Faith the Size of A Mustard Seed

I will admit I have been mad at God this week. Maybe one day I will have the kind of rock solid faith that doesn't budge in the face of evil and injustice, to have my first thought be to pray, resting in peaceful assurance that everything is in God's hands. But I don't. Instead I get upset, toddler style. Internally, I rant, rave, jump up and down, cry, kick and scream at the unfairness of it all. I am not proud of this. I truly hope to grow out of this and become a wise and steadfast old woman one day. For now, I appreciate his patience. Here's the thing, when I have exhausted all that emotion and finally collapse at his feet, He wraps his arms around me and I know He understands exactly how I feel. My brothers and sisters are hurting. He feels it seven billion more times than I do. They are His children.

I'd love to say that after my outburst, God and I have a great talk and He explains all about giving us free will and why there is evil in the world and I'm okay with it and go skipping on my merry way. Tra la la la la. If only. Jesus didn't sugar coat it. He told us "You will have suffering in this world." (note: you will not you might) It's not paradise, this life. Now we see through the glass darkly but then we will see face to face. Right now our perspective is limited, but it won't always be. I have so many questions that I hope will be answered one day. For now, I will be grateful to be alive on this crazy and beautiful planet.

So when I fall at God's feet and surrender my anguish, what happens is this - a bit of a paradox - I feel both small AND powerful. I feel small because, well, He's God. I am reminded of my place in the vast universe. There is comfort in that. I also feel powerful. Why? God has given me, and you, a job in our time here on Earth. Love others. There is immense power in that. Maybe right now I can't comfort a Parisian man who has lost his wife or a Syrian child who has lost her home, but I can love everyone I come in contact with, friend or stranger, right where I am. Every day. And I can chose not to get sucked into the fear. Because as hokey as it sounds, our energy and our attitude is contagious. So I will keep my eyes open and my mind alert in our dangerous and complicated world. But I will not be paranoid. I will not live in fear. I will not become skeptical and bitter and negative. I will choose faith, love and yes, joy in the face of terror and sadness. It feels good, this small rebellion in my heart, to deny the terrorists what they want. Why? Because I can.

Love Prevails In Charleston

They welcomed him into their Wednesday night Bible study. He sat with them for an hour as they studied, worshipped and prayed. Then he stood, took out his gun and said "(black people) are taking over our country, you have to go" and ripped another ugly, irreparable hole into the magnificent tapestry that is the American people.

I hope he is halfway right and that one day it does happen, that people of such exceptional character as those nine beautiful souls do take over this country. We should be so lucky to have people just like them in charge. One was a beloved pastor, a "peacemaker" and a "moral compass", whose wise counsel was sought by many. One was a 45 year old mother of three and an inspirational high school track coach. One was a quietly giving librarian dedicated to helping others acquire knowledge. Another was a war veteran, retired pastor, scholar, and grandfather. The eldest was an 87 year old grandmother who, according to her grandson, "had no animosity toward anyone." All fine people. All contributors to the world. All cherished by friends and family. All dedicated to their faith. All shot simply because they were black.

The deranged shooter and racists like him, hiding in the dark behind their imbecilic ideology, are the ones that have to go. There is no place for them in society anymore. I pray they are rooted out and exposed for who they are: a fearful, ignorant minority. As technology connects us and the world gets smaller, we have better insight into our fellow human beings around the world, I see us moving forward with curiosity, acceptance and a desire to understand each other and to be understood. We are beginning to see that our similarities and our common humanity far outweigh our outward physical and cultural differences. Racists have a choice. They can cling fearfully to their false sense of superiority and get left behind. Or they can open their eyes and face the truth that no one race is better than another, just different. That our souls are what we truly are, what matters, our bodies just a shell. I pray they can change. For those that refuse, justice can't come swift enough. 

What happened after the shooting is nothing short of miraculous. The shooter said his intent was to spark a race war and bring back segregation. The exact opposite quietly unfolded in Charleston last week. Two days after the massacre, the families of the dead faced the killer at his bond hearing. Broken hearted, hurting and angry, they rejected hate. Through tears, they forgave him. They told him they were praying for his soul. That Sunday, over 15,000 people - black, white, brown - peacefully gathered together on the bridge that spans the Cooper River. Families, neighbors and strangers held hands, embraced, sang songs and marched. They held up signs that said "Love thy Neighbor", "Only Love Conquers Hate", and "My Race - Human." Dozens of boats from Charleston harbor formed a line and dropped anchor under the bridge, honking horns in support. As the sun slipped below the horizon, the activity paused for nine minutes of silence. The Holy City has shown the rest of the world what love, grace and courage in the face of evil looks like. May they be an example to us all.

Je Ne Suis Pas Charlie

I am not Charlie. What I am a is wholehearted supporter of their right to free speech. I admire their bravery and persistence, but on a personal level I just can’t relate to the desire to provoke rather than engage. I don’t see the productivity in mocking the religion of an entire population of my fellow human beings, knowing most will find it in poor taste and the batshit crazy minority will find it grounds to commit murder. I get that it’s satire, and I sincerely hope there is always a place for that kind of humor to be expressed freely, but to me it simply wasn’t funny.  It came off as juvenile and irresponsible. I’m grateful I have the freedom to buy or not to buy and to agree or not to agree with political satire and I hope Charlie Hebdo will always remain in print. I didn't even know they existed until last week, but now the whole world does thanks to the terrorists. And I imagine their audience has multiplied tremendously. To that, I say comme il faut, vous aves ce que vous meritez, des terroristes.

Personally, rather than igniting the rage of a murderous few, I’d like to see journalists create work that sparks an honest dialogue with the millions of sane Muslims on our planet and those of us that seek to understand them better. I believe if we could do that, we would find we have a lot more in common with each other than we have differences.

Broken Crayons Still Color

I was depressed. Not sad, not blue, not going through a rough patch. I was clinically diagnosed with severe depression. Diagnostic code 296.23, to be exact. It's been so long ago that it almost seems it happened to a different person. But it was me and it makes up a significant part of who I am now.

Mental illness is complicated and talking about it makes people uncomfortable. We tend to hide the uglier side of ourselves out of fear others will think less of us or worse, abandon us. So we don't talk about it. Only a handful of people in my life know about my depression and the things that led up to it. I used to be ashamed of it. Not so much anymore. Maybe it's my age, but the truth is we are all flawed and damaged to some degree. The older I get the more I see that. I wish I knew it then.

I was about halfway through college. In an odd way, I was happier than I'd ever been. My nomadic childhood behind me, for the first time I felt I truly belonged somewhere. On the surface, things were good. What I kept hidden was that I was drowning in waves of heavy sadness, lapping at my feet at first, then eventually my head was going under. Away from home, I was starting to process some of my troubled early years. Utterly exhausted and tired of holding it together for so long, I began to slowly fall apart. I was powerless to stop it. It's surprising how easy it is to fall apart. The hard part is putting yourself back together.

My thinking began to take a dark turn. All my imperfections, real and perceived, seemed insurmountable. I saw myself as a jumble of deficiencies, weaknesses and unfixable flaws. It was overwhelming. Physically, I was barely functioning. I had trouble concentrating and staying awake in class. Secretly, in remote private cubbies where no one would see me, I wrote - memories and thoughts, attempts at making sense of how I felt. I also read a lot, searching for answers in material from my English classes, the Bible, classic novels, self help books. Anything I could find on being human and surviving it. I pored over books on psychology and mental illness. I was looking for an explanation of what was wrong with me. It took months, but finally in all that searching, I discovered I was depressed. I wasn't crazy. Although I certainly felt like it. What is crazy is how good I was at faking I was fine.

It's hard to describe to someone who has never felt it. You hurt on a subterranean level. It's an odd thing to feel pain with no outward signs of injury. It's your soul that's hurting. And your body wants to quit. It's lonely and it's scary as hell. All your energy is required to do the most basic functions. You can't cheer yourself, talk yourself, reason, drink, eat, sleep, exercise, pray, yourself out of it. I know because I tried all these things. It has to go away on it's own.

I believe depression is a combination of things. It's a perfect storm of genetics, environment, personality, experiences, and how you process all that, or can't. Some events in my childhood caused ripple effects that I feel to this day. But I can't say those things were specifically why I became depressed. It's just part of the puzzle. There are people with way worse histories than me that don't get depressed. I don't like to blame anyone or any thing for my depression. It just was.

Tired of hiding it, I admitted I needed help one summer over break. Over the course of a few years in and out of therapy, I laid down my burdens and secrets and was eventually able to step away from them with some perspective. I tried a couple of different antidepressants and finally settled on one that had the least side effects. It was work. The hardest I've ever done. I had to force myself to go. I thought of quitting every time I drove to the psychiatrist, because often it felt like it wasn't helping, it just hurt, like picking at wounds that would never really heal.

Going to therapy was a regularly terrifying job of pulling back the curtains of my past and facing my demons head on. Eventually, I was able to close some doors and walk away no longer feeling haunted by what was behind them. I began to view the world in a more realistic light. What was revealed when that finally happened was beautiful. Life was there, waiting for me. It was hard and it didn't happen overnight. I had to learn to fight dysfunctional reactions in certain situations and to think positively because negative thoughts were ingrained, second nature. I still struggle with that almost daily, but fighting it is more of a habit now.

It's different for everyone, but for me a few things were key in surviving depression. I said earlier that you can't pray it away. What I meant is that you can't pray and suddenly depression is gone. But you can cling to your faith to endure it. Which I did. I talked to God a lot - even when I felt nothing but anger. Psalm 40:2 had meaning to me and always will. Then there is simply the passage of time. Depression has to lift when it is good and ready. It doesn't happen overnight, it's more of a slow emergence. When I was crawling out of the darkness, I met someone who changed my life forever.  For the first time, someone didn't buy my "I'm fine" act. He saw me for exactly who I was, flaws and all, and not only seemed to be okay with it, but embraced it. He saw who I wanted to be but was okay with who I was at that moment. Unconditional love is a powerful thing. I am not the person I would be had he not come into my life and insisted on staying.

None of us are perfect. We all have dark places in our hearts and minds. For some of us, the only path to real happiness involves going through that darkness and coming out on the other side. I'm no longer embarrassed or ashamed of my experience. I'm too old for that. If someone thinks less of me after reading this, that's their problem, not mine. It's a small miracle I graduated from college considering my state of mind for a good part of it. I still struggle emotionally at times and probably always will, but I've come to accept that as my normal. I'm okay with it because what I have gained is compassion, tolerance, perspective and patience - with myself and others. And a dark sense of humor that I rather like having.

I'd like to think that my experience was of value if I can put it out there and help someone going through the same hell I did. If you're depressed, you're not alone. I understand. Believe me when I say it gets better. You will get better. I promise. Fear thrives in darkness, shed some light on it and watch it wither. I know this. I've done it. Don't believe the voice that tells you you're crazy or unworthy or unfixable. It's a liar. There WILL come a day when you can see again that life is beautiful. It may be a long and rocky road but don't you quit. Don't ever give up.

I Hate Spring

Everyone seems to adore this time of year. Birds are chirping, flowers blooming, and change is in the air. It's a time of rebirth, new beginnings, organization. People are skipping about in flip flops and tank tops giddy that spring has sprung. I'm over here with my heat still on and a box of tissues. It's 60 degrees and windy as hell, people. Calm down.

Spring makes me grumpy. I feel like a hibernating bear that's been yanked out of it's cozy den and splashed with a bucket of ice water. All of a sudden, I'm aware that I must schedule pest control, carpet cleaning and lawn maintenance. The cars, the windows, the deck, the entire house needs washing. The garage is an unorganized embarrassment of sports equipment and shoes and leaves from last fall. It all gets blown about every time the garage door goes up.

Just yesterday I felt okay about myself, but today I need a new wardrobe, a pedicure, a spray tan and to lose a few pounds. I've got itchy eyes, a runny nose, a dirty house and my shorts from last summer are too tight. I just want to crawl back in bed. 

Spring makes me feel exposed, raw, unready. I hate it. Pass the Claritin, please, and close that garage door.

You Know You Live In Fairfax County When

You've said or heard the following....

Regarding Traffic:
- It took me 45 minutes to get home from Tysons.
- Ever heard of a turn signal, buddy?
- It took 10 minutes just to get from 123 to Nutley.
- My signal was on for like 5 minutes and that *bleep* still wouldn't let me get over.
- Oh. My. Lord. We aren't moving. I hate 66.

Regarding Dining Out:
- You guys want to go to Coastal Flats?
- Let's have drinks at Ozzie's first.
- Want to meet for lunch at Cheesecake Factory?
- I saw like 10 people I know at Bonefish Friday night.

Regarding Hosting Out of Town Guests:
- Are you flying into Dulles or Reagan?
- My cousin and her kids are in town. We're going to the Air and Space Museum.
- Lucky! How did you get White House tickets?
- Ugh. I have to take them all the way out to Mt. Vernon.

Regarding Kids Sports:
- He made the A team!
- He made the B team but that's good because he will get more playing time.
- He made the C team. He wants to quit.
- I put her in golf lessons, I hear there's a lot of scholarship money for women's golf.
- He plays travel, AAU and takes privates twice a week. He signed up for four AP classes next year and is organizing a charity coat drive. He wants to major in engineering, maybe go to MIT, Tech would be his fall back. What's your eighth grader up to?

Regarding School:
- When are they going to get rid of half day Mondays?
- Who's your math tutor? Can I have their number?
- We spent four weekends filling out college applications.
- Did you sign up for SAT classes? I heard they're full.
- She has a 4.3 and didn't get into UVa.

Regarding Knowing People Who Work for the CIA:
- She works for the (air quotes) State Department.
- He works at (emphasis) Langley.
- I heard he works for the (whispers) government.
- I don't know, she's a government contractor or something.

Regarding Fast Food:
- I totally need a Five Guys. Wanna go?
- Whatever happened to Roy Rogers? I heard there's one left in Springfield or something.
- Why do I always want Chik fil A on Sunday?
- Let's just drive through McDonald's.

Regarding Local Celebrities:
- Have you SEEN Yorktown High School? I heard they have a Starbucks now. Apparently, Sandra Bullock donates millions.
- Is your kid following Ryan McElveen on Twitter? I don't get it.
- Had dinner at Jackson's the other night and saw a bunch of Redskins hanging out.
- Sorry I'm late. Things came to a standstill to let he presidential motorcade pass.

What They Don't Tell You

Nobody tells you how hard being a parent is going to be. I suspect it's to keep the human race from expiring. I know I might have reconsidered had I known some of what was coming. Whatever the reason, they don't tell you.

They don't tell you that your newborn, contrary to those peacefully snoozing you've seen only in formula commercials, could have colic. What is colic, you ask? Ask a pediatrician and they'll tell you they don't know. We can cure erectile dysfunction and hunt down and kill Osama Bin Laden but THEY DON'T KNOW what colic is. I'll tell you what it is. It's when your baby screams bloody murder for hours at a stretch and you're powerless to help. Mercifully, it's temporary. You can't do much to help your wailing little boo except love him. But you can take survival measures. I recommend expensive noise canceling earphones, long walks while someone else takes over, and Hostess cakes. Any variety. As many as it takes. 

They don't tell you that your cuddly two year old could one day morph into a terrifying dictator that would make Kim Jung Il look like Gerald Ford. No amount of patience, positive attitude or bribery with Dora the Explorer fruit snacks will make them budge once they've made up their mind to do, or not do, something. Ever try to cram a huffy toddler hell-bent on walking into a stroller? With other parents in the mall agape in quiet judgement? You chase after your kid, who's clearly intent on conquering the mall with or without your tiresome ass. Once captured, he goes wet noodle on you, slipping through your hold and flopping onto the floor. Mustering all the cheery authority you can, you scoop him up again. He then transforms from lifeless heap to ninja octopus. Outraged by this subordinate attempt to thwart his freedom, he kicks the stroller and it goes skittering, spilling fruit snacks and sippy cup, towards two elderly mall walkers. They just smile at each other and look back at you with pity.

They also don't tell you that sometimes during the elementary school years, you'll lose patience and yell and say things you wish you hadn't. Like when your child starts a project at 8:00 p.m. That's due the next day. And involves clay and dowel rods you don't currently possess. They don't tell you that when they're in middle school your heart will break as your formerly snuggly kid no longer wants to be hugged. That during their high school years you will lose sleep worrying about whether they'll get into college or end up in your basement playing XBox for all eternity, surrounded by empty gatorade bottles and Frito bags.

My niece is pregnant with her first child. Do I tell her these things? I don't know. I do know that with time, fussy infants grow into delightful babies. Stubborn toddlers grow into independent and determined young men. And boys that didn't want to be hugged in middle school will come back around as the time approaches for them to leave for college. If she asks for my advice over the next few years, I will tell her that colic is temporary, to let the toddler walk and to give the teenager some space.

She will learn on her own, as we all do, that her love for them will be strong enough to survive colic, mall tantrums and college applications. Nobody can quite accurately tell you about that certain magical, yet very ordinary, kind of love. Which is as it should be. It's best discovered along the way.