Aj Schwanz

So I didn’t make it through National Blog Posting Month: the flu kinda kicked my patootie. I could beat myself up as I’m inclined to do (stinkin’ perfectionistic tendencies), but instead I’ve decided to say, “Hey. I did half of November: yay me! And November will come around again: better luck next time.” Sometimes it’s hard to look at the big picture and recognize that there will be another chance, that things come around again.

Sometimes whether you want them to or not. Another cyclical element in my life has been depression. It’s come and gone since I was a teenager. I’ve dabbled in things here and there to waylay it: ignoring, medication, counseling, too much tv watching or eating or working out or cleaning or organizing, etc.

Last year I took a 10 week course on Overcoming Depression by Dr. Nedley (who I affectionately refer to as simply “Nedley”. If you saw him, you’d understand - a little on the stiff side) which focused basically on healthy living, but reinforcing that for us with a chemical predisposition towards depression, the recommended activities are a *must*.

I’ve also found some healing through Theophostic Ministry as well as prayer and healing and self-identity stuff at the Journey to Wholeness.

I’ve found comfort in listening to Graham Cooke talk about how God calls folks out into wilderness periods because He wants to reveal Himself to them - to ge them alone - that He does it out of love (note: when did Jesus go into the wilderness? Right after God proclaimed his approval of Christ’s intentions). Graham’s talked about learning to abide in the wilderness: to receive and respond, which is very different from our can-do American attitude.

It’s also been helpful to understand my personality type according to the Four Temperaments. One quarter of the population is a melancholy (like me). One quarter of the population is prone towards depression. Hmm: stats lining up? Our temperament feels things very deeply and goes through a much more extensive process of grieving those losses (which looks like depression to other folks, and may be, if we’re told to “get over it” instead of getting through it).

Lately I’ve heard a number of folks talk about feeling abnormally blue/down/tired/discouraged/anxious/irritable/in a fog. Which seems to fall under the umbrella of depression. I think it’s an epidemic in Oregon: people can tell me as much as they want that the weather doesn’t affect them, but until they visit a state where there’s sun and actually happy people, I beg to differ.

I’m wondering what to do with these noticings and the information I’ve collected. Record numbers of folks in the church are experiencing spiritual bleakness: how much more is beyond the church walls?

What would be helpful to folks who are going through this time?

Education? — How to live in the day to day (proper diet, exercise, etc.)?  Education on how to think properly (cognitive behavioral therapy)?

Prayer and healing? — Praying to reveal the lies we’re believing?

Practical? — Bringing meals to folks who are too tired/blue to take care of themselves?  Finding childcare?  Household help?

Discernment? — Perhaps God is allowing depression to enter our lives as a means to gather us together to discern something bigger God’s calling us to?

I don’t know if any of this rings true with you, if any of it sounds good or right, or if you’ve even thought about something like this.  I don’t know that I’m explaining myself very well (verbalization and sleep deprivation aren’t necessarily friends); if only Steve-O was here to interpret for me - he’s great at that.

Thoughts?  Comments?  Political statements?

This is another day, O Lord.  I know not what it will bring forth, but make me ready, Lord, for whatever it may be.  If I am to stand up, help me to stand bravely.  If I am to sit still, help me to sit quietly.  If I am to lie low, help me to do it patiently.  And if I am to do nothing, let me do it gallantly.  Make these words more than words, and give me the Spirit of Jesus.   Amen.

A.k.a.  Please no more pukey and achey:  thankyouverymuch.

Two of my favorite podcasts to listen to, of very different topics, have somewhat colaborated in bring up concerns.

Speaking of Faith is participating in American Public Media’s series Consumed:

We are what we buy — a glib adage to be sure, but it prompts an interesting question: Is our consumer society sustainable? American Public Media takes on that question in this special series. We follow consumerism from its origins to its dominance in the world’s economy and, arguably, its culture. And we examine how, and if, it might be adapted to reduce its destructive consequences while keeping store shelves stocked.

SoF’s contribution is “Money and Moral Balance“:

The sales are starting, the stores are open late, and many of us are gearing up to spend more money than we actually have in a holiday season with deep roots in religion. We explore the turmoil many of us experience with money in our day-to-day lives — and how we might work towards a moral and practical balance for ourselves and the next generation.

I have yet to listen, but am eager.

And The Splendid Table is hosting a survey on listener preferences on food and sustainability:

On The Splendid Table we often talk about organic, locally-grown and seasonal foods as important factors in taste and environmental sustainability. Now we want to know: how far are you willing to go to eat sustainably? Do you have access to locally-produced and organic foods? These are just a few of the questions we raise in the first national survey of it’s kind on food sustainability.

It’s not surprising that it’s happening this time of year when the glut seems to come out to play (or get shoved in our faces - thank you Christmas songs being played at the Dollar Store starting two weeks ago).   As I hear it from the Faith-y world and the Food-y world, I can’t not pay attention and wonder if holistic living is somewhat being laid out before me . . . .

Okay, so now that I’ve blessed you all with some joy, I can’t seem to get it out of my head:  it could be that I listened to a podcast of Stephen Colbert reading his book, or it could be that my brain is easily impressed at this point, but I can’t not see him dancing back and forth and singing.  I found out through the podcast that he’s a second grade Sunday School teacher;  perhaps that was one of their worship performances, although he’s Irish Catholic . . .

The other week at Bible Study the speaker shared a story about waiting for her coffee and listening to the baristas discuss whether or not they would go out clubbing that night:  one was all for it, and the other wasn’t because it was the third night in a row.  The speaker’s response:  “Well, duh!  Who would go out clubbing that often?  What kind of a life is that?  How boring!” and other such disparaging remarks.  This was in the context of not leading a self-absorbing life, but rather spending our selves on others - a life of meaning.

As she continued on calling us to a different sort of life, a small little person inside of me who I haven’t heard from in quite some time cried out, “But I *miss* clubbing!”  When I was single and living in another state, my roommate and I would go out a great many nights, mostly just to get dinner because cooking was not our schtick.  But Saturday nights were reserved for dancing.  We’d go to this obnoxious club and dance our little hearts out until they played “Sweet Caroline” as the closing song, flung on the lights, and we all walked out sweating our way to the car.

Yes, sometimes it was repetitive.  And it certainly wasn’t a “deep” experience.  But there was some community elements to it - meeting folks who frequented at the same time, coming up with names for them since we didn’t actually know their names, everyone cheering for the same song, etc.  And to dance:  just to be in a room with lots of other people and blaring music and being part of that energy -man, I miss that.

I’ve read about folks combining worship and clubbing:  this article is really quality.  And a friend of mine recently wrote about the idea of joy in the story of David dancing “naked” in the streets as the Ark of the Covenant returned to Jerusalem.  His wifey scorned him for his joy (he wasn’t naked:  just in robes, but still - dressed down) and she ended up childless, and child birthing is something the Bible refers to as a major joyful thing.

Part of the reason I like the Colbert clip is because he is joyful and unashamed.  True, he does that for a living, but still:  can you imagine if someone danced like that in a worship gathering?  Maybe they do at your faith community.

I think I’d like to be part of something like that.  It takes practice, though.  When I started going out on Saturday nights, I hung out to the sides.  But after a few weeks, my roommate and I were in the midst of it all.  When I attend Journey to Wholenesses it takes a couple of music sessions before I feel comfortable twirling, whereas the facilitators are “twirling fools” the minute the music starts up.

Joy and worship:  do you see it?  What does it look like for you?  Would you ever dance?

I really appreciate everyone’s comments as of late and profusely apologize for not responding:  I’m lucky to have enough time (and functioning brain cells) to write a post.  Many many dankes.  Your comments, prayers, and thoughts bring me joy:  real joy.

But since the boys are sleeping and I should be as well, I’ll cop out of this post and leave you with this and this.  They’re not real joy, but they are my giggly places, especially in the wee hours of the morning (Judah digs them, too, asking repeatedly for “appyappyjoyjoy” and “dance, Mama, dance!”).

One of Judah’s favorite afternoon activities is to go get the mail.  He loves to get into the closet where the household keys hang from a caribeaner and run out to the mailbox, usually in barefeet, exclaiming that he can reach the mailbox this time, which of course he can’t because it’s a foot taller than he is.  A few times I’ve gone to get the mail when he’s supposed to be sleeping, but having been spied upon from his bedroom window, I turn around to the cries of, “Mama!  Ju-wah!  Mail!  Wait!” as he tears after me with his barefeet hauling as fast as he can go.  It’s quite precious, minus the fact that he’s not taking a nap like he should.

But we didn’t get the mail yesterday.  It was stormyyuckynasty, so I decided the mail could wait.  Judah, however, did not:  and since I wouldn’t take him outside, he decided to play with the mail keys anyway, telling me that he hid them.  “Where are they?”  “MamaDaddy’s room.”  “Hmm, sneaky.  Go put them back in the closet please.”

Last night I had a writing group to attend, and wanting a little peace and quiet before leaving, I did what every sane mother has known to do:  I locked myself in the bathroom. Which, you know the sound of a locked bathroom door is the loudest sound on the face of the earth to an inquisitive toddler.  “Mama, what you doin?  Mama, I come in!  Mama, it’s Ju-wah!  Lemme in!”  I ignored him and contined to freshen up.  All of a sudden:  no power.  My folks had lost power at their place earlier that day, so I figured it just took its time winding down the valley.  But looking out my window I noticed:  my neighbors have power.  And walking out of my bedroom I realized the rest of my house had power.

“Jason, the circuit breaker up here needs to be fixed.”

A few minutes later I went back upstairs to get my shoes on and noticed something usual:

• A carribeaner.
• With two keys.
• Placed in the electrical socket outside of our bathroom.

“Jason!  I know why we had no power.”

As I tried to kick the keys out of the socket, sparks started flying and lights started flickering.  Jason told me he’d get a stick from the garage to remove it.  Judah, sensing excitement in the air as only he can, came up the stairs in front of Jason.  As I started to chastize him firmly about keys and electrical sockets, he tore into our room as though to hide his misdeed.

“JUDAH!  STOP!”

We shrieked at him.  He grabbed the carribeaner, tore into his brother’s room, and burst into tears.  Tears not of remorse, but of terror.  We scared him.  But not as badly as he scared us.

Driving to writing group I called my dad.  “So apparently your grandson has a word of prophesy spoken over him:  he’s not meant to die tonight.”  My dad groaned repeatedly as I told him the story.  I was able to laugh about it some, and we joked about how Judah probably has an Old Testament-sized fleet of angels guarding him.

But then my mom called me back and left me a message — and the gravity of the situation hit me.  She did not laugh; she was really upset.  I started to realize what could have happened that night, on a very typical night, right outside of my bathroom.

Lord, thank you for your protection.  And thank you for being in the minute details.  And please give thanks to the angels who guard my son:  I don’t know what you’re paying them, but it’s gotta be good.

I thank You God for most this amazing
day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes

(I who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun’s birthday; this is the birth
day of life and of love and wings;and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)

how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any—lifted from the no
of all nothing—human merely being
double unimaginable You?

(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)

~e.e. cummings

So last night looked like:

• Put Abel down for bed around 9:00ish.
• Nursed him in his sleep before I went to bed because the “dreamtime feeding” is supposed to help him sleep longer.
• He woke up at 12:15 - patted him to sleep for 20 minutes.
• He woke up at 1:30 - nursed him and patted him to sleep for 30 minutes.
• Judah woke up at 2:30 and had had an accident - mostly our fault because a) he was sleeping hard due to not having a nap that day and 2) we forgot to have him go to the bathroom before bed.
• Got to bed at 2:50 after having started a load of laundry and feeding the cat, lest he pace on top of me for the rest of the night.  Jokingly told Jason,  “The sad thing is that Abel will be up in an hour.”  Couldn’t fall asleep.
• Guess who woke up at 3:52?  Nursing.  Patting.  Back to bed at 4:30.
• At 5:30 Abel joined us in bed because he has a thing for memory foam (does anyone know if they make it cradle-sized?).
• And at 7:30am he was up.

Now,  we’re supposed to learn a lot about God - our relationship with Him, etc. - through parenting.  He’s our “Heavenly Parent.”  So, what would be His version of nighttime wakings and feedings?  And what’s there to learn in the midst of the weariness?  Because God doesn’t get weary, but boy howdy:  I sure am.

In my Bible Study homework it says “To become ‘weary’ doing good means ‘to give in to trouble; to become exasperated by difficulty, be defeated in spirit, discouraged, or faint-hearted; to despair, lose heart’ (New Testament Lexical Aids).  The Complete Word Study Dictionary of the NT adds this definition: ‘to turn out to be a coward, to lose one’s courage.’”

The answer apparently is to “spend myself” - but right now I’m wondering if there’s much of me to spend.  I know this is just a season and that it will pass, but my how the season seems to last forever when I’m in the midst of it.

Today’s Oregonian had an article on the Advent Conspiracy due to it’s Portland ties.  One phrase in a quote caught my eye:

“These are relational gifts,” he says: God gives himself to people, so people will give of themselves to the poor.

Normally at Christmas I get caught up in the frenzy with everyone else.  Last year I had most gifts planned out before October.  Why?  Because gift giving is one of my love languages, and I fear the criticism of not giving love in the appropriate way.  And because I cave into the advertizing messages of needing to find the “perfect” gift so as to have the “perfect” holiday.

I can’t do that this year.  I’m plain too tired to run around collecting all sorts of things that folks probably won’t remember about next year.

But if it’s a “relational” gift . . . that’s something that’s more memorable.  I remember my parents giving me a cat because I had been asking for one repeatedly (plus, I think it was a guilt-gift because my dad had to be in Denver for business on my birthday).  I remember my brother making me mix cds with hilarious titles (when I was single and my brother realized I was out on the dating scene, they were mostly threats like “get your hands off my sister” along with “die, peeping tom, die” - yes, I had one of those).  I remember Jason finding me an unopened *record* of John Denver and the Muppets Rocky Mountain Holiday, an album I listened to repeatedly as a kid.  I remember many of the dolls my mama stayed up way too late making, usually the day before my parties that she threw.  I remember my dad randomly giving me a binder that had the entire New Testament printed out double spaced so that I could have room to take notes in it.  Things like that . . .

“Relational giving.”  What have been some of the best relational gifts you’ve given?  Received?  Why did they make such an impression?  I think it’s wonderful to give, to receive, but also to share the stories - to remember why and what we gift, just as we remember why and what God gifted us.

A while back C. Wess asked me a question about why in the world I listen to Mark Driscoll’s podcast.  Honestly, I don’t know, but something inside resonates with what he says, although I often bristle at the presentation.  Perhaps I sense the truth behind his words, looking beyond the stuff I don’t agree with which often seems to be spoken out of a place of brokenness.

Yeah, that’s a totally girly answer.

I haven’t listened to last week’s teaching, but reading Bob Hyatt’s post has me actually looking forward to my 2:30am wake up call so I can pop in my “ears” and take a listen.

However, words are one thing; attitude and actions are another.  I am eager to see how this “confession & repentance” manifests itself both in the pastor and the congregation, particularly in regards to the women I’ve connected with who have felt squashdicated in following their calls.

Goodness does.