Fear and Honesty: The 'Pagan' Stacks

There are areas in which I have struggled to be completely honest with myself. Whether for fear of the unknown, fear of the consequences, fear of the religious voices in my head becoming angry, I regardless cannot avoid them indefinitely, for I have come to know that all the hidden places are meant to see light, eventually. The answer resides not in perpetual avoidance, but timing; not if I come to a place of examining it, but when. I believe wholeness is simply the willingness to be in touch with one's whole self, therefore, I am as a mighty Viking, armed and off to take some new territory in the uncharted corners of my soul. A new season of understanding and wholeness approaches.

It all began with a book. Well, really, it all began when I was born, but that would be too long a story, no doubt. So, I'll say it began with a book. I bought this book on a whim, maybe two years ago, at Powell's City of Books. There among the stacks and stacks, it jumped out at me off a Pagan shelf in the metaphysics section; a section I had previously always passed by with my nose in the air, resisting evil like a good girl. For whatever reason, on this day I had stopped and turned left toward 'Paganism' instead of right toward 'Bibles' (ironic?), feeling very much like a Christian caught with a Playboy Magazine. Looking over my shoulder to be certain no one I knew saw me, I began to read the spines. That's when the binding of this book appeared before me.

And without thinking too seriously, I bought it. I took it home and immediately read a chapter or two. Then I quickly put it aside, because it wasn't something I was able to face at that point in my life. I actually hid it, as if it possessed some power just by my looking at it. But, I didn't get rid of it, either, because it intrigued me and I knew the day would come when I was ready. I'm sure some people would think me ridiculous, but if you had been indoctrinated against this type of thing as I have, it would make sense.

Oh, I didn't tell you the name of the book? Silly me.

The Red-Haired Girl from the Bog: The Landscape of Celtic Myth and Spirit, by Patricia Monaghan.

Now, don't go getting your theology in a twist.

More later.

Fear and Honesty: The Pagan Stacks
Fear and Honesty: Connectedness
Fear and Honesty: Diverting from the Norm
Fear and Honesty: You are what You Read

PSA

There will be something new coming to life on June 1st.

Just sayin'.

*Wink*

So enough about me...

I haven't provided an update on my mom in law for some time. First, here's a recap, for those who may not know. (You can also read some of my other posts on the topic here, here, here, and here.)

A little over a year ago, my 67 year old mom in law began having severe headaches one weekend. They went to the doctor and had a brain scan, where they discovered a large tumor. She went to a neurologist, and fortunately they were quite confident the tumor was benign, but they felt it needed to be removed immediately, nonetheless. So her surgery was scheduled a few weeks later, which was May 29th of 2008. This was to be a relatively "routine" procedure as brain surgery goes, and it was said she would be in the hospital for a few days and then in a rehabilitation facility for a couple of weeks.

To make a long story short, leaving out a vast number of details because it would take all day...all did not go as planned. The tumor turned out to be much larger and more challenging to remove than they had anticipated, requiring more damage to her brain to remove than initially expected. Her recovery did not happen as planned, and the entire summer was spent in and out of hospitals and nursing homes. It took all summer, but eventually we figured out she had had a stroke shortly after the surgery (within hours) and was having seizures due to hydrocephalus (why it took three months to diagnose these things is another long and unfortunate story). In mid August she was put on anti-seizure medicine, and in early September she had a brain shunt put in to drain fluid. She also had a g-tube put in, and she has been in a nursing home ever since. The good news is that friends of the family run this home, and therefore we were all able to know she was receiving good care.

Progress has been hit-or-miss since September. She slowly regained some of her ability to communicate, and with physical therapy she made some strides in getting her mobility back. But it was slow going. In (I'm trying to remember) late February, my dad in law took her back to the neurologist for an evaluation, and was told she had improved more than any of the doctor's other patients. She was finally getting stronger, more alert, more able to participate in her various kinds of therapy.

So three weeks ago saw her moved to an excellent rehabilitation center, where she received hours per day of speech, occupational, physical, and daily-living therapy. She made huge strides, even as much as she complained about the "slave drivers" (her own words) and not having time to even watch TV while she was there. (She had become quite accustomed to watching TV for hours per day at the nursing home, because she couldn't do much else). When we visited her a few days ago, I couldn't believe the change -- I hadn't been there to the rehabilitation center, before so the improvement was incredible to me.

Her progress is no small victory, she has had to fight hard, as has my dad in law and all the people supporting him, to make this happen for her. He has advocated for her in huge ways to see that she gets all the care she needs, and he has been relentless in pursuing whatever treatments may help her to improve. Over the last few weeks he has spent countless hours at the rehabilitation center, learning how to care for her.

Well, yesterday, she finally went home, almost a year later. She still requires care, but care that is manageable by my father in law, with help. Last night, she slept in her own bed for the first time sine May 29th of last year. She can walk a few steps at a time and this is improving every day, she is learning to maneuver her wheelchair a bit, she is communicative, able to feed herself, able to help dress herself, able to use the bathroom with assistance, and many other things she hasn't been able to do for so very long.

To me, the most exciting part of all this is her personality. She's back. Finally. It's so beautiful to see her being herself, joking, laughing and being sarcastic. I remember -- way back last summer, in the most difficult days when the doctors said he probably ought to let her go, -- I remember telling my dad in law "She's still in there", even when it was so hard to believe. But it was true, she just needed time, help and healing for it to show again.

I'm now asking for your prayers, that my dad in law is up to the task of being her primary care-giver, that he doesn't become too fatigued, that mom continues to improve, and prayers of thankfulness that she has come so incredibly far. In August we weren't sure if she would even make it, and even a couple of months ago we still weren't certain she would ever go home. Now we're there. Amazing.

Admitting Defeat

Most of you know I suffer from Type II diabetes. I was diagnosed a little over 3 years ago, just months after my sister was diagnosed and a few years after my dad. I have primarily controlled it with diet and exercise, but last fall I fell off the wagon, so to speak. The emotional stresses I was under, paired with the time consuming nature of some of those stresses, really set me back. I think I consciously exercised three times in three months. I stopped testing, because honestly I didn't want to know, believing I would get back to task "soon". Bad move, but most other Type II diabetics will likely understand.

After the new year I was back to the plan, returning to my exercise routine. In late January my mom was diagnosed with heart failure, and I vowed I would do something about my heart's condiditon now. At the end of February I was unceremoniously elected captain of our relay team, and decided it was time to get serious...really serious...to be a good example and to take the bull by the horns. So I did, more dedicated than ever, not only to controlling the diabetes but to shed (hopefully) 30 lbs in the process. I have eliminated artificial ingredients from my diet, especially targeting artificial sweeteners, cutting back my diet coke consumption dramatically (my only remaining vice). I adopted salad as at least one meal per day, and no, not swimming in dressing. I consume primarily real food, often raw, and have opted to only buy packaged food (for myself) if I recognize the name of all the ingredients as actually being food. I have rescued my family from many of these things, and from HFCS entirely (with the exception of a few things we already had in the house -- did you know that the FIRST ingredient in some name-brand applesauce is high fructose corn syrup? I didn't). Along with all that, I'm counting calories, fat, protein, carbs, and fiber, and managing things pretty tightly now. I know how to do this, it's not rocket science; if you do A, B and C, the results will generally be D. I've been to enough Weight Watchers meetings in my life to know this.

Alongside this, as some of you know, I took on training as my pastime --racewalking, to be precise. Most weeks I'm sweating for 12-15 hours, sometimes twice per day, pushing myself hard, and in ways I never have before. I have to say I'm in the best condition of my life (though I won't say I have ever been an athlete). My heart is far healthier, I can do more cardio, longer than ever before.

However...10 weeks of this has led to almost total discouragement. I haven't dropped a single pound, I haven't shrunk a single inch, and my blood glucose is very nearly more out of control than ever before -- and I have had no trouble controlling it in the past with 1/4 the amount of exercise I'm doing now. Go figure. I do know from prior experience, and from doing my homework, that these things can take time to regulate after a drastic change, especially in a diabetic who has been less-than-disciplined for a period of time. So I have been patient, biding my time; but I have never known this to continue in this way, with a seemingly complete lack of success in every area, for so long. I've cried a lot, I'll admit.

I have been reluctant to go to the Doctor, because, quite frankly, perfectionist that I am, it is terrifying to admit defeat. I like things to be logical, especially scientific things like this. When it's not, it means something is beyond my control, and I don't know what that something is. Having worked hard to be honest and do the right thing, and having my husband as my witness, I'm totally baffled. For a month I have believed if I just pushed through it, eventually all my effort would catch up with me, and so it seemed stupid to waste money on the Doctor. But I'm at the breaking point; something's gotta give.

So here I am...starting a 12 hour fast so I can have a complete work-up done in the morning. I'll go back next week for the results, which I'm sure will not surprise me, but hopefully the Doc will have some idea what to do about all of it. Thyroid would seem the obvious culprit, however, I had it checked two years ago and all was normal. It would stand to reason, seeing as how such a high percentage of women with diabetes will see thyroid failure at some point. It would cover both my stagnant weight and my uncontrolled sugar, both of which are clearly not caused by something external at this point. What I fear the most, though, is being told there isn't any medical reason why this has happened, because I can do little more than I already have. I can't comprehend how this will work if they can't identify a cause or present a solution.

In the big picture, I realize it's not that significant. A good friend of mine is losing her hair in the throes of chemotherapy for breast cancer. But we all know that while a broad perspective is noble, a narrow one is reality.

There's something primitive and spiritual in all this...the willingness to know what we cannot control and willingness to believe that the things we cannot control, we will be given strength to endure. It's hard to give anything to God, especially when we think there is something we are supposed to do about it. Sometimes we just have to rest in it, without knowing what comes next.

Promise of a New Day: Epilogue

This series excited me at the beginning, but as time wore on it began to tire me; as it surely has you, those who may still be reading. I have wanted to be done with it, to move on to something else, but felt compelled to finish it nonetheless. In doing so, I have asked myself, what is missing? What have I been trying to say that has taken so many words to express? Haven't I said so much of this before?

In summary, I have found that I do still consider myself a Christian. I must accept that my definition of Christian must be primarily internal and personal, but my practice of Christian must be external and outward.

All that said, my heart is towards others who are coming out of the religious system and need a safe place to land and be granted the freedom to heal. My process would have been easier had I sooner found those who have walked with me through it, and I can't help but wish that for everyone. I have a sense of direction for that, and am beginning to sift through the rubble of my journey looking for that which is worth sharing.

I have felt that in order to move forward I have to decide my spiritual orientation. That orientation has landed in decidedly Christian, but with a broad expanse of beliefs and many beautiful places that I now allow myself to be in. It is an orientation rather than a label...for a label serves to separate and classify, an orientation simply points in a direction. And I have known for some time that I could not move forward until I was willing to commit to an orientation.

Awhile ago I spoke of searching...in my mind, four years ago the word Christian meant some very specific things. When I found I could no longer claim many of those things, logic initially dictated that I was therefore no longer a Christian. The question then arose: If I'm not Christian, then what am I? And I embarked on a quest, trying on many different robes looking for the one that fit. Still, everywhere I went I saw Jesus...he was there in the messages, in the belief systems, in the ideas I waded throug and the holy books I studied. There was simply no escaping his hand, his touch, his evidence.

I can't tell you how badly I wanted to be something, anything, other than Christian. There was nothing uglier than that from which I came. Surely I'm a Druid or a Buddhist...and yet I found so much of what I was running from also existed in these places I looked to find my escape. I found that no matter where you go, your spirituality will be dictated, at least in part, by others. There are always rules, always rituals, always something that demands clinging to in order to wear that label. A label is never free, it always comes with a definition one must claim. None of the other definitions fit me any more than my perceived definition of 'Christian'.

In the end, I found the single orientation I can bear to cling to is that of Jesus himself. If he is the one thing I am willing and able to take with me through all my spiritual travels, I know I am safe. He is free, and can go anywhere. He is in the mountains and the wind, he is in the chanting and the meditations. He is there for the taking, waiting to be found, to be seen through the trees that cloud our vision if only we are willing to let go of the idols and sacred cows we so deeply desire to fence us in.

It seems to me humanity doesn't know what to do with itself when there isn't something with which to establish boundaries. We fear that slippery slope, that never-never land that awaits if we step outside our box and actually feel the breeze and the rain. We always desire to classify so that we know what we are dealing with. We speak theoretically of freedom, especially within Christianity, but we are unable to embrace it in its unadulterated form. In our minds, it must always come with a limit, a price, for that would simply be too good to be true, and you know what your mother told you about that. We might long for the wildflowers, but are content with the flowerbeds in the yard, because who knows what lurks out in the wild, but surely it is fearsome.

And yet, the wide open spaces of Jesus are just that, wide open. He is here and there; he is everywhere, if we just shed our human fear of true freedom and reach out for it, for him.

Yes, I still have boundaries; he gives them to me as needed. I know the places I must not go, the forbidden forests of my life. But it is he who designs these for me, no other, and out of love, rather than from of a need to lord his power over me. Sometimes he allows me to test the edges, or to seek out some new territory all together. Some days I bolt for new places, and other days I gingerly stick my toe in. Sometimes he says "Run"! Smetimes he waits until I ask, usually after falling on my face, and he lifts me up and says, "Best not go there again." I believe the boundaries of his wide open spaces are personal, and no two people will have all the same ones. So therefore I must not attempt to assert my personal boundaries on another, but believe he is as capable of directing they as he is myself.

I have found life and life abundant. I love with abandon, I serve with compassion, I listen with my heart and soul. I never think twice about an imaginary rule, a doctrine or theological mandate. Who cares? It's my nature to over-think things, to want to write my beliefs in nice straight lines, to be able to answer what I believe and to be accepted for it. But honestly, those days are over, for I have found Him while I wandered, and in him I am never lost.


Promise of a New Day I
Promise of a New Day II
Promise of a New Day III
Promise of a New Day IV
Promise of a New Day V
Promise of a New Day: Epilogue

Promise of a New Day V

In my previous post, I spoke of the revelation (much thanks to Gary) of an idea that the label of "Christian" needs to be internally driven (what does it mean to me?) rather than externally driven (what does it mean to others?). This has set me free to retain a label that I have been trying to reject for over four years. Now, there are entirely new arguments about faith being me-centric, but that's for another time. Selfish, maybe, but if I can remain a 'Christian' in spite of my adversity towards anyone telling me what/where/how to believe, it's a good thing.

This epiphany recalibrates everything I have been anti- these last years. Suddenly I'm not on the outside harboring an us vs. them mentality. I am one of them, because I chose to accept the label in spite of it's flaws. I will be the first and loudest to tell you I have been bitter, oh so very , very bitter. Hurt, angry and abandoned, I have been beating my fists against the ghosts of what happened once, in one person's life (mine), in one situation. This is unfair, for it forces me to invalidate all the good and life-affirming others might find within the walls of the institution. However, I firmly grip those for whom these same failures in the church have been agonizing and murderous to their faith. I am not one; we are many.

Likewise, I have no motivation to convince others to retain the label if they choose to reject it, because I know the pain that is wrapped up in a single word and cannot dictate healing from that pain for anyone. I will always and forever have a heart deeply rooted in running triage for those who escape, broken and bleeding and desperate someone to bandage their wounds and hold their hand. The church can be the most evil force in a persons life, and I will never defend the institution against accusations that it has performed many a delicate or unnecessary surgery without anesthesia. However, God is available apart from the church, and to some of us he is more available apart.

Once, not long before my church fiasco, I remember a friend telling me that the only place she ever felt God was inside the walls of a church. I said, "That's funny, church is the only place I don't feel God." Very panentheistic of me at the time, and it is still mostly true to this day. Being inside walls and trying to meet God feels to me like wearing a too-small shoe. It can be done, but only for short spells and rarely, at that.

The label of 'Christian' was originally accepted by the disciples as a symbol of freedom, but has become a prison for many. I desire to evidence, in my own life and faith that this freedom truly does exist. However we choose to worship, however we choose to practice, however we choose to believe, if Jesus is our life-giver, he is always available to us. There is no mandate other than to love. There is no purpose to our lives other than to love. There is no truth other than love. For through the lens of love, all other things become clear.

All that being said, I have been seeing the light, the true base of what I want to work towards. I rail against all those things which wounded me, even while in the depths of my subconscious knowing that those same things don't wound everyone. I don't want to see any systems fall as long as a single person is honestly filled through that system. Yes, of course I will continue to do battle against the forces that would drive mean, malicious, hateful words or behaviors, one Christian towards another, because in them there is no love. However, my main passion isn't to do away with anything, but to make people who are hurting keenly aware that they are not chained to any one expression of Christianity. There is freedom, and true freedom is to serve Christ as we are led, to worship in the way we find life, to find his everpresence in the places he awaits us, each individually. Tearing down the institution would be forever a futile effort, however, some people no longer belong to it. It's my goal not to set them free from the chains of the church, but to show them the chains never existed in the first place, they only have to choose not to wear them.


Next: Epilogue


Promise of a New Day I
Promise of a New Day II
Promise of a New Day III
Promise of a New Day IV
Promise of a New Day V
Promise of a New Day: Epilogue