Book Review:: Finding Purpose Beyond Our Pain by Paul Meier, MD & David L. Henderson, MD

Did you ever forget you had a book in that “to be reviewed” pile?  Yes, even an organizational wizard like me loses things once in a while. Finding Purpose Beyond Our Pain by Paul Meier, MD and David L. Henderson, MD is good read, especially when pains makes life unbearable.  And when it feels like God has forgotten all about His children.  This book is for such a time as this.

The doctors focus on seven key areas of pain, which include injustice, rejection, loneliness, loss, discipline, failure, and death.  Outlining these universal struggles allows the reader to feel understood in his or her suffering, but Drs. Meier and Henderson take things a step further.  Instead of focusing on the problem, individuals must look directly to God for healing from the pain.  It sounds so simple, and yet it’s often the last thing Christians do.

While this book isn’t a quick fix, especially at just under 300 pages, it can be insightful for those suffering.  It just isn’t a book I would give to someone who is suffering at the moment of pain.  It is better read in retrospect.  Still, Finding Purpose Beyond Our Pain is a solid read and can help heal not only the wounded, but also makes a great resourced for Christian counselors.

*This book was provided for review by Thomas Nelson Publishers.*

She Lived and She Was Loved

Today is April 9.  On this day in 1918, a baby was born.  She was named Dorothy June Patterson and she grew up to marry her high school sweetheart, who perished in WW2.  Eventually, she was introduced to another fella by the name of Edwin.  They were engaged after only six weeks and were married over 50 years.  Dorothy or “Dot” as she was called had two children–a girl and a boy.  She didn’t do anything extraordinary besides cooking, cleaning, taking care of her house, and loving those around her.  Society wouldn’t hail her as a hero, just another good person.

But she was extraordinary.  She could make the best potato salad and baked beans anyone ever tasted.  When one of her daughter’s friends needed clothing, she made it herself.  And when the grandchildren came, she would lavish attention on them.  She could fold little birds out of paper and play a good game of Old Maid with her granddaughter.

I’m proud to say that Dorothy June (Patterson) Landis is my grandmother.  She died on July 31, 2005, but if she was still alive, she would be 91.  I just wanted to remember her on this, her special day, to tell you all that she lived and that she was loved.

And she is loved and I miss her.  Although I bet the birthday cake in Heaven is way better than the stuff they make around here.  Have a good birthday with Jesus, Grammy!

I Called Him Poppy

Ninety-three years ago today one of the greatest men I’ve ever known was born.  He was the oldest of six children, and instead of going to college, went to work immediately after graduating from high school to help support his family during difficult times.  Eventually, he married an unfaithful woman and then got divorced.  He then married a war widow and had a son and a daughter with her.

He labored for many years on sewing machines–fixing, inventing, using, and improving them.  In fact, he could probably sew better than most women.  The relics of old sewing machines in his basement were fascinating to my young eyes.  His children grew and married.  His daughter had a daughter and his son adopted two children from Korea.

After retirement, he still fixed and mended whatever needed fixing or mending.  He’d show up at a family member’s house, toolbox in hand, whenever anything broke.  He loved his granddaughter who he called “Lightning”.  She never asked why, but she wishes she could.  He also loved his daughter to whom he granted power-of-attorney.

But the love of his life was his wife, Dorothy, who died six months before him.  He died that day with her, but his body just kept on going a bit longer.  If he hadn’t died in 2006, my grandfather Edwin W. Landis, who was born July 9, 1915 would be turning 93 today.

I just wanted his life to be remembered today because I loved him so much.  He was called lots of things by lots of people, but I just called him “Poppy”.

Tears In My Potato Salad

I still contend that my grandmother was one of the best cooks that the world as ever seen, especially when it came to picnic food and desserts. Until my own venture into making potato salad yesterday and today (it was a two day event), I didn’t realize how hard she worked. And, really, all I did was peel the potatoes and taste the salad because Sarah is much more of a cook than me (yes, it has dawned on me that I should be able to cook to be a suitable candidate for marriage. However, I do know how to clean, decorate, take care of pets, and plant flowers…oh, and I’m very good with power tools. That should count for something, right?)

We called my mom in order to get my grandma’s potato salad recipe and like all my grandmother’s recipes, this one wasn’t terribly exact. “Add some vinegar” isn’t that helpful, you know? Finally, the potato salad was ready for a taste test…and it tasted nothing like Grammy’s. I called my mom fighting back fears because it just had to be like my grandmother’s because that’s what I remember being the best part about the Fourth of July. We added more vinegar and then salad dressing and onions and paprika and celery salt in various quantities, but it was futile. While our friend Julie loved the potato salad, I thought it tasted terrible.

July 31 will mark the third anniversary of my grandmother’s death, and in these three years I’ve come to realize it’s the little things that truly matter most–her potato salad on the Fourth of July, the little birds she folded out of paper, and the answers to the questions I never asked. I can’t make her potato salad; I don’t know how to fold those little birds; and I can’t ask those questions.

I know it’s just potato salad and such a thing shouldn’t make a person cry, but it does. Because it’s not potato salad; it’s something I can never ask my grandmother to show me how to make. I can’t make it for my family one day (if I ever learn how to cook) and say, “This is how my grandmother made it.” Today I missed my grandmother terribly, not just because of her potato salad, but because of what not having her potato salad means. They say that a loved one’s death gets easier with time; I think it just gets “normal”.

If anyone out there has a good recipe for potato salad that contains vinegar, salad dressing (the mayo alternative), and sour cream, please e-mail it to me at amy@backseatwriter.com or post it here for everyone to enjoy. Thanks!

Spiritual (and Physical) Hypochondria

A few months ago, I was diagnosed with “moderate hypochondria” which came as no shock to those near and dear to me. Hypochondria is one of those things that can be tremendously funny and horribly terrifying. The funny part is that it’s completely irrational, but the horrifying part is that the fear is terribly real.

Hypochondria is a psychosomatic disorder which revolves around the fear of getting or being sick. While it varies in intensity from person to person, a hypochondriac will get something simple like a headache and believe or fear that she has a brain tumor. Normal bodily sensations and pains are intensified and even imagined. Some hypochondriacs go to the doctor too much while others are terrified to seek treatment. I used to be the former, now I’m the latter. I hate going to the family doctor, but I go when I must.

The Internet makes it easy to find new and interesting diseases from sites like WedMD or the Mayo Clinic. In trying to find cold relief, a hypochondriac can “end up” with pneumonia. For me, the hypochondria comes in bouts of anxiety. Sometimes I’m relatively OK as long as you keep me away from “E.R.” and “Grey’s Anatomy” but other times a commercial for “House” can freak me out. Plus, there’s the power of suggestion. If someone close to me has a bladder infection or a kidney stone or an ovarian cyst, then I suddenly “develop” one as well (or rather the symptoms).

Hypochondria hasn’t always been part of my life. As a child, I had surgery on my ears due to fluid in my cochlea (“tubes in the ears”), my tonsils removed, and knee surgery at 16. Despite terrible allergies, terrible sinus infections, and ovarian cysts (painful!), I was OK. That is until March of 2001, when I had the worst sinus infection imaginable. I kept going to the doctor trying to find relief for the pain, which wasn’t even lessened by prescription pain medications. After several tests including a spinal tap (those are HORRIBLE), it was discovered that I suffered from a rare condition called psuedo tumor cerebri. I was rushed to Philadelphia for emergency surgery–a shunt was inserted into my body to drain the fluid causing pressure in my head. This pressure was crushing my optic nerves, not only giving me terrible headaches, but causing me to go blind as well. I survived that ordeal and didn’t realize I was in for another.

A couple of weeks later, my right arm flailed about uncontrollably and went numb. Since my appendage was hanging on my body like dead weight, my mom drove me to the emergency room. After a few minutes, I suppose I just got tired of waiting, so I had a grand mal seizure (you lose control of your entire body) right there in front of everyone. I got rushed into a room where I had another seizure. Apparently, I was out quite a bit and there was fear I was brain damaged, but I was OK. The room looked like a scene from “E.R.”. Cabinets were open, stuff was thrown all over the place, a big blue breathing tube was popping out of my face, some weird thing was going out of my nose, and there were electrodes all over my chest.

After getting yet another spinal tap and other tests (which weren’t nearly as unpleasant as the spinal tap), it was discovered I had a blood clot in one of the main arteries of my brain. So I had to be put on blood thinners, which meant that the thickness of my blood was checked several times a day. I was in the hospital a week the first time and ten days the second. I became very good at stretching my arm and getting blood drained out of it. I also became very bruised.

Finally, I went home but I was terrified I would have another seizure. I had to wear a medical identification bracelet because I was on blood thinners and anti-seizure meds. And for a while my balance was off, and I had to use a cane. Plus,  I had frequent doctor visits to neurologists, the family doctor, the eye doctor, and everyone else that needed to see me. It was definitely not the way I wanted to spend the spring semester of my junior year.

Now it’s seven years later, and I’ve had sinus surgery due to chronic sinusitis and been diagnosed with several other chronic disorders which I don’t wish to mention, and now I hate going to the doctor. It seems to have worsened into hypochondria after the lingering deaths of both my grandparents.

Hypochondria makes life difficult at times, but fortunately I don’t live in a constant state of fear. I have random cycles in which I am forced to deny how I feel physically and rely on what I know to be true mentally. I have to trust that God is in control of my health and my life, which is something with which we all struggle. The problem is that my body ACTUALLY thinks it is sick, except that it isn’t. It actually feels pain when nothing is wrong. The pain is very real, but the underlying pain problem is not.

At least I have a diagnosis, but I tend to think that we as Christians often live as spiritual hypochondriacs. Instead of trusting God, we carefully analyze every situation to gain control. We feel the sting of others more deeply than we should and take on “illnesses”. We look around and say to ourselves, “The world is not safe. God is not in control.” We despair and fall away from truth.

During times of physical and/or spiritual hypochondria, I take comfort in Psalm 46, especially verses 1-4,

1 God is our refuge and strength,
an ever-present help in trouble.

2 Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way
and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea,

3 though its waters roar and foam
and the mountains quake with their surging.

4 There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God,
the holy place where the Most High dwells.

I don’t know about you, but if I saw the mountains fall into the ocean (an earthquake perhaps?), I would be scared out of my mind. Yet this psalm urges us not to fear because nothing escapes the watchful eyes of God. I like how verse 4 contrasts the volatile ocean with the “river whose streams make glad the city of God”. Completely out of  our realm of control is God, who invites us to be still and know Him (vs. 10). There is so much comfort and power in these words, especially in times of trouble, anxiety, and yes, hypochondria.

While I’ve tried to pray my hypochondria (and other ailments) away, so far I haven’t had any miraculous healing. But I have learned a lot about being still and knowing God, the value of praying and encouraging others, and living in situations I would have never chosen for my life. Since I can’t change it, I simply (or not so simply) accept it, rail against it with the truth, and trust God with the rest. It sounds easy enough, but it’s the fight of my life. Fortunately, thought sometimes I feel like it, I am never alone.

1 in 5 Come Home Mentally Ill

“A war is like when it rains in New York and everybody crowds into doorways, ya know? And they all get chummy together. Perfect strangers. The only difference, of course, is in a war it’s also raining on the other side of the street and the people who are chummy over there are trying to kill the people who are over here who are chums.”–Hawkeye Pierce, “M*A*S*H”

When it comes to electronics, I’m pretty lame. I mean, I just got an iPod in March (thanks Sarah!) So it should come as no surprise that I own a Playstation 1 with a variety of outdated games including Spyro the Dragon, Tomb Raider (1 & 2), and Crash Bandicoot Racing. The last one is my favorite because cartoon characters drive little cars around and lob bombs, rockets, and other weapons at one another. I get a certain feeling of satisfaction running one of my opponents off the road with one of the weapons in my arsenal. I feel even better when I win. However, if it wasn’t a game (and didn’t involve cartoon characters), destroying others wouldn’t be so…fun. It would be devastating, heartbreaking, and just plain mean. But it’s just a game, right?

Sadly, every single stinkin’ day there’s a suicide bomber somewhere blowing up something. There are militants slaughtering the innocent. There are troops out in the desert being shot are by snipers. In reality, war is hell, and people are living it every day. Plus the technology developed to kill is far more sophisticated than my Playstation 1. With a press of a button, a missile can wipe out a village, like the people never existed.

Is it any wonder that one in five soldiers who have served in Iraq or Afghanistan now suffers from major depression or post-traumatic stress disorder? (Full story) Maybe the sickest “deaths” can’t even be measured in a body count. Perhaps the sickest death isn’t just a dead son or daughter in a body bag, but a man or woman suffering from mental illness. Despite how noble our military is, you can’t go to a place and kill people for six months and be OK. I believe it changes a human because it’s dehumanizing. We were never created to kill. It’s not part of the original design that God had for us. But because we are fallen, we are at war with ourselves, our world, and each other (Rob Bell points this out in Sex God).

Major depression and PTSD can be treated effectively. They can be medicated, get counseling, and go on to lead great lives. I’m not condemning our men and women in uniform to life in an asylum. I am merely saying that the cost of war isn’t just in dollars and death, but in the quality of life that exists for our soldiers once they do come home. I don’t know how I feel about the war in Iraq. I don’t know whether we should have gone in the first place. I don’t know what to do now and if immediate withdraw is the right option. I just don’t know. But I do know that once the troops do come home, we need to support them, love them, and help heal them however we can.

The other thing I know is this–I hate war. Yet I know that war will continue to be part of this present reality, as Jesus said, “You will hear of wars and rumors of wars, but see to it that you are not alarmed. Such things must happen, but the end is still to come. Nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom” (Matt. 24:6-7).

You know what I hate most about war? The fact that no one really wins. In the end our side has casualties and so does their side. And really, when you think about it, you have a 19 year-old American soldier fighting against a 19 year-old Iraqi or whoever. They’re shooting at each other and but they really have no beef with each other…just that the other one is the “enemy” because they’ve been told the other side is the enemy. Given another situation, and if they could communicate well enough, they’d probably go get a beer and pick up girls together. But war makes them enemies and they shoot to kill.

I hate war and I have what it does to the minds of the people who are fight in it.

It is finished

“When He had received the drink, Jesus said, ‘It is finished.’ With that, he bowed his head and gave up His spirit.”–John 19:30

Selah, Larry Norman

In 1999, I went to Creation East with my good friend, Jim.  Despite the dirt, the heat, the sweat, and the camping, I was focused on one thing (besides volunteering) and that was seeing the founder of Christian rock, Larry Norman, in concert.  My dad is a huge Larry Norman fan, so growing up I was regaled with his music.  In fact, my dad took my mom to a Larry Norman concert on one of their first dates.

As fate would have it, the booth I worked was right next to Larry Norman’s merchandise. When I wasn’t telling kids about the dangers of abortion, I was chatting with Larry Norman’s road manager about how much I loved Larry Norman.  I even showed the poor guy a paper I had written on the history of Christian rock for a college class during the previous semester.  Because he thought I was cute (or was sick of me talking about Larry Norman), the road manager arranged for me to meet Larry Norman right before the throngs in the autograph line had a chance at him.

I remember standing there and watching Larry walk in–I was quivering with excitement and anxiety.  I was meeting my hero.  I was called over to Larry, and he autographed a picture for me (for my dad).  He asked about me a bit and told me about his Compassion children.  I seriously think he would have whipped out his wallet and showed me their pictures if he wasn’t told to wrap it up.  I met Larry face-to-face and he was much different than I expect.  On stage he was larger than life, an activitist, the voice of a generation now stuck in the middle class, but one-on-one, he was gentle yet passionate.

A year and a half later I found out that Larry Norman was playing at a church in the area, so my dad and I decided to go see him.  The church was way out in the boonies, but we sat in the front pew.  It was one of the best concerts I’ve ever seen–Larry talked, played piano, played guitar, and cracked jokes.  After the concert, my dad yelled, “Larry!” and he came right over.  My dad was verbally slobbering all over Larry (like I did when I met Derek Webb.  I was too scared to talk to Larry Norman when I first met him), but I calmly introduced myself and thanked Larry for all he did to further music.  He talked to us for about 10 minutes about the history of Christian rock and was fascinated that a 20 year-old girl knew so much about music or even cared.  He called me a “revolutionary for my generation”.

A little over year later, my friend, Jen, and I drove a couple hours to attend another Larry Norman concert.  I was headachey and tired, but made it through the concert alright.  It wasn’t as good as the first one–probably because I was getting sick.  One week later I was in the hospital with a serious medical condition, and two weeks after that I nearly died from a blood clot in my brain.  I was 21, had seen Larry Norman perform live three times, and almost died.

After the concert, I ran into Larry in the hallway as I was leaving (OK, so it was kind of on purpose) and he remember me as “the revolutionary writer for my generation”.  I was surprised, but gave him a hug.  I’m not sure that Larry was an especially huggy person, but I hugged him anyway to show my deep appreciation for his work.  That was the last time I ever saw Larry Norman live.

In order to get my B.A. I had to complete a senior thesis project.  My journalism project consisted of a series of articles exploring the Christian music industry–one article focus on the pioneers of Christian rock and their thoughts on the current state of the Christian music industry.  I interviewed Glenn Kaiser, Phil Keaggy (who is by far the best guitarist I have ever seen), and a few others.  I needed Larry’s input as well.  I called his office incessantly–every day–and left a message.  A couple of times someone answered the phone and told me that Larry rarely does interviews, but might be in to talking to a college girl.  I didn’t hear from Larry, and turned my project in, got an A, and graduated from college.

A few weeks after graduation, the phone rang.  “Hello?” I said.

“Hi, is this Amy?” the male voice asked.

“Yes,”I said uncertainly, ready to hang up on the telemarketer.

“Amy, this is Larry Norman,” he said.  I just about swallowed my tongue.  Larry Norman was calling me!  He told me that he was on the way to his cardiologist, but wanted to make sure that he returned my call.  I told him that my project was finished yet if I wanted to add his opinion into the article because I felt it was incomplete.  He said he would call me back to schedule a date; however, things were a bit sketchy for him because he’s been feeling ill lately.  Heart problems, he said.  I wondered if he remembered who I was and then he asked if I was the “revolutionary writer”.  I smiled and said yes.

I told him I would pray for him, and I did.  He never called back, but that was OK with me.  I had my time with Larry Norman, who had called me a “revolutionary writer”.  It’s not a story I’ve shared with anyone–ever.  Maybe I was afraid it wasn’t true and I was letting Larry down, or maybe I couldn’t fathom my talent being in the same class as Larry Norman’s.

Today when I learned of Larry Norman’s death, tears welled up in my eyes and I let them fall.  According to Larry Norman’s website, this was his last message to the world:

“I feel like a prize in a box of cracker jacks with God’s hand reaching down to pick me up. I have been under medical care for months. My wounds are getting bigger. I have trouble breathing. I am ready to fly home.

My brother Charles is right, I won’t be here much longer. I can’t do anything about it. My heart is too weak. I want to say goodbye to everyone. In the past you have generously supported me with prayer and finance and we will probably still need financial help.

My plan is to be buried in a simple pine box with some flowers inside. But still it will be costly because of funeral arrangement, transportation to the gravesite, entombment, coordination, legal papers etc. However money is not really what I need, I want to say I love you.

I’d like to push back the darkness with my bravest effort. There will be a funeral posted here on the website, in case some of you want to attend. We are not sure of the date when I will die. Goodbye, farewell, we will meet again. Goodbye, farewell, we’ll meet again. Somewhere beyond the sky.

I pray that you will stay with God. Goodbye, my friends, goodbye.
Larry”

Selah, Larry, you are home.

Christian Rock Pioneer Larry Norman Dies at Home

The family of Larry Norman announced today on LarryNorman.com that the singer passed away on Sunday morning after a lengthy battle with heart problems. Surrounded by friends in his last days, the pioneer of Christian rock died peacefully with his wife and brother by his side.

Norman was originally in a secular group called People, which released a hit song called “I Love You”. After hearing artists like Elvis “stealing” the music of the black church choirs, Norman decided to “steal” it back. Upon This Rock debuted in 1969, which is believed to be the first Christian rock album ever released. Norman went on to realize many more albums, but more than that, he started that Christian rock revolution which was embraced by the Jesus movement of the 60′s and 70′s.

Two of his best-known songs “I Wish We’d All Been Ready” and “Why Should the Devil Have All the Good Music?” have been covered by many artists. Norman was known for his story-telling, on-stage banter, revolutionary lyrics, and skill on both piano and guitar. Inspiring many young musicians and challenging the church’s traditional ideas of music, Larry Norman managed to change the world–on guitar string at a time.

Read my personal thoughts and stories about Larry Norman here.

Print copy of article.

Heath Ledger, You’ll Be Sorely Missed

1979-2008

When I first saw Heath Ledger in The Patriot, I realized that Australia’s greatest national treasure was now in the United States. Playing alongside screen legend Mel Gibson, Ledger held his own as Gibson’s patriotic son fighting against the British for American independence. Then there was A Knight’s Tale. I didn’t really care for that movie, but Ledger looked stunningly masculine in his armor. He was brilliant co-starring with Orlando Bloom in the unappreciated Ned Kelly, in which Ledger played the title character.

I couldn’t get into Monster’s Ball and Brokeback Mountain was two hours of my life I won’t get back. I don’t know why people were so up in arms about the flick; it was boring. In fact, I would never have watched it if there wasn’t such controversy surround “the gay cowboy movie.” Like a friend, I was excited to see Ledger as the Joker in the forthcoming Batman movie, The Dark Knight. I always had a soft spot for the Joker (especially after Jack Nicholson portrayed him so fabulously in the first Batman movie).

The news broke earlier today about Heath Ledger’s death (story). According to current reports, Ledger was found facedown, naked in front his bed with a variety of pills in bottles around his room. Overdose? Suicide? Accidental? No one knows, but it seems that foul play has been ruled out. Naturally, it’s another celebrity story that’s going to be splashed all over the news for the weeks to come.

I’ll miss Heath Ledger and the movies he could’ve made. I mourn for his little girl who will never really know her Daddy. And I mourn for his loved ones who will have to hear every excruciating detail of his death repeated thousands of times a day in the media.

On a personal note: Heath Ledger was only one year older than me.  Whenever someone close to my age dies, it makes me shudder.  As I came into adulthood, so did Ledger.  We sort of “grew up” together.  So, even though I didn’t know the guy, I mourn someone from my generation.