Empty

On Tuesday morning this week I learned the heartbreaking news about the death of an acquaintance.  She was a friend of a friend that I met through one of the style & jewelry events I held last year. She was in fact planning to host one of her own for me when life got a little calmer.

But life did not get calmer for her. Fighting demons that no one seemed to be fully aware of, she took her life on Monday night.

 

What I knew of her was that she was a loving mom, a genuine friend and had a sweet personality that seemed to draw people in. But as some of the comments posted on her facebook page let on, she was struggling with some deeper darkness that eventually pulled her down.

It hits hard knowing that suicide became her answer. Knowing that yet another person I know, who struggles with depression, chose this. And yet, I understand....

In my years of battling depression I have never attempted to end my life. I have not been tempted to go there. But I understand how one could entertain thoughts. Because some days the pain of feeling nothing is pretty overwhelming. Some days it is so dark and you feel so weary that you get pulled under. You feel like you are drowning in it. Some days that sadness, the anxiety, the lethargy, just sucks all the air out of your lungs. Some days you do just want to give up. 

BUT.....I cannnot even fathom doing that (killing yourself) to my loved ones. Those emotional scars that this woman's death will leave... forever.....

I am trying to make sense of it... but it makes no sense. 

In a conversation I had with a friend last year who attempted suicide and lived, he told me he wasn't thinking about death as much as he was thinking "I just wanted to go be with Jesus"

This makes me think that perhaps she thought that too- she decided the pain was just too much and the idea of going to heaven to be with Jesus, was a relief. 

I don't know. We lost another person to suicide just a few months ago. Another life tragically ended unnecessarily. 

UNNECESSARILY.

Because, despite all the emotional and mental anguish, as believers in Jesus Christ, we have HOPE. 

"For I know the plans I have for you", declares the Lord, "Plans to prosper you and not to harm you. Plans to give you a future and a hope." Jeremiah 29.11

But those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles, they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint. Isaiah 40.31

May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in Him. so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit. Romans 15.13

That last scripture from Isaiah 43 has been one that has carried me through  the fires and the deep waters and continues to encourage and comfort me..... So much so that I cannot read that passage without being deeply moved every time. So much that I decided I needed a visual reminder to wear often to keep the Hope and Strength at the forefront. I created this engraved piece for my bracelet to remind me. 

I am Ransomed.  Bought with a price

I am Redeemed. Oh praise His Holy Name!

I am Restored. Daily. Hallelujah!

The death of this woman will haunt me as will the death of others who took lives.

 If you or someone you know is suffering, struggling, feeling like there is no other way out, please, I beg you, talk to someone.... do not suffer in silence. THERE IS HOPE. 

National Suicide prevention lifeline.1.800.273.8255

gas fumes and bread crumbs

On Monday next, Bruce begins his new job! (and everybody gave a loud cheer!!) 

for the past 30 days he's been working for our church in an interim position and it's been a blessing in many ways. Starting Monday, the tool belt gets hung up until the weekend. He'll be working in contractor sales-- working on the other side of the desk. It's going to be different. It's going to be a challenge. It's going to be interesting... its going to be great! 

I said awhile back that I was longing for some financial stability in our lives. Self employment is wonderful even as it is stressful, because of the independence it offers but our economy has not been kind to the small business owner in the past several years. You've heard my woes over these past many many months about how hard it's been to scratch out a living. We are so very thankful for the way God has provided for us both in the lean times and the plenty. 

Despite the steady pay checks coming, it's going to take some time for us to climb out of the hole we've slipped into. It only takes a few weeks of no income to send you down into that pit but it often takes 2-3 times longer to climb back out. 

There have been days when life has felt so overwhelmingly difficult. Unpaid bills, creditors calling to demand what is rightfully theirs to demand, getting by on gas fumes and bread crumbs, physical challenges and emotional stress adding to the already fragile morale.... those are the days I need these reminders:
i am not alone. 
God has not forgotten or forsaken me. 
he gives strength to the weary.
he gives hope to the hopeless.
he offers a yoke that is easy, a burden that is light.
he offers a future filled with hope.
he sends me reminders and it gives me the courage and strength i need to face one more day. 

Learning to trust in Him regardless of my circumstances, remembering that trust is a choice, remembering that my source of security and stability is never in a job or a paycheck or any circumstance of life, but in Him and Him alone; that is what allows me to rise up on wings like eagles, to walk and not grow weary, to run and not faint. 

Grace, Strength, Hope

He said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." 2 Corinthians 12.9

What a timeless verse! I've shared it many times here on my blog but its a passage of scripture that never loses power, never fails to stir a hope in me that surpasses whatever dark and weary emotion is weighing me down. The word 'grace' itself has several meanings. There's the grace that brings to mind a ballerina, pirouetting gently. There is grace as in being courteous. And then, the grace as in unmerited favor, offered freely, giving us eternal life. Grace is also the word I chose for this year as an area to concentrate on and grow in.
 

We all struggle with a weakness. Some physical, some internal. We are, after all, fragile 'jars of clay' as Paul puts it. I think of all the times I have struggled to find energy to do the thing that lies before me.When physical ailments challenge me the thing I need to do instantly becomes bigger. When I'm having a dark day internally, the thing I need to do can quickly get pushed to the bottom of the list. It's sometimes easier to pull the covers over my head and hide than try to forge ahead. It's on days like this that this verse saves me. Think about it. Christ is saying my weakness works to His advantage. If I am feeling strong and confident, I won't likely turn to Him. ("I can do it myself") Christ says it's when I am weak that He does His best work. It's as if being weak is the whole point!

And what about the next part of that passage?

My grace is sufficient for you, for power is perfected in weakness." Most gladly, therefore, I will rather boast about my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may dwell in me. Therefore I am well content with weaknesses, with insults, with distresses, with persecutions, with difficulties, for Christ's sake; for when I am weak, then I am strong.

God says "my grace is sufficient" but the take away for Paul was to boast about it! And not just to boast, but to also be content in it. I've said before that with chronic depression I have found ways to be thankful for it. It has made me all the more dependent on the Lord. I do feel like Paul, in that I have prayed-- and been prayed for-- that the depression would leave and I wouldn't need to take my little mood stabilizers anymore. So far it's not happened. And I'M OKAY WITH THAT. Because the power of Christ lives in me. I have learned to be content with my condition, with the gray days and the low energy. I'm okay with others judging me when they don't know the whole story. I'm okay with the difficulties that a chronic condition brings. I'm okay with it ...and I am grateful.

Because... when I am weak, then I am strong.

those foggy moments

Yesterday morning as I headed out on my walk I couldn't help but feel secluded. We've welcomed some rain the last couple of days and the result has been some foggy overcast mornings.  As the fog settled around my little town, it hid the mountain range from view.

It reminded me of a trip Bruce and I took up to Revelstoke BC several years ago. We arrived on a Friday late afternoon and checked into our hotel room ducking raindrops. In our room as I gazed out the window at the town, shrouded in mist, I had no idea what was out there beyond the roof tops in the next city block.

view from our motel room window-- in the light of day!

It was with joyful delight that the next morning, with the sun shining brightly and not a cloud in the sky, a great reveal was made. Beautiful glorious mountains-- jagged and awesome in size and shape, reigned above the town. In the dark of the night, with the cloud cover, we had no idea what the area looked like. Until the fresh light of day swept the cloud and fog away, we might have thought this a flat monotonous landscape.

Revelstoke BC in the fall. Sept. 2006

Later yesterday, as I drove into town to meet a friend, I could see glimpses of sun breaking through the clouds. Like ombre coloring, the shaded sky went from dark heavy gray to heather to pink the closer I got to the ocean. It was a treat to find I wouldn't need my sweater once I arrived at my destination. For here, the sun had pierced the clouds and while it wasn't quite a blissful blue, the atmosphere held promise.

As I sipped my London Fog and watched the waves crash in on the rocks below me, my eyes searched the horizon. Following the light as far as I could, I couldn't help but think about the fog that overtakes me spiritually from time to time.

When my depression takes forefront in my life, when stress claims my attention and pulls it away from trusting God, something happens to my eyesight. It becomes short sighted. I can't see any further than what is in front of me. My horizon is blocked and it feels like the earth just ends where the wall of fog begins. It's easy to lose sight of what's real when your vision is blocked. When the haze blinds you to possibilities beyond what you can imagine.

I have to remember that just as I could get in my car and drive out of the fog, until I reached a light-filled place, so it is with my emotional and mental state. I have to believe that there is light beyond the darkness. I need to place my trust in God, regardless of my circumstances.

Mama Said There'd Be Days Like This

Yesterday I felt great! I felt light and flexible, able to leap tall buildings in a single bound! I walked 4 miles at an average of 14 minutes per mile. The sun was shining and I was able to spend most of the day under those beautiful sunny skies.

sunny skies at the bay. 

Today I feel not so great. I feel heavy and tight, barely able to put one foot in front of the other. My joints feel like they've been filled with quick setting cement.  I forced myself out the door and pushed myself to do a 2 mile walk which took almost 45 minutes to do. The sky is overcast and rain is in the forecast. I have a feeling I might spend some of this day under the covers.

some days feel black and white.

But, despite all of that. I still got out there and walked. I don't care how long it took or how slow I walked or how short a distance I covered today. It doesn't even matter that yesterday I did great. What matters is I am moving. I will not let my fickle disease control me.

some days it's a struggle to stand upright. 

I can blame it on the weather or link it to something I ate the day before that caused inflammation to occur, but some times there just is no rhyme or reason to a Fibro-Flair Up. All I can do is hang in there because it always passes. I have my little tricks for recovery and I also know when to just ride it out . In the midst of the pain and lethargy I know I can go to God for comfort.

We are pressed on every side by troubles but we are not crushed and broken. We are perplexed but we don't give up and quit. We are hunted down but God never abandons us. We get knocked down, but we get up again and keep going. Through suffering, these bodies of ours constantly share in the death of Jesus so that the life of Jesus may also be seen in our bodies. 2 Corinthians 4: 8-10

Some days it's the fibromyalgia, some days it's the depression. And some times it's just life. "In this world we will have trouble, but take heart, I have overcome the world!" Said Jesus.

That's my life line.

consider the (daisies) of the field, they neither toil not spin...

it's a cleaning toilets kind of day

On the eve of my 16th birthday I went on my very first date. It was the high school Tolo, and I had asked the boy I was crushing on to go with me. I wore a long dress and got my hair do-didded up. He gave me a corsage, we went to a fine dining establishment and then the high school cafeteria where the dance was being held. We danced a couple of slow dances but for the most part we sort of hugged the wall and tried to downplay the awkward nervousness between us. I was home by midnight and wrote furiously about it in my journal before finally crashing in a state of bliss.

And the next morning, a Saturday, birthday or not, I was in my old jeans and ratty sweatshirt, dusting shelves and cleaning toilets. And yes, I think there is some significance in that.

the love-burkes are ready to walk n' roll!

So... yesterday I participated in my very first race. Walking, yes, but a race just the same. Timed and competitive and I rose to the challenge. Bruce asked me before we left the house what sort of goal did I have in mind for the day. Because I walk almost every day and the 4 miles we were signed up for had become pretty routine to my daily regime, I was really only interested in doing it in a decent amount of time. Keeping in mind that we'd agreed to do the race together and that Bruce does not walk every day and does not walk as fast as me, I needed to remember to keep my pace compatible to his. Still, I wanted to complete the race in a decent amount of time. I told him I'd like to see us complete it in no more than one hour. We'd been averaging a 4 mile walk together on Sunday mornings, on a road that was uphill both ways, in about 65-70 minutes. Being the Honeywagon run was all on level ground I figured doing it in an hour or less was certainly manageable.

And we did. 59 minutes and 29 seconds. I tried not to smoke my sweetie too bad but it was hard holding back on such a glorious warm day, with a spring in my step to match the season. We walked side by side some of the time, other times I was in the lead and encouraging him to catch up while he suggested short cuts across farmland. (such a kidder that hubby of mine.) We had a lot of fun and every step of the way I was aware that he was doing this for me as much as with me and I cannot tell you how much that gesture meant to me.

peace out baby!

who is this cute guy following me anyway? maybe I should get his number....

Perhaps walking a 4 mile stretch doesn't sound like much to a seasoned walker or runner but I deal almost daily with physical challenges so this was HUGE to me. Accomplishing something that had been buried in the recesses of my heart since I was in my 20's was also huge. (getting a little emotional here, sniff, sniff)

walking hand in hand up to the finish line and then he insisted I cross first. 

This morning was very much like the day after my Tolo. I am still riding high on my goal being met, but the reality of daily life is also needing attention. So here I am in my old jeans and a ratty sweatshirt, dusting shelves and cleaning the toilet.

no prizes awarded for walkers but I did win a pair of socks in a door prize!

I can hear my mothers voice (you probably can hear someone in your past saying this too) reminding me of that old Proverb, "pride goeth before a fall" (which a shortened version of the real verse but you know what I mean, right?) My point is this: I must remember to not get puffed up about things. And cleaning toilets helps me with that.... sort of... :)

Galatians 6.3 says For if anyone thinks he is something when he is nothing, he deceives himself. 

As I said in a previous post, I am weak. And that is when God steps in. When I admit my dependence on Him, when I say, 'when I am weak, I am strong', when I recognize that His Grace is sufficient for me, that His Power works best in my weakness, then, as Paul says, then I can boast.

For all the pride I feel over yesterdays achievement, (and I do deserve to feel proud of myself for it) I am also reminded as I swish the brush around the toilet bowl, that with my physical challenges and, my emotional frailties, I am NOTHING without Jesus. He is the rock I cling to, my hope, my strength and my song.

Been There, Done That!

You keep track of all my sorrows. You have collected my tears in your bottle. 

You have recorded each one in your book. Psalm 56.8

This Captivating study I am doing is powerful. Each week is building upon the week before. As we go we are also building trust within the group, the ability to open up and share from our hearts becoming less threatening. Last week we cracked the box wide open as we each took a turn sharing our stories. Now, granted, just one of us could take a few hours to tell our life story-- and being there are several of us, and our group time doesn't allow for that, a condensed version was told by each participant; the focus being where or how the wounds of our heart came to be.

I know, I know, this just doesn't sound like fun. Do we really need to re-visit those places of injustice, cruelty, abuse? What if there isn't a deep wound from something that extreme? What if it was just a lifetime of small things; being treated with indifference or being let down by someone significant in your life. The sad reality is, it's just not possible in this world we live in to make it into our adulthood without something or someone inflicting pain on our impressionable souls. We all have a wound. Still..... do we really need to do this?

Jesus said that he came to heal the sick and set the captives free*. Regurgitating those stories of hurt isnt so we can have a pity party or wallow in depression, but to prepare us for a deeper healing from God. As we heal, the capacity to let love in becomes greater. Bringing things into the light releases us from the power of the dark. But... yes, sometimes the journey to light is painful.

I know this.
First hand.

Working through my years of trauma -- from the sexual abuse in my younger years, the dysfunctions in my family, to the domestic abuse as a young woman, oh, yes, I have been there. I can say with all conviction that the journey through the pain was worth it. I have come out on the other side, with rejoicing. God did a mighty work in my heart and soul, binding up the broken places, making me whole, perhaps for the very first time. I am, now and forever, so grateful for what He has done.

Being healed, being whole, that is my deepest desire for other women who've been hurt. If sharing my story helps even one woman gain courage, encouragement, hope, then it is so worth revisiting the past.

The beautiful thing I am discovering  is that I can tell my story without falling apart. I still feel emotional as I tell it; I'm not skimming over the top. I'm being authentic. But I'm not reliving it. Neither am I telling it as if it happened to someone else, feeling far removed from it. I'm telling it from the unique perspective of knowing how the story ends, and the ending is filled with joy!

I also know that for all the healing I have experienced, there is always room for more. Because we live in a fallen world, new hurts get inflicted every day. And some of us gals have mighty big backpacks in which we gather up those bad experiences and stow them away. I find my shoulders getting tired and my heart weary and I know it's time to empty my backpack again. I have discovered, happily, that over time my backpack has gotten smaller. It's more like a little fanny pack really. I can't carry as much before I recognize I don't like the feeling that the burden brings. I am quick to release it to God and move on. I like that feeling of freedom!

So, each week as I meet with these ladies and we bare our souls, I understand a little better my place in this group: I have a story to tell that someone else might identify with and not feel so alone. And I have a story of redemption to share that might give someone hope.

Some of us aren't there yet. Some of us are in the midst of our healing, some of us haven't even begun to scrape the surface. Some are still in denial and some are still trapped in it. But for those on the journey, or about to take the first terrifying step, know this: God is with you.



*"The Spirit of the LORD is upon me, for he has anointed me to bring Good News to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim that captives will be released, that the blind will see, that the oppressed will be set free." Luke 4;18 NLT

Teamwork

new post from Bruce in Honduras!

We worked until dark on the church last night. Our day began with a conversation of encouragement between our team and the Honduran volunteers. Our goal was high; assemble the rest of the second floor framing and cap it with a 4”  layer of concrete.  Pretty easily managed back in the States but there were some special challenges here.

 The floor framing is metal and instead of being nailed together, it needed to be welded. Our welder is a little old and the power supply at the church is a little weak. We would also need 5 cubic yards of concrete, mixed on the ground and transferred to the floor one five gallon bucket at a time.

However, we also had several special advantages, the volunteers from the church. There was a group of Jr & Sr. High young men as well as some more “seasoned” men. Not only did we have a nice number of volunteers but everyone came with a “can-do” attitude.

Even the smallest of the young volunteers was willing to wrestle the 94# bags of cement and push the wheelbarrows of gravel and sand. They all seemed to take the hard work in stride. Not pondering if there was an easier way, like the Americans were doing.

                       

The local method of concrete mixing is not something we would consider back home, it’s just a lot of work!

• Step one: Assemble the ingredients in a pile on the ground: 2-wheelbarrows of sand, 3-wheelbarrows of gravel and two bags of cement.
• Step two: With a shovel, work through the pile of ingredients from one side to another, turning it as you go to thoroughly mix the ingredients together.
•  Step three: Repeat.
•  Step four: Reshape the ingredient pile to resemble the top of a volcano, with a crater in the middle.
• Step five: With a bucket, pour in 25 gallons of water,
• Step six: Without allowing the water to escape the crater, fold the ingredients inward into the water. Continue folding until water and dry ingredients magically join to become what is known as “mud”.
•  Step seven: Start filling 5-gallon buckets with mud and move them to where the concrete slab is being poured.
  
  

 And so it went all day long and indeed we did end the day with our new concrete floor !  Yea team !!

During the day a few jets heading to the airport passed overhead. It’s interesting how small the airport is for a city of 1.5 million. Only a little larger than Bellingham Airport.  Sometimes they will fly twice around. It’s a challenging airport to land in, short runway and always a lot of smoke in the air. If there isn’t 5km of visibility, they fly to another city to land, When they do  land in Teguc. they slam the brakes on almost as soon as the wheels touch down. 

It’s interesting how we gringos look up at the planes passing overhead and think of how easy it will be for us to fly  back to our perfect homes. Yet our co-workers don't seem to even notice the plane.

         

As darkness fell quickly at the end of this workday, Jeffrey, Harrison & I shared a poignant moment together. We sat on the steps outside the church, our backs up against the still warm stucco security wall. In the valley below us lay the blanket of Tegucigalpa’s lights. The temperature had settled to that place where you're  perfectly comfortable. As the stars began their display and the three of us sat appreciating the moment, I expressed in my meager Spanish ,“esta bueno noches”. Jeffrey nodded in agreement as Harrison replied quietly in his meager English , “Yes, it’s a nice night”. 

 “Nice” is such a simple word. On this night, it spoke of a fitting end to a day of difficult work together. But even more, it spoke of how “nice” it is to set aside differences of nationalities and language in favor of those more significant things we share in common. Especially our common bond of brotherhood in Christ.

Buenas noches,

Bruce     

HOPE for Honduras

The latest email from Bruce, in Honduras...            

It has been hard to spend any time here in Tegucigalpa without seeing or experiencing something noteworthy. Just the 45 minute drive from the Mattson’s safe, gated condo, through town and up the rugged mountainside into the poverty stricken community where we are working, is a bombardment of my North American senses.

As the gate closes behind us we are reminded to keep the heavily tinted windows up especially when stopped at an intersection where we could be robbed at gunpoint. I notice that many vehicles have tinted windows for security. It is especially wise to not put the gringos on display as we drive.

           

Garbage is collected at the street a couple times a week. They just put it out in garbage bags or whatever. Before it is picked up, others will come along and scavenge through it for anything of value. Which can’t be much considering who is throwing the garbage away. Where we are working there is a large area along side the road where garbage is just dumped and occasionally burned. The smell of burning garbage is commonplace. Dogs and vultures love this arrangement.

           

During the first part of our drive there are some reminders of home along the way; a Burger King, Pizza Hut and a Starbucks knockoff called Café Americano. There is even a BMW dealership. Of course you wonder what’s up when each of these locations is sporting a uniformed man with a shotgun out front or a guard tower in the parking lot.

       

The driving route we take leads to a stadium where the two lanes of traffic circle tightly around the local soccer stadium and then down a hill over a bridge and into a less developed area of town. Sidewalk vendors of all types are everywhere. There is food being cooked on wood burning contraptions, vendors are even standing on the yellow lines between lanes as cars, busses and taxis are whizzing by. 

You must drive aggressively here or you won't get anywhere. The cars, the buses, the motorcycles are all competing for the same piece of roadway. And pedestrians have absolutely no right-of-way. Mateo seems to thrive in this competitive driving environment. It is incredible that there are not more collisions or pedestrians hit. According to a Honduran I spoke with, forget about calling the police if you get in a wreck. They will just manipulate the situation to put money in their pockets. No one trusts the police here.

            

Many of the buses here are old yellow school buses from the States that have been cleaned up, decorated with chrome wheel covers and other accessories and put into service as mass transit. There is no municipal bus service, each bus is a privately owned enterprise with its own stops and clientele.

The decorations on busses, cars and trucks often include large text across the top of the windshield saying “God is the answer” or “God is my partner”, etc. To some degree, the people here seem to have a better understanding than Americans where real help and hope comes from.

           

We waited at McDonalds yesterday morning to meet Pastor Marco and while we waited, I noticed that a small group of women were in the kids play area, without kids.  They were praying for a member of their group as they stood in a circle, in plain sight, in the middle of the play area. The economic and government situation here is a mess, but clearly we have met many who know a better place to put their hope.

           

Contrary, is the sight of men who have lost hope and vision. A man in the street with a stagger and vacant eyes, another with a discarded pop bottle held to his nose so he can inhale the fumes of the glue that has been poured inside. There was a disheveled man at the side of an intersection last night. I almost did not see him when we stopped because he was sitting. His legs were literally withered and angled oddly off to the side of his rotund sunbaked upper body. Apparently this is his spot. Where he is brought each day to beg. He has a stick to reach out and tap the driver’s window of a stopped vehicle. He spends his day unprotected from the sun and literally on the edge of traffic. His reward is whatever change or food is tossed his way. The reasons for despair and defeat are many in this place.

            

There is a point in our travel to the church construction project where literally, the pavement ends. The chaotic maze of tiny block and tin houses continues up the hillsides with the dusty dirt “road” jammed between them. It’s barely a car and a half wide and “graded” according to nature. It climbs and drops steeply with the terrain, even where it’s level the local rock laden soil makes it rougher than anything we would even call a logging road.

            

This is where the cemetery is. A sad array of crosses, above ground sepulchers and simple stone markers spread across it’s unkempt hillside location. Vultures can be seen collected along the top of the hill. Across the road is a garbage dump.   

            

As we finally lurch up to the church gate, eyes of the neighborhood are on us. There are mangy dogs hanging around. Some scruffy kids come out of the shacks to see who we are and what we might have for them. One of them, probably three years old, is running barefoot with only a long t-shirt on.

            

Entry into the church property is through a locked gate in the razor wire topped perimeter wall. We are greeted warmly by the hard-working men of this church each morning and it feels as if we have entered a sanctuary of hope.

            

Why are we here? To build a church building, sure. But more importantly, to encourage the continued building of the Christian Church in Honduras. The Church that Christ has established in the hearts of many here. It is their only hope.

            

Thank-you for your prayers,

            Bruce