The Rest Cannot Wait

I have gotten nothing accomplished so far today – and it is okay. It is more than okay. I am certain it is divinely ordered.

I have been preoccupied this week. Not having a steady income, wondering how far I can make the income I do have stretch, has caused me to outright loose my mind. All I do is obsess with how to make a buck. I have registered to drive for Uber, Lyft, and now Door Dash. I have been trying to figure out what times of day will make me the most money – how much I spend on gas per mile, and how much I need to make each day to reach certain goals. I have convinced myself that I am doing a good thing – staying on task, working hard, being productive and smart – until a “real” job comes along. But the truth is – nothing is further from the truth.

This morning during my prayer time, Bailey (my dog) and Ray Ray (my kitten) were vying for my attention. When they get out of hand, I go sit outside to pray. Ray Ray loves to play, and Bailey loves to simply sit and be. They both are content outside and leave me alone for focus on prayer.

Today, I realized that I could not stay focused even with my girls occupied elsewhere. My mind kept wandering to today’s schedule. I planned to start Door Dash. There was even an extra $2.00 per delivery bonus if I worked certain hours this morning.

I contemplated when to work tonight. Supposedly, weekend evenings are the best. Food delivery is supposed to be good from 5pm – 9pm. Weekend warriors are supposed to be good from 6pm – 3am. Having been married to a drunk, I know they tip much better when they are tipsy.

(I use the word drunk instead of alcoholic on purpose – not to offend. My ex used to say he was a drunk – alcoholics get help – drunks drink.)

Okay, so I had a moral dilemma about picking up drunks. I would, if I chose to work these late hours, be taking advantage of their inebriated state. Right? Then again, I am keeping them safe by driving for them. Also, could it be a witness opportunity? Possibly?

To be honest, I do not feel like it would be a bad thing to pick up drunks. My heart is in the right place with them.

What does bother me is the obsession. The love of money is the root of all evil. It is still possible to love money when I have almost none. I cannot serve two masters. I will love the one and hate the other.

This morning, God reminded me of this. Trying to read scripture, but all I could think about was how to make money. I have sinned.

I prayed a half-hearted prayer for God to help me focus and tried again. My heart remained far from Him.

From the corner of my eye, I saw a red bird land on a decorative fence post. I stopped and watched. I have written before about what the cardinal means to me. “You have my attention,” I said. I watched him flutter around. Such a beautiful creature.

He flew away but stayed close. He flew into the tree, then landed on the grass, hopping around without a care in the world. I saw Ray Ray watching him. She crouched down and began her slow approach toward him – play hunting. The bird resumed his flight, and Ray Ray bolted after him.

Play.

Ray Ray climbed onto the head of our pig statue. She swatted at a moth – so carefree.

Simple pleasures.

Bailey jumped down from her spot next to me. I thought she was ready to go inside. Instead, she took off after Ray Ray. I watched as the two played chase together – my eleven year old rat terrier and two month old kitten.

In the moment.

No where to be. Nothing to do. Pure love.

I look at them now as I sit and type, they are napping together on the floor. A nice nap after lunch. Bellies full. Not a care in the world.

My devotional today spoke of the trouble we cause ourselves when we try to save ourselves. It is impossible and leads to death. My obsession with how to make money is my own way of trying to save myself. Yet, in the process, I was in trouble of losing my soul – forsaking my first love.

After watching my girls enjoy themselves, I was able to refocus. My time with God is so much more productive and rewarding when I am able to focus solely on Him and not on myself.

Take it easy, Renee. Just slow down and be. Play. The rest can wait for another day.

(Do Not) Run With It

In my office, just above my desk, I have a picture of Mike Holmes and Jon Bon Jovi. They are symbols of encouragement for me.

Jon Bon Jovi because of his immense talent and heart. He never sold out. He spent his early career fighting to get people to focus on the music and not on his good looks. His music came from the heart. It has a message. As he says, Bon Jovi was not a flash in the pan. They were not sell-outs. He once said the industry did not know what to do with them. They did not quite fit in with the hair metal popular at the time, but they were not pop stars either. They were a unique entity, true to their own identity. I keep his picture up to remind me that it is okay, and even wonderful, to be different, if there is no place where I fit in – with my writing. Looking at his photo gives me hope. There was not a neat little box to place Bon Jovi. Still, they were huge. Metal fans and pop fans alike loved them – and still do. While the “it” bands of the 80s are long gone or on tour only playing fan favorites from the 80s, Bon Jovi is still a band, still relevant, still making new music, and touring to sold out arenas all over the world. Different is good. Stay true to who you are as a writer, Renee, and never sell out. One day . . .

Mike Holmes because I love his attitude of doing things right the first time. He talks a lot about the importance of the things you cannot see – the things behind the wall, the foundation, things that are going to make a house sustainable. He often reminds viewers that everything else is just lipstick and mascara. Great reminders for me as a writer and as a Christian.

Taped to the bottom right corner of my poster of Mike Holmes is an index card with a quote from John Mellencamp. When he was up and coming, fighting to make a name for himself, someone told him to “go where they’re not.” This struck me the first time I heard it. I’m still not sure why – or why it was important enough for me to write it out and display it for me to see. It means something – I’m just not sure what.

During my prayer journaling this morning, I looked up, and was once again struck by this quote. There is still something profound for me hidden in these words, but what? Ministry? That new ministry idea a friend planted in my head? My new part-time gig as an Uber/Lyft driver? My writing idea? None of it? All of it?

I trust God will tell me more when it’s time. For now, as I look at the pictures of Mike and Jon and contemplate what all of it represents for me – to go where they are not – for me, is to be okay with being different – being a square peg in a round-holed-world.

The agent who most recently turned down my work said at the conference that the publishing industry is a very uncreative creative industry – meaning that they rarely take chances on different. I get that now. Does that mean I am going to quit trying? No – I am simply going to keep working on my writing as I leave it at the feet of Jesus to tell me what to do next.

Yesterday, I met with my counselor. I told her about a vivid dream I had. I often have detailed dreams, but this one felt real – so real that when my dog woke me up, I was confused for a moment, as if transported from somewhere else, because I thought I was already awake.

In my dream, I was the “Uber” driver for my pastor, worship leader, and youth pastor. We were driving around the church after our first service. Our church had grown so fast, and we are a small building, so we had to have multiple services. The first service of the morning, the one we had just concluded, was also our first locally televised service. We were all a little pumped up and needed a breather before the next service.

As we were driving around, I told them about Belmont’s Debate08, and everything I got to do with that – being the secret service’s guide for a year prior, getting to be part of the planning team, being the Belmont rep in the security room during the event and not realizing what a big deal this was until some time later when my dad’s cousin, who retired from the secret service told me what a big deal this was, and the last week of the event, working almost 24/7 with sore feet that by the end, I was literally crawling out of bed, and ended up having surgery on both feet afterward.

Then, I looked at the pastor in the rearview mirror and thanked him. I told him that as much as I loved and missed Belmont, by the time I left, I was so burned out. I was on-call 24/7, never having a full day off, not even when I was on vacation. I was so burned out that it took me a few years to get over the burnout.

I realized that the burnout was a lot of my own doing. I would go to my boss with all these ideas I had and he would often say, “sounds great. Run with it.” And I did. I loved it. Because of my boss’ support, I created a thriving crime prevention program – something that meant something to so many – something that people away from campus – other schools, shelters, churches, and even the police department – were asking us to bring to their population. And I did – gladly. I was proud of these accomplishments. However, it meant working more hours – evenings and weekends – on top of the piling work required as part of my new role as assistant chief. When I became AC, I refused to let go of my crime prevention duties and I didn’t trust anyone else to take them over. So, I was basically doing two jobs – and daily putting out fires. All that on top of divorce and cancer. Too much.

Anyway, I told the pastor thank you because he saw right away that I am an ideas person, and he reigned me in. He has told me two things: 1) just because you have a good idea does not mean you need to be the one to do it and 2) if you have an idea that you really want to do, sit on it for a while. Pray about it. If you still feel led to do it, then let’s talk.

I have to say, at first, I took this personally – as an insult of sorts – as if he did not believe in me. It even hurt my feelings the first time someone started doing something that was my idea. Now, I wanted to thank him for reigning me in so that I would not burn out again.

My counselor helped me see this dream in a new way. I thought it was simply an “aha” moment. Ever since John McCain’s death, I have been reminiscing a lot about Belmont. Then, I told myself to remember why I left – the burnout. It took this dream to help me realize why I had burned out.

My counselor reminded me that I have been having a lot of dreams about Belmont lately – nostalgia, but something or someone else telling me that I cannot stay there – I cannot go back.

Belmont represents what I miss about the past – financial security, the sense of belonging, the relationships I had with Terry and Mike. I want that. Being surrounded by my church family in such close quarters in the car, having their attention, thanking the pastor – this is where God has placed me now and it’s good.

My counselor made a few wonderful points:

My pastor did his job well – he’s shepherding me, keeping me reigned in and focused.

I told my counselor all about how the rejection by the agent sent me into a bad depression, and how the Louie Giglio videos got me out. She equated all of this with the dream. I was depressed and felt rejected, but got out of the depression when I remembered who and whose I was/am.

Belmont is the rejection by the editor – all the hopes and dreams I had now gone. God is my good shepherd (time out – if anyone from my church is reading this, please don’t read too much into this next part. I do not have a God complex for PM!!! 😉 ) My good shepherd knows what he has to do may hurt me, but he has to do it for my well-being. Like the eye in the sky I told her about from the Indescribable video, He sees everything whereas our vision is limited to the tiny space around us. That agent was not a good fit for whatever reason, and He had to prevent me from “going with it”. 

So, where do I go and where are they not? I have no clue what that means for me yet, but I am thankful that God is not allowing me to just run with it and burn out before I get there. 

Dreams, counselors, posters, quotes – how God works in our lives – He never fails to amaze me. He is so good. He is a Good, Good Father - and I am loved by Him. Wow! 

Indescribable

Let know one tell you to snap out of it. Depression is not something a person chooses. It is not a condition that can be remedied like washing the stench of sweat away after an intense workout. I know. I have dealt with depression my entire life. However, it has been a long, long time since it has lingered this long. Throughout my adult life, I developed skills to cope, and managed to muddle through after a rough day here and there. To experience this state of mental decline for almost two weeks now is unusual, and is, quite frankly, getting on my nerves.

I ask myself why? I know why I am depressed. This bout started on the afternoon of Sunday August 12 after I read that email from the book agent, declining my work with no explanation. It got a bit worse the next day after learning I did not get the job I had applied for the week prior. But, why is it lingering?

I have received rejections from agents before – several dozen – all except one or two are form letters. Rejection is nothing new. In the past, I even prided myself on being among the greats. Dostoyevsky, my literary hero, was a literary joke in his day. He was not taken seriously, and even spent time in debtor’s prison in Siberia. (Anyone who knows me and knows my secret desire to go back to Russia, and specifically to Siberia, this is why.) Today’s market is even harder, in some ways, to break into as a legitimate writer. With the explosion of the internet, and people able to publish at a whim on their own, it is even more difficult to be taken seriously as a writer.

I even tried to cheer myself up last night by watching the movie Genius about Thomas Wolfe (1900-1938 – not the white-suited Tom Wolfe of The Right Stuff fame who recently died.) He was a literary genius, but every publisher in town turned him down before Perkins took a chance on him.  

So, I’m in great company. This used to be enough to encourage me out of my depressive state. Why did these thoughts and efforts not work this time?

The job – money situation. I have applied for close to 50 jobs – some I am over qualified for, some I am under qualified for, some that would be perfect based on my skills and abilities. Of those 50 something applications, only one call for an interview, and zero job offers.

I have been here, too. Something always comes up, and this is no different. I have been fortunate enough to pick up a little extra work here and there, so bills are getting paid. So, why is this weighing so much heavier on me now?

Maybe it’s the therapy. If that is the case, then maybe the lingering depression is a good thing. My counselor once told me that I have a disconnect between my head and my heart. She said that when I talk about things, it’s as if I am telling her a story of something that happened to someone else.

She is absolutely correct. That was always one of my best coping mechanisms. My problems became the problems of one of the characters in my story. I disconnected from the pain of my own experiences.

However, the whole reason I am seeking counseling is because I want to do things differently. I want to do the hard work to change. I promised myself as much after my divorce, but I was not getting very far on my own. I needed help.

So, I set out to figure out how to let my heart have its say – instead of my head telling my heart what to feel, and my heart readily acquiescing. I have been working very hard on this – giving my heart space to feel and think for itself. I tell you, it’s not easy, but as my counselor reminds me, I am human, not a machine. If I want to be an effective minister, I have to be able to do what I suggest others do. Lead by example, as they say.

Given that I am trying to give my heart independent space, is this depression a result? Would the other rejections have been hard had I allowed my heart to mourn?

Is it because during those other times, I really wasn’t ready and I thought I was this time? That is true as I look back on things. The writing – I struggled with writing as myself or using a fake name. I wanted to separate the two lives. The writing is so personal. I knew I could not handle the rejection. The rejection of the work, I felt, would be a rejection of me. There was no way I was stable enough emotionally to be a true, legitimate writer, when so many critics are out there, ready to tear the writing and the writer to pieces.

Now, I feel strong enough, certain of who I am as a child of God and a writer. I have admitted to myself and others that my writing comes from a very personal place. I am ready to own that and accept that. Maybe that is why rejection hurts so much worse. I believe I am finally ready for whatever is waiting on the other side of publication.

Work – after leaving Belmont, I was worn out – the hours, the responsibility. The job, at the end, aged me. I needed time and space from that level or responsibility and demand.  I was fine with just getting by. Now, I am ready to do and be more – have a place where I feel like I belong and am contributing – like I did at Belmont. I am ready to do more than just get by – pay off debts, save, be able to pitch in around the house. I’m ready to be a grown up again financially, but it’s not happening. Maybe that’s why the rejection hurts more this time.

The depression has gotten to the point where all I want to do is sleep. I wake up tired. I look forward to going back to bed. The only thing on my to-do list getting done is the have-tos. The want -tos and need-tos are getting pushed back day after day. Even my prayers are suffering. I cannot focus. I cannot even journal. Even my standby prayers “Just say Jesus”, “help”, “I believe, help my unbelief” are dry and stale and rote. That’s the problem – I can’t even simply go through the motions. If it weren’t for Bailey standing on my chest, constantly pawing at me until I finally give in and get out of bed, I would probably spend all day in bed. That’s how bad it has gotten.

Each morning, I try again. My devotional did not work. Reading the Bible did not work. I tried journaling, trying to get at the root of the problem so that we could fix it. Even that was not working. I was about to give up and get lost in a book. Then, a still small voice.

Get up. Make your shake. Go watch one of the Louie Giglio videos your friend lent you. I obeyed.

Indescribable – Louie described how vast the universe is – showing pictures from NASA. I was an astronomy geek as a kid. Wanted to be an astronomer at one point before I saw Top Gun and changed my desired career path to flying in the military.

Louie said, “I am not trying to make you feel small. I’m telling you you are small.”

The tears finally came. The release. Even before he said, it, I felt it – seeing those images, realizing how insignificant I really am. None of it matters. All these things, these accomplishments I think will make me something. None of it means anything. And this realization felt wonderful. It was a release from the pressure of having to carry the world on my shoulders. I am not even a grain of dust in the universe.

Still, as insignificant as I am, God loves me – ME – this blob of nothing, taking up this itty-bitty space for a fleeting second of time. He LOVES ME! I matter because He LOVES ME!

Nothing matters – yet everything matters. I thought how that translates into my life. What matters about my life if nothing matters? “email” that one word popped into my head.

I am an online missionary for Global Media Outreach. It is the coolest thing in the world. I don’t get paid for it, but on good days, this is my favorite part of the day – using my gift for words and writing, my love for Jesus, to communicate to people all over the world.

In my deepest depression, I lost all care or concern for this – not even able to go through the motions. What’s the point? This morning, he told me the point. HE is the point.

There are people all over the world who don’t know His indescribable love. Love. His love. That’s the point. That is the only point that matters.

Please, if you have ever felt the worthlessness of depression. If you cannot see your purpose. If you doubt His love, watch this:

https://youtu.be/AEh56ROJx48

The Cardinal

It has been a long time since I have done something for the sole purpose of enjoyment. I am such a serious person. I search for meaning in everything. Living this way steals joy without me even realizing it is gone. An email, a Bible Study, a sermon, a bird – a movie, a dream, and my counselor asking the right questions wrapped it all up for me.

Joy – this, for me, is pure joy – writing with no other purpose than the sweet aroma that words pouring out from my mind through my fingertips brings to my soul. I almost allowed an email to steal this joy from me.

After nearly six weeks, I received the much-coveted email from the agent I met and had a one-on-one pitch session with at a writing conference earlier this summer. She seemed so eager about my story and filled with ideas for publication. I allowed myself to believe my time had finally come. I have a dream – the extent to which only me, my counselor, and God know. This was to be the first step. As long as I didn’t receive the email, there was hope. Now, without any explanation or words of encouragement or criticism, I received this denial. I have a file filled with “thanks but no thanks” letters from agents and publishers from over the years, but this one was the only one that hurt because this time, I expected a hearty yes. This one hurt – deeply – painfully. You see, there’s very little I am certain about in my life. My gift for storytelling is the one gift I know, without a doubt, God lavished upon me.

For a fleeting moment, I contemplated giving it up, and never writing another word again. Then, God’s voice whispered in my ear. “Have your thoughts about me changed from two minutes ago?” I knew what He was asking. “Do I trust Him any less because of this kick to the gut?” No.

Yes, I still trust Him, but the hurt is still deep. The next day, I called to inquire about a job I interviewed for a week prior. They passed me over for someone with more experience. This hurt, too, but not nearly as bad, and for much different reasons. I need income. My savings is nearly depleted. I’m getting desperate. However, if I am honest with myself, I didn’t really want that job. As a matter of fact, if I am honest with myself, I really don’t want to be a social worker. And, I am not surprised one bit that I was passed over for that job – even though I fully expected to get it.

As I reflected on my answers to the interview, I realized my most passionate answers came from a place other than the skills and needs needed for that particular job. Had I been applying for a ministry or chaplaincy job, I think I would have nailed it.

That night, struggling with the ups and downs of my emotions, I received an email about a free online Bible Study called Defiant Joy. I signed up. Wink! Wink! – God

Last night, I watched a recording of Nashville First Church of the Nazarene’s 120^th Anniversary Homecoming service from this past Sunday. The man who was Associate Pastor when I was there came “home” to preach. His sermon knocked the wind out of me – in a good way. I need to keep my focus on Jesus. All these problems of mine arise when I lose focus.

Later the same night, I watched the Mandesa YouTube video for week one of the Defiant Joy Bible Study. I multitasked because she was terribly squirrely during the entire thing. In her defense, she admitted from the get-go that this was her first live chat, and that she struggles with squirrel moments.

However, when she got to the “funwork” part, I paused. One of the suggestions is to “play” this week. This gave me food for thought. When was the last time I did something without an agenda? Even ministry has an agenda. Granted, the agenda in ministry is vitally important (leading people to Christ), I could not remember the last time I had fun doing it. It’s not that I don’t love what I do, that I get no joy out of it. I do – very much. It fulfills me immensely. Still, I could not remember the last time I laughed until I could not breathe – played just because.

I thought about the day I played hooky and went to the river at Landa Park. When I came out of that cold water, I laughed for no particular reason. It felt great.  But, the last time I really laughed – nearly wet my pants, can’t breathe, snort, and laugh even harder because I don’t know why I’m laughing – the last time I laughed like that was with my friend, Mike.

The movie – Christopher Robin. Great movie, but it made me sad – nostalgic. Mike was my Eeyore and I was his Poor Bear. The movie brought back so many wonderful, and painful memories. He was the best friend I ever had. Nothing romantic. Nothing sexual. Simple, pure, deep friendship. He chose romantic love over our friendship. I chose to leave him completely rather than face the pain of losing him slowly.

I miss him.

I had a dream about Belmont. I often have dreams about Belmont. I go back to Nashville, back to Belmont security, and realize I belonged in Texas. This dream was even more vivid. I was like a rock star there. People who never knew me knew about me. My coming back was a big deal. The new chief was giving me a tour of the new campus and was going to train me himself. This caused quite a buzz in the department, people whispering about a possible romance budding.  

At first, I was overwhelmingly impressed with the changes on campus, and in the department. Then, he took me to Freeman Hall, with the mansion behind it. On either side was a very new, very modern, very hip café. At the top of the grand antique staircase, music row and all of downtown Nashville could be seen out of a huge picture window.

As soon as I looked out, I began to weep. I knew I didn’t belong here. I belonged back in Texas. The chief put his arm around me to console me. He asked what was wrong, and I told him. He asked, “Don’t you think you could learn to love Nashville again, for me?”

“No,” I cried. “You are part of the new, the future of Belmont. I am part of the past. I don’t belong here anymore.” I knew, even as I said these words, that by going back to Texas, I would be letting go of so much, including a chance to fall in love again, and that I would be going home to uncertainty.

During the NFCN sermon, Pastor Dale said you can’t go back.

I shared this dream with my counselor. One question she asked stumped me. She asked where the tears in my dream came from – why was I so sad?

As we talked it over, I shared the rest of the story, beginning with the sermon illustration – you can’t go back.

Mike – the last time I truly laughed – my best friend. I miss him. I miss what we had.

Play – the last time I remember playing is with Mike. What does play look like for me?

Writing – why did I stop blogging? My counselor has a great way of seeing past my words, catching my heart, my need to write, to express, regardless on whether or not anyone else will ever read it.

The question – why do I need to be more/do more – other than what/who I am?

Finally, the cardinal.

I have seen red birds around the house a lot the past few years. I once heard that these birds mate for life. I also heard somewhere to look for little blessings, things God sends for my eyes only. I saw these red birds as my little blessings. I loved watching the pairs fly off and frolic together. A while back, I saw it as a promise from God that one day, that special someone and I would work out.

Then, as those thoughts and feelings began to fade, I saw it more as God, saying “Hey, Renee. I love you!”

This morning, during my prayer time, I journaled about my special God moments with the birds, how they were like my pennies.

Shortly before leaving for my counseling appointment, Bailey wanted to go outside. I sat on the chair swing in the tree at the end of the driveway. I looked at the tree on the other end of the driveway, and there he sat, that beautiful, bright red cardinal. I felt joy.

“Hey, Renee. I love you!” Just for me. He fluttered around in the tree. I watched. Sometimes, the only way I knew he was there was by the shaking of the leaves. Other times, he came back to that spot and seemed to be looking directly at me. “Keep your eyes focused on me. Sometimes, I am easy to see, sitting plain as day in front of you. Other times, you may have to strain to see Me, but I’m still here, right in front of you. I’m always here. Keep your eyes trained on Me.”

Words are my gift. Words are my prayer. Words are the window into my soul. They are therapy, adventure, love, and devotion. Words are God wooing me. Words are joy. Words are my play.