Living in a Dream

I live in one of the most beautiful places in the world. It is a town called Taupo in the North Island of New Zealand, and if you haven't been, you really should. All of the photos in this blog are from places I see on a daily basis on my drive to work.

Often people ask me if I mind having to commute half an hour to work (and yes, in New Zealand (apart from in Auckland) that is a long way to travel for work). I can't say that I do mind it. Every day I get an hour to relax, destress, de-work mode, pray and look at the breathtaking creation that is around me (as well as look at the road of course!

Lake Taupo is the largest in this little country of mine, and it has a personality. Some days it is dark and moody, others it is tired and weather beaten. And on yet others it looks as if it has been newly washed and sparkles in the sunlight.

It is on the shores of this moody lake that I get to live out my life at present. The changes on it's mood often reflect in the way I am thinking about life on my drive home. When it is stormy and overcast I tend to think of deep, and often dark, life crises. When it is shiny and new looking, I find myself thinking of the possibilities the future holds for me.

Today it couldn't make up its mind. It went from rainy to fine and back again and, not surprisingly, I found myself thinking about recent changes that have been occurring in my life and my perception of it. But to explain the depth of what I was thinking about we need to go back a wee way.

About 5 years ago I began to have a recurring dream. It was about a boy who I use to have a unrequited crush on. In my dream he lived next door to the house in which I grew up. Every dream would start the same, my parents and I were having a row. Not an ordinary row, but a full on screaming at each other row. I would be yelling, crying, telling them I hated them and that I was leaving the house, and I would run to my room.

Through my window in my dream I could see into the upstairs windows of this boy's house. Every time I was upset or lonely I would look out my window and he would be in his window just watching me. Even if his lights were off. It was comforting yet really really creepy and I would wake with a deeply uneasy feeling and the dream would haunt me for the rest of the day.

About a year after starting to have this dream fairly regularly, it changed. I was still rowing with my parents but now I would go round to his house to hang out with him. My parents would tell me I was forbidden from doing it and I would anyway. We would get into more arguments about that and then I would end up in my room again.

Another year later and it changed again. This time it was his mum who was forbidding us to hang out. She would kick me out of her house and we started meeting by the fence at night time so we wouldn't in trouble. Now let me explain, we weren't romantically involved in real life or my dream, it was more that we were both really lonely and needing a friend and found a common ally. But the feeling of uneasiness stayed with me every time I had the dream. I felt like a naughty teenager again who was about to get snapped for lying and sneaking out of the house. It is a feeling I don't particularly like to revisit and yet that is how I felt after every dream.

After years of these recurring dreams, last night it changed again, This time I was at home and my parents and I were talking and laughing when the boy's mum came over to see us. She was bringing up Christmas presents and she gave a particularly large and heavy one with a note on it. The note said "It's ok, you are welcome anytime." The present turned out to be a huge candle. This time I woke up feeling very at peace.

How does this relate to my drive, I hear you ask?

I was thinking about that dream on my drive home today and I was reflecting on what it all might mean. But just like the lake, I couldn't make up my mind. I went between thinking it was just a dream, thinking it had some deep hidden meaning, and thinking about panda's (you know, as you do). Then I had a little bit of an epiphany.

I wonder if my dream has been changing as I have been changing.

When my dream first started I felt very lost, unhappy with some significant relationships in my life, and alone. I wanted someone who could understand but I was uncomfortable sharing about what was going on. I thought I would be judged and misunderstood and so I only really talked to my husband and my sister about it. Recently though, I have found a deep sense of peace with the decisions I have made. Perhaps my dream reflected this sense of 'making peace' with myself.

Though dream interpretation is notorious for being wishy washy and airy fairy, there is something to be said about our subconcious reflecting what we are going through into our dreams. Or maybe I have just been dreaming about a creepy dude with a strange mother. 

Whatever the truth is, I know that living in a place of such intense beauty has really helped me to connect to myself and my feelings in a way I haven't really done before. My long drive around the lake edge focuses my mind and causes me to think about things that otherwise I would ignore. The spectacle of creation with all its glory and complexity helps my brain to look inwards and simplify. In the enormity of what God has created, I find my own significance.

All of that to say, I live in a truly gorgeous corner of the world.

The How To Guide for Destroying Yourself, Your Relationships, and Your Faith

A lot of things have been happening in my life of late but that just seems to be the norm in our household. We seem to reach a point of stability and then all hell breaks loose and we are left wondering what just hit us. I won't go into much detail, as that would be long and tedious for all involved, but I have had to repeat this little mantra of mine many times over the last month or so:

"I have Luke and I have Jesus, everything will be ok."

Now before everyone goes all theological on my ass, let me assert a couple of points.

1) if I did not have Luke I would still be ok. Distraught, but ok, because fundamentally it is Jesus who makes it all ok for me, but Luke is a nice bonus.

2) I am not saying "everything will be ok" like tomorrow will be sunny and full of fluffy bunnies, or that somehow holding on to Jesus makes my life stress free. But in the long run, even if something kills me, I believe that it will all be ok. Big picture stuff.

So back to my mantra. It keeps me sane knowing that I have a Saviour who loves me and a husband who adores me. It makes even hard things easier to deal with when I know that I have two amazing people to cry to and lean on. Doesn't make it fun though. Still sucks going through some stuff, especially when you see it hurting your partner.

Which is how I get to the title of my post:

The How To Guide for Destroying Yourself, Your Relationships, and Your Faith.

Oh yeah, I am a ray of sunshine today. Bear with me though, I do have a point aside from nihilistic wallowing.

I am a huge believer in confessing deep dark secrets in order to turn the light on them and sort them out. I have done it many times for many reasons and the response I usually receive is humbling, honest, supportive and loving. By being honest I have often given implicit permission to others to be honest also.

This is me being honest - gut churningly honest, this is not easy for me to admit to.

Most of you will know by now my issues with food. I can't hide my issues like some people do, I literally wear them. I have a fat suit that I have to wear everyday, look at everyday, deal with everyday. I have to acknowledge my limitations when I can't go as far or fast as others. I feel the pain in my joints when I walk. I find it hard to roll over in bed and have to wear a mask to breathe when I sleep.

I hate my issues. I hate that I have done this to myself.

But it doesn't stop me....and this is where my story starts.

I emotionally eat, so after the last few weeks I have been weaker in the self-control department. One morning I was talking to Luke about getting myself a coffee on the way to work. "Just a coffee" he said (because he knew where my head was at, not because he is a controlling deuche bag). "Of course babe, I wouldn't buy more." I said this BELIEVING that I wouldn't, DETERMINED I wouldn't.

1 hour later I was feeling sick from a binge on energy drinks and sweet treats. I felt guilty, ashamed, humiliated, angry....I hated myself then.

Then I went into bargaining mode with myself:

"It doesn't matter, know one will know"

"What about Luke?"

"He doesn't need to know, it will only upset him."

"But it's Luke, I tell him everything."

"He will be so angry [which he wouldn't] and would hate you [which he didn't] so don't tell him."

"But I feel like I am lying to him."

"It's only lying if he asks."

"What if he asks?"

Then I went into bargaining mode with Jesus:

"Look, I know I was stupid but please make it so that Luke doesn't ask because it would hurt him and hurt our relationship and you don't wanna do that to us do you?"

"I love you"

"Yeah yeah but could you just do this for me."

"Still love you"

I stressed about it all day. Worrying about Luke asking and catastrophizing it in my head. On the way home I kept praying that he wouldn't ask, don't make me admit to this to him.

(NOTE: as weight has been an issue for me and hiding food and binge eating have been real issues, hiding this from Luke is a problem. Not a little problem as some may think it is, but a real problem. You need to know the history to get it).

Luke asked.

He had to ask three times before I told him the extent of it.

The hurt in his eyes that I lied, the pain for me, and disappointment for all the work I had undone...all of these things crushed me. And I realised in that moment that you don't have to cheat or steal or physically hurt someone to ruin a relationship.

You just need to put something above your love for the other and your love for God.

It could be anything. For me it is food. It is an idol. I ruin my health, my relationships, my relationship with God over it. I would rather kill what has been given to me than to give up food. 

We all have that something that we love that is really destroying us. 

It might be something as obvious as drugs, alcohol, or cheating.

Or food.

Or maybe it is something more secretive like self-harming, picking at our skin, watching porn (or Geordie Shore *shudder*), reading romance novels at the expense of our marriages....I don't know but you do.

You, reading this, right now, have something that you know you can't control, don't want to control. It may even be your desire to control everything that is out of control!!!

Let me tell you this now:

It doesn't matter how trivial it may seem to the world.

It doesn't matter whether anyone else knows about it.

What matters is that it is controlling you.

It is causing you to hide it, lie about it, indulge in it, and it is destroying you.

Because you are not free until you give this up. You will never be free until it is gone. And when it is, when you don't have to hide anymore, your relationships and your faith will grow exponentially.

What would your life be like with this thing out of it?

What would it take to make that happen?

And are you prepared to do it?

Trudging when you want to Fly

I have this amazing friend who I love a lot. She and I are very similar in some ways and in others are completely the opposite. We use to live next door to each other and would see each other all the time for coffee and catch ups, but now we are in different cities and I miss seeing her and being able to chew the fat.

She is an incredibly talented and passionate woman, but she suffers from a debilitating illness. It is one of those illnesses that doesn't show on the outside so often people don't realise that is just a struggle for her to get out of bed some days. If she does make it out of bed, that is an epic win! But she doesn't feel like that. She feels like she is trudging when all she wants to do is fly.

Her and I were talking about it about it last night, and I really feel like I know where she is coming from. I too feel like I am just doing the daily trudge at the moment. Though I do not have an illness as severe as hers, I do get migraines that throw out my plans. I have to watch how much I do, how often I rest, and when I take my medication. I feel like my life is dictated by me head.

I also know how she is feeling when she asks me what God has planned for her and how it is possible. I sometimes feel like I have done all this study and research and now I am not using it or working in the field I am most passionate. I feel like I just live from day to day waiting for the opportunity to do something else, something more.

Our experience of church is very much dictated by our experiences of life; we both find it a struggle to go to church. We find it hard to do small talk with people who don't really know how we are struggling silently. We find the music often contrite and dishonest to how we are feeling. We can find the sermons boring and/or rip them apart mentally due to our theological training. So we tend to avoid church, or go very unwillingly.

We are trudging, but oh how we want to fly.

During these times it is the story of Joseph that really sustains me. If you know the story, fell free to let your mind wander as I summarize it for those who do not.

Joseph was the second youngest of 12 brothers. Though usually the eldest brother was the most loved, the most favoured, but Joseph, the first child of two children from the favourite wife of Jacob, was the most loved by his father. We was doted on and, frankly, was a little spoiled and outspoken to boot. He annoyed his brothers by telling the of dreams he had where his whole family would bow down to him. In a fit of rage, the brothers took Joseph, intending to kill him. Instead, they sold him to slavers that then took the young boy to Egypt to sell. He was sold to Potiphar, an important man, and he worked hard to please his master. However, his master's wife took a little too much of a liking to him and, when he didn't reciprocate, falsely accused Joseph of rape. Joseph languished in prison for 14 years, working hard and earning the respect of the guards of the prison in the process. When fate brought two men of Pharaoh's household to the prison, Joseph was given the opportunity to interpret their dreams and, in the process, asked them to remember him to Pharaoh. The dreams came to pass as he said, with one man being killed and the other being reinstated in his former position. It was another two years before Pharaoh had a dream and the reinstated man remembered his promise to Joseph. He told Pharaoh about the now fully grown man, and Joseph was released to interpret the Pharaoh's dream. He did so correctly, thorugh the Spirit of God, and was made second only to Pharaoh in all of Egypt. Eventually a famine struck the land for 7 years and Joseph's brothers were needing food. They went to Egypt to ask for grain from Joseph, who had been preparing for the famine for years after being warned in Paroah's dream. It was then that the dreams of seeing his family bow before him were fulfilled. Joseph forgave his brothers and brought his whole family to Egypt and died an important, wealthy and loved man.

That was a very brief explanation of the story. If you want more look it up in Genesis and have a read. It is worth it.

Anyway, back to my point.

It was 16 years before Joseph was set free. He didn't know if he would ever get out of prison alive. He didn't know what the plan was or how God would get him out of it all. He had a terrible experience as a child and now he was locked away for something he didn't do.

If I was Joseph I would have despaired. There seemed to be no hope, no light at the end of the tunnel, no justice.

Even though the story doesn't end that way, it is this part I want to focus on. The part where for 16 years Joseph trudged through everyday in prison.

He had dreamed he could fly, and was made to trudge with no end insight.

But it was he did in prison that impresses me so much. He worked so hard and so faithfully that the head of the prison made him his right hand man. He was put in charge of other prisoners and earned the respect of both them and the people paid to keep him locked up. He didn't give up, he just found another way to serve God.

This challenges me. So often I ask God what his plan is for my life and when will it come to fruition. But really, all God calls us to is to live faithfully in loving him and loving others where ever we find ourselves. 

Whether we are trudging or flying, our purpose is the same. Whether we feel defeated or elated, our response to God and to others is meant to be the same. We are meant to live faithfully in love. Maybe our circumstances will change, maybe they won't, but that should not determine how we live or what God is asking from us.

We may feel like we are trudging, but it is living out our faith in Jesus that brings us to flight, whether we feel it or not.

Remember that it is the sacrifice and love of God that makes us fly, not what we do or where we are headed. We may feel like we are in a prison and that we will be in it for life, but it is how we live and how we respond to God that will define us.

I look back at the last ten years of my life and see how far I have come, even though most of it has felt like one long trudging slog. I remember that this time a decade ago I was in an abusive marriage, was alcohol dependent, was in and out of psych wards and suicidal. Today, I am loved, happy, healed, and 7 years sober. It was a long hard walk, but I am flying, whether I feel it today or not. God's work in our lives is not dependent on our feeling it. However, it is our hope in God that keeps us going everyday.

You may continue to trudge, but remember that it is our hope that makes us fly.

Which is more important....forgiveness or healing?

On my way to work in the mornings I tend to arrive at the train station about 10mins early so I can sit in my car and read my bible and pray a bit (I know, I am so holy and I put you all to shame). I do this so I start my day the right way, focused on God and not on how tired, grumpy, wanting to be in bed I feel.

Sometimes I just go through the motions. I don't really take in what I am reading and/or I don't really care (maybe not that holy after all). But sometimes what I have read really gets me thinking.

Like yesterday for example.

I was reading Mark 2:1-13. For those who don't know their bibles off by heart (shame on you.....you are going stright to hell, do not pass go, do not collect $200...jokes) this bit tells the story of a paralytic man. Jesus is chilling in a house, maybe eating some dinner or something, when the people of the town hear he is there. Like the celebrating swarming of the 1st Century, they all flock to see him, filling the house and the road outside and basically acting like people do around the Kardashians today, but for much better reasons (hopefully). 

In this town there is a paralytic man who is hanging out with his mates, who start to think to themselves that maybe they should get him to see Jesus and maybe something like a healing would happen (because by now stories of Jesus' healings have spread). So they pick up this guy on his mattress and start carrying to the place where Jesus is.

When they get there the doorway is full of people who are not gonna give up their precious opportunity to see and hear Jesus. Perplexed, these fellas start brainstorming and decide to climb up on the roof (which is flat in this part of the world, and usually has stairway access), and dig a hole through the roof (really hope the owner was pissed off that this) and then lowered the man, mattress and all, down to right smack bag in front of the great man himself.

Now I can imagine Jesus looking at the man on the mat, then looking up at the hole in the ceiling and breaking into a huge smile. He is really impressed with the faith and commitment they have all shown. So he looks at the man and says "your sins are forgiven." Some religious elders and stuff and kinda annoyed by this because in their reckoning only God has the authority to forgive sins and Jesus is a man. So Jesus (apparently reading their minds!!!) looks at them and says "which is easier, to forgive sins or to tell this man to get up, pick up his mat and walk. But so you know that the Son of Man [a title Jesus uses for himself] has the authority to forgive sins..." he looks at the paralytic man "stand up, pick up your mat and walk home." And the dude, who is paralysed remember, gets up, picks up his mat and walks out.

Now there are many amazing things about this story. I mean, the paralysed guy would have had muscles that were all shrunken and munted and yet he could get up and walk straight away! The full body healing that occurred here is mind blowing in medical terms. It is not just the cause of his paralysis that is healed, but all of the issues associated with that. All instantaneously!! Flippin wow!

But what struck me yesterday was not the healing. It was that the healing was almost an afterthought in the story. 

Jesus didn't heal the guy immediately. He forgave him first. And then he implies that it is harder to forgive sins than to heal this man.

The healing is not of the first importance to him!!

This made me think about the priorities I would have placed on this story. If I had been Jesus I would have healed the guy first then said something like "BOOM! Look at what I can do! Now believe all you peeps, because I am badass and,as a bonus, I will forgive his sins too!"

In churches I see the same thing. We pray often for people's healing, but how often is there salvation or relationship to God seen as more important than their physical ills. It is the mentality that says "show me a miracle first and then I will believe and ask to be saved."

And yet that is directly opposite to what Jesus does here. His main focus is on the spiritual ill of the man. He sees that the healing that had to occur between this man and God was more deadly, more disastrous than the physical disabilities he had. This reconciliation of man and God was the priority.

How would this attitude impact how we speak to people with disabilities and illnesses? If we adopted this attitude what would change in our hearts towards others? Would we stop seeing people with disabilities as something to be pitied but rather view the state of their faith as more important? Would their disability pale in comparison to their knowledge of God? Would we approach them differently? Would we approach our own issues differently?

I for one am someone who empathizes greatly with people who suffer from disabilities; I have been one and, but for the grace of God, would still be one. I remember feeling like if people prayed for my healing and it didn't happen, that I or they had failed in their faith. I stopped asking for prayer because I felt ashamed.

It was in the prayers of some ladies who prayed for God to be made known to me, not to be healed, that I was healed. They prayed for my salvation, and God, like in this story, forgave me first and healed me second. And the first was more important for me than the second. My shame and fear was lifted. Even if I had remained in my illness I believe that my experience with God in that moment would have changed my life anyway, even if not others perception of my life.

So when you pray for healing for others (and I am not saying not to) remember that of greater importance to God is that this suffering person would know the love and forgiveness of Christ. It is then that true, deep healing is found, that the broken is made whole, and the world is reconciled to its Creator.

Loving My LGBT Neighbour?

I, like everyone else not living under a rock, is aware of the fact that the world is changing in regards to homosexuality. Laws are changing in many countries to allow homosexual couples to marry, decriminalising homosexual lifestyles and basically allowing homosexuals the same rights as their straight counterparts.

However, this isn't the case in other countries. Uganda is one such example. Watch the below video to catch up a little as to what is going on.

This clip is satirical in nature so maybe something a little more serious is in order.

It cannot be denied that to be homosexual in Uganda is somewhat dangerous these days and that this atmosphere of intolerance has been fuelled by extreme views by pastors claiming to be of the Christian persuasion.

So what? I hear you ask. Why do we care? Uganda is all the way over there and we are here and it doesn't affect us. Why don't the homosexuals just go to another country and leave Ugandan's to their ideas?

Well, let me just throw a few things out there for you.

1) This issue has been inflamed by the West stirring things up in Africa. This makes it our problem because it began as our problem.

2) Anything that hurts human rights for any human being should be our business. We are human. We don't like being treated like less human than other people. Therefore we should be really concerned if some people are being treated that way. Just as we now get upset if anyone claims that a black person is less human than a white person (which use to be law just fyi), we should be upset if someone says that a gay person does not deserve the same rights as a straight person. Saying that basically relegates the gay person as less human as the straight person. If you wouldn't like to be treated that way then you should be flipping upset if it is happening to someone else.

3) Why should people be kicked out of their country because they choose to live in a different way with a consenting adult? I am not talking about a crime that is dangerous and hurtful. Homosexuals are not paedophiles or dangerous to anyone. They just want to be treated as a human being who gets to choose their lifestyle. Why should they have to leave for that?

Now I need to state something before I go any further. I am a Christian and I do not agree with the homosexual lifestyle. I don't believe that being Christian and not agreeing with homosexuality goes hand in hand for many people, but for me they are linked. HOWEVER, my gay friends (yes, I do have them) know this and we are able to talk about our opposing views with love and respect. 

My views on homosexuality HAVE NOTHING TO DO WITH my views on human rights.

And this is an issue of human rights NOT religion, faith, belief, sexuality or anything like that.

As a Christian, above and beyond everything else, I love God and I love others. 

To love others is to always, no matter the issue, stand with those who are being oppressed. It doesn't matter if they are being oppressed for being a woman, being black, being Muslim, being gay, or being a vegetarian. If someone is being oppressed, if their dignity and worth as a human being is being taken away and/or abused, then it is my duty as a Christian to stand with them, to speak for them, and to fight for them.

What is happening in Uganda to the LBGT community is WRONG. 

It is wrong that people are living in fear because of sexual orientation.

It is wrong that when I watch the above video I am ashamed of the Christians and being associated with them (on another note it is not wrong that I totally proud how Pepe dealt with that awful interview).

It is wrong that when I post pro gay statements on Facebook that I get slammed by Christians who see it as bad that I can support people fighting to be heard as equal human beings.

When Christians speak only about why we stand against homosexuality all we do is paint Christians with the homophobic brush. Everyone is well aware of how we feel about homosexuality by now. I don't think anyone is surprised when a Christian says that they don't agree with that lifestyle. Duh!

But to stand with the LBGT community as they fight for equal rights is something unheard of. It is something that has the potential to bring reconciliation and love between to opposing camps. It has the possibility of showing the love of Christ to those who are all to aware of what we stand against.

So I guess the last reason Uganda should be on our radar is because it is symptomatic of the arguments that are occurring between Christians and LBGT communities. It shows what happens when those conversations become part of law. It shows how hate can be taken to a national scale.

Uganda, if nothing else, should make us pause and think about what our words sound like to those who are LBGT and what impact that may be having on the wider global community.

Temptation and Weakness (or Reverting Back to my 16 year old Self)

Something happened to me last night. It hasn't happened for a long time. It happened in front of a couple of friends. It shocked and worried my husband. It left me broken and disgusted with myself, and embarrassed that I had sunk so low so fast.

What could possibly have happened I hear you ask?

I binged.

I gorged, overate, over-indulged, ate myself sick.

I at pizza and a really yummy dessert and I went totally overboard. And then, after I had gone to bed, I lay there thinking about the left overs in the fridge. So in the morning, for breakfast, I did it again.

I haven't done this is so long that is scared my husband. He was immediately asking me what was wrong, why I was doing this to myself. I ate my concoction of chocolate chips, cream, and flake chocolate and told him that nothing was wrong. I then I felt sick. And my first thought was to purge, something I haven't done in many many years. 

And then I started to think that maybe hubby was seeing something I wasn't, that maybe something was really wrong and I was missing it. 

Food is a drug to me. It has been for as long as I can remember. I have learned to control it somewhat. I no longer binge like I use to (save the last 24 hours) and I eat to maintain my body rather than to find solace or comfort. And so when something like this happens it is like an alcoholic picking up a glass of beer and sculling it. It means that something is very wrong and I really need to start analysing my behaviour.

In the past an episode like that would have spun me out of control. 24 hours would have moved into a week or a month or eating badly and too much. My shame and disgust with myself would feed my addiction and I would have turned to food to cover what my eating had caused. I would have used it as an excuse to continue eating without thought for my health.

This time I did something radically different.

I sat with hubby and talked it out. We discovered that I have been feeling exhausted and stressed. We have moved house this week also and so all our good routines went out the window the last 7 days. We also have taken in a teenager and that change in life has meant many other things have taken a back seat. All of these issues subconsciously triggered a binge of epic proportions that could have undone all my good work in losing weight if I had listened to those around me, namely my husband, telling me I was acting abnormally.

So instead of eating more, or mentally beating myself up, or 101 other destructive things I could have done, I went and had a sleep, then cleaned my fish tank, and ran some errands. I started a weekly menu board for dinners so I am more prepared and more organised in life to bring some routine back into it. And after I have finished this I am going to go for a walk and get some good endorphins flowing.

Life is hard and we slip up.

I wanted to write this to show that I am human, that I fall off the wagon, but it is what we do afterward, how we react to our mistakes, that defines us.

I had a moment. A bad moment. But not a moment that will destroy me or continue any longer. I will listen to those that care about me, take steps to put things in place to stop me falling down again, and move on.

I know I have readers that struggle with their weight, and I know that many of them will relate to this post. What I want you to take away from this is that there is hope, but only in community. There is strength, but only if you first rely and rest on others. There is continuation, but only if you first stop and take stock.

I may have lost this small skirmish, but it will in no way affect the outcome of the war.

The Battle of the Bulge and the Strength of Community.

Ah weight issues, my old nemesis. 

Yet again we meet. 

 I saw you just this morning as I walked passed my mirror and was determined not to acknowledge your presence.

I almost could pretend that you didn't whisper in my ear as I ate a muffin.

I nearly ignored you completely as I tried on a new dress. 

You keep showing your ugly face, your sneer and hateful words are expected and put up with on many days, despite how much I would rather tell you to piss off.

I hate you and you scare me, but for some reason I have put up with you for so many years that I am not sure how I would be without you anymore.

But I am learning.

Last week I stood in front of several groups of people whose eyes told me that they knew you intimately.

In those groups your presence was very much alive and well.

And yet it was in those very places, where I expected you to be strongest, you were at your weakest.

Somehow, as we looked at each other and talked about you, it was there that you failed to have control.

There you were named properly and seen for what you really are; something that can be defeated and controlled.

I saw your influence and at the same time I saw your weakness.

These fighters are not giving up.

I do not fight you alone.'

We shall overcome.

Wanting to Belong

(the second part of "why I can't be a Muslim....ever" will be posted next time but will be taking a break for this post)

This weekend just gone I had the supreme privilege of being asked to go down to New Zealand's most Southern city, Dunedin, to speak about my experience with mental illness and how the church can take part in the healing and reintegration of people with mental illness back into the community. I was there from Friday afternoon til Monday morning and managed to squeeze in six different talks to a variety of groups and churches.

Apart from being absolutely shattered I loved my time down there. It was an awesome city with an awesome vibe and beautiful architecture. Below is the main talk I gave on the Friday night to a bunch of different church people (along with pics of my time in the beautiful city). I hope you enjoy.

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Mary was upset. A man that she didn't like was whispering nasty things in her ear and touching her inappropriately, and she didn't like it. She told him to stop it but he wouldn't go away. So she started to yell at him, screaming at him to leave her alone. When I found her she was lashing out at the man and screaming at the top of her voice for someone to help her.

Natasha knew that she was sick. She could see it in the mirror every day. Her skin was starting to fall off her bones. She could see where it was tearing and bleeding and she didn't know how to stop it. She had been to the doctor many times about it but they kept telling her that it was ok. She knew it wasn't ok, and by the time I heard her story she was in a panic about how to fix it.

Mary and Natasha are real women who both experienced extremely traumatic events. However, both these women did not receive the help they needed to process what they went through.

For any other people these circumstances would have warranted counselling, church prayer meetings for the women, friends coming alongside to console and advice. Hey would have received medical treatment for their experiences and gained compassion and love from every quarter. Mary and Natasha didn't received any of this.

Because what Mary and Natasha experienced were hallucinations brought on by extreme mental health problems.

Tonight I have the privilege of being able to talk to you about mental health and the church. I can't do that without first telling you a little about myself. I am 28 years old, have been married for two years, am completing my Masters thesis and am looking at doing a PhD in mental health and theology.

6 years ago my life was very different. When I was 12 I developed early onset schizophrenia. By age 19 I lived with full blown psychosis, was in and out of the psychiatric ward at my local hospital, and had attempted to take my life numerous times. At age 22 my parents were taking care of me full time, I had ballooned from 75 kilos to a massive 200+, and I had been told that there was no cure, that mine was a life long sentence.

Enter the little old ladies on the church prayer team. Their prayers that day 6 years ago completely changed my life and thanks to the grace of God I am able to stand before you today free from extreme mental illness, free from medication, and able to share my story and give a voice to those who are often unheard.

My life is a life of terrible suffering and miraculous healing. 

While I was unwell for all those years I was actively involved in my church. This involvement did become less the more unwell I became, but what also became apparent was that I was more UNWELCOME the more unwell I became.

No one ever said to me “You are not welcome here.” I was never asked to leave or told I couldn't join a particular group. I was always greeted warmly at the door every Sunday, and prayed over when I received communion.

I was included. I just didn't belong.

People ceased to ask me out for lunch or dinner. I saw numbers dwindled in my home group and heard the whispers that it was because I made people uncomfortable. I wasn't asked to group outings to the movies or the pools. In fact, between Sunday and Sunday I didn't see anyone from my church. I was alone at home. I was at home, lonely.

As my mental health deteriorated so did my understanding of social niceties. I was a difficult person to be around. I never stopped talking. I would speak too loud. I would fall asleep at church and snore. I would eat anything that stopped long enough for me to grab it and put it in my mouth. I was bad at personal hygiene. I was big, loud, smelly, and an embarrassment to the people around me.

So people stopped being around me. I don't blame them, I really don't. It is really hard to spend time with someone that you can't relax around. It is hard to visit the house of someone who smells bad and won't let you leave. I exhausted people. I drained them.

Natasha exhausted people too. I met Natasha in the ward. She was a sweet woman in her 50's who had experienced a psychotic break with reality. She truly believed her facial skin was tearing off. I avoided her like the plague when I was there. If she could corner you she would tell you non-stop about her face and you would be stuck there for hours. She would follow you around too if you tried to walk away. She was embarrassing and exhausting and so I went out of my way not to talk to her.

I didn't care that Natasha was genuinely concerned about her face. I didn't care that she needed someone to talk to. To me she was a crazy old kook who I wanted to stay away from.

I still think about her and wonder what happened to her.

While in the wards I was exposed to many more people and behaviours that, in my early twenties, I was completely unprepared for. I watched a heavily pregnant woman attack staff and have a fire hose turned on her in an effort to control her. I heard the same lady describe her unborn child as a demon. In reality it was her fathers. I met a 17 year old boy who was dropped off by his parents for suicidal behaviour. He remained there for a week with no visitors. I was verbally abused by a man who thought I was his mother, and I was confronted by nurses who were in equal measure compassionate and careworn. When not in the psych ward I was a daily visitor at the day ward with other mental health patients in the community. Though this was a much more pleasant environment I was surrounded by people I did not know, that were usually much older than me, and by community workers who were understaffed and overworked. The people there embarrassed me with their weird behaviours and I felt left out and alone.

One thing that these people and I had in common was we were all identified by our labels. I was schizophrenic, which meant that nothing I said could be trusted as real. Others were bipolar, which meant you had to watch out for mood swings. Others had extreme depression so they were kept away from anything sharp.

Diagnosis of a mental illness alone creates greater issues for the patient than suffering the illness alone. Diagnosis locates the illness entirely with the individual, apart from their family and environment. It claims that there is something 'wrong' with the person that defines them as outside the acceptable 'norm'. This reduces hope of recovery, creates stigma from labelling, and turns a person into a category.

Currently in NZ today it is estimated that 1 in 4 people will suffer from a mental illness at some point in their lives. It is estimated that 38% of europeans, 62% of Maori, 59% of asians, and 59% of pacific islanders will be diagnosed with a psychotic disorder, such as schizophrenia, in their life time

I find that when I speak of my experiences with mental illness I am met with 1 of four reactions by the listeners. The first is ambivalence. These listeners cannot relate, or don't know how to, and so are quick to change the subject and to move out of the area of a topic of which they have no understanding. They may think that mental illness is “all in your head” and something that can be changed by will power, or they may simply have no interest in the matter.

The second reaction is nervousness and confusion. These listeners mean well but simply do not comprehend what mental illness is or how to respond to it. They may look at you like you are about to pull out a gun and start a rampage, or they may ask to pray for you to release you from the demonic stronghold over your life. These are the listeners that will offer to pray for you but end up lost for words as they become confused as to what to pray for. They often super-spiritualize your experience in order to bring the conversation into a language that they understand.

The third group is perhaps the most interesting of reactions. They are the group that leans forward with eyes shining lapping up every word. When you have finished speaking they will say things like “that is so cool” and ask questions like “so, you could actually see people that weren't there? Was that freaky and what did they look like?” They are curiously excited by what is being said and can ask insensitive questions about experiences in the psych wards. They will also be the ones most likely to call people with mental illness 'crazy' or 'psycho'.

The last group is the minority. They are the listeners who will find you alone later, share their own experiences, cry and pray with you. They usually have had an experience with mental illness and have genuine compassion for what I have been through. But these listeners are few and far between.

Unfortunately mental illnesses have stigmas attached to them that cause reactions of fear, disinterest, and wariness. People buy into the stigma that schizophrenics, and other mental health patients, are WORTHLESS, DIRTY, INSINCERE, DELICATE, SLOW, TENSE, WEAK, FOOLISH, INCOMPETENT, NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR ACTIONS, DANGEROUSLY VIOLENT and UNPREDICTABLE. It is my experience that these stigmas are found just as much within the church as from without, but the added labels of LACK OF FAITH, DEMON POSSESSED, and ANGRY. With these labels it is easy to understand why mental health patients find it hard to contribute in a world where the stigma of your illness is often worse than the illness itself. It is also easy to understand why mental health patients often talk of feeling isolated and rejected by their communities and churches.

The simple fact of the matter is, people do not know how to respond to mental illness.

Despite a quarter of the population having experienced one mental illness of another at some point or another, it seems to be a human issue that we cannot comprehend or relate to suffering that cannot be physically manifested. People will react out of fear and amusement, but very rarely out of genuine compassion.

And this is true of the church as well.

In the last six years I have had to relearn socially cues and behaviours, get use to being on my own with no other voices to keep me company, and to survive on my own outside of my family's care.

I carry with me the memories of people who have not been as fortunate as I. The haunted eyes of the lady that believed the baby in her womb was a demon. The dead eyes of the man that received shock therapy at age 8 and has been institutionalized ever since. The fear in the eyes of the lady who believed the skin on her face was melting off. The sadness in the eyes of the young teenager with suicidal tendencies. I hold in my heart the conversations we all had about being forgotten, rejected, hated by our communities. I remember the questions I received when I told the other patients I was a Christian as to why no one in my church came to visit me. I remember the loneliness.

Which is why when I met Mary I acted in a way that I had never previously acted. 3 years ago I heard screaming coming from over my fence at about 10pm. Concerned, I went over to see what was happening and found Mary, the mother of my next door neighbour, screaming at a man that I could not see, that did not exist. She had arrived to visit her daughter only to find the house empty, her daughter away for the weekend, and it was enough to cause a mental break with reality. In that moment I remembered avoiding Natasha at the wards and so I went and sat with Mary, listened to her worries, answered queries from other concerned neighbours, and called her daughter. I sat with her all night waiting for the mental health response team to arrive with her medication. I refused to let Mary turn into another Natasha in my memory.

Jesus is a friend to the broken.

I believe this with all of my heart. Yet is it so difficult to befriend a person who doesn't speak sense, who may not even notice your existence while you sit with them, who can act in a way that seems barely human sometimes.

Yet Jesus is a friend to the broken.

I knew this couple who had met in the psych ward, fallen in love and, against the wishes of their families, got married. Everyone expected them to spiral out of control mentally and end up back in the state's care. To everyone's surprise, they found a house, moved in, and, when I met them, had been happily married for 10 years. Their love and care for each other meant that they reminded each other to take medication and see the doctor. But the most profound thing that she said to me was “he makes me feel human, he doesn't care about my labels.” They had discovered in each other a person who saw and loved the intrinsic value that the other contained in simply being human. It was through this love and acceptance that they were able to move back into the wider community and form relationships there. Their mental illnesses didn't disappear or even get much better, but in being treated as human rather than as an illness they have been able to find wholeness and healing.

It was in their example that I saw a vision of what the church could be. Loving the broken is more than praying for their healing. It is more than listening to their stories. It is more than asking questions about experiences.

It is about teaching the church as a whole to view people as human rather than as broken. To value the humanness of a person is to see past the brokenness, the medical labels, the sad stories, and to see the heart of a person who longs only to be treated as worthy of attention. It is to act out the continuing mission of Jesus to all who are difficult to relate to and to understand and to reincorporate them back into the community.

In my experience I have seen this love of my humanness a handful of times. I saw it in my next door neighbour who would come over for coffee everyday and sit and listen to me ramble, help me clean my house, tell me off if I did something silly, and give me advise on my struggles. I saw it in a fellow student who discovered that I had difficulty in picking up social cues and developed a system of signals to tell me when I was doing something wrong. I saw it in one of my lecturers who let me breakdown in his office when things were getting on top of me.

These people listened, heard the issue, accepted it and worked with it, rather than trying to change it. For me, they were the church being lived out.

I still don't know how this love for the humanness of people works in churches. There is no 5 step program about reintegrating the mentally ill back into the congregation. But in a country where at least 1 million people will be diagnosed with a mental illness at some point in their lives, there needs to be a beginning of a conversation. And it is a conversation that includes those that it is about. They may be unwell, but they will be very aware of what they feel is missing, what they don't like and how they want to be treated.

It is hard to be friends with people that don't fit, that embarrass us, that are difficult to understand. But our mindset is fundamentally wrong. This was never about US. It isn't about our comfort or discomfort, but about loving people as the created image of God, as people who embodied the Holy Spirit, as people that Jesus came in form of and died for. If we get over our own embarrassment and start viewing all people, well or not, as as worthy of belonging as we are, then maybe, just maybe, people like me won't have to feel lonely anymore.

We Will Remember Them...(a not so ordinary memorial)

Today in NZ it is the 12th of September but in Americaland it is the 11th. September 11. Will that day ever mean anything else except death and fear?

I remember being at school on this day 12 years ago (has it really been that long) and hearing, incorrectly, that America had been bombed. The rest of the day went out the window as we sat in our classes glued to the tv watching repeats of the crashes, then people jumping out of windows to escape the fire. The images are burned into my memory and still make me feel physically ill.

Years on now and my view on this historic event has changed. 

It is still disgusting, barbaric and gut wrenching.

It is still a day that is worth remembering.

But as my understanding of world politics has grown so has my compassion for people that I never thought I would have compassion for.

So today I would like to add my own memorial.

"WE WILL REMEMBER THEM"

Today as we remember the planes crashing into buildings I choose to remember the plane hijackers who chose to kill innocent people. I choose to remember all those who have been subjected to brainwashing and have hurt themselves and others in a deluded attempt to do the right thing. I choose to remember their hate, and I chosoe to forgive it as Christ forgave those who nailed him to a tree and then jeered at him as he died.

As we remember the flames that burned with enough force to melt a building I choose to remember those in every country who have burned in the fires of war and terror. I choose to remember Americans, Afghani's, Iraqians, Iranian, Syrians, Pakistanis, African and South American Nations, and every other people, person, mother, child, father, brother, sister, wife, husband who has instigated or been the victim of war and hatred. I choose to pray for those who kill and those who are killed that the justice of God might be known throughout the world and God's peace may reign over all.

As we remember those that were crushed in buildings that came down on top of them, I choose to remember those that see their way of life destroyed in front of them and have no money to rebuild. I choose to remember those that are poor and helpless and do not have an economy or a government that will help them with medical costs and welfare. I choose to remember the parents who watch their children starve because they have been forgotten by the people with money and power. I pray that they may know that God is with them in their suffering, that Jesus suffered as they suffered, that he had no home or income and that he loves them and will wipe their tears from their eyes.

As we remember the nationalism that swept America after the fateful events of September 11 I choose to remember those that are in nations that use nationalism to wage wars and incite the people to hatred. I choose to remember the conditions and environments that breed young people and teach them to hate those from other countries and different religions. I remember those that have never heard of the gospel of peace and instead chose revenge and murder. I pray that God will forgive them, and that they will learn to turn from what they do.

I will remember them.

All of them.