breathe deep

[image source]

hello friends. it's been an interesting couple of weeks. and by interesting i mean it's been horrible and i would just love a redo. too much yelling and anger and unkindness coming from my mouth these last weeks. because, in case you don't already know this about me, i am easily overwhelmed. even something like seeing the peaches from my peach tree smashed on the sidewalk [because i was too sick to pick them and so they fell off and are now infested with earwigs] is enough to make me crumple to the ground and start weeping because this world is all just too much. i am not joking.

friends, you are amazing. i see the kind of things you are dealing with and i am in awe at your courage and strength.

i am floored. stopped frozen in my tracks. friends, this life can be brutal. we suffer with addictions and want to claw out of our own skin. staying sober feels impossible. our fathers abandon us. our mothers get sick and we become their caretakers when we are still babies ourselves. our loved ones are addicts who cannot or will not recover and we watch them kill themselves in slow motion. our mothers--the life of our parties--die too soon. our children get sick or struggle to make friends and are called disgusting because their skin is not the same color as everyone else's. our husbands go crazy, literally. our organs are so messed up that the team of doctors who will be operating on us want to put us in medical journals. and some of us have our innocence stolen from us and carry that unclean feeling with us for a lifetime.

unspeakable.

in the quiet heart is hidden sorrow that the eye can't see.

i have spent some time these last couple weeks crumpling. i've been grieving life's adversities--mine and yours--as they come, because this is what it means to be me. i cannot swallow things down or shrug them away, much as i have tried. and whether the suffering is mine or yours, i feel it all the same. this is why i would make an excellent addict. i'd be the best freaking addict ever. and yet, when i am like this, i know i'm doing it right. i'm not using drugs or alcohol or reading or food or exercise or religion or work to buffer the pain. i've learned to just open up my heart let it come. because if i can keep my heart open, then the good stuff gets in too. the beautiful things, the blessings, the tender mercies.

and there are many. here is something i know: for every sorrow, every horror, every unjustice we live with in this life, god will make up the difference. he gives us the ability to handle the burdens, he blesses us a hundred fold in other ways and at other times to compensate. there will always be enough love and approval and grace for us in this life because of him. he pours out peace to our hearts, gives us friends to share our sorrows with, and when that is not enough, he gives us sunsets. rainbows.

sometimes even double rainbows. or triple rainbows. of course he does.

and god shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away.

friends, being a person who feels intensely means that i have the capacity to love ferociously. you are my people and i freaking love you. so, i thought i'd show that love to you using my love languages: quality time and receiving gifts [and please keep that in mind for me in the future]:

i have another playlist to share with you. this one i've taken great care to curate. most of the songs are peaceful and gentle because i think we need that right now. don't you? a few have a little more pep, but mostly, these are songs to sit with and be still.

breathe deep.

and then email me if you'd like me to share the actual mp3 files. otherwise, you can listen to this on spotify here. there are a few more songs on my spotify playlist than listed below, because i only own songs that i paid for. got it?

fall 2012 playlist: for my peeps who face life with courage and strength

1.Always | Digits
2. Ships On The Ocean Floor | The Autumn Film
3. The Stable Song | Gregory Alan Isakov
4. Breezeblocks | Alt-J
5. One Hundred Million Years | M. Ward
6. Catch | The Cure
7. Middle Of June | Noah Gundersen
8. Hear the Noise... | James Vincent McMorrow
9. Kingdom Come | The Autumn Film
10. Heart & Bones | The Pines
11. Lions in Cages | Wolf Gang
12. Mended | The Autumn Film
13. Hurts Like Heaven | Coldplay
14. Cold Feet | Lost Lander
15. Drown | Smashing Pumpkins
16. Beggar In The Morning | The Barr Brothers
17. Blood | Middle East
18. Something Good | Alt-J
19. Weather To Fly | Elbow
20. Animal Life | Shearwater

love you.

gratitude day 14: miracles

{photo of and by my lovely sister}

last night i saw my mother-in-law riding down the street on her new purple birthday bike. we honked and she waved, a giant windmill of a wave.

and smiled.

i watched joy spread across her face. watched her hair blown back by the wind. she was a six year-old little girl. and it stopped me short.

in that moment i saw a lifetime of sorrow, abuse, silent treatments, and crushing disappointments float away from her.

and right now, my brother steven is in my front yard, tossing a football with micah. sober. alive. heroin-free since october.

this is what i know, what i have witnessed time and again: miracles happen all the time. there is no sorrow, no injustice, no wound, no atrocity that will not be made right in due time.

and god shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away. -revelations 21:4

feel the pain

There is this old Dinosaur Jr. song that I used to listen to called Feel the Pain [unrelatedly, it's a song on our Guitar Hero game that I rock at]. The lyrics say:

I feel the pain of everyone.

This happens to me sometimes. Today I am overwhelmed by the pain of everyone else. Maybe it's because I have been writing all day about how sad and lonely my main character is. Maybe it's because I read this obituary here today:

Heroin stole John first from his family, then from his friends, then from all who loved him. Early Thursday morning, heroin stole John from himself. We are so sorry.

Maybe it's because I read this poem at the beginning of the book Fire by Kristin Cashore and thought of my brother Steven:

Dellian Lament

While I was looking the other way your fire went out

Left me with cinders to kick into dust

What a waste of the wonder you were

In my living fire I will keep your scorn and mine

In my living fire I will keep your heartache and mine

At the disgrace of a waste of a life

Maybe it's because right now it seems like nothing ever, anywhere could make up for the waste of a life. If you read this, say a little prayer for anyone you know struggling with addiction. And I'll keep working on my recovery. Feeling this is part of that process. I hope in the end it will be enough.

[And if I have utterly depressed you, don't worry. It won't last. I have funny things planned for my next post involving a J. Crew catalog and captions. But sometimes life is not funny, or pretty, or happily-ever-after and it feels important for me to make a record of that here.]

silver lining

Currently waiting for my photographer to send me a cd of all the pictures she took for us on our AZ trip. In the meantime, I am listening to:

Rilo Kiley - Sliver Lining.

Enjoy, and then pay for your own because you love it so much and deep down  you are an honest person. I bought it for FIVE CENTS at mp3fiesta.com.

Things I'd like to remember about our trip: good food, lots and lots of sun, Mom's hat at the Phoenix Zoo, the perfect orange skirt at the thrift store, movies [good and bad. I still stand firm on my opinion of Dumb and Dumber], trips to QT, hummingbirds on my morning runs, baby girl twins—squared, and crying with Steven on Mom's bed the day before I left [another reminder that hope is still alive and the power of prayer is tangibly real].

Photo taken on our trip home between Flagstaff and Page somewhere near the North Rim of the Grand Canyon.

shell

What is this body I find slumped on my Mother's couch every morning? Its gray, crepe paper face is tinged with yellow and a dead give away--a liver that can't keep up with all the poison entering this body. It is the shell. The physical body that once housed my brother Steven. This shell that steals our valuables makes us feel afraid, turning us into locked doors and mistrust.

I look in his eyes and only see the emptiness he has carved out feeding his addiction. Those eyes are gray like his face and hungry with need.

Where are you Steven? Are you inside there somewhere, drowning in your pool of shame? The pool we have emptied buckets of liquid anger and disappointment into? Now, we cannot fashion the rope to rescue you, your family who loves you with this sharp sorrow.

The steps out of this pool are there on the side. Don't you remember how to see them? We point to them with our desperate sadness. We hope you reach the first one and keep on climbing. Save yourself because we are the onlookers and cannot do it for you. Our hands our tied with the chords of your agency.

But our hearts.

Our hearts love you. They miss you. Our hearts wait for you and our hearts do not give up hope.

therapy

About six or seven years ago I was an emotional wreck. My life was headed in the opposite direction that I wanted it to. It felt like I was living in the middle of a thick, dark, black hole. I had lost hope in the future, lost my trust in others, and lost myself in the process. I hung on to my sanity and faith with clawed fingers.

But I didn't give up. And I refused to settle. I knew life could be better. So I prayed. Oh, how I prayed. I prayed lying on the floor with my whole soul. I asked for help from the only person I felt like I could trust 100%. I kept asking. And waiting for an answer. 

I suffered. I learned. I read: If suffering alone taught, all the world would be wise. Slowly, as I was ready for them, the answers began to come. The only person you can change is yourself. Be an attraction. Light is more powerful than darkness. Happiness is a choice. There is a reason to hope. 

And one day, in the quiet moment after I was done with a particularly desperate prayer, Heavenly Father gave me a list. I love lists! I used them to study, to stay organized, and to get things done. And here was one from Him who loves and knows me best. The list was an answer to my prayers. I knew that my anxiety had become a stumbling block (Jacob 4:18). I wanted to help to overcome it. And there were only three things I needed to do:

1. Read my scriptures

2. Attend the temple

3. Exercise

So simple, yet life saving for me. It wasn't as if I hadn't already experienced the blessings of doing these things. But here was a list of things I could do. Things I was in control of. A perfect mix of three things just for me.

It really works. When I am doing all three things, I feel empowered. I am an attraction. It's only when I am missing part of the three that I start to slip back towards that black hole of depression.

Can you see why I am a little emotional about running? I believe it literally saved my life. It works better than any medication or counseling session has. I love it. Even when it is hard (and it usually is). 

My running playlist over three hours long. The type of music I listen to when running is mostly different from the music I like to listen to otherwise. Running music has to be perfect: the right tempo, peppy, and inspiring. Here is a condensed version—some of the most motivational of the group. I hope you find something here that helps you reach your next mile, or extra minute of exercise. 

Hope

Can I tell you how much I love this guy? ^^Just got back from our Monday family visit. Here's how it goes:

We head down to the basement and find a cushy couch in a quiet corner. We let the kids wrestle while he brings out all his notebooks, study guides and books. I listen as he explains his recovery process to me. I read his lists, his definitions.

He flexes his biceps for me and asks if they look bigger. I concur. Much, much bigger. (He's up to 180 pounds–from 145)

I hear his growth. I sense the need for my own recovery. I silently commit to take my own inventory tonight. I feel hope. It dangles cautiously, but by the time I leave the feeling is too large to be contained inside my body and out it pours.  I weep. Because I finally feel it. I allow myself to feel it. I am pierced by the brilliance of it.

Hang in there little bro. I promised not to give you any advice. Just allow me this moment to say: Keep it up. I'm so proud of you.

"HOPE... is like the beam of sunlight rising up and above the horizon of our present circumstances. It pierces the darkness with a brilliant dawn." --President Dieter F. Uchtdorf