I added another class this semester. I’ve been going along fine, thinking the course work and work load hasn’t really been too bad. Multiple times I’ve thought I could do more. But I ended up registering today for the Neuroscience intensive that’s being held over Spring Break. We’re required to take two electives, offered on a 3-year rotation during break times. Neuroscience is a class I would really want to take, and since it only comes around once every three years, this semester is more or less the one time I could take it. Last night in class I overheard classmates talking about how they have required readings and 29 quizzes that need to be completed before class even starts. I contacted the teacher this morning, trying to get a better idea to see if this was something I could realistically do.

She sent the syllabus and I instantly thought, “Nope.” Over 1,000 pages of reading for the quizzes, plus a case analysis due at the end of the elective week, a lab report from a sheep brain dissection, plus a 15-page research paper with at least 10 scholarly sources in APA format. The class is held during the day for a week, and then you have to turn in your paper two weeks after that, so by March 25th. It’s not even the daunting prospect of trying to cram in, take, and pass that many quizzes, or writing that long of a paper that bothered me most. It was the realization that taking this class is highly likely to diminish any chance I might’ve had of meeting my goal of graduating summa cum laude.

I was explaining this at my counselor appointment this afternoon. Not being that far out from completing the program herself, I was interested in her input. She said this particular professor was tough, which I’d gathered. The rest of the electives aren’t that different, with most of them requiring prep work similar to what she was asking. I’d missed a meeting earlier in the semester where I probably could’ve learned some of this information sooner. All this to say is that I am trying to be mindful not to overdo it or pile on too many new things at once. I want to get done with school faster if I can, but I also don’t want to be overly absent from my family or set myself back with unnecessary stress.

I’m positive that at some point I’m going to end up regretting this. Nothing is set in stone so I can always drop it if I need to. The problem is I’m fairly interested in neuroscience and really want to take the class. I ran past my husband the idea of auditing it. Because this professor requires any auditing students to still complete the required reading ahead of time (speed-reading would surely have to count in this case), and since I’d still be gone for that week during the weekdays attending the class (8AM-12 or 8AM-4), he didn’t think it made much sense to not go ahead and get the credit for it. “That means you’d pretty much just be doing it for fun,” he said. “Yeah, basically”, I said, unashamed and perfectly sure of my thoughts and beliefs.

It’s been a busier past couple of days. Nothing out of the ordinary, just enough extra outings and commitments to keep me from the normal space and time to settle down. I called off school today to give the boys time to sleep in and rest. A few kids have had low-grade fevers here and there. Four of the kids and three of the cats have colds.

But also, the off day was for me to catch up. If the weekends are fuller and the weekly reset doesn’t happen in terms of clean-up and down time, then Mondays become the catch up day. That’s what it was today at least. My sleep hasn’t been the greatest this past week or two. Anymore it doesn’t take long for lack of sleep to catch up with me.

The big sigh of relief I was waiting for after finishing last week’s presentation came this afternoon when I realized all I have to do for tonight’s class is show up. Three more weeks of classes and this first 8-week session is over. The major thing I have left to do is write a ten page paper due on the 26th. We’re supposed to pick one of the textbook’s theories and write a paper on it. It can’t be the same one we presented on.

I’ve been thinking about over-explaining, which is supposedly some kind of adaptive response connected to times in your life of not feeling heard. I feel like God is bringing peace to this long-held inner needing to be heard and understood. I’m hoping that as these inner parts of me continue to heal, God can take the over-explaining, opening space for time and words where I am also able to explain other things.

I’ve been following the health journey of a pastor’s wife friend from our former circuit. There were several us pastor families who dispersed from the area around the same time. Their family moved the farthest, all the way to other side of the world. They were missionaries in South Korea before needing to come back to the states for treatment.

Please pray for Gretchen. She has tumors in her brain that keep coming back. We keep praying for healing and for these tumors to shrink and go away. The doctors say they’re coming from somewhere else in her body, but they haven’t been able to find a source. As of tonight, she’s no longer wanting any more standard Western medical intervention.

Her family sent out a request tonight asking for prayers. If anyone can offer a prayer for them it would mean a lot to her family as they decide where to go from here.

Last night in class my presentation went fine. I had to stop in the middle of my slides. The sweating, rapid heartbeat, and increased noticeable body odor was something I needed to halt before it became a choking stutter. I stepped away from the podium to catch my breath. I told the class I did not have a phobia of talking in front of people (our teacher had told an earlier story about phobias), but if there was a rung or two beneath the phobia level, that’d be me. The strange thing was, I hadn’t even been nervous.

“You’re doing great”, they started to say, though I heard it like a muffled rain. I probably should’ve looked around, but instead I kept my eyes on the neon screen right in front of me. I finished the slides then moved on to the demonstration. My client (the teacher who was playing herself) was a 60-something year old woman who was currently having trouble getting student papers graded. She was supposed to have them back by the end of last week, but was finding every excuse in the book to avoid grading. I clumsily tried to apply my WDEP reality therapy questions: 1) What do you want? 2) What are you doing? 3) Is what you are doing working? (evaluation) 4) What is your plan?

I was expecting to feel a huge sigh of relief when it was over. That didn’t happen. I actually felt worse. After I’d gotten my questions out, the whole thing, at least for me, slowly unraveled. By the time our demonstration was over, I’d completely fallen out of character, a third or more of the class was laughing, and somebody had tossed a piece of chocolate at the teacher to motivate her. I stood up from my chair and felt void. I had no idea what to think or why I didn’t feel relieved. The sweat from my legs had left a mark on my chair that would slowly have to evaporate underneath the white fluorescent lights. I thought of the man I had just met that evening, wondering if he’d seen my sweat and thought less of me. It doesn’t matter. This is what I’ve noticed about going to school this time. People are nicer and you’re not as afraid of them.

If you’re so smart, so strong
and I’m weak
Then why is it me
who has carried your sins?

Carry your own
except, wait
That’s God’s job

Could it be that I’m projecting
my own fear, my own anger
Fear that you will never change
Anger that you haven’t yet

We’ve changed enough for me
to love you, but not enough
for me to trust us.

I don’t want to be the one
to admit my faults either
But at least I know them
inside and out

We can know each other’s bodies
and be equally pleased
But does my mind, do my cries
have nothing to teach you?

Will I always need to bite my tongue?
the exchange
for a pain far less
than a ravaged heart

Does something in me
stir up something in you?
That makes you want
to turn away

Hahahahahahaha, we’ll see
Afraid is the last thing you’d be
with me

They warned me not to make you
God, said you couldn’t be God
I didn’t listen

Because I knew that you were better
than gods and kings
somewhere, somehow
Your humanity was mine

I rearranged my calendar to make it not so overwhelming looking. The thing I didn’t like was seeing how full the boxes looked. Last summer we attended a $3,500 marriage intensive weekend that was covered for us financially by a couple we’ve known since the days we both worked here. A special scholarship for pastors covered $3,000, and the couple who helped us covered the rest.

One of the action steps we were given was to be intentional about combining our lives on paper, that is, on our calendars. They wrote all of this down on a wall-sized sticky note. They divided the paper into two columns. Having a marriage is like owning a business in some ways. In both cases organization, communication, and planning are important to keep things running and functioning well.

Instead of writing in a size that filled the entire calendar box space, I erased what I’d originally penciled in and shrank the handwriting down so that the event/chapel visit/meeting fit into the bottom fourth of the date box. That one small change significantly opened my calendar back up. Now I could see my things and also see his things. I could see I wasn’t losing my present time with the boys.

When the mornings are open, I can then start to fill in those spaces with a general idea of when to work on what assignments. I felt much better about this major class project coming up on Monday when I saw I had several open mornings and afternoons to work on it. Today I spent a good portion of the daytime reading about and taking notes on Choice Theory/Reality Therapy, which is the theory I chose to present on.

One of the purposes of our theories class, in addition to learning the different theories, is to start to get an idea of who we are as a therapist (not sure I like that word). While there will be mixing and matching of theory application depending on the situation and person you are working with, our instructor says there will typically be at least one or two we find ourselves especially drawn to.

I’ve liked a lot of them. Over the past five weeks, there’ve been a few times when I’ve read again about the tested and familiar attachment theory, or we’ve talked about the three components of person-centered therapy, or someone gives their presentation on Gestalt therapy which is interested in knowing the happenings of the whole person. I read today and again was drawn to something about this one.

Rather than spending considerable amounts of time on the past, reality therapy focuses on the present. It assumes five encoded needs shared by all human beings. The needs are 1) Survival/self-preservation, 2) Love and belonging, 3) Power/inner control and feeling in control of one’s life, 4) Freedom/independence, and 5) Fun/enjoyment. The strength/presence of each need will vary with each person.

Reality therapy is based on the belief that insight alone is not enough to make a change. For example, the couple who worked with us at the marriage intensive helped to take our past and make a plan. They gave us the visual to bring home and keep as a reminder and reference. They helped us identify the areas where we could start to be intentional about becoming and choosing again our present life.

The big kids had a snow day today, so the little boys had a snow day too. We received about 7-8 inches worth of snowfall overnight and this morning. The sky has taken a break for tonight but it’s supposed to snow a few more inches tomorrow. The kids enjoyed some sledding in the morning. Dad took them down to the big hill after lunch.

We had our first meeting tonight since becoming a part of the spiritual nurture board at church. In addition to the board of elders and the board of trustees, we have the board of spiritual nurture and the board of witness and mercy. Witness and mercy focuses on finding ways to involve the church in reaching out into the community. Spiritual nurture is responsible for education and care of our church’s members.

I brought up the idea tonight of wanting to work toward getting something started to support and build up our church’s marriages. We have married couples of all ages, including several sets of newlyweds who I feel are particularly important to look out for. If we are going to be an entity who speaks about the sanctity and beauty of marriage, then we also need to follow up with in-person action. The pastor and DCE jumped right on board. I still sometimes can’t believe any of this is happening. I’m looking forward to serving on this board, and found by the ways God continues to work.

I had another counseling visit today. One of the things she keeps asking me about is how I’m doing when it comes to physical activity. I told her I’ve been going for walks almost every day. I still do my bed yoga, but other than that, not much else besides the for the most part resumed activities of daily living. Since the end of December Josh started doing the grocery shopping again and takes the boys. Sometimes I make the list and sometimes he does. He divides the list into three parts and gives each boy a section of needed items to go find. This evening I carried the vacuum up the stairs without feeling short of breath or like I needed to lay down. I can vacuum the living room rug with no problems.

When she asked about running, I didn’t go into the fact that I’m not really a runner, that was just something I’d been doing more frequently throughout the year of 2020. My daughter and I did a couch to 5K running plan that summer. On the last day, we timed it so we could finish down at the beach. It was warm and raining, and my phone died right as we were getting to the end of our workout. We kept running around the beach area until I figured we’d finished.

(She says she doesn’t remember that part about my phone dying but feels like that is something that would’ve happened.)

We took off our socks and shoes and ran into the water. We swam out to the floating dock and pushed up/rolled ourselves out of the water and onto its wooden surface, where we looked out at the lake and watched the rain. I knew that this was one of those fleeting moments of perfection. We sat there for a while and then swam back to the beach, picked up our socks and shoes, and walked barefoot up the beach trail and back to the house.

I didn’t have a working phone (and again I was frustrated by my brainless habits), so I couldn’t take a selfie of us down at the beach. Though it seemed a little anti-climactic by then, I did ask my husband to take a picture of us once we got back to the house. Sometime during this past week or so, my husband was showing me a picture album on his phone. I saw the picture he’d taken. When I did, I remembered how I wished I’d been able to take one down at the lake. I’d actually forgotten about that running/swimming day.

Back in the fall, the doctor ordered an echocardiogram, which is basically an ultrasound of the heart that also measures cardiac output and function. I’d told him about this last time when I’d been swimming and how after a short while I couldn’t do anymore. I know some of it was the loud Zumba music and the anxiety of a new moment. I said I didn’t think I’d be able at that point to pass a stress test. I told him it’s like there’s a cap in my chest that won’t let me go farther. He said that happens sometimes to him when he runs. He hits a mental wall but when he keeps going he discovers that he actually can. I started to feel like he was not understanding me.

I’d pretty much come to peace with the fact that the healing of whatever it is that’s been wrong with me was simply going to take time. Since in the ER I tested positive for mono, there’s the possibility of having some sort of post-viral syndrome, which is the diagnosis he gave so that my chiropractor visits would be covered by our health share plan. I can lean toward thinking catastrophically about bodily symptoms, but that day at the pool prompted me to make sure I wasn’t just dismissing something that needed further attention, like my peace to be okay with not-rightness wasn’t just some new manifestation of an old problem. I told him some things that doctors don’t go to medical school to hear, and cried softly when he said something I now don’t remember, but was something that again communicated he genuinely cared. He was required to ask if I was suicidal. I said I wasn’t, that in fact, I was there because I wanted to live. He said it’s the quiet ones he worries about most.

I was perplexed by the discrepancies that can occur with people’s perception of us verses our perception of ourselves. I didn’t think I was quiet, or guarded, or feeling unable to talk openly with him. My blood pressure had been normal that time, after the past two years of being high during the handful of times I’d started going to him. Because I knew I was not going to be getting any younger, and because there were minor things I was noticing that I wanted to get checked out, I’d decided I needed to at least get started on settling in with some kind of doctor. After he listened to my heart and my lungs I asked him if there was something he could order, some kind of test that would give me a visual image of my heart.

When that day I had felt something snap inside of me, right above my heart on the left side of my chest, I thought something in my heart had popped. I thought maybe the stress had ballooned out an artery. When I stayed conscious and did not collapse to my death, I figured maybe that wasn’t what had happened. But something had happened, and for months upon even minimal exertion, it would activate an immobilizing pressure or weight, like that spot in my chest was a heavy magnet.

The echocardiogram was normal. I told the counselor I had plans to try swimming again this coming Monday and that maybe this summer I might try to see if I could work my way back to more walking, but that I didn’t really feel a need to do more than that now. She asked if it was fear that was stopping me. I’ve told her everything I didn’t tell the doctor, and our sessions have been joyfully encouraging and helpful. I didn’t go into this time how I didn’t think it was fear so much, but was mostly because I was slowly still healing.

“The voices of the vast majority of Christians throughout history have had no hearing outside their immediate and very limited sphere. Their theological contributions are out of sight, out of mind, difficult if not impossible to recover, except as they have affected the spiritual lives of those people close to them, perhaps their children and their children’s children through oral tradition.”
~How to Think Theologically, Stone & Duke~

One of the ongoing assignments in our Intro to God’s word class is something the professor calls Living the Story. We were to take up a practice to continue throughout the semester in which we participate in the mission of God. One of the books we’re currently reading for the class is Brad Kelle’s Telling the Old Testament Story: God’s Mission and God’s People. One of the homework assignments for this week is to describe God’s mission in my own words. For right now, I’m just looking at his:

“As we’ll see, God’s mission is to restore the originally-intended right-relationships and blessing by becoming a covenant partner engaged in a relationship with all living beings that will overcome human evil and heal creation.”

A previous paragraph says this:

“The first eleven chapters move from creation to Abraham, the one from whom Israel’s story will emerge. Most importantly for telling the larger OT story, however, these opening chapters move toward the introduction of God’s mission by first showing the initial picture of God’s intentions for creation–a creation made perfect as an ideal existence marked by the right-relationships of mutual blessing among God, humans, and the world. We then see the distortion of this divinely intended good reality by human misdeeds that lead to the introduction of God’s mission to heal and restore creation.

I am drawn to words that talk about healing. More than any other word I can presently think of, the concept of healing seems to finally, forever, and once and for all finally address what what my problem is, what my absolute greatest human need of all time is.

By why? Why this word?

Why is this word so much easier to hear than words like sin and rebellion? Why do I want healing from God so much more than I seem to want the forgiveness of God?

When I was looking into more about the above book’s author, I saw that he (Brad Kelle) has written another more recent book called The Bible and Moral Injury: Reading Scripture Alongside War’s Unseen Wounds. So then I looked up the term “moral injury”:

(Don’t ask me why it helps to write this all out)

“Moral injury is the damage done to one’s conscience or moral compass when that person perpetrates, witnesses, or fails to prevent acts that transgress one’s own moral beliefs, values, or ethical codes of conduct.” (https://moralinjuryproject.syr.edu/)

Wikipedia says this:

“Moral injury refers to an injury to an individual’s moral conscience and values resulting from an act of perceived moral transgression, which produces profound emotional guilt and shame, and in some cases a profound sense of betrayal and anger.

And also this:

“The concept of moral injury emphasizes the psychological, social, cultural, and spiritual aspects of trauma. Distinct from psychopathology, moral injury is a normal human response to an abnormal traumatic event.”

When mankind sinned, they were fatally wounded.

When we transgress the law of God, it is we who are broken.

This is why words about healing resonate with me so much.

He sees my injuries. He sees my wounds.

But he was pierced for our transgressions,
he was crushed for our iniquities;
the punishment that brought us peace was on him,
and by his wounds we are healed, Isaiah 53:5

For our Living the Story assignment, I chose the seemingly doable and knowingly enjoyable practice of writing letters to whoever God puts on my heart for that week. God gives us voices to speak of our Savior, help us connect with others, and hopefully serve to build up the church and humanity even in some small healing way. God speaks to us through words and uses words to communicate his story and his love for us.

Faith comes through hearing the word.

Words are the agents of love and change. 

Something that’s become somewhat of a budding concern of mine (passion doesn’t seem like quite the right word at this point) is wondering how to provide more support for marriages within the local church setting. In the past year, just in our nearby Lutheran school/church community, there have been five divorces. Those are just the ones that we’ve heard of. Another marriage closer to our personal inner circle is in currently in critical condition.

Because I think education is important in building and sustaining healthy marriages, something I’ve been wanting to do is identify and begin to articulate the beliefs I had going into marriage, as well as ones I adopted along the way earlier on, that proved to be unhelpful and even damaging to myself, my husband, and/or our relationship. It is important for our beliefs to be based on what is true, as our beliefs will influence our thoughts and behaviors.

Much of the information I sought out that shaped my own beliefs, thoughts, and actions in marriage came from books sold by Christian resource ministries. Over the years, women have begun to speak up about the relational damage caused by the teachings in these at one-time popular marriage books, most of which I have read. As more and more time passes, and I’ve had time to reflect on how the application of these teachings played out in my life, I have been able to see how many of my personal and marital relationship struggles can be traced back to false things I believed to be true.

~~~

Yesterday the boys and I spent the morning at a friend’s house. For nearly two hours the kids played with Legos and ran around outside while the mothers sat in our rocking chairs keeping warm by the space heater. One of the things we talked about was wondering if life would’ve been easier had we known or been better at certain things while we were younger. Examples included conflict resolution, emotional regulation, recognizing true and untrue thoughts, and awareness of our bodies and how its cyclical nature affects us personally. The biggest thing for both of us was self-acceptance.

One of the things I remember my 2017-2019 counselor saying to me was that he noticed I had a tendency to search for and analyze negative characteristics about myself. “I know this was probably my pride…” or “Maybe I’m just blind here”. I said, “Well isn’t that normal?” He said it wasn’t. I said, “Well isn’t that what we as Christians are supposed to do? Isn’t being able to admit our own faults the way we show we’re humble and open?” He also was Lutheran so he understood what I meant when I asked how we’re supposed to say or believe good things about ourselves when every week in church we’re forced to repeat what poor, miserable, sinners we are? Yes, I’m a sinner, but not so much of a sinner that I constantly need to be bringing it up week after week.

But the whole thing is kind of a radical thought. What would it be like to be okay with myself? To not be assessing and trying to identify what it is I need to change, where I could be or could’ve been better at something, what foods might help me achieve the results I am wanting, where my attitude needs an adjustment, where I am needing to give myself some grace and others too, where I need to swallow my pride and walk in humility. Self-acceptance is for the pagans, the ones who don’t believe they are sinners. Any term with the word “self” involved isn’t fitting for the vocabulary of a godly woman. Self is selfish. There is no self. Who I am as myself is not important and doesn’t matter.