Losing Your Best Friend: A Eulogy

It’s right that it started raining when it did less than 48 hours ago. It’s right that it continues raining and being miserable. The sky was laden with clouds as heavy with rain as my heart was with tears on the drive back home from when I and my family suddenly and unexpectedly lost our dear fluffy boy.

Poised to receive a snack. Every time he heard a bag wrinkle, he was sure it was food, and that he would get some of it.

Chunkey came into our lives on March 23, 2011. I remember the date so clearly, because that was the last time I had my heart in my chest; he stole it from me with a glance. I remember the first time I laid eyes on that little bundle of fur. He was five months and ten days old, heavyset, yet full of playful energy. From the start he was loyal and protective, choosing a family member’s foot or lap as his seat of choice, and barking ferociously at anything that moved, as terriers and Schnauzers are wont to do (he was a unique mix as a result of a Silky terrier dad and a Schnoodle mom from a litter born to my cousin’s dogs in October the previous year). He would sometimes bolt out the door to go after a rabbit or squirrel, or small child, whichever, and I would panic lest he get hit or caught and sent to the pound. He would get so nosy and try to peek his little nose over the counter at the vet clinic. The shenanigans he would get into, like chewing rolls of toilet paper, socks, shoes, a pair of my glasses, stealing Mom’s chicken wing (he literally juped up and took it from her hand and ran off with it!), was easily forgiven when he would lower his little head and show me those pretty brown saucer eyes.

ASPCA poster child photo, complete with Sarah McLachlan playing in the background. Who can stay mad at that face?

That 20-pound ball of fur scared me to death so many times, from times when he’d tug on the leash to bark at passing cars, to times when he’d lay on my chest late at night and breathe on me and press his little nose against my cheek. He apparently thought the middle of the night was playtime.

Yes, he woke me up to play. And, yes, I got up and played with him.

I’ve never had someone so thoroughly understand me. The majority of my adulthood thus far was spent as a pet parent to him. Now he’s gone, I have nothing to push for. He was the reason I didn’t give up when I lost my job, my apartment, my dignity. He was the reason I got out of bed to go to work at those God-awful, shittastic temp jobs. He was my inspiration and my muse and my role model on how to love people, how to live life, how to view the world. What do I do now that he’s gone, and gone too soon?

The more important question I have to ask myself is: “How do you honor such a life?” How do you pay homage to the most perfect, consummate love you have ever known, the most loyal and intuitive friend you’ve ever met, the biggest heart you’ve ever seen that was just so full of love, it gave out?

The vet at the ER said that sometimes, it just happens like this. She said she had seen this before, where seemingly healthy, strong, happy dogs just pass over. Still, I can’t help but wonder what I did, what I didn’t do, what I could have done, the signs I maybe missed, the choices I should’ve made to make it easier for him, the things I should’ve done to keep him with me, especially as we all were just sitting around less than an hour before you went making plans for your 7th birthday.

The day before he turned 6 years old.

I believe that the Lord takes people from us when we have gleaned all that we were supposed to from them. As I said before, the majority of my adult life to this point was spent raising Chunkey. That sweet angel was so much to me. I kept going on because I kept telling myself ‘your baby needs you’, but that’s a lie. I was the one who needed HIM. He was God personified (dog-ified?). The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away.

He always was under the covers waiting for a cuddle.

The night before he passed over the rainbow, I let him out of his kennel when I got off work, like normal. He was more docile and calm than usual, but I thought nothing of it. I scooped him up and carried him into the bathroom with me, and completed my nightly routine with him waiting for me to get out of the shower on his special rug like always. I fed him a carrot, one of his favorite snacks, at dinnertime, and like he always does after dinner, he begged me to come up on the chair while I was watching YouTube to cuddle. I remember so vividly the urge out of nowhere to squeeze him, to kiss and boop his little cold, wet nose,  to feel his paws, to wipe the cold out of his eyes and rub his little belly, and I’m glad I gave in. I figured that since the next day was a holiday, we’d get plenty of cuddle time. My only regrets are that because of that thought,  I didn’t hold him closer as we slept, and that I’ll never be able to do those things here on Earth again.

Spoiled rotten, and I wouldn’t have had it any other way.

If I only  knew how wrong I was. My sister came over for the 4th of July ( a holiday I’ve always abhorred, and now even more so), and my mother’s boyfriend, who Chunkey was CRAZY about, had his son over to go watch fireworks. Chunkey’s whole clan was gathered. I had walked him earlier that afternoon, and we took an extra long time this time, because it was a holiday, and he was more docile and calm than usual, not barking at cars and such. He seemed to watch me a lot more than he usually does on our walks, but I didn’t register it then. My sister and I went to the gym in the apartment building to get a workout in, and I gave him a treat like I always did whenever I temporarily left, sort of  my own “I’ll be back soon”. We were gone for twenty minutes when mom’s boyfriend came to get us  and said Chunkey was in trouble. He had taken him for another walk while I was gone, thinking that I hadn’t done it before, and while walking, Chunkey had collapsed. I never ran faster through a neighborhood or up 4 flights of stairs in my entire life than when he asked me if I knew where the emergency vet was. My mom told me that he wouldn’t walk to her when she called him after her boyfriend carried him in and set him down. She got down on the floor with him, held his paw, and talked to him. She said he had labored breathing and kept huffing, as if trying to tell her what was wrong (Chunkey always did that when he was upset or keen on getting his way). Mom said that as soon as I walked in the door, he stopped breathing. His pulse was still faint as my sister and I tried CPR, even as we all piled into the car, driving to every pet hospital we could think of, dodging all the Independence Day celebration crowds, only to find that once we made it to one that was open, we were too late. His little spirit left his body as we were holding him in our arms.

He’s sleeping in Paradise now, with all the chewies, toys and treats he could possibly want.

Chunkey was a feisty companion, a hard lover, and a tender comforter. When I had no one, he was everything. In his last hour, he was fighting to get on the couch to lay across the laps of my mom, my sister and I, ardently insisting in his own way that we cuddle with him (he did this a lot anyway, but he was especially persistent). My boss was saying just last week how dogs always know, and that they always want to make sure that their humans are never present to see them suffer. He was my dog, but my sister and I both raised him, and he waited for all of his pack to gether together, and for my sister and I to leave to cross over to the other shore, I know he did.

He would self-punish when he did something wrong by going straight to his kennel. Look at that face! I never stayed mad at him long.

 

He seemed to know me better than myself at times. He was the one to make me see myself as a person worthy of love. Everyone who met him fell instantly in love. Dogs are amazing creatures. They give, and give, and give until there’s no more left. They show us how to really live life: for the moment, with no regrets, and with everything on the table. I said this in that cold, sterile office, and I meant every word: I didn’t deserve him. We don’t deserve dogs. We just don’t. I’ve borne witness to humans who’d done terrible things to dogs, only to have the dog  or dogs turn around and still trust, still obey, still believe that same disgusting, vile abusive human.  They embody the perfect love God has for us, and are among us to demonstrate. To anyone who says that dogs are stupid, hae no souls, are devoid of any emotion, I have a couple of choice words for you, sirmadam.

::Ahem, ahem::

Fuck you.

You who think this way have never, NEVER known true love and thus have no soapbox to stand on in the matter.

All my life, everyone has told me that things happen for a reason, that people come into your life for a lesson and only leave once it’s learned, that time always heals every wound. I’ve learned so much about how to unconditionally love, how to live with abandon, how to forgive, how to behave,  how to treat people, in the six years, 3 months, and eleven days I was graced with the opportunity to know, care for,  and love him. But, I don’t know if time can ever heal this wound, this gaping hole where my heart used to be. He was in the Davis family literally his whole life, and I and my family will never be the same again.

How do you honor your best friend? What can you say about a life, a short life, in whose span so much of who you are has been curated? How do you let go? How do you say goodbye?

If I’d only known this was to be the last picture I took of him…

Goodbye, my baby. Thank you for EVERYTHING. Sleeping will never be peaceful again without you flush against my side.  I love you more than words can express. I’ll do my best to get to Heaven to be able to cuddle and play one-sided fetch with you again one glorious day.

Chunkey Davis
10.13.2010 – 7.4.2017
Rest in peace, little buddy.

Thirty Things Learned in My First Thirty Years

Today, April 16th, is my 30th birthday. And Easter Sunday.

People make the age of 30 sound much different from what it actually is. Then again,
I’ve only been 30 for about 20 hours or so… (4 1/2 at the time of writing this, if you wanna get technical).

Time spent without having learned anything is time wasted. So, I’ve been thinking about some important things I’ve learned in life so far that might help someone else.

1.) Listen to your mother.

Sometimes, mother doesn’t always know best. But, let’s face it: those times are very rare and often insignificant. Obviously, there are exceptions to this, but your mother is your biggest ally in this world. There are so many times in life where I wish I’d just listened to the Cliff Notes of life my mother tried to impart, rather than dismissing her as though the advice were somehow irrelevant to me, thus learning the lesson the hard way.

2.) It’s okay to be wrong.

There’s a difference between being righteous and being self-righteous. Defending erroneous actions is just silly. Just admit it when you are in the wrong and learn from the mistake.  Move forward and become better. Besides, nobody likes a know-it-all.

3.) Sometimes, the 4th time’s the charm…

…Or the 5th, or 6th, or 46th. The Wright Brothers (one of whom I share a birthday with!) didn’t quit after a few failed attempts.

4.) Speak up.

You never know who is thinking or feeling the same thing you are. The whole world can change because of a “stupid” or “crazy” idea.

5.) There are times when you have to suck it up and be ‘okay’.

Life isn’t all about you. There are 7 1/2 billion other souls on this planet, and at any given time, they’re all going through something, some worse than what you’re going through, and smiling bigger.  That paper you have to turn in, that money you have to make with overtime, that deadline you have to meet, etc., will NOT RSVP to your pity party. Suck it up, buttercup.

6.) There are times when it’s okay to not be ‘okay’.

On the other hand, you are the only one living your life. If you need to take a personal day to grieve the loss of your dog (I’d be taking at least a few), if you need to escape to the bathroom to cry, turn off the phone and delete social media for a month, do that. Which brings me to my next point:

7.) Your (spiritual/physical/mental) health is paramount.

You only get one shot at this life. Some people don’t even make it past childhood before their time on Earth is over. Why be miserable? Why be in pain? Why live everyday in a depression, or anxious, or desperate to escape when there’s a better way? Talk to someone, get exercise and eat healthy, stay on top of your check-ups. Do your research on  what spiritual path best aligns with your view of the world. Do what you have to do (within reason) to make life truly worth living.

8.) Life will BREAK you.

But, it’s usually because you need to be put back together the right way.

9.) Sometimes, a shitty job is better than none at all.

Because you’re an adult. With responsibilities. And an empty fridge. See #5.

10.) Bullies are the biggest bitches.

Oftentimes, they are hurting you because they have so much pain within themselves and have no other outlet and are scared to do anything else. A lot of them do it out of boredom (read: empty mind). Ultimately, they are only hurting you because you allow  them to.  Don’t be a victim. End the cycle.

11.) Personality doesn’t get wrinkles.

Real talk. People get better with age, even though our bodies deteriorate. Though some people are able to age very well, good looks WILL fade away, butts and boobs sag, thighs meet and fall in love and six packs give way to a whole keg. Even when outer appearances don’t fade with  the passing of time, they melt like sugar in a teacup in the mind of a person who knows what their insides are really like. But a sharp mind, a good heart and a beautiful soul are always attractive. Your experiences and what you do with them build your character. And that’s something makeup and nice clothes can’t hide.

12.) Cars depreciate. People don’t.

Piggybacking off of the previous point, I’ve seen so many people around me hurting because someone used them like an object. Sometimes, it was to get something material. A few times, it’s been a petty squabble about a possession that was taken or stolen or borrowed that exploded into something bigger. The end result is that you have this thing that is worthless in a few years time, and you’ve lost a friend or lover or family member over it. People are meant to be valued. Every person that comes in to our lives has a purpose, even if it’s small.  Our lives intertwine that way so intricately that the design of it all cannot possibly be overlooked.

13.) Get to know lots of different people.

Variety is the spice of life. Make a new friend from a different culture, learn more about how they live their lives. Try new foods, learn a few phrases in a different language, talk to someone who practices a different religion. Open yourself up and you will enrich your life so much. There are so many wonderful little things you can incorporate into your day-to-day from other cultures. For example, I find it much easier to beat eggs or turn over food in a  pan with chopsticks.

14.) Time is precious. Be focused.

You can replace clothes, furniture, cars, houses. You can get a job and earn more money, if you should lose it. But, you will NEVER get your time back. Suddenly, scrolling on Instagram doesn’t seem like such a priority, right?

15.) Words are powerful. Be kind.

Who the French dressing came up with that stupid “stick and stones” saying?! One unkind word can be enough to discourage someone from pursuing the career of their dreams. You could think you’re being witty and sarcastic by saying something off-color and wind up ruining your entire marriage or other relationship. Saying something nice, on the other hand, that you don’t think much of can literally save someone’s life (I’ve been there). Furthermore, with this in mind, once your words are said, you can’t take them back again. Choose carefully.

16.) Save a little money.

You never know what life will throw at you. Your future self will thank you.

17.) Violence is not to be tolerated.

When I say violence, I don’t just mean punching, hitting, shaking, etc. When someone punches your wall, throws something at you with no real intention of hitting you, destroying your personal property, or even makes a threat to do any of the above, this is still violence. Just like harm to your person, it is meant to instill fear, because people who are afraid are easier to manipulate and control. When I say ‘not to be tolerated’, I don’t just mean from other people. I mean from you towards yourself or other people as well. You need to find a constructive outlet for your emotions, or it will cost you a price you’re not willing or prepared to pay.

18.) Know thyself. Spend some time alone.

It’s generally thought healthy to want to have interactions with people, but everyone should take time to be completely alone. Some people cannot stand to be by themselves, and would rather maintain toxic relationships than deal with just themselves. BUt, when you know yourself, you understand your place in the world more. You know what kind of people you need in your life, and what people should be let go. When you know yourself, you can love the loveable parts, and change the not-so-loveable parts. and when you finally like yourself, your whole self, the right people will start liking you, too.

19.) Know your limits…

… And don’t let others push them. The people who do will need to get cut from the team during the annual review.

20.) Trust the process.

All of my cohort friends and family members seem to either be married, have kids, a four-year degree and a great career, are homeowners, or some combination of the above. I don’t have any of that yet. Maybe I wasn’t meant to. Or, maybe I wasn’t meant to yet. I’m just now stabilizing from a major setback, and I look forward to finishing my degree and embarking upon that great career, and I’m relishing my time that is truly mine to work on myself, not devoted to kids or a spouse. Everyone’s journey is different. It’ll happen when it’s meant to. In the meantime, enjoy the meantime.

21.) Failure is a part of success…

…And a part of life. A seed can’t grow unless it’s buried. Last year, I read Failing Forward by John C Maxwell, and it detailed how so many of the great scientists, businessmen, and other legends seemed to be ‘behind the curve’, lacked in resources, started over and over again, or started too late to ever be successful. Vera Wang failed to make the U.S. Olympic figure skating team, but she’s not a failure. She didn’t design her first dress until she was in her 40s! As long as you’re on this side of the ground, it’s never too late to begin.

22.) When (not ‘if’) you lose everything, you will gain so much.

Like, knowledge of who is really in your corner, strength beyond what you ever dreamed you could possess, empathy, humility, wisdom, etc.

23.) It’s okay to be mad at God.

He can take it. Besides, you won’t be angry for long.

24.) Pick your battles carefully.

Learn to discern what is worth your time and energy and potentially losing something valuable over, and what isn’t. Some battles, the stakes are too great and are doomed from the start (see #s 2 & 8). Really delve deep and decide for yourself what your deal-breakers are, and what are merely just opportunities for compromise.

25.) Healthy food is called ‘healthy’ for a reason.

As recent as 50 years ago, we were using certain types of food as our medicine. People in the old days rarely got sick. In the 90s, they started putting all these chemicals in our food, and eventually got to the point we’re at today where we have food that has no actual food in it, and every other person has allergies to anything with protein in it. Cancer is rampant, and diabetes is epidemic. It’s all preventable! Just because you don’t feel the effects of a poor diet and lifestyle right now doesn’t mean you won’t later (See #7 again). Just because your baby isn’t born with its arm where its naval should be doesn’t mean that eating crap during pregnancy has no consequences. It all adds up, and can rear its ugly head in a heartbeat. You may save a little money on the cheap food now, but you’ll have to pay big time when the medical bills pile up and the doctors “can’t figure out what’s causing it”.  Take care of yourself; you only get one body.

26.) Your family is the people who love you the best.

My family is a bit dysfunctional. While I love my whole family, there are many family members who I no longer talk to, simply because they’re too damn toxic. The ones who I like definitely know who they are. I don’t believe in nurturing relationships simply because of blood relation. There are members of my family that aren’t related to me, who I love as though they were.

27.) Pray.

Even if you feel like your prayers aren’t heard, just keep doing it. It may not seem like it’s getting better, but at least it’ll make you feel better. Which brings me to my next point:

28.) Define your spirituality for yourself.

Ultimately, it’s YOUR relationship with God. Don’t let anyone else tell you how to pursue and maintain that relationship, or any relationship, for that matter.

29.) Just take the damn compliment.

Most people these days are so self-absorbed, they aren’t going to say something nice to someone else unless they mean it. Don’t insult a person and discourage them from being nice in the future by refusing to accept their good gesture. Even if you don’t particularly feel cute or pretty or smart, just say ‘thank you’ and move on.

30.) Trust yourself.

Especially your gut. A person can lie, but their vibe can’t. A situation can be hazy, but your intuition can always see through it. If you notice a pattern, if you see the signs, DON’T IGNORE THEM! And don’t ever sell yourself short because you think you’re not good enough, or that you’ll make some monumental mistake and ruin everything (whatever ‘everything’ is in that moment). Own it, be confident and make those mistakes: they’re opportunities to grow  (see #21).

 

 

 

 

 

Don’t Complain About The Mud If You Prayed For The Rain and Didn’t Wear Boots.

  Surfers understand better than anyone how life works. If you resist the waves, you wipe out. If you learn to adapt to the ebb and flow of the ocean, you’ll catch a good wave and even enjoy the ride.

God allows everything that happens to happen for a reason. Growth, after all, comes with growing pains. I worked so hard at finding a job last year, working odd jobs in between to supplement, prayed, cried, threw plates, burned incense, read Law of Attraction books,  everything I absolutely could just to keep my independence, just to keep my apartment that I started dreading coming home to every day because I couldn’t stop thinking about the insurmountable debt in rent and late fees that was amassing, trying to keep up the $15/hr, 40hr/week lifestyle I’d created for myself coupled with the months of missed bills due to exhaustion of unemployment and savings all on a $11/hr, 30hr/week income. When I finally got too mentally, physically and spiritually exhausted to keep trying, finally surrendered it to God, spoke out into the Universe my willingness to accept and adapt to whatever happened next, I got evicted after only my second month of late payment. That same day, I landed an interview for a full-time job with benefits and overtime, and got hired on the spot. His timing is swift, isn’t it?  I felt a strange sense of relief at being kicked out and forced to get rid of the majority of my stuff, something I had dreaded for the previous four years of living alone more than any other one thing in my life. Not even ashamed to write that I played ‘Let It Go’ on Spotify on repeat for almost a solid week.  I was so grateful to no longer have the insurmountable debt looming over my head that I didn’t have the nerve to fix a complaint on my tongue at having to move back in with mom at age 29. But, these are my problems. The country at large is and has been for some time in far greater turmoil.

I was telling my manager a couple of nights ago that everything happening right now is our own fault. She expressed fear and concern for her future (because she is a part of what we will term a “marginalized couple”).  We all got too complacent – too comfortable – too easily pacified and self-soothed with the mentality of “it can’t possibly happen here”.
Well, things sometimes need to be taken from us for us to realize how badly we need them. History is a lesson that repeats itself until we’ve finally learned it. I’ve been saying for literal years now that the coxcomb in the White House is just a perfunctory red herring, and the political parties and other labels we assign to ourselves and other groups of people with differing ideologies are just as illusional as they are divisive; it’s the 535 quacks in Congress that have created this mess, and We The People put them there – and have kept them there – with our apathy, with our pettiness, with our vitriol: shouting terrible, hurtful things across the aisles, blaming and shaming ‘the other side’ while neglecting to check our own ugliness that reveals us to be no better than the people we profess to be superior to (ironically, a good deal of us claim to be followers of Christ).

Where has it all gotten us?

This time LAST YEAR was the time for the protests, for the outrage, for the vigilance and for the eloquent speeches by prominent figures. It’s sad that we didn’t heed the warning from the Brexit fiasco, didn’t sense the urgency and precariousness of our situation, haven’t cared enough about the values we claim to hold dear yet take for granted until the time came that it was too late to protect them. We’re all in the same boat, and a good boat-rocking has been long overdue.

Only real question now is: are we gonna take up an oar and start paddling this thing in the right direction, or take up a drill and expand the hole in the bottom?

Better Days Ahead…?

In ‘The Wizard Of Oz’, during the scene where they’re all traveling through the Dark Forest, the Scarecrow mentions that the forest will more than likely get darker before it gets lighter. I’ve found that traveling through life is no exception.

I woke up today so depressed, I couldn’t get out of bed until sunset.This has been a TERRIBLE year, for myself and others I know. I’ve suffered setback after setback financially, I’ve worked seven (yes, SEVEN) jobs this year trying to stay afloat, only to have just found a full time job on the day I got evicted. I’ve been to more funerals in this one year than I had in my life previously, lost so much and had to remove quite a few people I found out the hard way were toxic (not you, if you’re reading this!), moved twice within a month, my whole life has seriously been turned upside down, and now I’m literally back at square one. But, I did have some nick-of-time blessings along the way, and became closer with my loved ones, and even made new friends. I guess the beautiful part of having to start over is that I can rebuild bigger, stronger, better than when I first started out, because of all the lessons the hardship taught me, all the compassion I learned through the heartache, and all the strength I’ve gained during the struggle. There is a kind of relief in failure, a kind of victory in defeat. Here’s to a fresh start and a clean slate, and hopefully, a clearing at the end of the dark woods.

It Was 50 Years Ago Today: Happy Birthday to My Mom

(posted from Facebook)

Fifty years ago today, the country was in the throes of the Civil Rights movement, the Vietnam War, the Space Race, and Beatlemania. The first episode of  Star Trek aired, and Medicare was first administered in the U.S. Perhaps the greatest of all these events is that my mom was born 50 years ago today. I’m sure she doesn’t mind me saying it, since she doesn’t even look to be 40, has ONE little lonely gray hair and absolutely NO wrinkles.

           Now, I’m willing to admit that I may be exercising extreme bias here, but I happen to think that my mom is the best example of a human being I can think of (even when she drives me nuts), and that the world would be a beautiful and ultimately better place if everyone were to learn from her.

           From my mom, I learned how to read, how to cook, how to drive manual transmission, how to pray – all very important things that are at the foundation of who I am as a woman now. The best things she taught me, though, are the ones that she didn’t really ‘teach’ me. I learned from her how to encourage myself against every opposition, the most formidable opposition sometimes coming from the people who should be the most supportive.

           My mom taught me how to be resourceful when things don’t go as planned, or when that direct deposit doesn’t clear in time for things to work out the way that I want them to, or when the storm hits power goes out and there’s no way to heat/cool off the apartment. I learned from her how to rob Peter to pay Paul until Mary paid enough to eventually pay back Peter with interest.

          I learned from her how to kill with kindness when all I feel like doing is cussing a b—- out. She taught me that the hardest people to love are the people most in need of it. I don’t know who could be a better teacher on how to be supportive: not too many people will take in a disrespectful and emotionally difficult child AND her boyfriend AND allow that adult child to live under her roof and eat at her table without working while she attempts to finish school…during a major recession.

           I watched her struggle with weight issues that plague our entire family and watched her lose 50lbs through hard work and exercise (and despite lack of support from her then-husband).

           She consciously taught me how to care for my body and skin as a teenager with my struggles with cystic acne, but inadvertently helped me to learn to accept my flaws and inherited traits I didn’t like so much, to embrace my own unique femininity, and to accentuate and downplay features to both enhance my looks on the outside and allow my inner beauty to radiate. I learned from her that the only woman I should ever try and ‘compete’ with and be better than was the woman that I was yesterday.

           I learned from her that love DOES mean saying ‘sorry’ – and ‘I forgive you’ – again and again and again. If it weren’t for her, I’d have never learned the solid work ethic that a modern woman needs, nor the nurturing and sense of empathy of a traditional woman that the world is now so desperately lacking. Don’t misunderstand me; it’s so important now to be independent, but from her, I’ve also learned to be interdependent, as well as vulnerable and transparent.

           She taught me (and is still teaching me) how to keep praying and believing when it seems that God isn’t listening. She taught me how to keep it together and be strong when a man you loved with everything leaves you deflated and with nothing but sorrow, when one daughter’s life is threatened by cancer, and the other’s is threatened by her own hand. Even now, she is teaching me what it means to be important and significant as an individual, and as a small part of something bigger than any one of us can imagine.

 

          So here’s the hot topic of the hour: how do you celebrate 50 years of such a full and beautiful life? How do you show the love and the gratefulness and appreciation within you for having been blessed not only to know but to have come from such an amazing human being? Most poignant of all: how do you dare to ask for more time, for more lessons, for more love from someone who has given so abundantly?

 

And what kind of present should you buy befitting of such a lady!? ::sigh::

 

On #BlackLivesMatter

It “doesn’t mean other lives don’t [matter]—it’s simply asking that the black community also achieves the justice they deserve.”
– Mark Zuckerberg on the ‪#‎BlackLivesMatter‬ movement

Why is this so hard for everyone else to understand?

Mental Illness, and Other Delights

I have Attention Deficit Disorder. No “Oooh, shiny!” jokes, please.

Understandably, you’re probably confused or scoffing, since I don’t fit the bill of the average newly-diagnosed ADD patient. I’m a 28 year old woman, not an 8-year-old school kid; a full-time student, and up until about seven hours ago at the time of this writing, I worked full-time for a national non-profit patient assistance organization. How curious: a week ago today marked the one year anniversary of my termination of employment at the regional bank I had given three years of my life to.

Apparently, I’ve had this all my life. My adult life has been a string of one- or two-year stints at large corporations providing excellent customer lip-service and/or pushing paperwork, doing all manner of things all at once distressingly stringent and  monotonous and menial (awesome alliteration, woop-woop!). Said stints were usually culminated in termination of my employment: not for anything behavioral, nor for intentionally trying to suck at my job, but due to inconsistent or sub-par performance. God, that’s tough to admit.

Before a series of events took place, it never even would have crossed my mind that someone like me could even have the disorder. I only just got the inkling that I may have a problem with attention deficiency (and that it’s NOT, in fact, a made-up disease) when I overheard a coworker describing her adult daughter’s ADD symptoms. Up to that point, I just dismissed it as a child’s disorder, something that the bullies made fun of the kids who had to go to the nurse’s office and take meds at lunch time for in school.  In retrospect, my  childhood was characterized by lost track of time, a severe aversion to anything involving mathematics, constant daydreaming, never finishing projects, procrastinating,  fidgeting, arriving late to classes or events, and general moodiness. I remember dreading report cards every nine weeks for fear that my teacher would write “Must learn to stay on task”, “Apply yourself more”, “Not working to potential”, or some other language indicative of exasperation with what he or she perceived as a smart, teachable but lazy child.  Some of these symptoms have persisted into adulthood without being abated by maturity at all.  My apartment is full of maintained messes and neglected knitting, sewing, and origami projects.

Throughout my life, I’ve been easily distracted and fidgety, tardy… despite my best efforts (and loudest alarms), forgetful, anxious and often so depressed from my life seeming to spin out of control, that I was hospitalized and ultimately diagnosed with anxiety-induced depression at 22. That was a nice, fun 4-day stay-cation! *   The depression usually comes at the end of a vicious cycle of being enthusiastic and eager to begin something anew, starting off strong, then having my train of thought completely derailed (did you see what I did there?) at the merest distraction or random curiosity popping into my head, followed by a bout of anxiety, snowballing into an unshakable feeling that disaster is looming, struggling to get back on track after having fallen behind, left to pick up the pieces after aforementioned disaster strikes as a combined result of over-thinking in the anxiety phase and lack of attention to detail in the easily distracted/daydreaming phase, ultimately ending with the tempest of anger and self-contempt drenching the walls of the deep dark pit of despair and loathing so much that they are rendered too slippery for me to climb my way out. All of these stages, I’m told, can be produced from symptoms of ADD. What’s worse: ADD is are hard to correctly diagnose with these symptoms, because they mimic the symptoms of other mental disorders. Go figure.

Last year, when both my curiosity and my frustration with myself at failing more and more in my job and falling further behind in my schoolwork reached a fever pitch, I made an appointment to see my N.P. She referred me to a neuropsychologist for a test to confirm what she seemed to suspect immediately after hearing my symptoms and concerns. Later, I learned the results: inattentive Attention Deficit Disorder. I didn’t get to go back to the follow-up consultation, because I got fired and my insurance got cancelled as a result. I’m STILL paying on the bill for that test…

The unfortunate thing about me at this point in my life is that I have too much ambition for my own poor brain’s good. As I mentioned earlier, I both work and attend school full time. I understand that I am a smart person, but it seems that being intelligent and doing my best to be organized isn’t enough to cut the mustard. Doing both things at once full time has only served to bite me in the bare end. Again. All of the problems I’ve had at school in my younger days,  and at work as an adult seem to have been not only compounded, but amplified. Some behavior modification has proved helpful in avoiding the anxiety triggers, and through prayer, fellowship with other believers and meditation, I’ve managed to beat the severe depression back to it’s depths. Currently, I’m taking a prescribed medication to alleviate the symptoms, but it appears as though it all came a little too late to save my job. It came too late to save my last job, too. And too late to save my full-of-potential childhood: another unfortunate thing is that as hazy as the mental health field is nowadays, it was about as clear as mud two decades ago. How could my mother or teachers see the signs of this when there was virtually no literature or awareness being raised about it? When mental and cognitive disorders carried a stigma heavier than lead? To boot, girls with this disorder are and have so often gone undiagnosed or misdiagnosed because they typically are not hyperactive; more often than not, girls lack the ‘H’ in the ADHD, and thus slip between the cracks. It’s always the squeaky wheel that gets the oil. The non-squeaky ones just have it chalked up to being lazy or to some other character flaw.

No matter. I won’t let this get me down, nor will I beat myself up. The past is gone, and now that I know the problem, I can work towards the solution to make my future brighter. God is a teacher that won’t give a test his students can’t pass, but he’s silent while testing is in progress. This is a cognitive disorder that has no bearing on my intelligence, and can be managed through my lifestyle adaptations.  Maybe I can even look into finding a support group for the newly-diagnosed.  In the meantime, I do need to pass finals and find gainful employment; January rent ain’t gonna pay itself. Maybe this time, I’ll find a job doing something I actually like and am good at.
(Author’s note: to be read with abject sarcasm)

 

Defeated

If it’s not one thing it’s another. If it’s not that other thing, it everything all at once. Sometimes I get tired of doing it all alone. School doesn’t care that I work full-time to support myself, work doesn’t care that I have to study, bill collectors don’t care how many books you have to buy or how many hours you’re working to be broke.

Speaking of working to be broke, it seems like that’s all I’ve ever done: work hard while being berated for something that I had no control over by disgruntled customers; remain chained to a desk by a headset and computer mouse; get reprimanded and have my livelihood practically threatened over each and every mistake and oversight in a turn of phrase or stroke of a key by a quality assurance team; receiving decent pay in addition to a disproportionate amount of internal pressure to be more perfect than humanly possible, and external abuse from people who caused the problem in the first place who probably experience the same dissatisfaction from their own jobs. The difference now is that I take the abuse from patients I work to provide free money to at a non-profit organization.

A year ago, I was facing a similar predicament with my high-pressure bank job that I am now in my current position. NO matter what I seemed to do, it was wrong. By the time a change was implemented and the ink was barely dry on the update to a procedure, another update would be up and expected to be remembered immediately. Others who worked with me could corroborate this; I’m not simply making excuses. Nothing was straightforward, and it seemed as though we were all set up to fail.

The difference now is that I have control over what I’m in hot water for, and I feel utterly ashamed of myself. My work ethic is one that I’ve always been proud of, but I have to realize when it is time to take that PTO before my health affects my job performance.

Overall, when I look at my experiences in the working world, it’s all been customer service of some sort. Initially, I give it my best, but eventually I burn out and move on to the next failure after a couple of years. Last year, I got fired after three years of dealing with the demands of trying to read my boss’ mind to the best of my ability. I have such a fear now of making a mistake that I can’t get any work done fast enough for my new employer.

It’s very difficult to not feel pretty low when one keeps failing at what they know, but doesn’t know how to go about making their life better. Everyone I know keeps telling me how smart I am. What good is being intelligent, really? Even idiots make their way in the world better than I seem to. I’m in school now to try and broaden my opportunities, but what good will it do? How discouraging, when there are people with advanced degrees who work alongside me because they have nowhere else to work. It’s seems the only thing I’m cut out to be is a stay-at-home wife (not that it’s an easy or even a degrading job. It’s not.)… the problem is, I don’t think I’ll ever get married. Besides, what man in his right mind wants an adult dependent nowadays? I’ve always been independent, but it’s getting to the point now where I just don’t want to try anymore to make my way in the world. Everything I try seems to fail, and everything I want to try is out of my reach. Thinking about the world at large is depressing enough, so I won’t get into it. I just get so tired of being strong all the time… especially while others get to live off my tax dollars. I just want everything to be okay, to fall into its own place, to not have to just ‘get by’ all the time…

A Letter To My Pastors That They Will Never Read (And A Cautionary Tale To Those Who Will)

Before I begin, I want to make it known that I love my church, New Life Outreach. I could sit here writing all day of how proud I am of my pastors: of their service, their sacrifice, their passion for the Word of God and for people, and restoring the lives of those broken by this world and reconciling them to God through outreach and prayer. I love the people there who come from all cultures and walks of life and who not only love God and the Word, but who live out the way of Christ. I am so very thankful to the Lord that He got me lost that day almost two years ago, and instead directed me to find this beautiful church family. I’ve found love here, friendship, fellowship, admonishment (when I needed it), true camaraderie in other young believers just like me who “understand”. That is what this broken and hungry world needs more of, and I am so blessed to have found it.

This afternoon, I made an announcement via social media that I was going to leave my church.

For the past couple weeks, we’ve been doing a series on the Holy Spirit. I am elated and excited about this. Far too many churches today, for whatever asinine reason, exclude the Holy Spirit or anything remotely charismatic from their teachings and try to stifle it among their congregations, hence why so many churches are dead. So much of the Bible teaches us that the Holy Spirit is so essential to life as a believer. Jesus himself makes it clear that after his ascension, he would send the Holy Spirit to comfort us and to abide among and within us in John chapter 14. In the second chapter of the Acts of the Apostles, this comes to pass with the Pentecost. And it’s here where the crack in the dam forms.

In April of 2012, I joined a Pentecostal church just off Laburnum Avenue that I was invited to by my coworker. I won’t go into my testimony right now, but this event came on the heels of my having come (back) to Christ. For about three months, I just observed all the things they were doing: shouting, yelling and screaming, speaking in tongues, throwing up hands, “fainting”, jumping, stomping, running up and down the aisles, random “praise breaks” in the middle of service, demonstrative sermons where pews were often walked over. The same people, every service, doing the same things sometimes with little provocation. At some point, I noticed that the children were mimicking the adults, running around, jumping on the pews, speaking in garbled gibberish, and “fainting”. Once I saw a child doing this, and an usher came to them and laid a prayer cloth over him. The child peeked over the cloth and giggled while the pastor said, “You see, everyone?! Even the babies are spirit-filled!”
As months went on, they kept doing this, and I kept watching and reading the Word in the meantime. Remember, I had just come back to the church. I was starting to get disillusioned and frustrated, because everyone else could speak in tongues and I couldn’t. The pastor was able to lay hands on people and “slay them in the spirit”, but not me. I was combing every passage I could, Googling and researching ways I could be more receptive to the Holy Spirit so it would grace me with what I thought at that time was its only gift. At this point, I was so desperate, it was almost comical in hindsight. I began to have doubts. I thought to myself that all the things I’ve done in my past barred me from ever receiving the baptism of the Holy Spirit. Soon, my doubts were accompanied by those of others. I’ve been told “You must not be praying hard enough”, “Maybe we just need to train you how to speak in tongues”, “The other day, I saw you without your prayer scarf (a circular head covering that the old-school women of the church would wear to ‘submit themselves to men’, looks like a table doily), so you’re probably not getting it because you need to submit more”, and my personal favorite: “You’re not praising hard enough. When pastor tells everybody to praise, you just need to start shouting like the rest of us, and you’ll get it”. I wish I were exaggerating. These people were obviously not reading the Word for themselves, otherwise they’d have understood that God is not an author of confusion(1 Cor 14:33), and things like twisted ankles and trampled children from “praising” or “shouting” are not things that happen when the Holy Spirit moves people.

Finally one day, I just had enough of praying and pleading and studying the Word. I just sat in my chair and decided just to read the Bible, not for clarity, not for instruction or even entertainment. It then dawned on me after about an hour of just reading to read that there are so many examples in the Bible of God using what the world thinks of as broken, crooked, downtrodden and lowly people to do amazing work of the kingdom. Their spiritual gifts were so varied, simple and seemingly not from God, but were all ultimately used for His glory. I became relieved. That relief, however, quickly gave way to anger.

The last sermon I went to at that church, right after the announcements the pastor commanded the band to start playing and told our small congregation to stand on their feet and start praising God because “That’s what we’re supposed to do! We’re Pentecostals! We’re supposed to go crazy and act a fool! And if you don’t praise him, he won’t bless you!”

NOWHERE in the Bible does it say this, by the way. God is all-powerful, and he turns his favor onto whomever he wishes, and no man can put a limit on him. I was still new at being a born-again Christian, and I didn’t have all the answers, but what I did have was this unction that came over me, this small voice inside me that rose and shouted, “Go. Leave. There are spirits in this place, but the Holy Spirit is not one of them.” I tore off that silly prayer scarf, dodged all the aisle-runners and fainters and stormed out. I didn’t care what my coworker thought.

It was later on, very recently in fact, that I discovered my spiritual gifts. Being able to speak in other tongues is not one of them. Strongest within me is the power of discernment. Because of the Holy Spirit, I am able to very easily test a spirit and discern whether it is of God or not. In a world where confusion and sophistry abound, and where all it takes for a good lie to be bought is some small element of truth, I am not ignorant at all of how much this gift is coveted among believers and non-believers alike. But as the apostle Paul said in Galatians 6, I’m not boasting about myself, but of my God who gave me this amazing gift. “That’s great… but what does all of this have to do with New Life or the pastors,” you may be asking.

What I have seen over the past couple of weeks is a very strong emphasis from our pastors on the baptism of the Holy Spirit as demonstrated by speaking in other tongues. However, there is no other mention of any of the other many spiritual gifts a person can have bestowed upon them. On Wednesday night service and finally this morning, I heard two of the pastors exhort that we should “praise him in [our] own prayer language. To me, this means English. To them, it meant speaking in tongues. This is very, very dangerous.

The Bible does not restrict baptism of the Holy Spirit to just one sign:

1 Peter 4:10 Each one should use whatever gift he has received to serve others, faithfully administering God’s grace in its various forms.

Romans 12:4-6 Just as each of us has one body with many members, and these members do not all have the same function, so in Christ we who are many form one body, and each member belongs to all the others. We have different gifts, according to the grace given us.

1 Corinthians 12:4-11 There are different kinds of gifts, but the same Spirit distributes them.  There are different kinds of service, but the same Lord. There are different kinds of working, but in all of them and in everyone it is the same God at work.  Now to each one the manifestation of the Spirit is given for the common good. To one there is given through the Spirit a message of wisdom, to another a message of knowledge by means of the same Spirit, to another faith by the same Spirit, to another gifts of healing by that one Spirit, to another miraculous powers, to another prophecy, to another distinguishing between spirits, to another speaking in different kinds of tongues, and to still another the interpretation of tongues. All these are the work of one and the same Spirit, and he distributes them to each one, just as he determines.

Even if it did restrict it to the speaking of other tongues, NO ONE has the authority to tell anyone else to just start speaking in tongues, especially not an entire congregation of people.

The next point I’d like to make is this: while I am ecstatic that our church is teaching about the Acts of the Apostles and the gifts of the Holy Spirit, it is a detriment, almost a kind of heresy for any church to restrict in any way the manner in which the Holy Spirit manifests itself.

Recently, two different people (who I’ll not name) from our church have revealed to me that they are concerned that the Lord has either forsaken them, is not really listening, or that they are just not trying hard enough to receive the Holy Spirit because they simply just cannot speak in tongues. As I wrote above, I’m very familiar with this. I let them both know that God loves them and to never let anyone tell them that they aren’t saved because the Holy Spirit didn’t give them the ability that it gave someone else, and that the Lord gave them other gifts in abundance through their own baptism of the Holy Spirit.  I’ve kept in touch with some of the members from that Pentecostal church, and heard from one of the little teenagers who went there. She is now an atheist. All her life, she’s been taught the false doctrine that in order to be baptized by the Holy Spirit, she must speak in tongues. Because she was not able to, and reading of the word for herself was not encouraged, she started to reason that because we need baptism from the Holy Spirit to enter the Kingdom, and because baptism in the Holy Spirit can only happen through speaking in tongues, that either God does not love her, or that he must just not exist to begin with and everyone else is faking it. Both are unfortunate, but she concluded with the latter.

In conclusion, my sincerest hope is that whoever reads this does not misunderstand this account as a statement against the Holy Spirit, or that speaking in tongues should be discouraged. As the Apostle would say, “By no means!” My aim is to, as a fellow child of God, help my brothers and sisters and faith leaders to search within themselves for anything, ANYTHING that may lead others to fall. This is something that is obligated of ALL of us (Col 2:8, 1 Cor 8:9, Gal 5:13). Honestly, I’m not even sure if anyone will take the time to read it. Even if they do, I’m reticent of being perceived as some precocious upstart kid, thinking she knows better than her elders. But, as one of my very wise friends once said, pastors are people, too. We must pray for them as we pray with them. So, if there’s a chance that someone will read my words and through it try to broaden their understanding and their faith, then I must use whatever talent of the pen (keyboard?) that God gave me. Thank you, and be abundantly blessed.