He never gave up

I thought it would happen in a moment, an instant, this finding of Jesus, of God.

An event. The day the wandering ended, the climax of the story, the crux, the peg on which I could hang my spiritual hat.

I imagined it happening at the end of a church service, a poignant sermon stomping all over my dress shoes, my icy shell splintering, my steel heart shockingly, suddenly bare, vulnerable.

Perhaps it would come when I closed turned the final page of a book, likely full of theology, telling of practice, even wrapped in story, and it would all make sense and in those words I would find it, peace.

I wondered if it would happen during the Christmas weeks, those days of reverence and beauty, of holy expectation. A candle lit service might hold power where Sunday messages had failed and I would cry warm tears into my folded paper candle cup and I would be new again.

There were those mornings when I woke before the small ones, lit a candle and played quiet piano hymns through speakers, as I was wont to do in days of old. Surely reading more verses, praying more prayers, surely these would hasten the moment.

***

It didn’t happen in a church service.

It didn’t happen when I read a book.

It wasn’t during Advent.

It wasn’t before dawn with a burning candle and quiet hymns.

I found Jesus the day I told Him I didn’t know if I wanted to believe in Him anymore, and was that okay, Lord? Was it okay if I just took a break?

Jesus became real at 2am in the rocking chair, when I cried warm tears with my head in my hands and I begged my God to show me Himself, whispered pleas to be real, be real.

Truth found me in late night talks fueled by red wine, morning conversation over coffee, three hour of writing and editing blogs, and honest confession, sitting cross-legged.

Salvation crept over my soul the day I scrawled fresh words in my journal, that maybe it is all a crutch, maybe I am weak for needing a god, perhaps this God is indeed too high to understand, but that I want a crutch, I am weak and I need a strong God and I don’t even care anymore about anything other than that Jesus, that Father, that Spirit.

Jesus came in the quiet, in the still and the small, and I opened my arms and said, I’m here I’m here I’m here. Take me, take my soul, bind my wandering heart to Thee. Help Thou my unbelief, but I believe

I believe

I believe.

I love justice, but I love grace too

I don't care how much I say love grace, but there are times when I really love it when someone gets his or her just end.

When the bad guy falls from the sky. When the murderer confesses at the end of a movie. When the serial rapist actually gets caught and is called to account for his crimes.

Yes YES! I feel like good has won and everyone on the side of good has also triumphed. I could brush my hands together, nod my head and whisper,

He deserved it!

I learned a long time ago that there are some people in this unjust world who do very wrong things and yet still never apologies. They will never make amends. They will never fix what they've done. They'll never confess, fall from the sky to get caught.

It seems to be how the world works.

I leaned a  long time ago that there are people in this unjust world who do very wrong things and will never apologize. They will never make amends. They will never fix what they've done. they'll never confess, fall from the say or get caught.

How do you know when to let go

How do you know it is time to let go? In one sentence:

            When you feel any kind of unpleasantness or discomfort.

You can consider unpleasantness or discomfort a clear sign that it is time to let go.

And I'm no stranger to letting go. Letting go has become a common practice of mine. Probably too much of a common practice that it leaves me unable to get close to others. Letting go has no longer become a problem for me.

But for some letting go is heartbreaking. And in some situations it's completely understandable. Not all things are equal to let go.

By letting go, we actually allow more of the mystery of life to come in for us.-- Leslie K. Lobell, M.A.

Letting go. It's difficult for us in so many ways and on so many levels. Yet life calls us up to do it, over and over again. Letting go is part of our growth process. We cannot move on to the new while continuing to cling to the old. For some we let go for their sake and not for ours. And why doesn't it feel like a learning process?

For some of us, we must let go of a past relationship. Or even a current relationship. Or just lesson the relationship. Maybe the relationship was not meant to be: perhaps it was hurtful to us, or perhaps it was hindering the personal or spiritual growth of one or both.  Perhaps we have no problems leaving the person behind, but we continue to harbor animosity. 

Part 3; What marriage has taught me: The reality of grace.

In our world today "grace" can carry any number of definitions. It's something that I write about often on my blog. It's easier said than done and typically that's acceptable today. Because people need to earn our forgiveness before we give it. We've all heard the expression of some sorts, "Oh I've forgiven "them," but they better not...(you fill in the blank)." Shallow grace. Grace today is generally accepted with words and no action.

The answer to this is a "no brainer." Grace is hard. Grace involves action. Grace being vulnerable and at risk. Actions that makes you cringe at the thought of. Actions that let them off the hook and makes you look weak and gullible.

My definition: Forgiveness without justification.

And it's easier for us to view and accepts God's grace even though we never deserve it and never will. It's easier for us view God's grace as loving and trust that it will always be there. It's easy for us to take it for granted. It's almost impossible for us to see God weak and naive with His grace. Most of the time we accept His grace as if we deserve it.

The first three and a half years of my wife's and my marriage was rocky to say the least. Our devotion to each other was tested like nothing either of us had ever experienced. Our willingness to sacrifice individually was broken on many occasions. For much of that time I failed to extend my wife grace. My illogical reasons: I didn't receive grace. I didn't receive what I wanted or needed.

Marriage has taught me my wife is sometimes God's hands. Sometimes His teacher. Sometimes His mirror seeing my own reflection.

Part 2; What marriage has taught me: My marriage and family are my first ministry

I have been so busy lately that I have not been able to give attention to the part 2 of this series. I've received a new position at my place of employment. I have been focused on school as the semester winds down. I've tried to maintain consistent involvement with Celebrate Recovery. And there are the issues in my home; a son transitioning from a tween to a teen, dealing with a daughter with Oppositional Defiant Disorder. Much of the time that I am able to give to myself alone consists of attempts at gathering my thoughts and catching my breath for the next responsibility. 

I'm at a crossroads today. As this semester winds down I find the drive for my desire to finish school and pursue a career in the field of psychology has dwindled to down to nothing. I even find myself apathetic to the work and even the idea of graduating. Yet I have no idea what to pursue for my future. God says He has plans for me. "Plans to prosper and not for harm. So should I worry about my future?"

We all know the cliché, "Parenting is the hardest job you'll ever do."

I can't just sit back and expect God to handle everything. Of course not. I do have my part to fulfill. And at the same time I must still focus on the here and now and not lose sight of my main calling, what God has called me to do. My first and most important responsibility. That is the calling of my first ministry. My marriage. My wife. My children. Far too often this responsibility goes overlooked in spite of the fact it is something I worry about on a daily basis.

Who's Fault Is It?

For well over a year I tried to beat my alcoholism and my eating disorder on my own; by my own strength. Then it came to the point to where I was seriously contemplating going to an inpatient treatment center for both my diagnosis. And to make matters more difficult my bipolar only fueled both addictions. Then it came to the point to where the judge told me I was to quit drinking.

For the most part the no drinking wasn't so hard. I had a newly restored faith in God and a new appreciation for the things I have in my life. Becoming free from my eating disorder was another story. My bipolar had been in charge for the previous four years controlling much of my thoughts and beliefs. My behaviors.

For a few months after the year in mental health court which I was accountable to the court or face prison, I remained sober and fairly stable. However, a few months after graduating the program I relapsed with my bipolar and began rapid cycling for the next few months.

Hospitalized for suicidal depression and suicide attempt. Episodes of mania. Jail. Periods of complete insomnia accompanied with psychosis. And my most recent, a psychosis blackout that has landed me in trouble again.

Many times I have felt the shame of my mistakes that have left me disappointed in my example as follower of Christ. 

The safe god

There is a dreadfulness about God. Seldom is this said.

Down in our bones, mingled with our blood, silent and potent as instinct, is a dread of God. Part of our essence is a longing to flee. There is a fear of God, the Proverbs tells us, that is the beginning of wisdom, the threshold for knowing God. But that's not what I'm talking about.

I'm referring to a more primal, deep down craven terror, a black hole of unknowing.

We know we should desire intimacy with God. The better and saner part of our being does. But there is in each of us a dark impulse that prefers separation, a love of distance. We want to see God, just not face-to-face, but in rough silhouette, to hear Him, not the thunder of His shout or the sweetness of His whisper, but only rumors of Him, faint and faraway echoes.

Like the Israelites at the bottom of Mount Sinai we want a mediator such as Moses.

We exhibit a primal fear. The voice of God, the presence of God, holds not comfort but terror. The way tigers and tyrants, cyclones and cyclopses frightens us we fear God. So we want it muffled, mediated, caged. We settle for--no, demand--echoes, rumors, shadows. We long for hearsay about God, but do not ourselves want to hear God say anything.

The Trouble with Bipolar Blackouts and Amnesia

I have come to realize that there are some portions of my life that I simply cannot remember. And that no matter how hard I try to fill in those gaps of lost time I will never succeed. I can lose spans of time of as little as a few hours or as much as up to a whole day. Stress seems to be the most likely trigger, rather it's stress of rapid cycling or external stress.

Blackouts are usually associated with alcohol. Then there are such things as blackouts from bipolar. I can disassociate from reality completely sober all the while functioning completely normal. You would never know my brain has dragged me into another place out of reality.

Most occasions I come back normal. Awoken unharmed with all my responsibilities successfully completed. But sometimes I'm at the mercy of my psychosis. I play a cat and mouse game. A follow the leader game. As if driven or lead by some strange force. Sometimes I awake after wandering off and in those times by God's grace I come to and am able to find my way home unharmed. I once awoke over 40 miles from my home with no recollection of why I travelled that distance. Another time over 130 miles away. Almost in another state. If there were any intentions I have yet to discover why, but for now it seems I just got into my vehicle and drove.

4 dirty words

What would it be like to live in a world where every living person had to carry with them a list of mistakes they have made? Whether it be moral issues, spiritual misadventures, physical offenses, emotional turmoil or any other situation that someone would deem inappropriate. This could be a huge list for any one of us. What might be immoral for me, may not be for another, but you would have to carry it on your list because I find it offensive in some way. My list would be pages of discrepancies, sins, bad judgments, and offending moments.

Can you imagine a world where we had to wear our thoughts on our sleeves? Where people could see our judgments of others as we pass by them. They would know how we see ourselves, and they would never have to imagine what we thought of them. It would also mean that we would not have the opportunity to rethink our initial impression of others.

But we don't live in that kind of world. We don't see into people's lives unless they allow us too, and unfortunately we sometimes (probably more often than not) take that opportunity to cast judgment on others and lower them in to a place that we have reserved for people we want nothing to do with.

At times people have done this with our lives as well.

Our walk with Christ isn't primarily about growth for the sake of personal improvement, but receiving the basics of His death and resurrection. Even we, who follow Christ, often times find ourselves in danger of needing to shrink from our elaborate, self-involved spiritual aspirations of do more, try harder.

See, we tend toward "doing" because, well...doing is about self-progress and we like to take credit for our achievements. We've become a society based on measurements. But the gospel is about the foundation of what has already been done for us.

And to be blunt, we are narcissistic people. For all our striving to live the holy life, Scripture isn't about us, or ability to achieve for God. Instead, it is about God's work done for us in Christ. Traditional spiritual wisdom teaches us that discouragement is normal. What happens is that we seek God for selfish reasons. We get emotional highs out of religious services, or out of prayer, or any other experience we attribute to His Spirit.

Let's face it. We Christians take the gospel for granted every day. Surely there's something more flashy about the Christian life than beginner, baby-Christian, Sunday school stuff, right? Wrong.

The gospel is simple, profound, and glorious. It's the stuff that changes hearts. Want to stay Jesus-focused, gospel-centered, and keep the big picture in sight? Don't get self-absorbed in your own sin management. It's tragic how His Word can so easily become a self-help guide.

At times in our history there have been incredible people who have questioned the systems that have been established. Systems that say you are better than me because of your income level or your childhood advantages. Systems that differentiate criminals from innocents, offenders from the offended, even sick from healthy. They have questioned the path some have outlined for raising some people to an upper levels and leaving others in subpar levels where only those who appear equal will connect with them.

They did this through grace.

These people, they moved. They are the ones that enter hospitals, prisons, back alleys, school, office buildings and everywhere in between with a message of, "our lives are equal because grace covers all.”

I see people who have lived a life, and continue to struggle, just like mine was and they are often full of anger, hatred, bitterness, vengeance, fear, doubt, and self pity. They are terrified of what the future holds fearing their pasts will not let them go.

They are unfulfilled, ungrateful, selfish and have a strong desire to be empowered but not to empower others. They just don't know how to be grateful. Or selfless. Or empowering.

The difference is grace. Unconditional grace.

Unconditionally. That means the what doesn't matter, but also that the who doesn't matter. Lost, found, and everything in between--we all need grace.

Now chew on this: who is it easier to give grace to? The "lost," or "saved" people?

Who is it easier to offer prayer to? To utter the words, "What can I pray for you about?" or "You are in my prayers." Who is it easier to send a Bible verse to? Who is it easier to unexpectedly offer help to?

Who is it easier to say, "I forgive you" too?

For me, the answer would be is someone who's saved. Why? Because they "get" it. Prayer, scripture, random kindness, and fellowship are just part of the same as I. The only thing for me to overcome is my laziness. To get off my butt.

Someone outside the church, on the other hand, is all kinds of complicated: Do I need to ask permission to pray or read scripture? Will they think it's weird that I'm dropping food off? Will they drop an f-bomb if I have a Bible study? Even though my "saved" friends know I'm human and still sin, will "these" people think of me as a hypocrite trying to be something I'm not?

This conflict is a tragedy. Biased Grace

It's the unconscious bias way we approach grace in our everyday lives. Here's the danger: bias perpetuates itself. If one kind of person is consistently shown grace, and another person is consistently ignored, the gap between the two grows bigger. And bigger. And bigger. Until you or I am afraid to bring a plate of cookies to someone because we're afraid they'll think we're weird.

It's easy to say, ”I'm called to minister to the church" and use all your energy as such. It's your calling, right? Well, so is this, "Go into all the world and preach the gospel to all creation."

So, make unconditional grace a purposeful part of your life.

Unconditional grace means tangible grace--the kind that actually causes physical change in the world around me. Around you. Around someone. The giver. The receiver. That is, after all, the model of Jesus, whose grace brings about salvation, healing, addiction, recovery, and any number of other miracles. But more often than not, I'm guilty of displays of grace that amount to simple "good" deeds. It's entry-level stuff, far removed from the potential that God has placed in me. I wonder, do put my full potential into the 12-Step class I teach?

There is a question that tragically kills grace dead in tracks every single day.

It is the pathetic question: "What will people think?" 

Sadly these 4 dirty words dictate so much of our grace giving and receiving.

What will people think if I take my cheating husband back?

What will people think if I forgive the a-hole that took advantage of me?

What will people think if I move on from my mistake and find happiness again?

What will people think if I admit I'm addicted to pain killers?


What will people think if they see me talking to "that" person?

What will people think I walk down the aisle of a church and surrender my life to God?


Those 4 dirty little words. Questions like these kill grace.

Grace does truly cover all, giving you a fresh start and a hope for better and brighter days. Grace is the one event/action/emotion/conveyed experience that can give you a new outlook on your life and towards others.

Let grace cover all that you have been, and then see who you can be.

My worst enemy

Our enemies come from any number of places. From every walk of life. We know of them casually. We know some of them intimately who once were close friends. Some even have our same blood running through their veins. While others have been that of a betraying spouse.

Some of our enemies were vindictive and malicious with intent. Purposeful with a goal. For some we were simply collateral damage caught in their wake of destructive habits leaving us burned. For some, our enemies came about out of sheer naivety. Clueless on their part.

But what if our enemy is closer than our closest friend? They know us better than our family? More intimate with us than that of our spouse? When our worst enemy is ourselves. When we ourselves have inflicted our deepest wounds. When we alone caused ourselves the highest financial burdens. When we alone drove away those that loved us the most. When we alone caused ourselves the most damage. When we are left with shame and guilt.

The wounds we share

Suffering. We are both its creator and victim.

Being a Christian implies forgiving people that hurt you, even when they don't deserve it. Then again none of us "deserve" forgiveness. Come on, let's be honest; even when we know we should forgive, the context of our story can get in the way. Forgiving can be so frustrating!

Suffering is a reality we all wish never existed. We try our hardest to flee from its sight. Repulsed by its touch and sickened with its embrace. Rarely do we see it coming like an impending storm that's been building before it hits and we can at least prepare for it.

Mostly, out of nowhere it assaults us like a venomous snake attempting to fill our hearts and minds with deadly poison; especially our spirits. It wraps around us, squeezing the life out of us. We want to be free from its clutches, free from its influences, from its pain. But we can't. It is a part of us, a byproduct of what we are. An integral part of our fallen world. We ARE both its creator and its victim.

Unconditionally Biased Graced

We all have set opinions and beliefs about grace and second changes. For most of us it's our culture (church, or lack of), upbringing, friends and even our own prejudices that craft these beliefs. One of the most widespread believes about grace is that it is conditional. That it can be poured out based upon "this" criteria or "that" criteria. But not "this" criteria or "that" criteria.

Grace is biased. Grace is conditional. People are comfortable with past drinking and partying; especially if you throw in there in some church outreach. But what if I abused my wife or was unfaithful? People aren't comfortable with infidelity, or abuse, maybe because it hits too close to home. Whatever the reason, this kind of grace isn't unconditional; it's biased.

Biased grace alienates and isolates -- and it's what real grace was never meant to be.

Our ideas about grace are way too small. Second chances are the greatest gifts we can give someone. Grace is a lifestyle, not an idea or concept. It can be debated, discussed, and preached along with second chances but that won't change anything. Grace has to be unleashed in our day-to-day lives. Our real beliefs about grace will be carried out in our actions whether we realize it or not. Are we real or are we fake? And we can't hide it.

Many people I meet are reminders of why we need to be purposeful about Grace. We have to strive to be like Christ, and actively fight against our grace bias. We need to look for opportunities, not just to practice "grace equality," but to practice this radical grace....uncomfortable grace,--even for the adulterer, the bigot, the blasphemer, the broken.

When we don't show grace to someone who doesn't show grace, we've lost sight of the meaning of grace.

We are called time and time again to give big grace to others. We've taken on the job of extending friends and strangers with this grace. Admitting that people ruin us, abuse us and wound us we will still extend (or at least try to extend) God's infinite grace to them.

Have you ever felt the glaring eyes of judgment from someone? Have you heard words that have left you feeling like you weren't good enough? Have you been in conversations where you've heard someone get run down, and you wonder what they say about you when you're not around? Have you ever felt like you didn't belong? Have you ever felt like something you did in your past now defines you to the people you know?

How often are we the one's quick to judge? How often do I make assessments about someone before I know the whole story when I have my own story?

Do I freely give grace and second chances?

No, I cannot change people...control people...make people behave in a way I think is appropriate.

I CAN be kind...love more...ask their perspective before forming my opinion...show grace...Love never fails.

Our ability to offer grace and forgiveness cannot be dependent on if we receive it first or not. We just have to give it. And while it can be hard and uncomfortable, God gives us what we need to help us dispense complete grace and forgiveness when we feel like doing anything else but that. Grace and forgiveness never begins with a feeling.

One act, one comment, one hug, could radically change the destiny of someone else.

Today exists not because the sun and moon need something to do. Today is the double-overtime opportunity for grace to battle our culture where pain is entertaining, and brokenness runs rampant.

We all will have chance after chance before the day is done to show grace to someone, it may take effort, it may feel awkward, but it is a very real choice.

I am not a lie

I have a nasty little secret that rarely makes its presence known. It's not a secret that tries to remain unknown from the world. It's a secret because it tries so hard to disguise itself and blend in making it difficult to be distinguished. I'm talking about the hardest to explain episode of bipolar: the dreaded "mixed episode."

Often times the most dangerous episode and more often the most overlooked and forgotten. Even by myself until it's too late and after it has subsided as I look back in its wake do I realize has just occurred.

Not quite depression, not quite mania, but a hideous combination of the two. Sometimes flip-flopping from one to the other, from one day to the next or as quick as from morning to night. Sometimes the despair of depression laced with the energy and urgency of mania all in one. Trying to explain how a mixed episode feels is like trying to explain colors to the blind. Or the vast differences of the sounds of languages to the deaf. Impossible. But I'll give it a shot.

Consistent research has shown that people with bipolar are like vampires when it comes to sunlight. Too much is not good. Exposure to extended amounts of sunlight has the capability to trigger mania. I do my best to avoid it. So it would go without saying the summer months carry the highest rates for manic episodes. Sleep deprivation is another trigger; of which I am accustom to, never having been successful at obtaining a healthy sleep cycle.

The comfort of guilt

Bipolar is haunted with a number of emotions. Anyone who walks around carrying the diagnosis will tell you so. Any mental illness carries its own number of lingering emotions. It is after all a mood disorder of depression, anger, frustration, excitement, happiness, joy, pride...I could go on.

Even the most caring people in a person with bipolar's life can stigmatize against them without realizing it by most often associating them with the "stereotypical" bipolar emotions. Of all the emotions related to this disorder the one most overlooked is the feeling of guilt.

Growing up, and even in our adult years, we've all had things we swore we've never do. We've had dreams and goals we wished to accomplish. An idea of the person we wanted to be. But what happens when that changes? What happens when those dreams don't come true? What happens when you realize you're not the person you'd hoped to be? Today I am no where close to where I had hoped to be years ago.

Hating haters makes me a hater

Have you ever been hated? I mean truly hated for one reason or another. For what you are. For what you have. I'm not talking about some spat between friends who piss each other off. I'm talking pure hatred that would cause someone to literally go out of their way to destroy your life or at the least make you miserable.

I have. I have known and experienced true hatred. Hatred that was bread out what of what I am, bipolar. I don't care what people say trying to be positive and supportive. Bipolar is who am. It's not what I have. It's been a part of me since childhood so you can't separate the two.

What is it about me, that makes people hate? I wish someone would tell me. God they're so mean. I've been mocked and ridiculed by law enforcement. Told my wife and children would be off without me. Told I wasn't worthy to speak. Told I was a piece of a shit and slammed down onto counters and the ground more than once by law enforcement. Yes, I made my mistake of driving under the influence. But in my defense I was under psychosis. I was locked in a cell wearing nothing a paper gown after informing them of my condition and denied medical care.

He called her daughter

It's been a while since I've been able to write anything due to a broken hand, but I couldn't wait any longer so I figured I would peck this one out with a barely decent broken right hand, of which I predominate in, and my left hand.

There was this woman. Not an ordinary woman. She was inflicted with a physical infirmity that had lasted at least 12 years. We don't know how old she was. Maybe she was only 22; or 30; or even 40. Does it matter? You bet it matters.

There are some things in this story that's not provided to us. For example, who's fault is it that this woman is inflicted? Hers? A strangers? A family member? In any case we know she's a victim. 

On the surface the Bible tells us this woman had an "issue" of blood for twelve years. For the most part, people who fail to dig into God's word fall short of seeing her real issue. It is a common belief her issue was just some problematic blood issue such as hemophilia, the condition where the blood is unable to coagulate.

The hemorrhaging issue was the least of her problems even though she was in the market to seek healing from Jesus. A place of ultimate shame for her. Of all places, she was forbidden in the public market.

Final: Hated Father

It is fatherhood which makes childhood possible.

One of the last scenes of the movie Saving Private Ryan really stands out to me. If you recall the scene where, as an old man, Ryan is standing with his wife at the grave of Capt. John Miller surrounded in a field of white crosses. He was the platoon leader who, along with several other men that gave their lives to see that at that time private Ryan safely return to his family who had already lost his multiple brothers in the war.

Ryan seemingly overwhelmed by a number of emotions kneels and as if they were standing face to face tells him he's never forgotten those last words, "Earn it," the captain spoke to him as he slipped away after receiving a fatal wound.

Ryan turns to his wife, catching her by surprise and seeking true affirmation asks her, "Tell me I've led a good life. Tell me I'm a good man." Confused but honest she responds, "You are."

Perfectly Broken...

A priceless perfume falls to the floor, scattered in brokenness. It had been a wedding gift to be poured out upon her new husband's feet. It's her very own dowry. Her statement of complete love and devotion. In disbelief she was criticized. Her actions or inflictions are not revealed to us, but they knew them. They knew what she had been doing. They knew her story. No matter it was she had reach point; brokenness. Whatever the burdens, whatever the pains and hurts were, she couldn't carry them anymore. She faced two choices: stay wasted or find restoration. Walking into that room was like walking into a den of vipers. But it's there she finds that her brokenness is necessarily painful; that it was His gift. When facing our personal brokenness, any hope of restoration often eludes us. It seems safer to accept the loss -- unaware of God’s hand in brokenness.

I Was Born A Year Ago Today

"How much can you know about yourself if you've never been in a fight? I don't wanna die without any scars..." - Chuck Palahniuk, author of  Fight Club

I think people would agree that a fight that's one-sided isn't really a fight. That's just a beating. That's a bully taking advantage of someone weaker than he or she is. A real fight is back and forth; you trade blows.

The keeping of one's faith is similar. If you want to be a Christian or even remotely God-conscious, this life will fight you for it. It's going to hit you, and as commonly said, nobody hits harder than life. The world tries to take your joy and your peace with every unwanted circumstance, every unexpected tragedy, and every unforeseen pitfall.

It's as easy as yoga!

No, I've never tried yoga. And it looks hard. Not to mention the idea of being that little clothed while sweating and breathing so close to others just makes me shiver! But I've been stretched quite a few times throughout my life.

While in the midst of needing some much needed income I threw my back out on the job in the summer of 2006. The pain was intensely outrageous. It was sharp like a needle piercing from my lower back sending sharp pulses down through both of my legs and into my feet. The slightest movement made my face contort and my teeth grit. Standing up took every ounce of energy and concentration. Turning, twisting or bending over was impossible. Needless to say, I was not able to work to earn that much needed income. Today I look back and see how I was stretched in more than one way during that experience and how I missed the mark for that opportunity for that possible preparation for things that were soon to come.

I saw the doctor who had me do physical therapy. I knew what that entailed and what was coming. The thought of purposely working my back made cringe and I wasn't looking forward to it. Besides, I already spent pretty much all my time lying down because of the pain. But it was better than a quick fix of muscle relaxers and pain meds.