Another Layer

I'll be sharing a lot about my childhood as time goes on, bit by bit, piece by piece, however today I am in the mood to share this story.  One that I believe catapulted me into what I do today.  One that shaped my thoughts on mental illness and one that changed my heart forever.

I was somewhere between the ages of 35-40, my only training at that time had been Bible college and some counseling classes that I went through at my church.  At that point in my life, I was co-facilitating a sexual abuse group lead by a friend and counselor.  He wanted me to help out.  However, I was very confused as to why.  Why did he need me?  I felt uneducated and untrained and had not been sexually abused.  So why in the world would he want my help?  These were the questions that ran through my brain for the entire time I worked with him.  And yet--he saw something in me that I hadn't yet discovered about myself.  I had it.  It being--a listening ear.  That's what he believed God had shown him about me.  I was a counselor in the rough so to speak.

And then one day, without too much training remember, I received a frantic call from my mother--He's been talking for 4 days, he hasn't slept and he won't stop talking.  I am exhausted and I am afraid and I don't know who else to call or what to do.  That's what my mother said to me over the phone just about 25 years ago. When my mother called that day I heard 2 things in her voice, fear, and exhaustion.  She had had it--she was done--she needed someone to take over.  And that's where I entered the picture.  I had 3 small children at home and that's about all I can remember.  I couldn't tell you if it was night time or morning if it was cold out or hot and I don't remember the season.  I just remember being very confused and feeling very overwhelmed, but I knew I had to help as best I could.  I told her to drive him over to my house, so she did.  I wonder to this day how she made it with him in the car, as he was completely out of control.

Believe me when I say this--I had no clue what I was doing or saying.  I just acted quickly.  I evaluated (how did I even know how to do that?) the situation, and I went into action.  I told my mother to take my kids into the other room and stay with them.  I preceded to load my father into my mini-van and with my husband driving and me barking orders at my dad, we drove to the psyche ward.  That drive was a learning experience in and of itself--let me tell you.  Nothing prepared me for his delusions of grandeur.  He was completely delusional, saying nonsensical things, and acting almost violently.  The only way I could control him was to speak with a very authoritarian voice.  Now, remember, I was the daughter!  This was hard for me to do, he was my dad!  However, I realized that the only way to control the drive to the hospital was to speak with authority.  And I did, and I did it well.  Praying all the way to the hospital, we finally made it.

Once arriving things took a turn for the worse.  My father was certain that the FBI or the CIA or some other covert organization was after him.  He kept yelling and shoving people out of the way, he grabbed a nurse by the hair and that's when security was called.  They had handcuffs and guns and looked extremely serious as they made their way towards my dad.  I, being the daughter, the protector, stepped in between him and them and yelled for my dad to let go of the nurse's hair NOW!  He did.  I then told him to SIT DOWN, he did.  The guards backed off, and I was once again in control of my father.  He was obeying me, I was the only person he would listen to.  I couldn't believe it.  Something was getting through to him, so I continued in the same vain throughout his check-in and things went fairly smoothly after that.

Once checked-in he was taken to a hospital room.  I then met with the psychiatrist on staff and discussed his situation.  Since I was the person who admitted him, it was up to me to make the pertinent decisions.  He was administered meds, and he was placed on a 30-day hold so that he could become stabilized.  I visited every day.  I prayed, I listened and I waited.  I waited for my dad to become normal again.  There is more to this part of the story, however, I am going to stop here for now.  The rest is more than I can share at this time.

I realize now, looking back, that I grew up quite a bit during that time.  I learned some interesting aspects to my personality that might not have surfaced otherwise.  For instance--I was cool, calm, and collected during my dad's psychotic episode, I did not panic, ever.  And I did not break down once in front of anyone.  I was brave.  I was strong.  Why?  Because I leaned completely on God.  I kept focused on the task at hand and did not lose hope.  I prayed my way through the situation.

After I returned home though, late at night--I would bury my face in my pillow and cry out to God for hours.  Yes, I did that.  My husband would hold me in his arms and I would just sob.  I wasn't so brave or strong then, after all, was I?  I cried gut wrenching sobs, wondering what to do next.  I had so many questions for God--as to what steps to take, how should I handle each situation, how do I make sure he stays on his meds, what if it happens again?  I prayed I waited, I tried so hard to be the best daughter ever.  Really, I did.  However I learned that the decisions I had to make were very overwhelming for me to handle all alone, so I had to depend on God.

And as far as being catapulted into what I do today?  Well, I went on and got a degree in psychology and have been involved in some type of crisis counseling ever since.  I discovered that I'm good at it.  I'm a natural--so to speak.  I love it.  I get it.  I understand it.  It doesn't scare me.  My heart breaks for the broken hearted.  And now, I have the tools to help others.  I have the knowledge and the education.  But, mostly I have God.  I pray, I observe, I listen and I am always open to learning and growing.

So, I'll end this story now.  I am still praying for my dad.  He is still to this day taking medication for his bipolar disorder.  And I am still trying hard to be there for him.  God has never failed me.  He has lead me each step of the way.  He has given me hope.  And as all these many years have passed, He will continue to guide me through this thing called life.  It is, remember--my sweet life, and I am forever thankful for it.

Rejection

Of course, I'm going to write about it.  It's all I heard yesterday while sitting in my church at Bible study.  The word kept bouncing off the wall like a great big rubber ball.  Rejection.  I think a lot of the women in the room were thinking about times in their lives when they had been rejected.  For them, the rejection might have come via a family member, a close friend, a spouse, or anyone really.  For me, it happened once.  Well no, more than that.  I've experienced a few smaller rejections that were not the most fun thing to go through but they did not scar me like the other did.  No, nothing took me more off guard like that other time.  Nothing hurt worse than being rejected by my closest friend, nothing.

Way back when my children were small I had a very good friend.  A best friend. Circumstances brought us together.  Church actually.  Our kids were the same age, as were we.  Our friendship grew and our families did a lot of things together.  We hung out, went camping, to movies, dinners, spent lots of time in each other's homes.  I felt very protective over this particular friend, I felt that she needed me. that God had brought her into my life for a reason.  She'd been hurt before, had had a rough childhood, and just needed a best friend to come along side of her and never ever hurt her.  I was that friend.  I would have laid down my life for her.

As far as I was concerned things were moving along smoothly, when quite suddenly I began to notice a change in our relationship.  Everything began to change, from our time spent together, to subtle remarks being made to other friends, and then them letting me know that she was talking about me behind my back.  Always the one to give the benefit of the doubt, I ignored the signs for weeks.  I just would not, could not believe that this was happening to our relationship--not us!  However, as the weeks progressed I realized I could no longer stick my head in the sand and suggested that we talk this out over lunch.  We met at a local restaurant.  After being seated I was promptly given a list, yes a list, a list of all my faults.  I will never forget this part, it was written on yellow legal paper--2 pages of things that I did wrong--2 pages of things she did not like about me.  After I picked my jaw up off the floor, we talked--for hours.

In the end, I knew that our relationship was over.  I had to face the facts, she did not like me, not one little thing about me.  I bugged her in every sense of the word.  I did nothing right, not one thing.  Our friendship was over.  I made my way back to my car and sobbed.  I wondered what I had done wrong.  I prayed and asked God to change my personality so that people would like me.  And I wondered--why did He make me this way?  If I was going to be rejected by my friends, why did He give me this annoying personality that no one liked?  You see, by her rejecting me, she made me doubt myself.  And in rejecting me she took others with her.  It became a tug of war over friends.  Only I wouldn't play her game.  I walked away.  I left the situation.  I left the church.  I would not defend myself, nor speak badly of her.  In my heart of hearts, I secretly hoped that she'd come back and apologize and that we would once again be friends.  Yes, I am that naive.

Funny how things work out.  Years later she did need me.  Years later she did apologize and she asked me to forgive her.  And I did.  I did forgive her.  She could not understand how I could so easily forgive her after all she had said and done.  But, how could I not?  I am a Christian.

By the time she finally reached out to me I had moved away.  I was no longer in close proximity.  What was sad to me was that she was never able to reap the benefits of our close friendship.  I would have been the best friend she had ever had.  In fact, I think in some ways I still am.  I still protect her, have never spoken badly of her and would do anything for her.  Because once my friend, always my friend.  To this day, all she would have to do is call, and I would be there for her.

So, what did I learn through that experience so long ago?  I learned that rejection always hurts--no matter who rejects us, it always hurts.  Sometimes more than others.  I also learned that God will always walk me through it.  I learned that I am always to forgive--7 times 70.  And I've learned that I never ever want to reject anyone.  I never want to hurt someone.  I really just want to be used by God.  I want to be someone who brings healing and restoration rather than someone who hurts and belittles someone.  That's what I learned through being rejected.  Because love--never fails!

Why am I writing about this?  I'm not sure.  Something has been stirring up inside of me, something that maybe I thought I should share.  Something that might, just might minister to others--someway, somehow.  And that's why I'm sharing this today.  For some reason God allows others to reject and hurt us.  I didn't say that he causes it, I said that he allows it to happen.  I have learned a lot through past experiences.  I have grown as a Christian.  I have grown as a friend.  I have had to try hard not to harden my heart against those who have hurt me.  I pray all the time that I remain open and honest and humble before my God.  Sometimes I fail.  Thankfully He never does.

Aren't I supposed to trade all my sorrow and shame for the joy of the Lord?  I think so.  Sorrow lasts for a night, but joy comes in the morning.  That's what the Bible says.  So no matter how bad I feel at the time, I know this--it's only for a time, an allotment of time--for joy, God's joy comes in the morning.  I believe that.  I trust that.  I wait patiently for that.  Even through times of rejection, I will wait on the Lord--that joy, that peace, that comfort that only comes from God--I will wait.

Today's Prayer

Do you hear me, Father
do you hear my prayers
can you see me crying
sharing all my fears

Do you see me, Father
as I share my heart
can you hear me cry out
as I fall apart

Do you hear me, Father
can you hear my voice
as I sing my songs to you
as I call out on your name

Do you see me, Father
as I fall down on my knees
to worship you oh God
can you see my pain

Do you hear me, Father
as I pray for those I love
do you love them as I do
can you heal their brokenness

Do you see me, Father
all these years of prayer
my heart belongs to you oh God
hear me and hold me near

I will forever praise you
I will never stop
I know you hear my cries
I know you hold my heart

Rich Girl, Poor Girl

I have shared a little before concerning my childhood.  In my blog post "the least of these" I wrote a bit about how it felt to go hungry and to be afraid as a child--that was a small glimpse into a portion of my life.  However, there was another side too.  A side of my life that the pendulum swung in the opposite direction.  From poor to rich.  OK not really rich, but it sure seemed that way to a child.  I'll do my best to describe it.  However, you will have to trust me and just go along for the ride because as preposterous as this story might sound, I assure you it is the truth--from my viewpoint anyway.

I've often wondered as an adult why I am so flexible and/or ambivalent concerning finances.  My husband and I started off as many young couples do--working hard at our full-time jobs, paying the bills and saving for our first home.  We had some struggles but nothing that God could not handle.  He taught me to have complete and total trust that He would meet our needs.  When troubles came, I prayed.  I can look back now and see where that faith and trust came from.

I realize now that I had been conditioned as a child to ride that roller coaster in the area of finances.  The ups and downs, the rich, the poor--the come what mays.  Yes, when you belong to a family, you ride the ride of life right along with them whether you want to or not.  I will share later how this has affected my adult life but for now, I want to focus on my childhood years.

One thing I would like to interject here is that my father has a genius IQ.  That is not abnormal for someone who has been diagnosed with bipolar disorder.  I won't bore you with the details, but if you'd like to look it up, it's classic.  Intellectual, big ideas, high roller, and sometimes sadly, delusional.  My father was a real estate broker and developer--he designed and built homes, and he financed and brokered big deals.  His business grew, money flowed and life was good.  Until.  Until he would have another psychotic break and another black mood entered our home.  Depression can be a home wrecker.  It can scare and scar a child.  It can turn a person and a home into something altogether different.  Family dynamics can drastically change, as was the case in my little home.  My mother had to resume working full time, my father laid in bed for months on end, and I took over the house.  I cleaned and cooked and made sure my sister and I were taken care of.

Sometimes we would even lose our homes and have to move into an apartment.  In fact, we moved around a lot.  Apartment to apartment, city to city, and always, always the reasons were shrouded in secrets.  Never the truth, never.  We never went on family vacations, we never ever did the normal family outings that my friend's families did.  No, we were kept in the dark.  We were not told that our father was mentally ill and that he was depressed.  My mother went to work, we went to school and then after school, I had chores to do.  I became the caregiver.  I kept quiet, I read, and I daydreamed a lot.  I believe that it was during this time--my early years--that I developed my close relationship with the God I serve.  I believe that it was Him and Him alone that kept me from turning to other outside sources to meet my needs--other than normal teenage curiosity, I pretty much stayed out of trouble.

So, one year we were rolling in the dough and the next we were eating spaghetti and hot dogs.  One year we lived in a nice home and neighborhood and the next we were in a crowded apartment in a not so nice neighborhood.  Each year, and sometimes even each 6 months we would move, and I would have to start all over again making new friends.  Hence my blog called "13 schools."  Can you feel the hardening layers that were beginning to build up around me in order to protect my heart?  I soon began to escape into the world of books, libraries, and fantasy--to a make believe world where families were normal and happy, and life was fun.  Because mine was not.  Mine was scary and dark and sad and lonely.  Unless of course life flipped again and my father came out of the depressive state that he'd been in.  Then the money, cars, houses, and fun would rev up once again and life was good.  For a time.

In my high school years, things took a more positive turn.  I was growing up, and I was gaining control.  At least I thought I was.  I learned to stand my ground and I became a force to be reckoned with.  In my opinion, I felt that if I was going to do the laundry, clean the house, and do the cooking when the chips were down and my mother was working to support us, well then, I needed some say in our lifestyle.  I at least wanted to have some sense of stability in my life.  If it couldn't be a stable home-life then at least I wanted to go to the same school.  And I did, I went for 3 years to the same high school.  I latched on and wouldn't let go.  Security at its finest.  A private all-girls Catholic college preparatory school.  A school for smart girls.  I loved that school and still cherish the relationships that were built there.  Yes, finally some stability.  We still moved several times, but my school remained the same.  We had a couple of great financial years during that period of my life.  Private schooling, horses, money--yes, I was able to surround myself with material goods for a time, and yet all the while I lived in absolute fear of the crash that I knew would eventually come.  And come it did, right after I graduated from high school.  But that's another blog for another day.

Rich girl, poor girl.  Back and forth.  Money, no money.  House, no house.  Friends, no friends.  Sad, then happy.  Happy, then sad.  Manic, depression.  This was my life as I perceived it, real or not.  It was my reality, my life.  This is how I saw it, and maybe, quite possibly, not how my parents saw it.  Maybe they thought they were doing their very best.  And, maybe they were.  So, in writing this, please understand that I am not judging them.  I am exploring the why's of my personality.  What makes me, me?  What happened to make me into an optimist, a roll with the punches type of person?

This is what I believe.  When I shifted all my dependency onto God all those years ago, I believe that He rescued me. In my eyes, he became my real dad.  He became all that I really needed in this sweet life of mine.  He's the one who protected my heart, who taught me life lessons, who comforted me when I was afraid.  He made sure that I had food, shelter, and friends in time of need.  And with each trial and each layer of protection that I tried so desperately to cover my heart with--I found that He wouldn't let me do that.  He said no!  He made me watch, listen, learn, observe, pitch in, grow up, and depend solely and completely on Him.  Yes, those were great life lessons to be learned--they were not to be angry over, not to be ashamed of and not to stay quiet about.  Rich or poor, I am who I am.  I am happy, content, whole and thankful.  I love my parents and my God.  Life is good.  Layer, by layer, life is what I am discovering.  Life is sweet.  And God is good.