Therapy Thursdays

I am not a licensed therapist.

I have not taken a single psychology class.

I don’t even know what Freud invented; I just know he had the nasty-nasty’s for his own mother.

But seriously, those disqualifications aside, I am an excellent shrink.

It's the equivalency of stepping into the kitchen one day and baking your mother's famous chicken spaghetti without looking at the recipe. You've seen her cook it so many times that one day all the stars align and without even knowing it you have soaked in her kitchen wizardry and you can make the stuff blindfolded without even having to taste and see if there is enough salt.

That’s how it is with a good therapy session and me. I have sat in that room so many times, having so many epiphanies, speaking so many unspeakable things out loud about myself, and listening to very smart people as they dissect me, my family, my brain, and my environment; that phrases like “passive aggressive” “I need validation” “trigger words” “reverting to a childlike state” “I’m angry right now because…” and “how did that make you feel” seem like everyday conversation pieces.

I figure I’ve gleaned enough wisdom from my eight years of psycho babel that it is now safe for me to begin sharing those little marriage-saving, sanity-saving tidbits with those who will listen.

Required Participation

I'm taking a humorous approach to this subject but I believe with all my heart that every human being should have to see a therapist. I mean really, can't we all think of ten people we want to send to a shrink? Yep. I can think of about 30. And the scary thing is, the people I would send would probably send me as well. So the feeling is mutual. You make my list, I make yours. We all need a shrink.

If you don’t think you need one, trust me, you people are the worst.

As my friend Becky said, “I didn’t think I had a lot of stuff but then you get in there and you realize, I gotta lot stuff.” And if you could have seen the shocked look on her face when she said that… it made me laugh.

No shame. No weakness. It doesn’t make you crazy (or en vogue, new agey, or relationally elite). It’s just a shift in thinking, an eye opener, someone to sort through the pages with you. The scratched out lines, the scribbled in notes, the holes that the eraser left, the daydream doodles, the A plus and the F minus, the happy face sticker, and the note in red that says, “What happened? Please have your parent sign this paper and return,” Yikes. That one’s the worst.

We have these notebooks saved away with page after page telling the stories of our lives. Our stories are complicated. Happily ever after is for fiction books. We are non-fiction. We know the first part of our book well, too well, but we cannot see the last page. We can only see that there are decisions before us that will get us there. A good therapist walks you through the first part of your book and allows you a chance to process the good and bad chapters. Then they open up a door, then another, then another, and you are like Alice chasing the rabbit through Wonderland, and before you know it they have led you to a place where roads diverge and you can finally, thankfully, look at those roads with a clear mind, free heart, and enough healthy tools in your pocket to pick a road that is better than the one you are on now.

This is not necessarily a drastic measure; maybe the lines have simply been repainted on the road. Or maybe you are getting off a dirt road and onto pavement. Whatever the case, the therapist who is working for your good will walk alongside you as you pause to look at where you came from and will stand still (and sometimes terribly quiet) as you weigh your options and consider your next turn. Your next road. Your next destination.

So it is with that description of what therapy, in my opinion, is all about, that I give you the very first Therapy Thursdays. I hope these little insights will help you as much as they have helped me.

HALT.

Let’s start off easy. A few months ago Women’s Day magazine said they love the new word hangry. That’s right…

Hangry.

This is apparently what happens when one is so hungry that they actually become angry. And maybe you don’t understand this, but when I read the word I thought, “well sweet Jesus they finally named it!” There are times when I’m not just hungry; I’m hangry. I’m irritable and distracted. I’m mean and cranky. I’m so self-centered that I really don’t even hear other people. If you catch me when I am acting like that, odds are I am not mad at you, unhappy with life, in a hurry, or angry with anyone… I’m just so stinkin hungry that I could eat a small camel and I want everyone to leave me alone and get out of my way and just let me have food. It’s serious.

Ryan hates that they came up with this word. “This is not an excuse for being mean just because you are starving,” he says, “That is not even a real word!” He is convinced I should have the mental capabilities to deny my stomach’s desire for food and remain calm, cool, and collective. He is the master of his universe. Not me… I have no desire to master it, I just want to fix it; I just want food. So I have learned this much: if I am hungry, I eat before I do anything else.

I halt.

A good therapist would teach you right off the bat that you should never attempt anything relationally or internally when you are that hungry because it is quite simply the worst way to enter into rational dialogue. The truth is, some of us aren’t rational when we are hungry. Some people are not rational when they are angry. Some people are not rational when they are lonely. And some people aren’t rational when they are tired.

HALT. Hungry. Angry. Lonely. Tired.

Are you already angry at the world? Then it’s probably not a good time to talk to your teenager who has taken up the hobby of eye rolling. There is a chance you might kick the poor stupid child out of the house. You are angry, cool down first.

Are you lonely? Then you probably shouldn’t get on the phone with your husband who travels full time and have a conversation about his career choice and how that affects your marriage. Before you know it you might say really hurtful things and threaten to leave. You are lonely sweet friend. Have lunch with your sister, call an old friend and catch up on life, meet a new mom, seek out community and put the conversation on hold for a day or two.

Are you tired? Midnight is hardly the time to discuss whether you should move to another state, quit your job, ask your spouse if they are satisfied with your sex life, talk about the kids schedule, or share your lifelong hopes and dreams. And it is definitely not the time to hash out the relationship. You will start talking about the dog needing shots but then you might say something about a monkey and then you might think there is a monkey in your room and then you are snoring and then the monkey is in your bed and then you say mean things to the monkey about how they don’t help enough with the banana peels around the house… and then someone turns on the lamp and there is no monkey, only the other person. And you think, “Did I just say something bad about them?” You are tired, don’t talk.

And that’s how it all begins. Nothing healthy and life giving can be accomplished when you start off on the wrong foot. If you are hungry, angry, lonely, or tired trust all the smart people out there who have done the research that proves these things impede rational dialogue….

And HALT.

Address your own condition. Allow the other party to do the same. And then pick up where you almost began. It sounds simple, but it changes everything.

I’m a lot happier after I eat and Ryan is happy after a good nine-hour sleep. Do that and then we can talk about the bills, the bedroom, and the baby. But bring those up on an empty stomach after a long day and I am liable to be the worst possible version of myself. Her name is Crazy Jenny. And she is awful. So I try and keep her locked up by strictly adhering to the HALT system.

Hungry? Angry? Lonely? Tired?

Don’t go there. Repeat. Don’t go there.

Sleep. Calm down. Have a chat with a friend. Get some food.

The Words...

of Martin Luther King, Jr.

"It may well be, that the greatest tragedy of this period of social transition is not the glaring noisiness of the so-called bad people, but the appalling silence of the so-called good people."

"What is needed is a realization that power without love is reckless and abusive, and love without power is sentimental and anemic. Power at its best is love implementing the demands of justice, and justice at its best is power correcting everything that stands against love."

"True altruism is more than the capacity to pity; it is the capacity to sympathize. Pity may represent little more than the impersonal concern which prompts the mailing of a check, but true sympathy is the personal concern which demands the giving of one's soul."

"If we assume that life is worth living, if we assume that mankind has a right to survive, then we must find an alternative to war."

"If any of you are around when I have to meet my day, I don't want a long funeral. And if you get somebody to deliver the eulogy, tell them not to talk too long. Every now and then I wonder what I want them to say. Tell them not to mention that I have a Nobel Peace Prize, that isn't important. Tell them not to mention that I have three or four hundred other awards, that's not important. Tell them not to mention where I went to school. I'd like somebody to mention that day, that Martin Luther King, Jr., tried to give his life serving others. I'd like for somebody to say that day, that martin Luther King, Jr., tried to love somebody. I want you to say that day, that I tried to be right on the war question. I want you to be able to say that day, that I did try to feed the hungry. And I want you to be able to say that day, that I did try, in my life, to clothe those who were naked. I want you to say, on that day, that I did try, in my life, to visit those who were in prison. I want you to say that I tried to love and serve humanity."

Thank you Dr. King for your commitment to humanity, your courage in the face of trials, and for showing us what Jesus meant by turning the other cheek, loving our enemies, and taking care of the poor, widowed, and orphaned. You taught us love and patiently began the reversal of injustice and hate that were long overdue in this country. For that and much more, we honor you today.

(And let's be honest, thanks for the day off of work and school too...)

*all quotes and excerpts taken from: The Words and Inspiration of Martin Luther King, Jr. DREAM. Blue Mountain Arts, Boulder, CO, 2007.

Tough Topic Tuesday

In light of the great tragedy that has befallen our brothers and sisters in Haiti, I offer up today’s Tough Topic Tuesday with humility, urgency, and prayer.

Chapter Four: Profile of the lukewarm

Crazy Love, by Francis Chan

“Lukewarm people give money to charity and the church… as long as it doesn’t impinge on their standard of living. If they have a little extra and it is easy and safe to give, they do so. After all, God loves a cheerful giver, right?[i]”

“Lukewarm people are moved by stories about people who do radical things for Christ, yet they do not act. They assume such action is for the “extreme” Christians, not average ones. Lukewarm people call “radical” what Jesus expected of all His followers.”

“Lukewarm people will serve God and others, but there are limits to how far they will go, or how much time, money, and energy they are willing to give.”

“Lukewarm people are thankful for their luxuries and comforts and rarely try and give as much as possible to the poor. They are quick to point out, “Jesus never said money is the root of all evil, only that the love of money is.” Untold numbers of lukewarm people feel ‘called’ to minister to the rich; very few feel ‘called’ to minister to the poor.”

“It is not scientific doubt, not atheism, not pantheism, not agnosticism, that in our day and in this land is likely to quench the light of the gospel. It is a proud, sensuous, selfish, luxurious, church-going, hollow-hearted prosperity.[ii]”

Had enough?

It is the widow who throws her only two coins into the offering plate that Jesus commends for having a crazy love. She gives everything she has to live on(Luke 21:1-4).

She gives everything.

The other guys give out of their excess, they give out of duty, the give out of moral principles, they give so that others will know they are giving, perhaps they give because they genuinely want to do something… but nothing too crazy. Too radical. Or too sacrificial. They don’t want to go all in. And who blames them? If going all in seemed crazy 2000 years ago before the stock market, pension plans, college savings, retirement funds, and second houses were en vogue; then followers of Christ who go all in today must simply appear radicalized and insane to the rest of the world, huh? Surely Jesus didn’t mean “sell everything you own, give it to the poor, and follow me.” (Luke 18:22-24)

But what if that’s exactly what He meant?

What if we have become so diluted with our own happiness, inherent freedoms, and ability to have almost anything we want in this world, that we, the rich Christians, have stripped the words of Jesus away and created our own perverted, easy, lazy, selfish, mediocre, watered-down, damning religion that fits easily into our lives?

Uuuuggghhhh…we don’t want to label ourselves that way, do we? Some of you are cringing now. Some of you are thinking that I am being radical. Emotional. Over-zealous. Some of you feel defensive, as if I am pushing my own man-made, hyped up faith onto you. Or some of you truly think that I am only talking about something that God has called me to do. Not you. Not your family. Not your life. No. You’ve made your plans. You have a nice nest egg and you own your own home. You go to church. You tithe your money and give a little extra away to charities. You are right where you are supposed to be. And perhaps you are unnerved, angry, or defensive that someone is saying that there might be something wrong with what you are putting forth.

I have news for you (and remember, you asked for the re-birth of Tough Topic Tuesday, not me J) I am no radical. My parents aren’t zealots. And I didn’t grow up a missionary kid. Heck, I didn’t even go to private school or homeschool. I am not a tight fisted, narrow-minded republican; nor am I a hellbent public works democrat activist. I am just a girl in between. I am college educated, but I am not particularly brilliant. I have no Bible degree and I went to a university that had plenty of sex and alcohol to go around. I grew up Southern Baptist, but now I go to a Bible church. I love Jesus, but I don’t wake up at 5:00 am to pray and read scripture for three hours before my husband and daughter wake up (though I wish I did). I drink alcohol on occasion. I’ve been in counseling for much of my adult life. I still fight with my sisters. I like to go to the movies. Cuddle on the couch with my husband. I yell at Tony Romo when he fumbles the football. And I am quite sure I am one of Starbucks biggest financial backers.

I am glad for my role in Addison Road, extremely humbled to be a part of bringing music that points others towards Christ; but I am not a saint and I am certainly no different than any other person in this world.

I am no radical.

Here me say, those of you who have written the quotes off at the top of this blog as something that other people (the devoted, intense, crazy, missionary, extremists) are called to live by: those other people don’t exist.

It’s just us.

Sure, there are martyrs and Mother Theresa’s along the road, but they are one in a million. And Jesus didn’t look in the eyes of super-heroes and say, “leave it ALL to follow me.” He looked into the eyes of Fishermen. Prostitutes. Lepers. Tax collectors. Dads. Moms. Housewives. Sisters. Brothers. Children. Rich men. Poor men. Jews. Gentiles. And every average person in between. These are the people of the New Testament. And these are the people to whom Jesus said, “leave your mom and dad; don’t go back to bury the dead, they can bury themselves; sell everything; turn the other cheek; pick up the beaten man on the side of the road and care for him; have a party and invite the destitute; take care of orphans the way you would take care of me…”

And the very radical list continues…

And the rich man walked away sad.

He wanted to follow Jesus. But he didn’t want to part with his way of living.

And then Jesus looked the man in the eye and said, “How hard it is for the rich to enter the kingdom of heaven.” Jesus didn’t recruit overzealous weirdo’s. He called normal people, like you and I, to an extremely life-changing, demanding, hard, extremely, crazy life. To live like him. Holding nothing back. Giving away more than he actually had to give. And, then saying that even that was not enough. Because if you gave away everything and had not love it was nothing.

Still, we live like this doesn’t apply to us. Most of us walk through our lives with a puny, diluted little faith that doesn’t truly change us, or change the world around us. And Francis Chan actually goes as far as saying that perhaps those who fit the description of ‘lukewarm’ are not really Christ followers at all. Just church attenders.

Haiti

And this all leads me to Haiti.

What will our response be to the orphans who are without an orphanage? Someone else will adopt them? Someone else will go hold them? What about the money that NGO’s will need to help sustain their ministries and missions? Will someone else give extravagantly? Will someone else go hold the hands of the broken… or will you, the mom with three kids who doesn’t think it’s possible to break the mold and follow a crazy sort of call to care for the destitute?

Or me, the musician, who doesn’t think I can get out of shows and contracts, singing for Christians in big comfy cool youth rooms… so that I can actually go and do what Jesus said to do? How will we respond?

Is it crazy to drop everything and go or give.

Or is it lukewarm, empty faith, to simply give a hundred bucks and say, “Poor People”?

---

[i] Francis Chan, Crazy Love:Overwhelmed by a Relentless God (Colorado Springs, CO: David C. Cook, 2008), 69-71, 74-75.

[ii] Frederick D. Huntington, as quoted in Francis Chan, Crazy Love (Colorado Springs, CO: David C. Cook, 2008), 65.

Ubuntu

I sent out Christmas cards this year for the first time ever.

I can tell that I am going to hate sending out Christmas cards.

Not because of the work it requires or the insanely over-priced stamps. Not because I swore I would never send out a Christmas card that only read "Merry Christmas" and had our names on it (Who wants that kind of uneventful card? Give me some juicy life details please!) And not because I am forced to evaluate my incredibly inconsistent, scrawny penmanship while trying to remember where the comma goes in the address. These are just minor causes for concern in the grand scheme of card sending.

The problem is, nobody wrote me back.

I mean, did they get my card? Did they think the picture of Annie in her Santa outfit with her stuffed animals was cute? Did the card arrive before Christmas or after? Would they like to reciprocate my card with an email or letter? Shouldn't they say, "We got your Christmas card," and then proceed to strike up a conversation?

Granted, I've never responded to a Christmas card in my life. But now that I'm on the other side of sending, I realize I want a return card acknowledging that the card arrived and letting me know whether they liked it or not. I've decided...

Next year I am going to send a self-addressed envelope with my Christmas cards so I can get a response.

Thank you...

I started thinking about this last night as I was reading an e-mail from a girl in Thailand who reads this blog and had her own mouse-horror story to share with me. I was laughing so hard by the end that I was in tears. And it hit me, this girl who I don't know, just invited me into her life and into her story. I felt truly honored.

Lately I find myself reading your comments in response to my ramblings and I feel overwhelmed that you have decided to be a part of my journey. Thank you for your encouragement, your love, and your consistency. Thank you for letting me share my life with you. And more importantly, thank you for sharing your own stories with me, because in so doing, you invite me to become a small part of your life too.

Our Only Commodity

At lunch today, my friend Mark recounted a conversation he had with his friend about economics. They were talking about their commodities and the value of gold when it dawned on Mark that gold only has value because we have given it value. Along that line, nothing intrinsically has worth unless we as humans deem it so. And at the end of it all, those things which we give worth to on this earth will cease to exist. So, he reasoned, the only true commodity that we have is ourselves. Everything else is just stuff. But ourselves?

Our journeys, our stories, our compassion, our time, our hearts, our minds, our talents, our humanity... that is ours and ours alone to give. Our only true commodity.

Lord knows I don't have money and we can barely pay the bills each month. I have no assets. I don't own a house. And I drive my 1999 Ford Escort. There are no savings, no 401 K plans, no stocks or bonds, no commodities to speak of. But I have a voice. I am spirited. I am a lover of people. And I have a soul. These intangible, intrinsic gifts are the greatest commodities in the world.

I can't buy you a car... but I can love you. I can't invest in Wall Street... but I can create and invent. I can't own my own house, but I can make a home and invite you in. You might be able to offer me money, cars, houses, stocks, companies, clothes, or food but these things can disappear in a moment. And then what commodities will you have to offer? Your commodity is yourself, the only true thing you can give me, or anyone else in this world.

(Though don't get me wrong, I will not protest if you send me a new car or a cute outfit :)

Ubuntu

So this all leads me back to sitting in bed last night reading an email from a girl in Thailand who is telling me about her and the roommates and the pet mouse. And I realized I was so happy to hear her story. And I started thinking about those Christmas cards again and how disappointed I was that the whole Christmas card institution doesn't include a return card that lets the sender know the card was received with great love and affection. And I thought...

Ubuntu.

Archbishop Desmond Tutu begins his Me We book series with this profound line:

"If I diminish you, I diminish myself.

Ubuntu addresses a central tenet of African philosophy:

the essence of what it means to be human...

To recast the Cartesian proposition "I think therefore I am," ubuntu would phrase it, "I am human because I belong." Put another way, "a person is a person through other people," a concept perfectly captured by the phrase "me we." No one comes into this world fully formed. We would not know how to think or walk or speak or behave unless we learned it from our fellow human beings. We need other human beings in order to be human. The solitary, isolated human being is a contradiction in terms."

Ubuntu. You make me human. I make you human. If I diminish you, I also diminish myself for I have robbed myself of my own humanity. But if I love you, if I befriend you, if I forgive you; I love and befriend and forgive myself... I humanize us both.

I love this concept. And what a powerful tool it is in the hands of a man who has dedicated his life to ending apartheid; to ending war and hatred. To say to people, "Look, when you rape you not only harm the victim, you harm yourself and you become a little less human. But when you forgive, when you choose peace, freedom, and compassion as a way to interact with your enemies, you not only change their lives for the better, but you confer the goodness of your own humanity onto yourself as well."

This series of books put out by Reverend Tutu are only $1.99 in the Bargain Books section at almost any Borders Bookstore (they are perfect gifts, I suggest stocking up); but every time I open up these books to read the quotes of Mother Theresa, Martin Luther King, or Desmond Tutu I know I am reading wisdom that is worth millions of dollars.

This particular book in the series, Believe, has a quote on one page from TuTu that simply says: I love being loved.

And I think that sums it up for me. I love being loved. I love loving others, but I desperately love being loved as well.

So when I share my life with you, I am choosing to love you. To invite you into my world and my journey. When you respond, you are loving me back and inviting me into your journey. And together that means we are sharing ubuntu: the essence of what it means to be human. To add to one another or to diminish one another. This is the only true commodity we have to offer.

Ourselves.

My prayer is that you, whoever you are, will realize the power and worth of your commodity. It is rare. It is precious. It is unique. And it is the heart of what we were created for: to love God, to love others.

The essence of our humanity is simply being human with one another. And as strange as it may sound, I am glad to be human with you.

Again, I don't make this stuff up...

At 6:30 this morning Annie let out three short, blood curling screams.

I have speed like a tiger and the reflexes of a cheetah.

I have graduated.

I am officially a mama bear who will eat your head off and scratch your eyeballs out if you endanger my child.

I bolted out of bed and had her in my arms within seconds. She was screaming in short bursts and we had no idea what was going on. She sounded horrified and was clearly in pain, but that doesn't help me diagnose anything, so I just held her. My prognosis? I think she caught a cold and the symptoms didn't show up until after she fell asleep. That's when the nasty mucus shows its ugly head. I think it ran down her throat and collected there, in a little puddle, until it gagged her. At which point she threw up. But since she was laying down, she choked.

At least that's how it played out in my head. And that's why she smelled like sweet potato- formula-puke.

We tried everything. A bottle. Apple juice. A teething biscuit. A cold towel. Tylenol. Natural pain relief teething drops. Light. Dark. Rocking. Bouncing. Mom. Dad. Pillows. New diaper. Naked. Not naked. Nothing could soothe. What a heart wrenching feeling.

So this is what it's like to love something so much that you can only agonize for them as they endure pain? Pain they didn't ask for. Or pain they brought upon themselves. It doesn't matter. When you love someone who is so intricately a part of your existence and there is nothing you can do but hold them and whisper 'I love you' while they fight the demons, I think you get a small taste of what it must feel like to be God.

Annie fell asleep on me in the most uncomfortable chair in the house. In her make-shift bedroom in our manager's house. The walk-in closet. My head was wedged in between the two wooden shelves behind me and she was sprawled over me like a spider monkey. I was trapped. After an hour and a half of screams and cries and little tear drops that danced down her face and landed on her trembling hands, her eyes grew heavy, and she was gone.

I was grateful. The uncomfortable chair was a welcome reprieve if it meant a peaceful baby. My eyes were so heavy. I nodded off.

And that's when I felt it.

The bottom of my pajama pants moved.

They tugged a little.

A little breeze of air.

Something touched my skin.

My eyes popped open.

"Don't wake her up Jenny. You are imagining this. There is nothing down there. Stop freaking out."

And that's when I felt it. I felt it. I for sure felt something. There's something down there.

Little tiny feet scurrying over mine. Little. Tiny. FEET.

And there, in the closet where my baby has been sleeping (not in a crib, but two inches off the floor on a mattress) runs a fat, nasty, pudgy mouse.

With Annie finally asleep in my arms, I jump on top of that chair faster than I've done anything in my life. I scream in the loudest and most angry (I think I get angry when I am scared) voice I have for Ryan. He comes in confused and hostile for being woken up with such a frantic voice. And I tell him there is a mouse crawling around in this closet with our daughter and I run to the bedroom with her.

He comes back to tell me he has trapped it in a different closet. Cordoned it off with a towel and chair. Annie sleeps through the whole ordeal. And I lay in bed holding her wondering, "what kind of mom am I?" And that's when I hear it...

It's back. I jump up in the bed and hit my head on the fan. Annie wakes up and starts crying. Ryan wakes up all crazy and sleepy again. He tells me to calm down.

Calm down?

"There is a beep*beep*beep (fill in your favorite expletive here. Sorry, I did) one foot away from our baby, running around our bedroom, eating our child in her sleep, about to crawl into our bed and you want me to calm down? Kill the MOUSE. Get him out of here now. NOW."

Now I got a few tears collecting in my eyes. I start to wonder what I am doing with my life. I start to feel sorry for myself. I start feeling resentful. But then I catch myself.

How can a mouse make you question your entire livelihood?

I come back to my senses. It's just a mouse. Like Fievel in American Tale. Mighty Mouse. Mickey Mouse. Or the entire cast of Ratatouille. Well, those are rats, but they're all in the same family. Some kids live in slums and have wild monkeys running around their villages. Some kids ride donkeys and eat insects. But this is just a little mouse who is cold. That's all.

Ryan chases the mouse out of the room. Down the hallway. And into Travis' room. Later, Jeff kills it with a piece of ice and plywood and I am very sad that the mouse has to die.

Then it's 8:00 a.m. Time to get Annie ready to go to the studio. 9:00 a.m. recording time. The day is just starting...

this is going to be a long day :)