine…

(The video makes the Women of Faith weekend look pretty fun!)

Have you been to a Women of Faith weekend?  What was it like?  Think my Mentos are contraband?  Are you going to Philly this weekend for WoF or another stop on the Imagine tour?

Fat Dogs and Fat Women

My mom's "fat" dog, Katie.

Whenever people encounter my mom’s one dog, Katie, it seems they cannot help but comment on her weight.

“Wow, she’s a little butterball, isn’t she?”

“What a beautiful dog!  She’d be gorgeous if she lost a few pounds.”

“Your dog is fat!  Why is she so fat?” (That’s my favorite tactless statement.)

Sure, Katie is a bit tubby, but why do close friends and even perfect strangers mention it when they encounter her (and of course, my mom, since Katie doesn’t wander the streets alone)?  It just doesn’t seem to be good etiquette to comment on a new acquaintance’s fat dog.

My mom's "fat" daughter (me) . Yes, my family loves dogs.

Not only that, but for people like my mom and me, it drives our suspicions about our own struggles with weight deeper—that when people look at us all they see is a big ball of fat.  They don’t see a person with a name and a history and a personality and a love of books and the outdoors, just fat.  Each of the statements people make about Katie can easily be said to me.  In fact, they have been said to me.

“You have such a pretty face.  If you lose some weight, you would be beautiful.”  (Because apparently I can only date the Stay-Puff Marshmallow Man right now.  I mean, he doesn’t seem to be much for conversation, but I guess he’ll do.)

“Do you really need two cookies?”  (No, I don’t.  But I had a bad day and I’m cramming the extra cookie down my throat to make myself feel better.)

“Lose weight and you’ll find a husband.” (Uhhh…who says I want a husband?  Maybe that’s just not part of God’s plan for me.  I am painfully aware of how many guys view fat chicks, especially those who sport “No Fat Chicks” t-shirts.  I am told that confidence is sexy to guys, but haven’t actually found that to be the case.)

And I know people are just dying to say, “You’re fat!  Why are you so fat?”  I don’t know!  Because I ate two cookies?  Because I don’t exercise enough?  Because I’ve only been able to effectively lose weight by eating grass (it was salad, but it tasted like grass) and chicken noodle soup?

I know I need to lose weight, not so I can nab a husband, but so I can feel better and be healthier person.  But I do not need to be reminded of the fact I need to lose weight by well-meaning friends and family members.  It’s not like I woke up one morning and “forgot” I’m fat.  I am aware of it all the time—when I don’t sit on flimsy lawn furniture for fear my girth will break it, when a store doesn’t have clothes in my size, when I look in the mirror (or avoid looking in the mirror), when I don’t pretend it bothers me.  Believe me, I know better than anyone that I’m fat.

Then why don’t you do something about it?  (Another fun question.)

It takes time, lots of time.  It took a lifetime to get like this, but it won’t take a lifetime to undo it.  There are physiological, psychological, physical, mental, and personal issues at play.  Sadly, eating salad and exercising isn’t as easy as it sounds due to financial limitations (healthy foods cost more), emotional issues (food is comforting), mental health issues (depression and anxiety suck the energy right out of you.  Plus, my fear of open spaces and crowds doesn’t help at all), and medical issues (my medications make it hard to lose weight.)

But I know this woman/man/horse/what who (fill in the blank with weight loss tip) and lost 80-100 pounds!

Everyone knows someone who lost a massive amount of weight and that’s great for that person.  I am not getting weight loss surgery (as it could *kill* me), trying a fad diet, joining Weight Watchers (can’t afford it), signing up for Jenny Craig (can’t afford it and their commercials are incredibly annoying.  Their commercials alone make me want to stay fat.  Sometimes people who have successfully lose weight are most annoying) or Curves (can’t afford that either). 

I am going to do this thing my own way—slowly as I learn to enjoy food, exercise, and a healthy lifestyle.   I am not going to trade one problem for another.  I am going to trust my therapist and my doctor to treat my eating disorder, those close to me (who someone don’t even see my fat), and my God to make it through.

So, instead of focusing on whether or not I take one or two cookies, how my fat has ruined my chances at love, and why I’m fat, maybe you should take a look at that plank of condemnation in your own eye.  Hear that rattle?  The skeletons in your closet are calling.  You just don’t wear them on your physique for all to see and judge.

And while you’re at it, stop calling my mom’s dog “fat”!  Animals don’t like it either.

(Note:  All thoughtless remarks, insulting comments, and diet tips will be deleted.  Remember, I am Backseat Writer’s benevolent dictator.)

What is something you wish you could hide? (It doesn’t have to be physical.)  What thoughtless remarks are repeated to you by people “just trying to help”? (And how are you dying to respond?)  Do you think my mom’s dog is *that* fat? (I think she’s cute. By the way, I groomed her myself.)  Do you have a fat pet?  Do people comment on your fat pet?

Listening to Bebo Norman

Photo by Beckham Photography (pulled from BeboNorman.com)

I’ve been listening to a lot of Bebo Norman lately.   Even though I have piles of new (and wonderful) music to digest, review, and prep for interviews, I continue to listen to my old stand-by Bebo Norman.  When I don’t know what else to do and everything seems all mixed-up in my heart and mind, Bebo’s music is like salve for my wounded spirit.  Something about his music—the chords, the melody, the lyrics—bring peace in madness.  Lately, Between the Dreaming and the Coming True has been a companion in the melancholy.

The first track, “Into the Day” has been particularly inspiring—sometimes bringing tears and other times giving me the strength to make it through the day (or at least brush my teeth.)  This lyric is particularly striking: “The ache of life is more than you are able.  Hold on, love, don’t give up.  Don’t close your eyes.  The light is breaking through the night.”

If you’ve been reading Backseat Writer for a while, you know that Bebo Norman is my favorite musician in the whole wide world!  That’s a pretty important title when you consider the sheer amount of music I enjoy!  The first time I interviewed Bebo Norman by phone I was trembling and sweaty.  The phone rang and I could barely answer it.  It was Bebo.  I was terrified.

Normally, I handle interviews with a little more flair than that.  But this was Bebo Norman—someone whose music has been vastly important in my life.  Knowing that Bebo also suffers from anxiety disorder, I knew I could confide in him.  The result was a beautiful, encouraging conversation.  No longer were we journalist and musician, but two people talking about our experiences living with the horrors of anxiety.  That interview not only produced a wonderful article (read “Bebo Norman: From the Ruins”), but has helped me tremendously in my own walk as a woman living with mental illness.

The next time I interviewed Bebo I told him what that first interview meant to me.  We talked about his latest album (which happens to be his latest album, Ocean.  You can read that interview, too.) and again, Bebo encouraged me.  He was present in the interview (some artists zone out, go off on tangents, or give pat answers) and it felt like a real conversation.  I appreciate that about Bebo.

We’re not friends—Bebo and me.  Sometimes I say things to him or about him on Twitter, and every once in a while he responds.  I doubt he would know me or my name without a bit of coaching, not because he’s a jerk; it’s just the nature of being a well-known musician who is interviewed by a lot of people.  However, when I do jog his memory, he knows exactly who I am.

At the end of the day, it doesn’t matter if Bebo Norman knows my name or remembers my story.  What matters is that his music leads me to God, when I can’t find my way in the darkness of life.  It matters that during our interactions, he is been kind, gracious, and humble (I think he’s an introvert by nature).  It matters that Bebo Norman has shown himself to be a man of God, through his actions and through his music.  It matters that Bebo’s songs are personal, transparent, and lovely.

Most of all, it matters that when I am struggling with the ache of life, when it seems more than I am able, I can listen to Bebo Norman’s music over and over again.  And somehow in the mix of words and melody, I find God and I find peace.

Is there a musician or band that helps you find God when you feel alone?  Have you had the chance to meet or personally thank the artist?  What did you say? (Or what would you say if you had the chance?)

Emma on “Glee” and Mentally Ill Me

In Tuesday’s extended episode (“Born This Way”), “Glee” tackled self-image, including appearance, sexual orientation, and mental illness. While this made for an interesting mish-mash of self-awareness, I found myself relating most to Emma Pillsbury, McKinley High’s neurotic guidance counselor. Since the beginning of the show, Emma’s been a bit (OK, a lot) of a “neat freak.” Early on, I got the joke, “The guidance counselor needs guidance.” Hilarious. I find it especially funny given that I’m a gal with a Master’s degree in counseling who suffers from mental illness.

In episode after episode, Emma frantically sterilizes her environment, and the audience laughs. Ha, that smartly dressed redhead! Each week I pretended to laugh along thinking that “Glee” just makes fun of everyone (especially Christians and virgins.) But last week, the show took a major turn—it started to address the issues associated with obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD). Though an imperfect representation of mental illness, at least “Glee” is bringing the issue into the public eye, and not in the “funny” and endearing way that shows like “Monk” and “House” and movies like As Good As It Gets and Matchstick Men have addressed mental illness. “Glee” shows that Emma suffers from mental illness, that she suffers.

Mental illness is a strange beast—either it is portrayed as “not a big deal” (“Everyone gets a little down sometimes”) or as a monstrous disease that overtakes the lives of its sufferers (think sociopathic killers on crime dramas or the aforementioned dramatizations of characters with OCD.) Then there are celebrities like Catherine Zeta-Jones and Demi Lovato, who are willing to admit they struggle with mental illness, but they’re OK now. And, of course, Charlie Sheen who clearly has a mental problem, which he won’t admit. But where are the people like “Glee’s” Emma who live in spite of mental illness? Few and far between.

No one wants the stigma of mental illness. I certainly don’t want it to plague me my whole life. I am keenly aware about how much I say, wonder if I revealed too much, and ponder if I should just shut up about my severe depression and anxiety. I don’t enjoy the sideways glances I get from acquaintances that read my blog or hear a rumor about me. They wonder if I’m in my right mind, if I’m OK, but no one dares to ask what is really going on or how they can help me. I know the stigma; I live it every day. And like Emma, it keeps me sick. Someone rightly told me that secrets keep you sick. What if the secrets are about how you are sick…mentally?

Towards the end of “Glee,” Emma finally seeks professional help and is given a prescription for a SSRI, which she takes in her office (because who doesn’t want to down her first psychiatric medication at work?) With that swallow, Emma spoke for a lot of mentally ill people who have been kept silent. Yes, we suffer. Yes, we go to weekly therapy. Yes, we know we are mentally ill. But like Emma, we are not our illness. Emma does not equal OCD anymore than Amy equals depression, anxiety and the rest of the stuff my therapist writes on my diagnostic sheet. Emma is a person with OCD, not an illness, just like Amy (that’s me) is a woman who lives with depression.

And I bet you thought “Glee” was just a show about a bunch of underdog kids who sing and dance. In reality, “Glee” is becoming more of a phenomenon that is making outsiders (homosexuals, fat girls, the mentally ill, and more) insiders, which encourages all of us to be a little more honest about who we are.

For an interesting behind-the-scenes look at the Glee episode “Born This Way,” head on over to the Glee homepage (link).

Will you hold my balloon?

I feel like a little girl who lost her balloon.  The string is just out of reach, so she stands on her tip toes reaching, grasping at air, and ultimately failing.  But the balloon is so red and round and beautiful, so she tries day after day.  Reaching, grasping, failing.  Another day passes.  She reaches; her hand brushes against the string tied to the balloon, and she fails.  Other times, she snags that pesky balloon, and the string slips through her fingers. (The imagery filled my mind as I listened to “The Girl with the Red Balloon” by The Civil Wars. I highly recommend their album, Barton Hallow.)

I’m this fatigued version of myself scurrying around between naps trying to make ends meet.  My interest in the things I love has been gradually declining since December.  I am now at an all-time low.  The problem has to do with a prescription medication that is making me overly tired which has not only caused my depression to peak, but a slew of other side effects including bad headaches and bouts of dizziness.

I thought I wasn’t trying hard enough.  If only I push through my depression, I can make it.  I’m only tired because I’m depressed.  I’m only tired because I don’t get enough sleep. I don’t get enough sleep because I’m anxious.  I’m only anxious because I don’t do enough deep breathing.  On and on and on.  My mental reasoning itself is exhausting.

But, no, I’m actually physically ill from my medication.  When a prescription drug malfunctions, it really malfunctions.  While I’m not in imminent danger, I will continue to experience these unpleasantries until I can get an appointment with my specialist.

I considered whether or not this warranted an entire blog post, but I know that you are an understanding audience.  You are all in this with me and you understand why I need to go take a nap instead of writing a book review.  You will pray for me, encourage me, and stand with me.  Really, I have the best readers in the world.

Please be patient with me when it comes to posting content in the next couple of weeks.  I’ve really had to rally to write and work on Backseat Writer.  Thank you for your understanding!

I guess what I’m asking is this–will you hold my balloon for me?  I simply don’t have the energy reach or grasp for it anymore.  But I will.  Soon.

Update 4/14: I saw my doctor on Tuesday morning and he took me off the bad medicine completely.  Great, I guess.  Unfortunately, he failed to mention that I would have withdrawal symptoms like bad headaches, extreme fatigue (wasn’t that the problem in the first place?), and a general feeling of being out of sorts.  Today I am really starting to feel the effects of withdrawal.  So, I’m taking half a dose of the medication until next week, which is what I think he should have done in the first place.  I mean, honestly, what is up with these doctors?  The only doctor I really trust is my family doctor, even though I get paranoid beyond belief when I have an appointment with her.  Please continue to pray for me because this is not fun, but it should last 1-8 days and then another 1-8 days when I go off the medicine completely. Ugh.  I hate this.

Beth Moore Says So Long to Insecurity + Book Tour

Tyndale House, Carol Stream IL–“Our gender has arguably battled insecurity since Eve ripped the first leaf from a tree in the Garden, but our culture has turned a wound into a gorge,” Beth Moore acknowledges. “We desperately need a new way to look at ourselves, and my hope is that we will find authentic help and discover that our strength is in our God-given, unshakable security.”

Tyndale House Publishers is proud to present So Long, Insecurity by Beth Moore, a powerful message that tackles the topic of women’s struggles with insecurity. The marketing campaign will kick off in conjunction with the book’s February 2, 2010 street date with a CCN prayer simulcast followed by a four-city book tour.

Beth Moore personally identifies with the issue of insecurity, admitting she has struggled with it for years. When she set out to research the topic for this new book, she found that surprisingly, there is very little available in the marketplace to address chronic insecurity, further reinforcing her desire to write on the subject.

Moore combines her own experiences with extensive research to address serious topics plaguing American women, including:

How can women find validation without a man’s affirmation?

What exactly is insecurity and where do the roots come from?

How have women been “culturally abused” through media and pop culture in America?

How do men differ from women in expressing their insecurities?

How can women use scriptural tools to confront fears?

And much more!

In So Long, Insecurity, Moore seamlessly combines personal stories with stories of friends and readers, along with biblical verses and content, to provide a true tool for any woman wishing to overcome her insecurities.

Beth Moore will be kicking off her book tour for So Long, Insecurity on February 5, 2010 in Atlanta, with additional stops in Houston, Birmingham, and Nashville.

Book Tour Schedule*:

ATLANTA AREA:

Friday, February 5, 2010

BORDERS–11:00 a.m. to 1:00 p.m.  (4475 Roswell Rd. Ave. E Cobb Marietta, GA  770-565-0947)

BOOKS-A-MILLION –4:00 p.m to 6:00 p.m. (258 City Circle, Peachtree City, GA 770-632-1296)

HOUSTON AREA:

Saturday, February 6, 2010

MARDEL STORE–9:30 a.m. to 11:00 a.m. (19650 Restaurant Row Houston, TX 281-579-0505)

SAM’S CLUB–1:00 p.m. to 2:00 p.m. (19091 Interstate 45 South,  Shenandoah, TX  936-271-1732)

BIRMINGHAM AREA:

Wednesday, February 10, 2010

BOOKS-A-MILLION–11:30 a.m. to 1:00 p.m. (757 Brookwood Village Birmingham, AL 205-870-0213)

COSTCO–2:00 p.m. to 4:00 p.m. (3650 Galleria Circle Birmingham, AL  205-909-1036)

FAMILY CHRISTIAN 5:30 p.m. to 7:30 p.m. (Colonial Promenade Fultondale 3471 Lowery Pkwy, Suite 115 Fultondale, AL 205-849-2250)

NASHVILLE AREA:

Thursday, February 11, 2010

LIFEWAY CHRISTIAN–11:00 a.m. to 1:00 p.m. (Coolsprings Crossing 1725 Galleria Blvd. Franklin, TN  615-771-9050)

BORDERS –2:30 p.m. to 4:30 p.m. (2501 West End Ave. Nashville, TN  615-327-9656)

*Beth Moore will only be signing copies of So Long, Insecurity.

A Sunday Story:: Becoming Real

By Brittney Switala, Special to Backseat Writer I’ll never forget that fatefully night in 3rd grade when I discovered the truth. It was late fall and the chill in the air seemed to make its way through my bedroom window and into my heart. I grabbed one Kleenex after another, stifling my sobs as I tried to make sense of it all. Santa Claus wasn’t real.

Earlier that day a friend told me a convincing story that rocked all that I believed to be true.  I had heard the naysayers before, but never listened. I knew there were some fake Santas at the mall. Santa was busy at his workshop and couldn’t make it to all of his engagements. But the one that comes on Christmas morning, now he was the real deal.

I came home from school and asked my mom about Santa. It was then that the house of cards fell. The letter Santa wrote back to me, an elaborate arrangement my parents had once made to keep me out of the house (including a trip to see Santa at the library) while mom finished putting the presents under the tree, both fakes. I remembered a phone call my dad had made to the Tooth Fairy to explain a situation of a tooth I’d lost that I didn’t have to put under my pillow. One after another I pondered the lies in my mind with anger and distrust. No Santa, so that means no Tooth Fairy and no Easter Bunny. What else shouldn’t I believe in?

“No Santa, so that means no Tooth Fairy and no Easter Bunny. What else shouldn’t I believe in?”

After holding me and attempting to comfort me my mom finally told me that it would help me to think about something else. So I finally came downstairs and watched “Who’s the Boss?” Mom was right, I laughed and ate popcorn. But I couldn’t shake the question, “So, is Jesus for real?”

My parents assured me that there were no more cover-ups. We went to church, read Bible stories and prayed because our faith was something that we valued. I had prayed the “Sinner’s Prayer” as a five-year-old and desired to please Jesus with my life. I learned what behaviors were most frowned upon- cussing, divorce, and disrespecting your parents. The older I got, the longer I realized the list was. I tried as hard as I could to be good enough, to answer the questions correctly in Sunday school. I kept my grades up and I spoke openly against abortion, pre-marital sex and underage drinking during high school.

It wasn’t until I was 30 that I discovered the shocking truth about Christians- we sin just like the world. Just as the truth that Santa was a fake should have been obvious to me as a nine year-old, the “perfect” Christian façade had all but escaped me. The PTL scandal, people who left our church because of divorce, a respected pastor who left the ministry because of alcoholism… I was convinced they were all exceptions to the rule. I had gone to church my whole life and knew how a Christian was supposed to live. In my mind, if they had all just tried harder they wouldn’t have fallen into sin.

I had gone to church my whole life and knew how a Christian was supposed to live. In my mind, if they had all just tried harder they wouldn’t have fallen into sin.

I honestly had never known that sin was an option for me.  We had good conversations at the dinner table as a family and talked about people who fell into affairs or got into drugs. We’d get upset about the country’s moral decline and feel sorry for the broken families. We’d read the Bible story of Joseph and praise him for fleeing a woman who wanted to take advantage of him. Overall I had a sense that if you were a Christian, an active follower of Jesus, then you would always overcome visible sin. In my own mind I was keeping all the rules of a good Christian life, without a whole lot of prayer or time in the Bible. So what was wrong with these pastors and evangelists who did spend all that time studying?

Four years ago my world came crashing down as I learned that someone close to me was being sexually abused and at about the same time I learned my husband was struggling with a pornography addiction.

Four years ago my world came crashing down as I learned that someone close to me was being sexually abused and at about the same time I learned my husband was struggling with a pornography addiction. My world view was rocked once again, strangely in a similar way to when I was nine years old. I yelled, out loud and in my journal, “I have been good, God, I have done all these things for You and I deserve better! You didn’t keep your end of the bargain! I don’t think it’s a stretch to say that there were times when I hated God. He had disappointed me and there was no simple “cause and effect” to explain my family’s upheaval.

My worldview had been very black and white, a worldview parents have ingrained in their children for generations. “Do something good, get a reward. Do something bad and get punished.” There was also no room in my heart for Christians to blatantly sin, and for me to respond with compassion. I had always been taught not to hang out with bad influences, which in a way is very good advice. But that also makes for a very small circle of friends, or at least a circle of people who I thought I could “help” because of their “issues.” And what if that scared sinner is me?

Among other things I struggle with bitterness, anxiety, pride, prayerlessness, and a fear that I’ll never be or look good enough.

Enter “Sinners Anonymous.” Hi, my name is Brittney. Among other things I struggle with bitterness, anxiety, pride, prayerlessness, and a fear that I’ll never be or look good enough. I don’t have an illness, an addiction, mistakes or hang-ups: I have sins, real and raw. I also know that habitual sins are just as prevalent among Christians as they are among non-Christians. Instead of being shocked and pointing fingers I’m more and more convinced that we should help people through their issues because we’ve been there, not because we are better. My husband has been an online mentor for men struggling with sexual sins for several years now. It is not uncommon for these mentors to work with 10-30 men at a time because the need is so great.

I am so glad that I now understand Christians are real people, but I never learned that from going to church or growing up in a Christian home. It happened when I came to grips with my pride about my personal “goodness” being as ugly a sin to God as mass murder. That is not a concept that often comes out in our black and white discipline at home. It is easy to assume that our “good kids” have a good understanding of God, when in fact our good kids may just be striving for positive attention.

Are we happy plastic people
Under shiny plastic steeples
With walls around our weakness
And smiles to hide our pain
But if the invitation’s open
To every heart that has been broken
Maybe then we close the curtain
On our stained glass masquerade

Casting Crowns “Stained Glass Masquerade” from their CD “Lifesong”

What about at church? The church would be a better place if we’d pray about sin more than we do about our body aches and pains. How many people stay away from our churches because they don’t think they are “good enough?” And how many people inside the church (like I was) assume that they just need to keep working harder to be “good” like the people sitting beside me in the church pew.

“I can do everything through Him who gives me strength.” Philippians 4:13. Becoming a Christian is not a silver bullet that means you won’t sin again. Christians do sin; often, horrifically, blatantly, and at times, unintentionally. They commit the same sins as non-Christians, but they have the power through Christ alone to choose not to sin. Freedom from habitual sin is possible through Jesus, but perfection is not happening on this side of eternity.

Santa brings the world toys in one night. Christians are “mostly” sinless. One by one I find myself chipping through the lies I’ve believed and I’m beginning to discover what it means to be “real.”

Brittney Switala is a Christian radio DJ for His Radio in Raleigh, North Carolina and voice talent for Yours and His Productions. Brittney has her B.A. in English/Communications from Trinity International University in Deerfield, Illinois.  Brittney has been married for 12 years and has two children, Lindsey and Micah. When not surfing Christian artist websites for the latest scoop, Brittney enjoys a good conversation and a cup of “gas station” cappuccino. Recently, Brittney’s biggest accomplishments have been finishing all the laundry and helping her son get potty trained.  Brittney has a passion for strong marriages. She is currently writing a book called Dare to Go Unnoticed, addressing how flirting and dressing to get noticed are dirty little secrets of the Christian female community.

Book Review:: Fearless by Max Lucado

Imagine your life without fears.  It seems impossible with the threats gripping humans here on planet Earth—terrorist attacks, bullies, illness, accidents, and so on.  Fears are only as limited as one’s imagination and those with active imaginations can fear all day and all night.  Best-selling author Max Lucado’s book, Fearless (Thomas Nelson), seeks to put a rein on those fears by helping readers to focus on God.  Lucado says that fear corrodes our confidence in God’s goodness.

It all stems from something that helps protect us from harm—our fight or flight instinct.  As humans, we run away from danger as adrenaline courses through our bodies.  Lucado says that fear drove Eve to eat of the fruit from the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil because she was afraid that God was holding out on her.  Her momentary doubt coupled with Adam’s led to the fall of man.  Since that day in the Garden, man has been grasping at that perceived loss of control.

Lucado lays a basic groundwork for dealing with immediate fears with eight steps that include making a worry list, praying over said list, and so on.  Then he details how to deal with specific fears—fear of not mattering, disappointing God, running out, not protecting children, overwhelming challenges, worst-case scenarios, violence, death, “coming winter,” and what’s next.  While these chapters offer a launching point, they fail to offer real meat to the discussion of fear.  Sure, the Bible verses and spiritual encouragement might help an anxious person, but Lucado’s explanations are oversimplifications of a very deep problem.  If only it was as easy as trust God, read some Scripture, pray, and you’ll be OK, if only.

Fearless frustrated me because despite digging at the root of fear (lack of trust in God and His promises), Lucado’s expositions were shallow and oversimplified.  Lucado is a pastor, skilled in the use of Scripture and story-telling, but he is not a counselor (though he may be called to counsel on occasion). While he dug into the depths of Scripture, he didn’t examine the psychological and somatic reactions of anxiety/fear.  Without medication and cognitive-behavioral therapy, some will put their trust in God and yet still feel adrenalin rushes that defy explanation.  These are not so easily explained away, which is why Fearless comes up short.

Amy’s Rating:: 3 out of 5 stars