My Journey Into Darkness: Finding Hope When It's Gone Missing

My body is on fire. My legs, arms and lower back are burning up. I didn't realize that taking a little more than a week off from exercise would feel this way. But blame and shame are two words that I'm trying to extract from my mental repertoire of go-to personal phrases. I was sick off-and-on for two weeks, and I even worked out half that time. Then, we had the week of Thanksgiving officially off at boot camp. And now, here I am, back in the saddle. I probably pushed myself too hard. 

The way I feel right now physically parallels my mental and spiritual fatigue these past two months. Since my post recalling our theft situation, our apartment storage locker has been broken into twice. The culprit broke the door latch and lock off both times, surprisingly leaving everything inside. We had to pay for replacement locks and door latches and are still paying for the piece of mind that the burglar took and continues to dangle over our heads. Then, a few weeks ago, I found out that a dear family friend committed suicide. A week later, their spouse committed suicide. With my Stephen Ministry training, I have been trying my best to deal with the emotional earthquake that rattled my family and friends with this information. It's hard. I don't know how to describe it better than that. I am still hurting. That's how I respond when people ask me how I'm doing. It's so confusing. I say that phrase when people give me their best "advice" about how to deal with something as traumatic as suicide. Beyond these situations (and a few others that I will spare you), we recently found out that a major scholarship Ken had won is now forfeit because of his current military benefits. That blow came last week and I'm dealing with the aftershock. Early this summer, we structured our entire monthly budget around those funds and have been living off them, in a state of expectation. Mind you, Ken and I are committed to living frugally and within our means, and well, those means were promised to us. Shock, anger, confusion--yes, we felt all of those, together and separately, in questioning how we will make ends meet these coming months. Our new budget, which I started mapping out this morning, is now 1/3 of our previous monthly budget. That means that we either need to cut back on 2/3 of our expenses to balance out or draw from savings to meet the need. No matter how I crunch numbers, it's frustrating and discouraging. Without going into further detail, something needs to change. I'm realizing that. But it's so hard. 

As Christmas approaches, I'm starting to understand better how the holidays are a struggle for many families. There's so much pressure to buy and receive lots of gifts. But what if you can't afford that? Is that what Christmas is about? Also, what happens when you're really tired of giving and just want to receive--something, anything? Especially from those who seem to require the most. According to the popular "5 Love Languages" book, I give love and receive love by giving gifts. That explains why I love picking out the perfect gift for a friend. It makes my day. Likewise, when someone gives me a gift that is well thought out and meaningful, I feel loved. The reverse is true when I'm not remembered or given something trite. I'd rather not receive anything, if that's the case.

I guess I mention these things because today I'm grappling with them. There's lots of tension in my mind between easy and hard times, giving and receiving, living faithfully or fearfully. My life is a combination of all these things and I'm struggling to find hope, when I keep being met with disappointment. Deep down, there's a spark of faith that God will meet us in this hard place but I have to keep praying that the ongoing darkness with not snuff it out. And maybe, just maybe, there's a brighter Light somewhere in this place that will be worth the journey into the darkness...

Rosemary-Chili Roasted Almonds: DIY Gift or Everyday Snack!

Packing for trips--even if I'm headed some place wonderful--is quite daunting for me. There's something overwhelming about needing to pack everything I'll use for a few days or a week at a time. In a teeny-tiny duffle bag or carry-on suitcase. What if I miss something? What if I pack all of my cutest dresses and it's unbearably cold and I have to wear all of them at one time, because I didn't pack well? These are thoughts that come to mind, as I sort through my leggings, coats, dresses, hair supplies and various other feminine essentials. I'm trying to figure out exactly what I "need" so that none of the space is wasted in my one bag. Ken and I are headed to Spokane this afternoon, en route to my cousin and his wife's home, where we'll spend Thanksgiving. I'm so excited for the quality time with one of my closest childhood friends and his sweet wife, who I love getting to know better each trip. On their last trip to visit us in Seattle, my cousin's wife introduced me to roasted rosemary almonds. It was love at first bite. I found a recipe similar to hers and have included it below. Well, back to packing I go. I'm thankful that I took a mid-morning break to make these tasty almonds to bring on our 5+ hour drive. Toasted almonds make a great snack or DIY gift to share with friends--especially in this season of giving! Enjoy!

Roasted Rosemary-Chili Almonds

Adapted from Ivy Manning's Cooking Light recipe

Ingredients:
1 1/2 tablespoons finely chopped fresh rosemary
1 tablespoon extra-virgin olive oil
1 teaspoon chili powder
1 teaspoon salt
Dash of ground red pepper
1 (10-ounce) bag whole almonds (about 2 cups)

Directions:
Preheat oven to 325 degrees.

Combine all ingredients in a medium bowl; toss to coat. Arrange nut mixture in a single layer on a baking sheet lined with foil. Bake at 325° for 12-15 minutes or until lightly toasted. Cool to room temperature.

The Unexpected Gift

The Uses of Sorrow 

by Mary Oliver

(In my sleep I dreamed this poem)

Someone I loved once gave me

a box full of darkness.

It took me years to understand

that this, too, was a gift.

It's a bit past 7 a.m. this Friday morning and here I am, staring blankly at my brightly lit computer screen, hoping that the fluorescent panel will satiate my need for actual sunlight. Humidity trapped in my bedroom causes water droplets to arrange themselves playfully in a thin layer across my glass window. It's raining from the inside today. That must mean it's time to cue my dehumidifier--the large and fairly awkward, box-like contraption that draws water from the air. This apartment is my first experience in needing a dehumidifier. I guess some places are better at circulating the moisture, while this apartment likes to trap it and keep it inside.

As Thanksgiving approaches, I've been questioning what it is that I'm thankful for. The holiday itself elicits mixed emotions for me. I recall learning the "history" of how the Native Americans helped the Pilgrims by supplying them with corn and other food crops during the winter, when the Pilgrims had first arrived in America. The story gets fuzzy after that...perhaps the Native Americans invited the Pilgrims over to their place and had a really big turkey dinner, complete with mashed potatoes, candied yams, hot rolls and pumpkin pie. Or, was it just a simple meal of corn and vegetables with little meat involved? To take it even further, maybe the Native Americans weren't really given a choice in having to share their food with the Pilgrims. I digress. As I get older, the details are harder to grasp and understand in context. But the idea of Thanksgiving remains. And instead of focusing on what this "holiday" might mean to the average American, I'd like to instead contemplate words I've read somewhere about 'being a person of thanks' and 'sacrificing thank offerings'. Those words and ideas make sense--at least when things are going well.

I was given this poem by Mary Oliver from a friend Tuesday evening. She read it aloud to my group in our meeting, tears grazing her face. Her words struck a cord deep within me. It resonated with all the women in attendance. Each of the ladies had been transparent that night in sharing our struggles, or in carrying the burdens of others. As Oliver writes, "Someone I loved once gave me a box full of darkness. It took me years to understand that this, too, was a gift." The timing of this poem was perfect. It coincides with my list of what I'm thankful for.

I'm thankful for the countless ways that God shows me that He's real. I'm thankful for my incredible husband, my family, my friends, my community group, my work in a field that I love, my quirky spirit, my love for all things creative, my baker's hands. I'm also thankful for my past, for the experiences that have allowed me to seek God from a place of desperation. I'm thankful for the gift of sorrow. I'm thankful because it reminds me that I am not crafted for a world where there is darkness and despair. I have hope for something Greater, which perhaps in feeling sorrow, I can better understand and cling to--because my heart is not rooted in this world. My story doesn't end in pain. 

It's ironic that during the holiday season, I feel a greater awareness of the desperation of others. Frenetic shopping, decadent meals, gifts that won't really satisfy. It's an odd reality, the world we live in. But as I re-read Mary Oliver's poem, I'm encouraged. Her words are paradoxical, because who would want to receive the gift of darkness? And who would think it fair to share that gift with someone else? How can pain be a blessing? I don't have the answer to that question for anyone else but me. It is a gift that I received long ago and sometimes find myself re-opening. It's a painful process, but one that becomes more hopeful as I share it with others.

Behind the Scenes: Photos from Ken's Birthday!

Once-in-a-lifetime. That's the phrase that comes to mind as I recall Ken's birthday dinner. A couple weeks ago, we had the opportunity to dine at SkyCity Restaurant, high atop Seattle's Space Needle. If any of you have eaten there, you know what I mean. The view is breath-taking, the food was delicious, and we celebrated my incredible husband's 28th birthday--no small feet (in more ways than one.) I hope you enjoy these photos. If you get the chance, I highly recommend visiting the Space Needle at least once in your life.

Happy Birthday, Commodore!

Dreaming like Daniel and the Fine Line Between Illusion & Truth

It felt so real. Those are the words that echo in my mind this cold November morning. Even with the heat cranked on high in our tiny one bedroom apartment, I feel a chill rush through my bones, as I recount a particular episode from last night. If I were to start backwards, it's 3:39 a.m. and I've just lept out of the comfort of my bed, in a state of urgency. I'm wide awake, as if everything instantly became clear. I'm on a mission. I've cracked the code, so to speak. I'm ready to brake free from the confines of my locked room. But reality swiftly sets in--it's pitch black, far from dawn, and I was only dreaming.

Now, let's start at the beginning.

Do you ever have those dreams where you wake up and you're positive that whatever just happened while your eyes were closed was, in fact, pure reality? It happened, I'm sure of it. I felt the bittersweet emotions, I tasted the tears that ran down my face and also laughed during the moments of overwhelming joy, I heard the voice of my friends, my husband--I know I did. That's exactly how my heart processed the details when I awoke today. I remember going to sleep a little after 9 p.m., when I finally got my pillow tucked under my head in the most ideal position. My breathing relaxed and I nodded off.

And that's when I woke up in another room.

The light in my new bedroom was muted. A bedside lamp to my right, flickered on and I could tell that something was a little off. I had been in this room before. It was the room at my grandmother's house where she'd make me take afternoon naps as a child. I'd lie on the twin size bed, twiddling my thumbs, wishing that I didn't have to take naps--naps were silly. But no, wait. It wasn't that exact bedroom. I'm not there, am I? I know--it's my dorm room at college! Junior year, Goodwin Hall. The same musty smell and cramped quarters. I didn't like that room very much either. Three girls sharing one room was a recipe for conflict. As I pace about my room, I notice qualities that remind me of other rooms I've lived in--my parent's upcountry Maui home, my Aunt's dark and chilly basement, all possessing distinct qualities that somehow have melded into this one room.

Suddenly, I don't want to be here. I want to go home, or at least somewhere safer. Too many difficult memories--pain, confusion, entrapment. As I walk over to the door to leave, it's locked. I start to panic and am met with a stifling sense of solitude. No one else is here. It's just me and all these memories, locked up. My eyes scatter about my surroundings. Old books, magazines, clothing, jewelry and favorite keepsakes line the bed, the dresser, the floor. I feel overwhelmed. It's a hoarder's paradise. All around me are possessions I've owned throughout the years. Items I once found essential--my favorite pair of earrings, my childhood journal, dolls I lost. An eerie sense of wonder takes hold of me. For a moment, I'm excited at all these "treasures" but the loneliness swiftly creeps in. I'm alone, in this room, trapped with this stuff.

It's not a goldmine, it's a prison.

My heart for these things begins to fade and I realize that I have to sort through them. I'm not sure why I come to this decision. But I do. And I act on it. One by one, I pick up each piece of jewelry and I place it in the trash. Looking back, I don't even know if there was a trashcan initially, but it appeared once I needed it. Gold and silver earrings went in the trash. Then the books, the magazines, the keepsakes--all sorted out and discarded. In what felt like seconds and also an eternity--everything was cleared. My bed was neatly made, the dresser and lampstand were empty, and a warmth permeated the space. I didn't feel so alone anymore.

At that moment, the door to my room opened and I noticed it was time to leave. The second I walked through the door, it was as if God whispered to me, "You made it. You are free. I am carrying you through a season of 'sorting' and all those things that you have locked up deep inside your heart are finally being sorted. And you can let them go, because I am doing a new thing. You don't need to hold on to them so tightly--I will give you what you need. Do not be afraid to let them go."

I'm crying now as I write this. There have been so many things that I have held on to over the years: pain, fear, insecurity--and also material items. But in Christ I can be free. I don't need to operate out of my past. I don't have to live in a world of false security, where the walls I create to protect me and my "treasure", instead obstruct me from experiencing true freedom.

Looking back, I'm not sure who opened the door or even if it was ever really locked from the outside. Perhaps it was locked from the inside and God allowed me to see that my choices were keeping me trapped in that place. I'm fascinated by the seemingly thin line between the illusion of freedom and true, unobstructed freedom. I want real freedom and the treasure of the Kingdom.

Lord, please continue to sort my heart. I want treasure that lasts.

"Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moth and rust do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also." 

Matthew 6:19-21