“No one listens, and no one understands.” Have you ever said or thought that? You are not alone.

“We have learned that the places to which He (God) leads usually have nothing to do with what we think we will make us happy.” – Erin Napier, Make Something Good Today.

If you ever say, “No one listens, and no one understands,” then you might not be talking about others. You may be talking about yourself.

In all my years of working with teenagers, this was a common refrain. I’d talk to kids, and I’d hear these woeful tales of being ignored, or that no one cared about what they were going through. Or, worse, if their parents didn’t understand, then they’d use what they knew against them.

I live in Mississippi. We are prone to storms. Those on the Mississippi Gulf Coast can tell you about dealing with hurricanes – Katrina was perfectly catastrophic. Other hurricanes have hit there over the years. And tornadoes? Have mercy. Our house has sustained tornado damage three times since we bought it in 2005. Minor stuff – a tree, some privacy fencing, some roof damage – but others haven’t been as fortunate.

Right around the corner from us, during one of these storms, a big oak fell on a house and effectively bisected it. No one was hurt, but the house was split right down the middle.

Here’s where it gets complicated, and causes many to wonder about God. They might say “no one listens, and no one understands, not even God.”

While I was grateful our damage was minimal, and thanked God, I know the owners of the other house were believers, too. It’s great that God prevented damage to our house, but the assumption – and it’s a scary one – is that a positive answer to prayer is evidence that God listens and answers our prayers in a way that pleases us. A negative outcome might lead one to believe that God isn’t paying attention and therefore doesn’t answer us.

That’s Satanic. Mark Twain said that the primary reason he couldn’t swallow Christianity was because of unanswered prayers.

If your issue, then, is that “no one listens, and no one understands,” the reality is that unfavorable answers to prayer doesn’t mean that God isn’t listening.

Read Erin’s quote again. She what she said? God takes you places – and by inference deals in other ways with you – that aren’t what you wanted for yourself.

This makes for some big implications. It may be that your “no one listens, and no one understands” mindset is because you hear things from others, or even God, that you didn’t want to hear.

I won’t presume to interpret what others who don’t listen or understand are all about. It may be that they do listen and understand more than you think.

The absolutely glorious news, though, is that God both listens and understands. Think about it:

• God hears all your prayers.
• He knows exactly what you’re going through and what you need.
• God is compassionate.
• He wants to carry the load for you, because His yoke is easy and His burden is light.
• God doesn’t slumber, nor does He sleep.
• He will never leave you or forsake you.
• God’s love never fails.
• He knows your future, every detail of it.

Here is truth, for you who believe no one listens, and no one understands: Just because you didn’t get what you prayed for doesn’t mean that He didn’t listen.

The mental picture I get, and what sustains me, is that when I pray I imagine coming into the presence of God. When I speak, He drops everything, turns to me, and says, “Hey, Tony. You have my undivided attention.”

Cool.

It may be that you’ve asked for things – maybe even prayed for them – and nothing worked out afterwards. I wonder sometimes if God answering our prayers the way we wanted them answered is one of the hardest things we can experience.

We don’t always ask for the things that will help us grow. At the same time, we don’t need to self-edit our prayers. What can we pray about that He doesn’t already know? We have the freedom to talk to Him about our feelings, our fears, and our legitimate needs.

The more time you spend with God, the more you will be comforted. It’s because He listens and He understands. He’s your hiding place, your fortress, the one who gives you strength when you’re tapped out, and He cares for you.

He is never too busy with other people. He doesn’t put you to the side because He’s dealing with world issues.

It all comes down to two choices:

1. Lean on God during those hard times when no one listens and understands, and accept His protection, or –
2. Anything but #1.

It’s your choice. Choose wisely.

Comments welcome. Talk later!

Love all, serve all, be mistreated. My goodness. There’s all sorts of irony in the title of this blog.

When I cobble these posts together, I purposefully try to be as broad as I can for people all along the faith spectrum. Most of the time, I’m writing what I want to hear for myself. I just kind of let you sit in.

Today, though, I am more in the camp of believers, Christians.

If you are a Christian, how well do you love? Do you love all? And what if you’re mistreated?

You know I’m not talking about love in the sense of romantic love, or even love among friends and family. I’m not even talking about self-love, which is a big deal.

Nope – I’m talking about supernatural, God-ordained love.

That kind of love operates separate from feelings. It’s a love that is actually an act of the will. It’s a love that can’t be self-generated. It has to come from another source outside ourselves.

Because, y’know, in and of ourselves I simply don’t think we have the capacity for that kind of love, even though we’re to love all. 

Here’s my autobiographical note: This actually comes easy for me. It’s a capacity for love that God just has seen fit to give me, and I’m grateful for that. I can say without hesitation that, to the best of my knowledge and heart, I love everyone.

Which is NOT to say that I care to keep company with everyone. There are some people I’d just as soon see going as coming.

And, of course, there have been people who’ve hurt me. Maybe I’ve been mistreated.

What’s your response to that? Unless you’re a hermit (and some days that seems appealing – like my friend Becky Brown noted, “I could easily be a hermit, but God won’t let me”), you have had someone – or maybe multiple someone’s – wound your soul.

You’re gonna have to look hard to find benefit in that, right?

The benefit comes in how you respond to being mistreated.

Talk about self-revelatory! Hurt can teach you an awful lot about yourself.

So. Are you a grudge holder? Do you erupt in Jovian anger? Do you retreat just to sulk and brood? How about plotting revenge? Is that you?

Well, how about this in response to hurt: be kind. Love all.

Stay with me here, because I’m not being patronizing.

I will tell you that the world may not look favorably on you if your response to being mistreated is to be kind. That’s not the way things work, right?

Some of the kindest Christians I know have lived in a world that wasn’t so kind to them.

That is so intriguing. Not only does it fly in the face of conventional wisdom, it doesn’t even really make sense. That is not a typical response.

Yet there are those who have been through so much at the hands of others, and they love deeply. They still care.

Are there steps one can take to reach that state? Can you really love all? Even if others mistreated you?

I’m not sure. You don’t find it in our sinful, carnal nature. It has to come from a different place. I dunno. Some people relish unforgiveness. I’ve never known of a time when forgiveness was anything other than a virtue.

In giving this a lot of thought over the years – the reason why people choose not to forgive – I have come up with a handful of “why’s,” possible reasons why people cling to this unique misery of unforgiveness.

• They don’t understand mercy. Mercy is one of the most divine of all traits. We are simply thunderstruck by Jesus’ words from the Cross – “Father, forgive them, because they don’t know what they’re doing.” That’s mercy, right there, all encapsulated in a magnificent example of forgiveness.
• They prefer a hard heart to a tender one. Perhaps being tender hearted is viewed as weakness. I’d suggest that it’s a whole lot more courageous to be tenderhearted than it is to take a hard line.
• We are fallen people who live in a fallen world. It’s hard to to be kind when the whole of civilization seems to want us to be harsh and inappropriately aggressive. I see so much hatefulness everywhere I turn. This is not, nor will ever be, a “political” blog, but given the current state of things … I mean. Mama said “if you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all.” Looking back, that might be a lot more wise (or certainly more kind) than I used to believe. What a toxic world! And don’t come at me with a statement like, “Jesus was controversial. Jesus was harsh. Jesus turned over tables and ran people out of the table.” C’mon, now. Really? Of course He did. But when your (or my) motivations are the same as Jesus’, we can use His tactics. Otherwise, it’s best that we stand down. This culture of outrage we have embraced doesn’t seem to help – all it does is make folks on the same side of an issue feel good (or empowered) about themselves. I don’t see many converts coming from rage.
• It’s simply easier to hold a grudge. It takes no effort. It feels good for a season. It makes you feel mighty and self-righteous. It feeds into that nature that says, “I’ll show you. I’m gonna hurt you back. And when I hurt you back, that’s gonna make me feel really, really good.”

“I can’t forgive,” you say. “I can’t be kind to him/her/them. They mistreated me.”

Here’s my bottom line for the day:

Sometimes, it’s the Christians who have been mistreated the most who refuse to be hardened in this world, because they would never want to make another person feel the same way they themselves have felt.

If that’s not something to be in awe of, I don’t know what it is. Love all.

Talk later.

“Friends are friends forever.” Did you just sing that?

Back in my earliest days of youth ministry, which would’ve been the early 80’s, Michael W. Smith’s song was almost like an anthem. You couldn’t avoid it. If there was ever a better song for the last day of camp, I don’t know what it is.

At any rate, I’ve been thinking about this for a week or so. Are friends friends forever? Do they even need to be? I mean, Facebook has had an “unfriend” feature for some time. I’ve used it a couple of times, and I have reason to believe it’s been used on me some lately, too, which I’m fine with. Lord. I hope I never get my sense of worth from social media.

Here’s the thing. The pandemic has thrown our relationships all out of whack. I’m over it; I’m not afraid to go anywhere maskless, but that’s just me. You do what your doctor says, and in the meantime – exercise some critical thinking skills.

Recently I got to spend some time with a friend I hadn’t seen in person for a long time. Since I can be horrifically socially inept, I was a wee bit apprehensive. I didn’t want it to be awkward or weird. We’d been keeping up with each other on social media, so it wasn’t as if we’d been totally disconnected. Still, when you’re online and typing, you do have some control (for better or worse) over how the exchange goes.

Fortunately, everything went fine. We’re still friends forever. I don’t see any reason for that to change.

Here’s my “but” statement. When it comes to friends, even forever friends, my stomach for uncomfortable social situations is a lot worse than it used to be.

Yeah, I’m an introvert. And I’m getting older and much more crotechty. As a Christian, I know I’m supposed to engage the world. (Funny how, under certain circumstances, that can be easier for me with people I don’t know.)

With the aforementioned friend, after we’d visited, I felt a gazillion times better than I did going into the conversation. Said friend made my day.

I’ve had the opposite happen, though. I’ve visited with a friend or acquaintance before and left our time together just exhausted. Spent. As in “show me the door.”

I’m a little vague as to how that works. I know some clinical explanations, but when it comes to friends, sometimes being clinical doesn’t help much.

Then there is loneliness.

Gonna tell ya – I seldom ever, ever feel lonely. There is a stark difference in being lonely and being alone. For as long as I can remember, I’ve been able to engage with others in a way that satisfies me.

I’d add that, while not the same thing as being lonely, I will cop to being frustrated when people don’t understand me. I don’t like to think I’m all that complex. Whatever. Generally, I can handle that.

So how many friends does someone need to not be lonely? That is unsettled science. The general consensus, though, is that there is no “one size fits all” number.

This: a 2010 Meta-Analysis found that loneliness is “as harmful to physical health as smoking 15 cigarettes a day.” That’s not great news.

It seems that when it comes to friends more isn’t necessarily better.

My personal sense informs me that spending time with people – even friends – that are critical, negative, unfaithful, and unreliable isn’t a healthy thing.

We all have a finite amount of time. Because of that, how we use it to invest in others is really important. Remember, though, you are responsible for the quality of your relationships.

Am I advocating just ditching those people who sap your energy, and their very presence devalues your soul?

Not really, simply because it isn’t always practical. There are some people that, because of work, family ties, or just proximity you can’t escape. Some of them might be friends.

I wanted to come up with a nice bulleted list of how-to’s. When it came to friends, everything I tried sounded pat and contrived.

I’ll just go with this:

Guard your heart.

I don’t know what that looks like in your life, but I’ll bet you can apply it to where you are relationally right now. It may be that, if possible, you need to jettison some people and restrict contact from them. It doesn’t mean you love them any less. It just means you have to protect yourself from having a depleted soul. This may not be easy to do.

Figure it out.

In The Writing Life, Annie Dillard writes: “How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives. What we do with this hour, and that one, is what we are doing.”

Live intentionally. It’ll help you discern who you need to spend your time with.

Friends are friends forever. Until they aren’t, and that may not be a bad thing.

And remember: What a friend we have in Jesus.

Talk later.

Find rest. Walk in God’s way and find Him.

Rest seems to be in short supply these days. There’s a splendid irony at work here. Even though the world has slowed down because of the pandemic, we are more internally unsettled than ever. We may still be busy, but there’s that uneasy churning in our soul that is taking its toll.

So rest is something we’d like to experience, right? Just a sense of peace, of settling down, of being free from the worry and angst of the world.

Since I’m speaking primarily to believers, you understand that God promises rest. Ancient script states in Matthew 11:28-30:

²⁸ “Come to me,all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.²⁹ Take my yoke upon you and learn from me,for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. ³⁰ For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”

That’s good stuff right there. The promise of rest. So why the struggle many of us have?

Beats me. But I think a lot of it has to do with simple trust in God.

Here’s some good news about rest. Part of finding rest, experiencing rest, comes with the realization that no evil can touch you.

That does not mean, of course, that you will ever be freed from the presence of evil.  We live in a fallen world, right? So evil abounds.

But evil will not harm you in the strictest sense. It can certainly influence you, but when it comes to eternity – and that’s what I’m talking about – it will not cause you to lose your reward.

You will suffer in this world. You’ll deal with illness and loss. Bad things will happen. Evil things, even. But they can’t touch that  part of  you that belongs to God.

I’m not advocating denial here. I am advocating rest coming from knowing you are His, and He is yours. That’s a pretty secure place to be in. That is an opportunity for finding rest.

Rest means not to struggle.

Consider that. Struggle is the antithesis of rest. When you’re fighting, you aren’t resting. You’re on alert, you’re all wound up, and you’re a bundle of tension.

I wonder if part of our struggles are imposed by the world. Does the word “overwhelmed” resonate with you? Feel like you’re fighting something all the time?

Here’s where that line of thinking will invariably lead. You’ll find yourself struggling, fretting, and feeling swamped by life itself. Worse, there may be a sense you’re all alone in your struggles. Awful. You can’t find rest.

That loneliness comes from a sense that no one can really understand what you’re facing. Actually, that’s true. While some people can empathize, no one will ever totally get it because you are unique in every way. That’s not a bad thing.

I don’t have a magic formula for finding rest for you, or really even showing you how to find rest. So let’s just stick  to basics, shall we?

God alone has perfect understanding of you. He understands you even when you don’t understand you. Crazy, right?

When you need perfect understanding, that’s where you go.

When you need the awareness of a perfect, loving, tender relationship, that’s really your only option.

So. For those days when you’re overwhelmed, when rest seems like a fantasy, and you want to say to the world “Please understand me!”, here’s the good news.

Someone does.

Be well.

Tony’s question: Would you share with the rest of us what YOU do to experience the peace and rest only God can give? Leave your comments below, and don’t forget to share with your friends.

What was it the old preacher said? “Put the hay where the sheep can get to it.” Maybe this will be pure encouragement for yoy.

Maybe today you’re feeling sheepish, and need some good hay. I hope this’ll fit the bill.

The context: I’ve spoken before about the gap between where I want and need to be and where I actually am. Chances are you know what I’m talking about. It’s a matter of having values and standards, and knowing clearly what they are … and not acting on them in real-life situations.

Or, you ask for advice and if it doesn’t appeal to you – even if it’s good – you don’t take it.

Worst of all, you’re aware that your attitudes, and the actions that grow from them, are stifling your growth. You get frustrated, and paralyzed, and you stay in the same sorry state you’re already in. And THAT leads to self-loathing and a sense of being unworthy.

Take heart. It doesn’t have to remain that way, but you do have to act.

Let me share six thoughts with you. Each thought should ideally lead to action on your part. Let’s strive for deeds and not just words with this list, okay?

1. Hate no one, no matter how much the’ve wronged you. (And I’m sure you’re saying, dang, Tony, that’s not what I wanted to hear right out of the chute.) For some, hate comes easily, and I wouldn’t presume in this simple blog to try to analyze the why’s. It may be that ingrained childish impulse to hurt back when we’ve been hurt (as if that would change anything.) I’m not persuaded that hating anyone for any reason ends up positively for the person doing the hating. I’m not discounting the crystalline pain that comes when someone does you wrong. What I do want to state is that hate won’t undo what has already happened. That’s rear-view mirror stuff. And that person entered your life for a reason, as unfathomable as that might be. We can learn lessons from good and bad people. Bottom line: hating someone else doesn’t change a thing. If anything, it makes you feel even worse.
2. Live humbly, no matter how wealthy you are. This may not be an issue for you, because you feel you don’t have much to begin with. This actually has more to do with our Western fixation on “stuff” – acquiring and holding onto material things. I’ll admit that there are thing I appreciate – air conditioning in my car, my Instant Pot, Netflix. I am thoroughly unimpressed with people who flaunt their things. If you determine your worth based on your “worth,” then how will you feel when you don’t have it any more? The goal is to simply live humbly, as in “live within your means,” and be grateful for that. I struggle with delayed gratification, because when I want something I want it then. That’s put me in a tough place more than once. Right now, take a moment and look around. My guess is you have everything you need and a lot of things you simply want, and that’s not a bad thing. You are doing fine. Better than fine, actually.
3. Think positively, no matter how hard life is. This is not some pop psychology, pump yourself up directive. You can start by realizing that you are not unique and that there are a couple of gazillion other people who have faced or are facing the same challenges you are. That may not lessen your pain, but there is some comfort in knowing you aren’t alone. Second, thinking positively may not change your situation, but it will change you. You for sure can’t change other people, and you may not be able to change your circumstances. You can change your heart. This should be self-evident. I mean, don’t you feel better when you embrace the positive rather than dwell on the negative? You are responsible. You can change your outlook. Pity the person who builds themselves a cage of misery, places themselves in it, and locks the door and tosses away the key. When you don’t think positively, what you are saying is that you are psychic to the extent that you know exactly what is going to happen, i.e., things will never get any better. You are positive because there is always hope.
4. Give much, even if you’ve been given little. We can start with giving away tangible things – money, for instance. I know money is hard to come by, and there is something in our primordial nature that makes us want to cling to what we have. Even now, I’m watching our grandson try to grasp the concept of sharing, and it doesn’t come easy. He’s pretty selective about what he shares, and with who. But you know how good you feel when you’re able to help someone else out? How about if that was a lifestyle? And if you’re operating from a scarcity mindset, just remember that you are living in abundance. For believers, remember that ancient script tells us that God owns the cattle on a thousand hills. That’s a nice transitional thought to the principle of giving yourself away. Is there anything more noble or rewarding than spending yourself in a cause bigger than yourself? Or giving yourself to someone who can be blessed because of you? You may not have much money, but you do have a big ol’ heart. Be expansive. Be extravagant.
5. Forgive all, especially yourself. This is a companion thought to #1, above. Here’s the reality – folks have done you bad. You may even have a “nemesis” out there, someone who is simply out to get you. Or they’ve already gotten you. I’ve looked hard, and I can’t for the life of me find justification to not forgive. There’s not a loophole in sight. Forgiveness isn’t conditional. We could tease out some scenarios where you might feel justified in saying, “I just can’t forgive so-and-so for what they did,” but that justification won’t stand up under the reality of what we are commanded to do. Then there’s the matter of forgiving yourself. This is a tough one. You know yourself, your heart, and what you’ve done. It may be that there is real shame attached to something in your past. Again, though, you can’t take it back. Don’t pretend that feeling bad about yourself will make you feel better. There is a biblical concept called “repentance,” which means not only do you feel conviction about what you’ve done, but you resolve to accept forgiveness and turn away from the thing that caused personal grief in the first place. Don’t dwell on the bad you’ve done. Concentrate on the good that is in you.
6. Never stop praying for the best for everyone. If you ever catch yourself wishing ill will on someone else, shame on you. How would wanting someone to hurt help you? There may be a perverse satisfaction in seeing “someone get what was coming to them,” but it is a satisfaction based on our own selfish sense of vengeance. I’ve heard this all my life, but I’ve finally accepted that it’s hard to hate someone when you’re praying for them. You’ll have to determine what someone else’s “best” is as you pray for them. A good place to start is to pray for that person’s hard heart, that it be softened and opened to the possibility of goodness and peace. My old boss said “hurt people hurt people,” and that’s a pretty wise statement. Wouldn’t your own heart be softened if you knew someone who dislikes you was praying for you?

These six thoughts are all interconnected, and one is not more important than the other. So do a little introspection, determine where you need to go to work, and get after it. Be hopeful. Who you are not is not who you’re destined to remain.

Talk later!

I ran across this quote from E.B. White (you read Charlotte’s Web, right?) and it is haunting me, because it has to do with being compassionate and upright. I want to tease this one out.

“As long as there is one upright man, as long as there is one compassionate woman, the contagion may spread and the scene is not desolate. Hope is the thing that is left to us, in a bad time.”

I’m not sure why White added the adjectives he did – upright man and compassionate woman – when women can be upright and men can be compassionate too. But I’ll go with that.

So what are the traits of an upright man?

• Standing tall. I’ve heard people referred to as “straight up.” I like that. 
• Unbowed. You can’t be upright and bowed at the same time. Bowing is an appropriate response to Deity, but facing opposition with determination – that’s being unbowed. Or it’s simply being brave.
• Honest. Like not ducking your head when you’re ashamed of something you’ve said or done. Owning up to error.
• Having integrity. That’s your yes being yes and your no being no. Folks should be able to interact with you without fear of you doing something underhanded.
• Transparent. What you see is what you get. No ambivalence. 

And a compassionate woman?

• Caring. Not just a surface “doing the right thing.” It’s a matter of investing your heart in someone or something else.
• Sacrificial. While you certainly must look after yourself – you can’t draw water from an empty well – at times it’s appropriate and necessary to give beyond yourself.
• Tenderhearted. This is a desired trait for everyone, naturally, but my thought is that to be tenderhearted is to let your guard down and empathize with someone else’s need. Which means you might even share in their feelings.
• Creative. You ever thought about how you can show you care? Words are okay, but sometimes feeble. Sometimes “doing” is good, if it means helping in a tangible way. But sometimes just being – offering presence – is what is called for.
• Unwavering. This means loving until the end. This is tricky; sometimes you can love someone and realize you can’t be what they need you to be, and have to distance yourself to some degree. Still, love is non-negotiable. It’s not selective.

I am encouraged when I have the opportunity to be around upright men and compassionate women. Here are four truths:

For one thing, it keeps me from feeling alone. You may have moments of thinking that you are the only one who “gets it.” You are frustrated and hurt because others don’t see the same needs you do. Upright men and compassionate women inspire me to be more in the moment, to unleash my heart, and to genuinely strive to make a difference in my little world.

Secondly, White said that the “contagion may spread.” Can being upright and compassionate take on viral traits? I’d like to think so.

There have been times when I’ve sought to take the high road in a contentious debate. I’ve wanted to be a peacemaker. Problem is, some people thrive in a good fight, and I’m not talking about the kind of disagreements that lead to an aimable solution to a problem. I’m talking about fighting because of pure meanness. 

When people aren’t living their very best lives, they sometimes resort to commiseration through competitive yelling. 

I want to do my little part to banish that – at least from my life, and from the lives of others who would give kindness a chance. Listening to each other, for starters. Spreading that seems to me to be a noble endeavor.

Third, what do you do with a desolate scene? It’s hard not to think about Ukraine when invoking that phrase.

Check this out. This is Ukrainian navy musicians performing in front of a barricade made of sandbags near the opera theater in central Odessa, Ukraine, March 8, 2022. (REUTERS/Iryna Nazarchuk)

How can hope thrive in the midst of chaos and desolation? Well, by golly, it obviously can. It brings to mind the legendary Phoenix, rising from the ashes. 

Ukraine is teaching all of us a lot about being upright and compassionate. I’m seeing those virtues being played out in real time. It gives me hope.

Finally, there is this: Hope is the thing left to us.

I’ll ride this horse until it drops. You are aware of the name of this website, right? Because, in the deepest parts of my bone marrow, I can not find any reason for hopelessness, especially for the believer. 

When you say “it’s hopeless,” what you are saying is that you are psychic, that you can foresee the future, and you know there is no chance for things to get better. 

How can you know that? The circumstances you find yourself in are transient. Yesterday was different from today, and tomorrow will be, in like fashion, different too. 

It may be that you’ve perceived yourself to be tossed about on the waves of fate, unable to control what is happening around you. In some measure, that’s true. But there is a whole lot you can do to have hope, the main thing being to have faith in God. I promise He is not staying up all night fretting over the state of His Creation and wondering how He’s to fix this mess. He has plans and divine intent, and He is in no fashion obligated to let us in on His designs. 

Make no mistake. This is a bad time. A very bad time, and certainly the worst I’ve seen in my years here. And yet, for me to say that betrays my short-sightedness. The best I can manage is a temporal view of things, which consists of the here and now and whatever my memory can resurrect from days gone by. 

There is this: There is always hope. Always. It is the gift of a benevolent and gracious Giver. And we need to learn to accept that gift without question. It sustains us in the dark days we are experiencing even now, and have been experiencing for some time.

O be joyful.

Talk later!

Worried about Ukraine?

I am watching the horrific tragedy of Russia invading Ukraine in real time. History buff that I am, I’m getting WWII vibes here.

I could go on about Putin being psychotic, about how the Ukrainians are showing steely resolve, and how we as the United States should engage. I also think that Volodymyr Zelenskyy will be a future member of the Avengers. That’s not what this blog is about.

Because, if you’re worried about Ukraine, then I want to share some ways you can maybe break that cycle of worry.

Actually, I’ll broaden this out to dealing with anxiety in general.

I’ve dealt with worry and anxiety plenty of times in my blog. My sense, though, is that mental health issues like anxiety don’t need to be ignored … there is always someone wanting a fresh word of encouragement.

Anxiety and worry – sort of the same thing, perhaps – about Ukraine or anything else can paralyze you. It is a demon. There seems to be a progression in worry. (Note: This isn’t all original to me, but I’ll be dogged if I can find or remember the original sources. I’m pretty bad about just scribbling stuff in my journal and not identifying where it came from.)

Anyway … here are five steps to anxiety. If you want to worry about Ukraine, here’s how to worry effectively. (Tongue in cheek here, of course. I know my humor doesn’t always travel well. I had someone on Instagram light me up because she thought I was making light of the situation over there, just because I’d reposted something from The Babylon Bee. Mea culpa.)

1. Worry first rears its head because of some sort of pressure. It may be you were expecting something and your expectations were unmet. For instance, you might’ve expected a good report from your doctor and didn’t get it. You may feel like “the government” is forcing you to do something you’re against. The point is that pressure – from without or within – can cause anxiety.
2. Worry lives rent-free in your mind. Whatever that thing is that is causing you anxiety – Ukraine or whatever – is metastasizing like a cancer. It’s eating you up from the inside. It is taking on way too much influence than it should.
3. Worry changes your behavior. Often, men just default to radio silence. They keep it bottled up, because they’re afraid it’ll show up as some sort of weakness. Maybe that’s a sexist impression, since women may be more expressive in their worry. Either way, anxiety impacts how you act. 
4. Worry changes the way you think. If you’re worried about Ukraine, then your thought life can become focused in an unhealthy way. It’s a bit like point 2 above, but this is a matter of focus. Maybe even an obsession. I’ve seen this on social media a lot … I can predict what someone’s Facebook or Instagram post is going to be about even before I read it. It’s being single-minded in all the wrong ways.
5. Worry unchecked takes you to one of the worst places imaginable – it makes you feel like a loser. You think you’ve failed because you can’t seem to shake your anxiety. Or, it may even be that you worry because you worry. Isn’t that an awful state?

This all culminates in a self-fulfilling prophecy. The very things you don’t want to happen happen anyway because you’ve become obsessed. Covid is another great example … people are anxious because of possible mandates, or anxious because not enough people have gotten vaccinated, or anxious because they worry they’ll fall in that miniscule percentage of folks who get really sick.

Obviously, worrying about Ukraine isn’t helpful, because chances are you can not directly influence what is happening on the ground over there. (You can help, though – there are plenty of legitimate ways to get aid to those Ukrainians who desperately need it.)

I’ll share a little personal experience.

Several years ago I worked for a parachurch organization in metro Atlanta. It was a dream job – to this day I don’t think I’ve ever served in any capacity in any role that was better suited for me. It was how I was hardwired. It was a gift.

Problem was, though, I had to raise my own support. My livelihood was dependent on me going to basically everyone I knew and say something like, “Hey, will you send me $30 a month for the rest of your natural life so I can buy some groceries?”

I was unspeakably lousy at it. To ask for money, to engage on what felt like such a needy level … ack. 

The result was that we barely scratched by. Some months were worse than others. There were times when I’d get all spiritual and say things like “the Lord will take care of our needs.” I believed that.

Then I’d look at the checkbook and realize I had to pay the electric bill.

Was I anxious about that? You bet. I experienced every one of those five points I shared earlier. It put relational pressure on my family, on my friends, on everybody. I wasn’t much fun to be around.

Worry had got the upper hand. It affected my personality. It made me come across (in my eyes) as a failure, a loser. 

I got some advice, though. Here it is: “Don’t worry.”

Can you imagine how unhelpful that is? It made me want to punch the advice-giver in the head. 

However, there is a glimmer of hope in a solution. If you’re worried about Ukraine, or Covid, or global warming or anything else, here’s what I’m learning. God knows I’m not there yet.

If you change the way you behave, then you change the outcome.

Remember Jesus’ admonition to “turn the other cheek?” Talk about counterintuitive. Someone slaps you, and you offer up the other side of your face so you can be slapped again. 

This isn’t about just being a wimp. The normal response is to hit back, and harder. But when you take a hit and don’t hit back, you’ve disrupted a cycle. You’ve changed the outcome of where the exchange was going. Two things have happened: you have controlled your response, and the other person – whether they hit you again or not – has at least been given the opportunity to question their behavior. 

In the case of worry, there’s a similar strategy.

• If every time you worry about something, do something to help someone else. It shifts the focus from yourself to the needs of others. It breaks the cycle. 
• If you get anxious because of what you’re seeing on the news, change channels. The Andy Griffin show is always on somewhere. 
• If something on social media upsets you, keep scrolling. You can absolutely control what goes in your head. You don’t have to respond to everyone, even when they’re wrong. 
• If you are dealing with a health issue, go to the best doctor you can find, do what he or she says, and keep praying. Worrying isn’t going to add a single minute to your lifespan.
• Finally, say with conviction “God’s got this” Because He does.

One more thing. If anxiety is at critical mass in your life, there is absolutely no harm – only benefit – in getting some help. My own story in dealing with depression is a combination of counseling, good meds, a wise neurologist and other medical professionals. Plus having folks around me that love me, support me, and try to understand me.

You can’t do a whole lot about what’s happening in Ukraine. But you can give God the freedom to heal your mind, heart, and emotions. 

Talk later!

I’ll start with a confessional. Sometimes, Christmas music gets on my nerves. But before you call the grinch squad on me, I’ll explain. And I will use The Little Drummer Boy as a jumping off place.

I love Christmas carols. Love ‘em. I might listen to them year round. But some of the secular stuff can really wear thin. White Christmas? Good with that. I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day? Check – I like it.

But Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree? Santa Baby? Mariah Carey? The whole Bob Dylan Christmas album, which is like some sort of surreal fever dream? No thanks, ma‘am.

Then there’s The Little Drummer Boy. More carol than secular. And for some reason I’ve done a deep dive with this one recently.

Don’t look for him in scripture. You won’t find him. If you look for the little drummer boy in the context of the lyrics (aside from the pa-rum-pa-pum-pums), you can piece together enough clues to tell you that he showed up at the same time as the wise men. (And for a special treat, listen to this song as performed by Pentatonix.)

Check this out.

Our finest gifts we bring … to lay before the king … so to honor Him … when we come.

Here are the wise men. Traditionally, there were three of them, based on the three gifts.

They brought good things. Expensive, even priceless things.

And then there’s the little drummer boy.

Little baby … I am a poor boy too. I have no gift to bring that’s fit to give our King. Shall I play for you on my drum?

The wise men brought their finest gifts. The little drummer boy had nothing of material value. He just played his drum.

I played my best for Him. Then He smiled at me … me and my drum.

I wonder how the little drummer boy felt?

I hope he didn’t feel unworthy. Because what he gave Jesus was sufficient because he gave with a pure heart.

This raises a couple of questions:

• What are you afraid to give God because you don’t think it’s good enough?
• What do you do when you see other do things for Jesus? What’s your response?

File those away. We’ll come back.

Let me take you somewhere else – specifically, Mark 12:41-44.

⁴¹ Jesus sat down opposite the place where the offerings were put and watched the crowd putting their money into the temple treasury. Many rich people threw in large amounts. ⁴² But a poor widow came and put in two very small copper coins, worth only a few cents.

⁴³ Calling his disciples to him, Jesus said, “Truly I tell you, this poor widow has put more into the treasury than all the others. ⁴⁴ They all gave out of their wealth; but she, out of her poverty, put in everything—all she had to live on.” (NIV)

Can you see any parallels to the widow and the little drummer boy?

Maybe the widow thought what she gave wasn’t fit for God, but she gave anyway. It was all she could do.

The rich people threw plenty into the treasury. Jesus and His disciples were watching this, and then the little widow hobbles up to the treasury and drops those two coins in.

If you were there, what would you think? How would you feel?

I’d feel humbled at best, and unworthy at worst.

Giving doesn’t come naturally to me. I can be a stingy, self-centered, worldly old dude. I like stuff, and I don’t part with it easily.

God help me.

Both the widow and the little drummer boy had so little to give, but they both had hearts that longed to worship with all they have.

Let’s break this down, in conclusion. Actually, I’ll just ask that you and I answer these questions:

1. What are you afraid to give because you don’t think it’s good enough? Are you so mired in your sense of unworthiness that you don’t think you have anything to offer?
2. Have you been holding back anything from God? I’m not just talking about the things. I’m talking about your heart, your will, your whole life.
3. What are some ways you can give to God?
4. Have you ever seen God multiply something you thought was very small?
5. What’s something you’ve been thinking specifically about to give Jesus for His use? Want to be encouraged? Want to be a hope-giver? That’s my thoughts.

Where is your heart today?

I play my best for you.

I give you all I have.

God bless the little drummer boy. God bless us.

There are all sorts of promises involving Christmas. This’ll be my obligatory Christmas blog, because I think I’ll take next week off. Or maybe recycle something.

Anyway. As Christians, we are so indeed fortunate to be able to celebrate the coolest holiday ever. I was eating lunch at a local restaurant yesterday, and the building sound system was playing Christmas music. I was struck at the blend of the secular and the sacred – it’s probably the only time of the year when overtly Christian music is played in public.

The promises of God all began in that manger. This is crazy, when you think about it. God wrapping Himself in flesh and coming to earth.

There is some amazing grace in play here, because this was the beginning of Jesus’ walk on earth, which of course culminated in His crucifixion and resurrection. In a season when we think about gifts, this is a big one. THE big one, actually.

Involved in this gift are some real promises. Here ya go:

God never made a promise He would ever break.

You can go all the way back to Genesis. Adam and Eve sinned, big time. On the backside of their sin – which impacts us to this day – He also promised that a Savior was coming. That theme and that reality tracked through the generations up until Jesus’ birth. All those Old Testament patriarchs knew of it. That promise held true. Jesus showed up. Hello, Savior!

God had a plan to go with His promise.

I often think about God creating Adam and Eve with the foreknowledge that they were going to sin. It didn’t have to be that way, I suppose, but God knew it (and did He will it? There’s some fun theological debate for you. I won’t go there.)

It wasn’t as if Adam and Eve sinned and God said, “Well, how am I gonna handle this?” No, even before creation, God knew that mankind would need a Savior. That plan was in place before creation. How about that.

God stayed faithful to His promise even when things were awful.

Stay with me here, because there’s a contemporary promise involved here for sure.

There was this worldwide flood, right? And except for a handful of folks on a really big boat, mankind didn’t go extinct. Read that again – humans facing extinction. But Noah and his crew were preserved. Know why? It’s in part because the promise of a Savior was in Noah’s genes, so to speak. This was just one family that knew this and believed.

Those promises held true. It wasn’t long after the Flood that Noah’s descendents thought they’d bail on God, what with idol worship and such. God had to start over with His chosen folks with Abraham. Jesus was going to be one of Abraham’s descendents, and that family line was preserved through some really dark periods of human history – 400 years of slavery in Egypt, 40 years of wandering in the wilderness, all sorts of wars and exile in Babylon.

Are things awful today? Are God’s promises still sound?

You bet they are. He didn’t bring us this far to abandon us.

No matter how much time passed, God hasn’t reneged on His promises.

If God went back on any of His promises, He would be unfaithful to His very nature. That won’t happen. It can’t happen.

Even when His people are unfaithful, God remains faithful to His word.

The whole history of Israel is one of coming close and falling away. They were forever turning their backs on Him. Invariably they paid the price of their unfaithfulness. Because of God’s promises, though, He would always call them back and welcome them. It’s a real shame – lather, rinse, repeat. It didn’t have to be that way. In our own lives, too, we can fall away, only to have circumstances turn us back to Jesus. I’m not sure where I got this quote, but someone said “You can take a thousand steps away from Jesus but it only takes one step to come back.” I like that.

God put together the march of history to assure every one of His promises have been kept.

There’s a great study to be had here. Scripture speaks of Jesus coming in the fullness of time – in other words, He showed up just when He was supposed to.  As an example, He was supposed to be born in the City of David. In order for that to happen, Caesar Augustus had to take a census, sending Mary and Joseph to their ancestral home. Cool, huh? And when it came time for our spiritual forefathers to spread the gospel, the Romans had the most far-reaching and sophisticated road system the world had ever seen.

So what does this mean? Does He fulfill His promises to us?

Yeah, because God is faithful. Every single promise made to us in scripture regarding us, our families, and our futures will come to pass because He is God. Even when we screw up, even when we face awful days, even when it seems that no one understands us, He will accomplish what He said He would in our lives.

It’s appropriate to pray, in light of what I’ve shared, for rest, security, and peace from Him. There are some amazing promises in scripture. We need to acknowledge them as the promises they are and relish the security they give.

O be joyful.

Talk later.

Doesn’t “getting rest” sound appealing? Not rest in the sense you need to recharge before taking on some other task. Rather, it’s just getting rest because you are supposed to get rest.

I ran across this on someone else’s Instagram page:

I had to check out The Nap Ministry, and I found that they aren’t a Christian site, so I want to be wary about the term “ministry.” Still, the sentiment expressed here fits in well with the ancient mandate of Sabbath. That’s not something we do well in 2021, at least here in the West, or the United States.

We equate busyness with godliness. Where’d that come from?

Face it: You are probably carrying a much greater load than you should be. We all do. We have obligations, responsibilities, and simple work that we think we have to fulfill.

I’d suggest that if we don’t have ways to lighten that load, we’re gonna ultimately be crushed, of no use to ourselves or anyone else.

There’s a component of guilt involved in this situation, too. We feel we’re totally and uniquely responsible for doing our duty. Well, we are obligated to our duties. Problem is, we struggle to distinguish what our own duties are, and invariably we load more stuff on ourselves. Then we hold out our martyr cards for someone else to punch, and we get a sick satisfaction out of knowing we’ve worked and served really hard.

“Getting rest,” then, seems to be the same as being lazy.

Wrong, wrong, wrong.

You’re probably already ahead of me on this, but ancient script says this in Matthew 11:28-30:

²⁸ “Come to me,all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.²⁹ Take my yoke upon you and learn from me,for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. ³⁰ For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”

From time to time, I’m asked if I have a “life verse.” I really don’t – it just depends on what season of life I’m in at any given time, and often I’ll find a passage that speaks to me. This one is especially resonant these days.

Know why? I’m tired.

I’m tired of meanness. I’m tired of people shaming each other because they don’t see things the same way (in politics, in pandemics, in a whole host of other areas.) I’m tired of people going for the “gotcha” on social media. I don’t want to assume motives on the part of others, but it seems that some are trying to persuade their peers to come around to their way of thinking.

Let me say that implying the other person is an idiot is not a good way to win fans. And while I love a funny meme as much as the next person, it doesn’t hurt to do a motive check before posting. Are you trying to be helpful, encouraging, or just plain funny – or are you getting some sort of validation by displaying your superior, smug attitude because you know better than everyone else?

I know I’m coming across as sanctimonious. Moving on … we were talking about getting rest, right?

Backing up to my scripture reference … there are plenty of reasons to turn to Jesus in these days (and, of course, there are always plenty of reasons to do so!) Sometimes we need healing, other times purpose, and always we need encouragement. Maybe we don’t come to Jesus because of stress and the need for rest like we should.

I’m talking about the kind of stress that comes from a tired mind and weary soul. Lets’s collectively ‘fess up – at some point, we’re all gonna deal with either tension, worry, fear, anxiety, depression, or a combination of all these. That’s why that photo I posted above might be helpful.

But, that’s just a short-term fix. Because at some point, you have to get up from that nap and re-enter the external world.

You’re gonna be impressed with my grasp of the obvious here, but the only thing that will help is God Himself. Just spending time with Him alone.

I think so many of our problems in life grow from our inability to simply be still.

It’s matter of sitting down with God, asking “Is there anything you need to tell me?” And then just shutting the heck up and listening.

Another issue? It might be that you are trying to control too much.

You think everything relies on you, and you’re responsible for making it all right.

This is a tough one for me. I have never perceived myself as being a control freak – a tendency I see in others that drives me nuts – but I do see that there are plenty of times when I want others to be getting rest while I sacrifice my own need for rest for them.

Well, Tony, you are not the Assistant to the Holy Spirit. I can resign and the world won’t fall apart.

Since most of us don’t live in an agrarian society any more, the concept of being yoked doesn’t mean a lot. The illustration Jesus is going for here is the picture of two farm animals, oxen, specifically, being bound together with their necks in a piece of wood called a yoke. That yoke halves the load for those animals. It’s a partnership.

We were never designed to carry all the stress in our lives by ourselves. I mean – duh – Jesus is saying He’ll carry part of the load for us. It’s how we’re hardwired as believers – we’re supposed to depend on Him.

One part of this yoke analogy we don’t think about is that the yoke is also a symbol of control. Oxen are yoked together because the farmer wants them to move in the same direction.

My admittedly obvious observation is that we can get in serious trouble when we don’t go in the same direction as Jesus. We experience stress and grief when we try to do things our own way.

I mean – we’re always gonna be yoked to something – other’s expectations, our perceived necessity to the world, or even our own selfish wants.

If I’m gonna be yoked to something, then, I want it to be the easiest yoke I can choose. Getting rest is the result.

Jesus wants us to learn humility and gentleness from Him. That’s the opposite of arrogance and aggression. That’s one reason that, as of late, I’ve tried not to post anything on social media that isn’t positive, uplifting, or funny – and that means not trying to be funny at the expense of someone else. (And, as I’ve often noted, humor is in the eye of the beholder, and my sense of funny and yours might not match up. But I mean no harm!)

Ultimately, you are not in control of everything in your life. You might jump way out ahead of what God is teaching you, and the consequences of your words and actions can come back and bite you in the nether regions.

The antidote, then, is to trust Him. If getting rest is what you need, here’s a promise you want to claim.

Talk later!

Here’s an organization you don’t want to be a part of – the Dead Parents Society.

The name tells it all. It’s reserved for those who’ve lost one or both of their parents.

I suppose when you’ve lost both your parents, then you are technically an orphan. If that’s a proper definition, then I’ve been orphaned since 2002, when Mama died. Daddy died some years earlier. I was 46, but for some reason we think orphans are children. Maybe you can’t be an orphan past the age of 18, or 21. That seems arbitrary, but I didn’t make those rules.

When Mama was in the final stages of cancer, and we’d enlisted the services of hospice (which was a true holy godsend), I started the grieving process. When Mama actually died, I’d done most of my grieving in advance, so her actual passing was peaceful.

Like a combat veteran, I realized quickly that only those who’d been through the same experience could truly empathize. That’s not to say others weren’t appreciated – I heard plenty of sincere expressions of sympathy, and the condolences, cards, and the food (of course!) were more than welcome.

What was odd is that I found leaning into the grief was more helpful than ignoring it or tucking it away. It sounds morbid to talk about embracing pain, but that may be part of the healing process (more on that in a bit.)

There is that component, too, of people not knowing what to say to you as a newly-minted member of the Dead Parents Society. It’s like they mean well, because they do, but they’re afraid of making you hurt more than you already do. “I’m sorry about your loss,” people say, and they genuinely are. That’s a pretty safe statement. The companion question – “How are you?” – is much tougher to wrestle.

The impulse may be to simply say, “I’m fine,” which is totally bogus, because you aren’t fine. You say it anyway, because it lets the questioner off the hook. If, however, you shared how you really feel, you’d come across as being dark and unhealthy. The compromise statement might be, “I reckon I’m doing as well as could be expected,” which just reinforces the idea of loss and pain, even with other people who care.

Grieving is a solo activity. What you come to understand is that you can grieve appropriately and after a period get on with living. People lose loved ones all the time. Most make peace with their hearts; others don’t. What has happened is a rip in the fabric of life. Even as a believer, there is a horrific separation. We as humans want resolution, but there are some wounds that time does not heal.

So why all this talk about the Dead Parents Society?

I can broaden this conversation to apply to the loss of other loved ones – a spouse, a sibling, or most grievous, a child. Heck, I’ll extend this to the loss of a beloved pet.

Going for broke – how about the loss of a job, a friend, a dream? They are all painfully similar. Others may see your loss as a matter of degree. They may say “I’m sorry,” but in their minds they’re saying, “No big deal. Get over it.”

Loss is loss, and grief is grief, and don’t let anyone script that for you. It’s yours to carry.

I wish there was some way I could fix this for you and me and the rest of us. Fact is, when you’re orphaned because of a loss of something, anything meaningful to you, there is a loneliness that only you can experience.

As a believer, I’m tempted to talk about God, who has promised to never leave or forsake you. This is, of course, true. He is ever-present. He does heal. But for some reason, He didn’t design us to be carefree and just ignore the loss we experience. His presence is tangible. That is comfort, indeed, and it causes us to turn to Him.

And yet – dang, it hurts.

We are fearfully and wonderfully made, this is true. Part of our makeup is the capacity to mourn. What are we to learn in that valley of death?

Again, I’m going broad here. You don’t have to be part of the Dead Parents Society to find reason to mourn, even if you haven’t been touched by physical death.

Point is – there is nothing wrong with grief. It is a part of our human experience. Unless you’re a psychopath, at times you will grieve.

So. Lament. Lament loudly and cry out. I give you permission. The hurt we experience now will prepare us for joy in the future. Your wounds are a foundation to your calling.

I know that sounds pat. When some friends of ours lost their son in a horrific accident, I asked – rightly or wrongly – how I could pray for them. The dad’s answer? “Pray that I don’t waste this.”

Read what you will into this statement. I’ve thought about it often. My conclusion is that every life event, even those that involve unspeakable loss, are moments to grapple with what I believe about God, what I am to learn, and how I can, in turn, be an encouragement to others. My lessons aren’t your lessons, nor my experiences your experience. God has custom designed you, and handcrafted the events that you experience.

Yes, you will mourn. You will lament. But your loss doesn’t have to define your life. Those wounds prepare you to experience more joy.

Talk later.

There is a recently published book, Redeeming Heartache, by Dan Allender and Cathy Loerzel, that provided the seed for some of my thoughts. I highly recommend it.

There’s part of me that tends to think of self-care as the activity of a wimp. That’s not true, of course.

The typical mandate for me, as a believer, has been in the acrostic J.O.Y. – Jesus, others, you. To me, it’s a noble thing to spend myself in the service of others. The betterment of mankind, if you will.

Self-care comes in third place in that schema. I’m wondering if that’s actually the most helpful methodology.

Follow me here. I have a bit of a testimony/confession to share.

I’m aware of having two clinical panic attacks, and possibly a third.

The first two happened while we were living in New Smyrna Beach, Florida. One time, Teresa and I were sitting in the stands during Jeremy’s peewee football practice. All was well.

Out of nowhere, I got short-winded. My heart felt like it was about to erupt from my chest. I broke out in the proverbial cold sweat. Then came the chest pains.

I was alarmed enough to ask Teresa to take me to the ER. Note: saying you have chest pains will get you to the front of the line.

After an EKG, tests for enzymes, blood oxygen, and other imponderables,  I was turned loose because, physically, there was nothing wrong.

It happened again a few weeks later. It was disconcerting, to say the least.

This time Teresa and I were on a date. We were at the movies. I don’t remember what we were watching.

What I do remember is that about fifteen minutes into the film, I had the same symptoms as I did earlier. I tried to talk myself out of it, breathe deeply, the whole drill. Nothing. So off to the ER we go.

Same diagnosis as before. Nada.

Afterwards, I confided in a friend who I thought would “get it.” It turned out that he had a history of panic attacks – I’d never have expected! – and he said what I was describing were textbook symptoms.

My argument then, as now, is that there was nothing wrong. Seriously, I wasn’t going through any kind of crisis or anxious ordeal. There just wasn’t any reason for it to happen. So I thought.

Since then, I’ve had my struggles with mental illness, which has been multiplied since my head injury three years ago or so. Being the anal researcher that I am, in trying to figure stuff out, I ran across articles about panic attacks. Understand that I’m not one to be anxious; depression is my thorn in the flesh.

What I found is that, true, there doesn’t have to be anything in particular to trigger a panic attack. A cause can be vague and ill-defined, and be due to the cumulative effect of a lot of little things. I love knowing the “why’s”  of a situation.

The why’s aren’t evident. Enter self-care.

I share all that because this past Sunday I had a low-level panic attack. I don’t think anyone knew. I recognized what was happening and was able to deal with it. It took the rest of the day, but I emerged just fine.

As before, there wasn’t anything to cause it, at least superficially. There were, however, some stuff happening.

I’ve noted on these pages my tendency to try to fix everything and everyone. That’s a type of codependency, they say. I’m aware of that and recognize it.

I’ve been taking stock of the state of the world in recent days. It ain’t pretty.

Just when you thought the pandemic was in the rear-view mirror, the delta variant has come roaring back with a vengeance. You are wise not to ignore it. Actually, you can’t ignore it. We are bombarded with questionable information, and trying to sort through it is nightmarish. Folks are flat-out scared – they are scared of dying from Covid, or scared of losing their freedoms, or any number of fears in between.

What I’ve tried to do in the midst of all that is to be the voice of reason. When I’ve posted my thoughts on Facebook or wherever, I’ve learned that people tend to get really upset with you when you try to be reasonable. I’m like, dude, do your own objective research, vette your sources, and remember: My experts can beat up your experts.

That’s Covid. You can’t escape its impact. I thought about this earlier … the virus, were it a sentient thing, doesn’t care about any of the discussions we’re having. It lives to infect, and if one route of infection isn’t successful, it figures out a different way to go about its task of living and reproducing. I hate Covid because of what it’s doing to you, me, us. I wish there were a test for the mental and emotional effects of it, just like there’s a test for the virus itself. We’d see just how sick we collectively are.

That’s just for starters.

Let’s throw Afghanistan in the mix. How about earthquakes and tropical storms? How about just general all-around meanness and hostility? And the most divided United States since 1861!

Lovely.

Being an empath, I tend to absorb all this even when I’m not aware of it. Then I face “compassion fatigue.” I want to reach out to others, but before I know it, I got ‘nuthin. I just retreat silently into solitude, for as long as it takes for me to recharge. Sometimes it takes longer than others. (This week has been a case in point.)

That’s where the self-care thing comes in.

That’s not being selfish and self-centered. It’s simply recognizing your personal needs and taking steps to meet them, or have them met. Is that weakness? I think not.

It’s self-evident. You can’t water others from an empty well.

As a believer, I tap into that living water source. In this particular blog, I won’t go into specifics. I’d like for us to talk more, though, about how to get nourishment without being a glutton. And how to keep self-care from mutating to a place where you think the world exists to meet your needs.

Addendum: Last year I wrote an online course/workshop called Cruising Through Chaos. I’ve gone back and taken my own study. Doggoned if it didn’t help me, and I’m the dude that developed it. That falls in the category of “physician, heal thyself.” Or, “practice what you preach.”

You can check it out HERE. I recommend it if you’re in a bad headspace. Or, if you’re doing fine, share it with someone who isn’t doing as well as you.

Talk soon.