Paralysis

A new friend recently referred me to a quote that has been forefront in my mind for the last week.  It concerns spiritual paralysis.  It's taken from a book When Life Gets Hard, written by Meg Johnson.

"Being spiritually "able" requires very simple steps - the kind of answers always given in Primary.  Praying, reading scriptures, and being nice to others all invite the Holy Ghost and spiritual ability.  Likewise, spiritual paralysis happens with similar simplicity." 

"Being spiritually paralyzed is not a disability I can handle."

"Those who are spiritually disabled look at us as "self-righteous" and "haughty" when we refuse to join them in their unfair judgements, gossip, parties, movies and every other activity that would numb us spiritually.  They wallow selfishly in their spiritual paralysis.  They know where the path is but choose to stay spiritually disabled.  They do not wish to join us, instead, despise us for our valiance and humility - and ability."

Last night, the kids gathered around my iPad and we streamed a Mormon Message.  I was struck at the parallel I found.  Brittany has organs inside her body that are paralyzed.  Watching her handle her condition is remarkable.
Every morning, she administers medications.  She makes her own food.  She can't eat solid food like everyone else -everyone around her is FINE to eat solid food.  It doesn't affect them like it affects Brittany. She makes her own food.  She has tubes attached to her.  All of her food and medicines are stored in a backpack and she wears the backpack with her wherever she goes. 
Because she packs her backpack, she is free.  Her backpack keeps her safe and able.  Because Brittany works so hard on self-care and packing her backpack, her mind and body are free to magnify her talents and give of herself.

Do we not all wear backpacks?  They might not be visible to the naked eye, but they are there.  Every morning, we fill ourselves with light: prayer, reading, music.  We strap inspiration to our backs, we put the Savior in our packs.  Proverbial feeding tubes keeps the nourishment coming constantly.
If we fail to do so, we will become paralyzed.



Meg Johnson goes on:
"As a modern-day Daniel, you have two places to pray- hidden in your closet or right in front of the window.  Sometimes it is right to pray in your closets, but in this instance, being subtle about your standards and still keeping them -  like closing your eyes during the bad scenes - may not be enough.  But if you "pray in front of the window" and stand up in the middle of the show to crawl over everyone in the audience to get out, people might not be so happy with you.

Sometimes when we "pray in front of our window", we're considered arrogant and self-righteous.  Sometimes our friends won't understand our standards.  Sometimes our family will be angry at us for reminding them of our standards.  God does not always close their mouths.

Sometimes those who see our righteous example are not softened, sometimes they are hardened against us."

"As modern-day Daniels, what do we say in our prayers?  Do we ask that the lions' mouths will be closed?  Or do we ask for thicker skin?"

"....courage is not the same as bravery.  When we're brave, we are fearless and confident.  But I rarely feel that way.  Like you, I know people who dislike it when I pray at my window.  I fear that those lions may eat me and that the fires will burn me - but I fear God more.  In my fear, I have little room for bravery.

But I have room for courage.  Courage is not the absence of fear.  Rather, it is the willingness and determination to do what needs doing anyway - despite how we feel.  With courage, we can fall down on our knees right in front of our window, standing tall in our commitment to righteousness, and let the lions eat us.

With courage, we can walk through the fires that burn, and as we do, we will walk with God.  As we are courageous, we will know that if lions eat us, we're going to taste good because the fruits of the Spirit are sweet!

So let the lions eat us as we bear our testimony with our actions and pray in front of our windows.  Let the fires burn us to a standard-waving crisp!  There is nothing on our trail - no lion, no fire, no rock - that we can't handle when we walk with God, even if we can't walk."

As I work to create new pathways in my life and brain, I know that I need thicker skin.
I know that I DO have the courage to fear God more than man if I will but to my feet into action.
I realize the importance of my feeding tubes.
I see the threat of spiritual paralysis -it's debilitating and very real.

And as a good friend once told me:
You work your life around recovery, not recovery around your life.
I might add: even if it means doing it in front of the window.

(Thank you, Jill, for sending me that amazing quote!)

Waiting to Break?

I'm trying not to be.
But I'm worried.

I don't know if I can do it: Primary President, new mother battling hormones, porn addict husband, mommy to two, PASG facilitator...

Sometimes I wish people KNEW, you know?  I wish people knew what was going on so they understood why I get frazzled easily or why I forget things or why I cry for "no good reason."
Could I handle a new baby and my calling?  I think so.
Can I handle my calling, a new baby, AND then all this addiction stuff?  It looks like I'm going to.

I know from past experiences that the Lord will bless me if I'm willing to get down in the dirt of it all -get my hands dirty, so to speak.  He will not leave me helpless.

Because even if other people don't KNOW... HE knows.  He knows very well.
He knows.

The Taker

I'm working as a church service missionary right now -I'm a facilitator for the PASG program in our area.
I'm a Primary President right now.
I'm 35 weeks pregnant today.
And I'm a taker.

I take, take, take from everyone around me.

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I call my mom when I'm short of flour or sugar or eggs.  I call my neighbors for babysitting help.  And I'm ALWAYS on the receiving end of goods and goodies.
"Here, take my super trendy maternity dresses," said my fashion-forward friend.
"Here's a nursing cover I made for you.  And here's some jam.  And here's a dinner," said my friend who is no stranger to the world of porn-addicted husbands.
"Here's some diapers and a pan of desserts," said the mother of one of my Primary kids  (who told her mom that I needed them -what a sweet kid).
"Here's some homemade applesauce and pumpkin muffins," said my friend down the street with three kids of her own.

I hate being a taker.  I hate it.
That isn't to say that I don't love my nursing cover (oh my STARS it is adorable!  I hung it on my wall!) or that I didn't polish off the apple crisp that landed on my doorstep yesterday.

I just feel so in debt.
I feel like it will never be possible for me to thank enough or give enough back -ever.  It bothers me.

As I thought about it, I realized that this is an opportunity for me to gain more understanding of the Atonement.
I've been a taker all my life, whether I've realized it or not.

The Savior has given His all for me, and I take it.  I take it every day.  I can never, ever repay that debt... but I vow to die trying.
And those who give to me... those I take from... they're simply doing the same thing: doing their best to repay a debt.
Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.” (Matt. 25:37–40.)
 
I appreciate my family and friends who serve me with love.
And I promise that even though I can't begin to repay, I can always serve you with love in my own way.

It isn't easy being a taker -the natural woman in me doesn't like it one little bit.  But it's humbling me and teaching me that taking is part of life and necessary for salvation.
Incidentally, giving is also part of life and necessary for salvation.

Today I'm going to slowly do some cleaning and then take some time to write a few thank you notes.
I can't give much right now, but I can give some.  A few cookies, a few notes of gratitude -surely that's something I can do today.

I know Heavenly Father has seen the givers that have come to my door during this pregnancy.
They're all paying on their debt through love, charity, and kindness -qualities that will go with them throughout the eternities.
I'm grateful for them.
And even though it can be a hard pill to swallow, I'm grateful to be a taker.
I didn't used to be a taker... I used to handle my husband's addiction "on my own" and those were the darkest days of my life.
When I opened up my door to the Savior and to loving friends and family... and I TOOK from them...
I began to live again.

How grateful I am that we all have each other.

I'm a Tool

I like to believe that once upon a time, Heavenly Father sat at a table and made a sort of game out of people-placement.  He made sure not to put too many healers in one corner... not too many seamtresses too close together.  He spent hours arranging, rearranging, finalizing, and then sending us all down to find out for ourselves what our callings were.

I'm a teacher.  I'm a writer.  I'm an entertainer.

A few months ago, my mom said, "We need to gather our family together and do a sort of inventory... see what we all have to bring to the table.  I just feel like if things get bad, it would be nice to know what we each have to help each other out."
I later found out she was talking about food.
But I thought she was talking about skills and stuff.  I went home and sort of agonized because I have this incredible sister in law who can do everything I can do, but she does it BETTER and simplifies it.  If things go bad, they won't need me if they have her.
I say this 100% without guile... I promise.  She is a rockstar.  If things go bad, I'm going to her house.
It did get me a little down on myself.  I mean, there ARE things I do that she doesn't do, but none of them really matter.  At least I didn't think they did.
Until I imagined it...

If things got bad...
If there were fires and bombs and a lack of food, what place would I have in the building up of the people?  I can make them laugh!  I can tell stories!  I'm a story teller -a writer!  I can use my words to teach!
These are all wonderful additions to destitute people!  Down-trodden and depressed people NEED people who can quote comical movies and skits in their entirety!!  Right?!

The thought salved my self-inflicted wounds for the time being.

I label myself as a teacher.  I'm not getting paid to teach, nor do I have a teaching degree.
I label myself as a writer.  I've never held a job where I got paid to write.  And yes, I've applied.  And yes, I've been rejected.
I label myself as an entertainer.  I'm not getting paid to tell stories, write poems, quote movies or anything like that.

But I do things like that because I can't help it.  It's just... me.  And I do things like teach and write and entertain because it brings me true happiness to do it.

I used to strive for recognition for these kinds of things.  I wanted so badly to be discovered as a writer -to have someone read my junk and go mad with satisfaction.
I felt like Ralphie from "A Christmas Story" when he daydreams about turning in his Christmas theme, and his teacher is completely overcome with the awesomeness of his writing.

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"Listen to this sentence: 'A Red Ryder BB Gun with a compass and a stock and this THING which tells time...' Oh, Ralphie!  A plus, plus, plus..."

And his classmates lift him to their shoulders and parade him around the room...

Anyway, in the midst of my urgency to be noticed something happened: I hit rock bottom.  I realized the true depth of my husband's porn addiction and I was stunned and scared and panicked and suddenly nothing but survival mattered.  I stopped caring about whether or not people thought my writing was witty or funny or cool or whatever.

I just WROTE.

I wrote because I needed to write -I have to write.  My brain is wired to write (even as a small girl, I used to narrate my own life in my head.  I thought all kids did that.  I didn't realize that Constant Mental Compose Mode wasn't the human norm and I walked out of my door to walk to Elementary School and my brain went something like, "The front door creaked open and she set foot into the cutting chill.  A shiver went through her as she pulled her coat up around her ears, trying to seal in the warmth from her mother's oatmeal...").

I stopped dressing my writing to impress, and I just started vomiting words up out of my soul.  When I shared what I'd written, I didn't hear, "You are SUCH a good writer." 

Instead, people would say things like "I needed to hear that today.  Thank you so much for putting into words what I didn't know how."

And the more it happened, the more I could feel my Heavenly Father saying "You're an instrument."

I can use my God-given ability to express myself to try and turn a profit somewhere (if anyone would bother hiring a housewife with no experience).  But Heavenly Father didn't put me down here to turn a profit or to be discovered.  He put me down here to serve a purpose, to do for others what they can't do for themselves and I'm SO HAPPY to do it because so many people have done for me what I can not do for myself!  I want to give SOMETHING BACK if I can!

I can not heal my own infections, perform my own surgeries, match clothes, style hair, decorate my home, organize it... until one of the Lord's instruments takes me by the hand and lifts me.

They're tools.

I'm a tool.

Everyone's a friggin' tool.

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We sometimes think we have to BE ALL THE TOOLS.  And if we need a tool we don't have, we use a a tool we DO have to do whatever it is that needs doing.  It takes longer and it's more stressful and time consuming than it ever should have to be, but hey.  At least we didn't have to call the neighbor, right?  At least we didn't let our guard down long enough for them to see our vulnerability and weakness.  At least we broke our back and denied someone a chance to serve and create joy in their own life.  Whew!

Needing help is so hard.  ASKING for it is downright agonizing.  Receiving it is hard to stomach.  

Giving it?  Giving it is celestial in every sense of the word.

When I felt prompted to start a recovery blog, I pushed the prompting away.  The internet was the one place in my little life that wasn't touched by the porn addiction in my home.  I could log onto my family blog -the place I go to write every day -and I could let porn go and focus on what my family had done the day before.

After listening to President Monson's talk in conference about following promptings, I knew it was time.  I was sad to let porn addiction affect my "safe" place, but it's been nothing but a blessing for me.  I'm learning so much about myself as I write, and I'm receiving little taps to the brain... they're writing prompts.

I'll be in the middle of doing dishes and *BAM* something whispers in my ear, "You should write about _____."  The more I dwell on the writing prompt, the more ideas flow.  Before my head hits the pillow, I have to get them all out through my keyboard.

I go to bed satisfied, happy, and I sleep soundly (ish.  I mean, as soundly as a pregnant lady in her third trimester can sleep). It feels so good to WRITE!  To compose! To put those words down and watch them work together and to hit the "publish" button and know that it will STAY written... unlike the living room that no matter how many times I clean it, it never stays that way.  I seriously think it has some kind of beef with me.

I love being a tool.

It doesn't profit anything material, but it profits soul cash... and soul cash can never be lost or spent or badly invested.  What's more?  You take it with you when you go.

Tonight I'm grateful for careful people placement and a wide variety of tools.

I realize tonight's post could come across as completely egotistical, but it isn't meant to come across that way.

And anyway.  Can I really be stroking my ego if I'm blatantly calling myself a tool?

That's rhetorical, by the way.  Please don't answer...