But I Thought Christians were Giving, Even if the Circumstances aren't Ideal

I just don't understand. 

My 25-year-old daughter is in the process of moving from living with her former fiancé' back to the home my mother, husband and I share. If you've read much of this blog, you'll already know about my tiny living situation. In fact, I've posted at least one blog specifically about tips for living in a tiny space.

Due to this, I've had a lot on me the last few weeks. My husband and I have had to clean out the room that was our den/kitchenette/my place to keep clothes - and find other places for everything. Thankfully, we have attic space - but we had to clean out and organize the attic to make room for our extra furniture and stuff that just wouldn't fit.

This has been a huge task... and it's not finished. However, as of yesterday, we have what will be her bedroom (and living room and study) ready. All of our furniture is out. All of the shelves and pictures on the wall are down (though I still have to fill and touch up the holes). My closet is empty. 

She originally thought that she had to be out the 15th of this month (currently it's the 11th). About a week and a half ago, they were looking at the lease and realized that the move out date is the 21st. 

Side note #1: If you don't read this blog, you won't know that my daughter has several mental and physical issues that make everyday life really, really hard to navigate. She hasn't been able to work more than a few sporadic part-time jobs over the past few years. She gets overwhelmed easily. She's come a long way toward learning to cope with her challenges but has a long way to go.

Side note #2: Even if you do read this blog, you won't know that her former fiancé/now-roommate has hoarder tendencies. I won't say she's technically a hoarder, but she has a LOT of stuff. She has a very hard time getting rid of anything. My daughter also has a good amount of stuff, but nothing compared to her roommate.

Side note #3: Even if you read this blog, you also won't know how many animals they have. Though some they are fostering for a friend who will be taking them soon, between them, they have 14 cats, 2 dogs and 2 rats. They also feed local feral cats. They also have many collections - Funko Pops, World's Smallest items (at least those are small), DVD and VHS movies... I could go on and on. 

Side note #4: (there was only going to be one of these when I started - sigh...): Though my daughter really tries, it's impossible to keep a house totally clean with a semi-hoarder and that many animals. Everything that does come to our house has to be cleaned before it can be put in her room or the attic.

Back to the regularly scheduled programming... This move is a big deal. It's not like any move I've ever experienced - my own or friends or family. All of their collections, clothes, shoes, kitchen stuff, even furniture... everything is enmeshed. They have to go through it together to even figure out who gets what, as a lot was bought together. 

This is a big deal because her roommate works 50-60 hours a week and has her own mental and physical issues (though not nearly as severe as my daughter's). There isn't a lot of time to sort it all - and the clock is ticking toward the day they have to be out.

My husband and I are exhausted - mentally, emotionally, physically. It has been a lot to get everything out of her room. We're doing this around work, helping my mom, faith-based activities, etc. Everything has to be done in a specific order. Some parts only I can do. Some only my husband can do. Some has to be both of us. It's a lot.

On top of that, I'm also helping my daughter get motivated enough to pack and get ready - and I'm the one arranging the timeline and help to actually do the moving.

Okay, now that you know all this, you'll understand a little more where I'm coming from with this post.

My original plan was to move our furniture to our bedroom and attic - up a long flight of stairs - this past Thursday (the 8th) and then move the majority of my daughter's furniture and belongings yesterday (the 10th). For this we needed one strong man who could help my husband move the furniture upstairs (between my back, age, and other factors, moving heavy stuff is forever no longer part of my skill-set). Then we needed a couple of trucks and a few other strong guys to get her stuff out of her house and taken to ours.

I knew it wouldn't be a lot. We needed to move about 6-8 pieces of furniture, then as many boxes as she had packed. So it should have taken only a couple of hours, including travel time (30 minutes from her house to ours). 

My network of friends through faith-based organizations has grown greatly over the past year. When I began to plan out how this would work, I was sure I would have plenty of help.

After my first requests, no-one responded. Not one. I sent out queries to my church's small group (about 20 people), a large women's group I'm part of (hoping a husband could help), my church's worship team, (about 15 guys in the rotation), the Deaf church, and a few others.

I had an offer by two men from the Deaf church we attend part-time to bring their trucks to my daughter's house to have something for the big furniture to travel in. Due to being in their 70s, they couldn't help much with moving but they could provide the means to get it to our house - still a huge help.

However, I had no help moving the heavy furniture. It would take a while - and a lot of hour-long round trips - but eventually, my husband, daughter and I could get all of the boxes and smaller, lighter furniture... if we had to. What about the heavy and/or bulky furniture? I can't afford to pay anyone and it had to leave that house... somehow.

About a week before the deadline, two more friends came through. One church friend asked in her own small group and had a one man volunteer to help with the evening shift at our house, moving furniture upstairs.

Another had a son in a Christian private school. Some of his friends (15 years old) needed service hours and my friend talked to their moms about our need. All three agreed! I gave them my and my daughter's addresses and set a time for this to happen. 

Then, a fourth! A single woman in my small group said she'd come and help.

It wasn't an abundance - but I hoped it would be enough.

So, at this point you are probably wondering where the title for this post came from if I got the help I needed.

This is why I'm writing... 

The friend of a friend did show on Thursday night and helped get everything out of the bedroom. He was there maybe an hour and we are so thankful he agreed to come and do some pretty physical labor for us - someone he didn't even know before that night.

But Saturday - when the big move was supposed to happen...

Well, let's go back to Wednesday, when, after knowing my daughter's address for about two weeks, I got a text from my friend about the teens that needed service hours. She had just heard from one of their moms, saying that they couldn't come because where my daughter lived had shootings with people having been killed in that neighborhood. 

My daughter had lived there two and a half years - with no issues. (Well, her roommate had her car broken into, but that kind of thing also happens other places - even the fancy-schmancy area where we currently live.) In fact, back when she was looking into rentals and she took me to see it, I felt a peace about her being there. She told me she had felt the same thing.

Back again to Wednesday... they would still be willing to unload at our house - located in a city that has the reputation of a "safe" area.

So they all bailed. Three out of the four who had committed to help were no longer in the equation. 

But I still had the one friend from my own small group, right?

Nope. She had forgotten about a family commitment she had that day.

My friends from the Deaf Church were still willing to bring trucks but we had no-one to help load them.

I just don't understand.

Update on June 18, 2025:

It's been about a month since the move-out date came and went. Thankfully, my daughter's former fiancé' didn't hold a grudge and was willing to help us load the big and/or heavy items into my brother's 20 year old truck. When we got it to our house, we flagged down neighbors, basically strangers, who were willing to unload. The friend who said couldn't do it because of a family obligation did help with one load - and I'm not discounting that. I appreciate her and all those who did come through.

We made trip after trip and finally got everything out of the house on the early morning hours the day after they were supposed to be out.

So, we got it done. But it took a HUGE physical, mental and financial toll. I still don't understand. I thought the Church was supposed to be there for each other - and honestly, I thought that was even when it was inconvenient to do so.

I guess I was wrong.

Update - read my post about an email I sent to the pastors of my church about this issue - and their response: https://www.spotlightonstigma.com/2025/07/an-email-to-pastors-of-my-church-about.html

Is There a Place for a Person Who's Really Hurting at Church on Sunday Morning?

Is there a place for a person who's really hurting at church on Sunday morning? 

For the last 24 hours or so, I have been hurting really badly. My back has been killing me. My ears have been throbbing. The one floater I still have in my left eye after surgery to remove them, which usually isn't apparent, has been, well, apparent. On top of all that, when I got home from a few wonderful days of a mini-vacation, I got a letter that some of my doctors are no longer covered by my insurance. 

So, I'm having physical issues, and on top of it I need to find new doctors. I'm still working on getting three different specialty meds I'm supposed to be taking!

I'm tired. I'm hurting - and I'm at church where everything is upbeat and happy. 

This brings up a question that I've wondered about before, but never had this kind of in-my-face direct example of living it. 

I'm crying. bawling actually. I feel horrible - and I can't share that with anyone here. In theory, I could. I know that the people here care but they all have their things to do. They're getting ready to lead worship or work the technology or preach or greet newcomers or check in children... or they're catching up with their friends after not seeing them for a week.

I'm hiding in the nursing mother's room. This is the place that's become my refuge when I just have to get away. Thankfully, nobody needs it right now. 

Maybe I'm really wrong - probably I'm really wrong - but I can't see them taking time for me. What good would it do anyway? I'm still going to be in pain. Let's say they did surround me with prayer, with hugs, with love, they'll have to leave in time to be on stage or in their seats, because "the show must go on." (We livestream, so our start time is timed practically to the second.)

I just realized why this is affecting me to this extreme right now. A couple of weeks ago I was meeting with a group of women who are trying to learn more about God, hear Him and see Him in everything. In fact, I'm one of the leaders of the group.

It was really strange. That was one of my "good days" physically, emotionally and mentally, but I started crying because of a sweet thing God showed me about a specific verse of scripture. Somehow, for some reason, and even though it was happy crying, it turned into a panic attack.

I ran out and stood on the porch, trying to calm down. I kept wondering if somebody would follow me... would care... would help...

Finally, the one who was facilitating the meeting came out. I thought she was coming out to help.  Instead, she just told me I needed to get in my car until I calmed down.

This woman is amazing. She's one of my best friends. I know that she cares about me. I know that she loves me. I know she'd do just about anything for me. 

She had her reasons.

I needed to sit down in case I fainted. She didn't want the neighbors to see me hyperventilating on her porch. The noise I was making trying to breathe might bother the women who were still inside.

In other words, my struggle was interrupting their time with God.

That hurt me to my core. I haven't confronted her about it yet because I don't want to hurt her but to be in such a vulnerable position and to be basically told, "You go fix it and then you can come back," is one of the main reasons I have this blog. Even people who care don't understand how their action, or sometimes their inaction, can hurt someone who deals with invisible illnesses.

I was taught growing up that you're not supposed to show strong negative emotions. You can't be incredibly sad unless there's a "real reason" (like the death of a family member or finding out someone you love has cancer or something similar).

There has to be a reason. It can't be just emotions. It can't be due to mental health issues or clinical depression. It can't involve invisible illnesses like back issues or chronic ear infections. It can't be caused by exhaustion, hunger, or worry. 

We're supposed to be "more than conquerors." We're supposed to trust God in all these things. We're supposed to be healed. 

But what the hell if you're not? What if you're not? What if you're trying so hard to do the right thing... reading the Bible again after years of shying away from it... trying to pray after years of secretly wondering if it was worth the time... and becoming part of - and heavily involved in - a church and joining the leadership team in a Christian women's group? 

What if you're doing all this and it doesn't change a damn thing? 

How do you reconcile it? 

I don't know if anybody who reads this has ever felt this way. My guess is you have - that you've gone to church or a close friend or a family member with your pain and your struggles - and been told that you need to just get over it, that you need to get in the car until you can calm down. 

I personally feel we're supposed to do is help each other. What we're supposed to do is support each other, not send people to be alone when they need others the most. 

Church is starting. I have to decide if I'm going to go in and try my best to not be the basket case I currently am. However, I'm not a good actress and I'm almost positive that will be a big fail.

My thoughts are all over the place. Part of me wants to continue to hide. Then there's another part of me that wants to show people how I feel... that someone can be real... that it's okay to come into church not okay.

Still another part of me is scared that no one will care - or that people will care too much. I don't even know which one I want to happen. I just want to not feel this way. 

I'm also concerned that others feel this way - that church is the place they are most lonely..

And I don't know how to fix it. 

Heck, I don't even know how to ask for help for just myself! 

I can hear the worship set starting. It's so amazing. I feel like everybody in there is ready to worship. Well, maybe not everybody... chances are good there is someone like me... others who don't want to dive into worship, who have nothing in them to give to anyone else, even to God.

I finally land on the decision that I need to be okay before I go in there - and I'm not.

Shouldn't church be a place where you could not be okay, where you could go ineven more because you're not okay? 

That makes no sense. Let me try again.

Should it be a place where somebody could go in crying and not be looked down upon? You can cry at the end of the service during the emotional prayer time but not during the worship set.

If I go in there, I'm going to make people uncomfortable. If I go in there like this, that is. I don't want to bring them down. But I want to go in. It took everything in me to get up this morning and get ready to come. Now I'm here and I can't make myself participate! I'm in a dark, tiny room all alone. Nothing against my husband, but he's on the stage with them. He knows how I'm feeling but he's not here with me. I think, if I asked him to, I think he would stay with me.

But I would feel the whole time like he's worrying about getting to the stage. And I'm guilty of the same thing. That's why I said I don't know how to fix it. I hate it, but I know I would also care more about making sure I got to the stage on time than help somebody in need. 

But... 

that's...

just...

wrong. 

It's wrong of me to do. It's wrong of others to do. Caring more about facilitating a meeting or a worship 

Okay, it's about halfway through the worship set. I need to go now or completely give up.

So... I'm going to just go in there and hide, or at least try to hide - but at least I can be there. 

One more thing real quick. All those who are either on stage or part of the tech team are invited to go to a prayer time before the service. I don't know why I go when I'm not on the team that week, but I usually do. Anyway, I was able to get myself together enough to go.

The person who opened the prayer time read a scripture about turning your sorrow into joy and making beauty from ashes. 

I wanted to know, but I couldn't talk to him. It was all I could do not to cry even then. Instead, I asked my husband to ask him when he picked that verse. I didn't know if he saw me crying and he picked it from that. But he had already chosen it earlier.

I needed that. But then there's added pressure from hearing that verse. 

I guess my question is when will He do those things - turn my sorrow into joy and make beauty from ashes? 

And is it okay for me to be who I am right now until that time? 

*****************************************************************

Fast forward a couple of hours. After I got home, I realized I needed to add an addendum. 

I did go in the service. I just sat during the rest of the worship set. I just listened - and tried not to be too cynical about some of the words - about being victorious, about having victory, about being an overcomer, and about being healed. 

Because right now I'm none of those things. 

I tried to just... be. I tried to continue to fight the tears because I did not want to lose it. I mean, tears were streaming down my face, but I wasn't at least bawling... or heading towards a panic attack. 

Then "Connect Time" came - the time when everybody is supposed to greet everybody else.

And I'm like, I already know there is no way I can shake somebody's hand, smile, and say good morning. None. What if a stranger came up to me and asked me how I was doing or the traditional southern "How are you?" where they don't want to know how you're doing - they are just saying hi.

But at that point, would I lie and say, "Oh, I'm good," and try to smile? What would I tell them? If I started telling them the real answer, it would be really awkward. 

So I ran out of the auditorium and hid. It was then that I realized a lot of others come out during Connect Time. I never noticed that. They go to the bathroom, get coffee, whatever. So I turned to the wall and just stood by the picnic table in the lobby. 

I kept thinking somebody might see me and think, "Why is this person just facing the wall?" But nobody did. 

That is, until the service was just about to start, or I think it may have just started back. 

The lobby was pretty much cleared out at this time. Everyone else had gone back in. 

Then one person came over and asked me (and I could tell she was sincere) - "Are you okay?"

I told her no, I'm not. 

And she didn't ask why. 

Until that moment, I hadn't realized that's exactly what I needed. I didn't want to talk about all that was going wrong. I didn't want to try to put a spin on it on how I knew God would take care of me (though I was pretty sure it was true). 

She simply asked, "Can I pray for you?" and I said yes. Then she said - which I love - she asked, "Do you want me to pray for you now, or do you want me to just go inside and pray for you?

I replied, "I don't know." I couldn't make a decision right then about just about anything except trying not to hyperventilate. 

Then she asked, "Well, can I give you a hug?" And I was like, "YES!" (inside anyway - I told her yes in a normal tone of voice). While she was hugging me, she went ahead and prayed for me. 

She cared. She saw me. 

And not to brag on myself, because dang. I'm not anything - but I was thinking how I need to start doing what she gave to me for others. Then, during the service, I saw a woman across the aisle who started crying about what was being said. 

I doubt it was like my situation where I was crying purely due to selfish stuff (though I guess crying due to being in pain isn't really selfish). No matter what, it's how I felt, how I was at the time. Anyway....

I decided I wanted to talk to her as soon as the service was over and ask if I could pray for her.

Then I realized, what the heck is keeping me from praying right now? Why am I not praying right now? I started praying for her during the service. 

I also knew I needed to tell her. I know how important it was that that woman saw me... standing alone, facing the wall... and came up to me. She could have been praying for me without me ever knowing. But it meant so much more that she stopped and checked on me. 

So after got up from her seat, I stopped her and told her, "I've been praying for you." She asked me why did you do that? I said, "Well, I saw you crying, and I came in this morning crying. I don't know what's going on but I wanted to pray for you - that God would make himself known in whatever is going on." 

She was so thankful. Again, I'm not bragging on myself, but we need more of that in church. Last week our other pastor had a visual example that I'll probably never forget - a time when he and his wife were going through a rough time, he said they had people who supported them. Then he had the people stand up who he knew would support him at any moment. 

He said it wasn't just true for him as a pastor. He said that it would be true for anybody in this church. 

I agree. And I kind of believe that. If earlier I had grabbed one of the worship team to pray for me... I don't know. I don't know. I didn't want to find out. 

But most likely, if I grabbed one of them right before they were supposed to go on stage and said, "I need you to pray for me. Can you pray for me?" they wouldn't have worried about going on stage. They would have stopped and prayed for me. At least I think they would - because I also know that the show must go on. 

All these people are there. There are people watching on YouTube. So I understand that aspect of it. I don't know how to reconcile these two things. But even a person who isn't going to be on stage... They may really want to get into the service when it starts. Our worship set is not that long and if I was the one who was being asked to pray for someone else, I would have wanted to be in there for that time.

We need to be looking for people who need help. "I" need to be looking. We ALL need to be looking. The problem with that it takes time to show someone you care. It takes time to see if somebody's okay. It takes time to see if somebody needs prayer. 

We're all so busy. I'm one of the biggest ones guilty of that. We all have our stuff to do. The church should be the place where you can go in crying and somebody sees it. 

I can't help but think of the Brandon Heath song, "Give me your eyes." It's what the whole song talks about - seeing people that are in need or that are hurting or are homeless that we often just overlook - by accident or on purpose. Then sometimes we do see, but then we look away. 

But, "Give me Your eyes, Jesus. Give me Your eyes so that I can see the person sitting at the well like Jesus did." Think of all the times Jesus stopped what He was doing to help somebody. He probably had places to go, people to see, things to do - like we do. But he would stop. Because that person was more important than those things. 

All this is just something I'm going to try my best to start doing more - really looking for people who need prayer or a hug or just a hi, hello - while praying that God will open my eyes even more.

I said earlier that I don't know the solution for this. 

But this is the solution. 

I meant to say earlier, the problem with what our pastor said last week is that if somebody asked for help, someone would be there for them. But what if they won't ask? What if it feels too uncomfortable to ask because of shame, embarrassment, low self-worth, social anxiety disorder, anything like that? 

What if the place that they're in actually means they can't ask. 

If somebody doesn't see it, then they're going without help. They're going without support. They may know to go to God, but sometimes we need the tangible. I know I needed that hug today - from somebody, from a stranger. Someone who noticed me. 

That made all the difference. 

*************************************************************

Note... I didn't have my laptop with me when all this happened, so I recorded both my original thoughts and what I was thinking when I got home. If you want to hear the recordings with all my raw emotion included, go to 

https://www.dropbox.com/scl/fi/3wfwngb8049yghluor5oc/Reflections-on-a-Church-Service_-Navigating-Cynicism-Seeking-Victory.mp3?rlkey=ihytl2e7zzpl62wre0d79pqlw&st=uol4mas1&dl=0 

and 

https://www.dropbox.com/scl/fi/ds41f6gktmwggbod9zedi/Seeking-Solace_-A-Poetic-Plea-for-Healing-Amid-Physical-Afflictions.mp3?rlkey=9ydur7cqc77mempo416wmwxgf&st=57xmjnu2&dl=0

What Can Churches Do about the Chasm between the "Haves" and "Have-Nots"?

This morning I was reminded about a women's retreat that happened last fall. I meant to post about it then, but just realized I never did. This retreat raised a question I've thought about for years.

It's a universal question, not only about the church, but I feel those of faith should do a better job with it than those outside of it.

Spoiler alert - I don't have the answer. No one I've ever talked to about it has the answer. I do know this at least... it's something that's decided on a case-by-case basis.

Unfortunately the decision is often in favor of the "haves" (and I'm a have-not 😔).

Let me tell you more about the retreat. Our church had been planning it for months, so when the following occurred, it wasn't a surprise. However, I thought I had a shoot that weekend so when they would talk about it during the Sunday morning service, I tuned out. I couldn't go so the details didn't matter.

(To be honest, in some ways I was glad I didn't have to make the decision on going or not because my social anxiety still runs rampant in my life and there was a part of me that was nervous about taking the plunge.)

Anyway, about a week before the ladies were leaving for the retreat, I realized that the shoot had been rescheduled and I had forgotten to take it off my calendar. Because I was brave at the moment, I decided to try to go. The deadline had passed for registration but I assumed (correctly) that there was still space.

Keep in mind that at this time I was still relatively new to this church. I had gotten to know a few people, but none very well. I would be going to the retreat with a bunch of strangers, but I was desperate for friends. I knew that if I made the leap to go, I might make a friend or two - and even if I didn't, I would at least hopefully feel more a part of the church.

So, I reached out to the one who was in charge about possibly going. I was right - she said there were spots available. She was excited about me going and at this point, I was excited too.

Then I told her that I couldn't afford it. As my husband and I both freelance, our income is tied to our work. We weren't even making the bills with the business, much less had enough extra to spend "only" $300 for something that wasn't necessary.

Our church isn't rich but most members have more than enough. I really thought that there would be scholarships available. When the women's leader mentioned that someone had pulled out but didn't ask for a refund for her registration, she excitedly told me that it would "only" be $200. 

I was devastated. $200 was as far out of reach as $5000. I argued with the retreat leader about the topic of this post (for which I'm ashamed about now), but it again brought up something I've wondered about since I was young...

When I was a teen, I had a friend who only came to church one or two times a month because she only had two dresses and didn't want everyone to know. That made a huge impression on me and I never forgot it. In fact, I decided to boycott dresses for church as soon as I was old enough to go to a church on my own because of that situation.

Back to present day - to get over the hurt about not being able to afford to go, I told myself that it would have been hard anyway due to the social anxiety issue. Honestly, though, the hurt lingered for a long time even with my efforts to push it away.

This brings me back to my title question... what can we do about this issue? If you are a "have," you might not have even realized that we "have-nots" have had issues with times like the following (all of which I've experienced multiple times while going to many different churches):

- not having "church clothes" and so we feel like we can't go as often or participate as fully as others (one church I went to didn't allow jeans on stage - and since that's all I had at the time, I couldn't even think about becoming part of the worship team),

- not being able to go out to eat with others after church (an important time to really get to know people in many churches) because restaurants just aren't in the budget, 

- not having enough extra to participate in activities like retreats or church outings that cost money (and this happens a lot),

- not being able to afford buying a book or other needed supplies for a church group's book study,

- not having something like an iPad, which I needed to be on the worship team on my current church (I'm old-school and just print out my music but when something changes and I see those with iPads, fix it easily, it still hurts),

- not participating in get-togethers like small groups (often in the evening) or women's groups (often during the day) because of needing to work, 

- not having enough for your child to participate in activities like basketball, 

- not even not having the gas money to go to anything beyond the main church service (or sometimes even the Sunday morning service).

I understand both sides. The majority of the "haves" often worked really hard for what they have. I can see them justifying not helping those who don't.

But, on the other hand, the "have-nots" also often work hard. Circumstances or poor choices can land someone in major financial difficuties - situations that can take years to get out of, if they ever can. 

I try not to expect that scholarships are available for activities like a retreat, but I always hope they are - and am very grateful when it's an option. There are so many great experiences I've gotten to do because of the generousity of others.

However, should I expect that generousity? Isn't that one of the early ways that the early church showed that they were the church? At the end of Acts 2, the Bible talks about how they shared everything. Those who had more than enough - the "haves" - sold their excess and gave it to those who didn't - the "have nots." 

I know this wasn't the only factor that led to the last verse in the chapter, but I can't help but think it had a part - that more and more were being saved and added to the church daily. 

So... is it really hard like I started saying at the beginning of this post? Or is it really simple? If you have more than enough, give to those who don't. Period. 

Something I'll continue to think about...

What if Churches Were More Like Support Groups?

For probably a decade, I was a "none" - a person who was still a Christian but had given up on church. I was tired of being hurt. I was tired of the hypocracy. I was especially tired of being "welcomed, but not accepted."

Though I felt in my heart that there were churches out there who were different, I couldn't find one and didn't have the drive to try. 

Then I discovered I am an addict. When I found a support group for my addiction and began attending, I noticed something very enlightening.

I was fully accepted - even though I had messed up royally in my life, even though I am an addict, even though I am very, very far from having it all together.

I had found my people.

The best thing about it is that the majority in my group are Christians, or at least seem to be. Their Higher Power is God, as is mine. Though we don't talk about the Bible, we often talk about principles that are faith-based. 

This group of messed up, broken addicts became my church.

I have learned so much about God through them. We quote the Serenity Prayer each week at the end of the meeting and add, "May Your will be done in our lives. Amen." The necessity and power of surrender is a recurring theme, as is making amends (asking for forgiveness.)

In other words, we talk about many of the main themes of the Bible, though not the salvation of Christ. Of course, Jesus and what He did is the most important aspect of Christianity, but my personal feeling is that church is more for the saved, so they can go out and share about Christ. 

To that end, group was that encouragement for me for years - helping the members apply the principles of Christianity so that we are in the right mindset to serve others, even non-Christians.

About six months ago, I actually found a church that is what I had hoped for - one that not only welcomes but accepts everyone. But group is still where I know I can be completely transparent, without fear of judgment or being looked down upon.

I still sometimes wish all churches were a little more like group. Here are some of the ways...

- In group, we don't have a dedicated leader. Anyone can participate in the readings, even if it's someone's first time. Anyone can share. There are what we call "old-timers" who have had sobriety the longest. They might help behind the scenes more than the newbies, but when it comes to group time, everyone is equal.

- We share honestly and authentically, often about things that literally no-one else knows about. Before I shared about losing my teaching license in group, I had only told maybe five of my closest and most trusted friends about it. Other than my parents and daugher, no one in my family even knew.

But because others had shared the horrible things that had happened because of what they had done, I knew I was safe to share it with them. They understood - and no one judged me.

- Everyone has a chance to share. Unless it's a special program or dedicated night, like the 5th week, there's never a speaker. Even when there is, it's almost always someone who is simply sharing his/her experience, strength and hope. It's not someone telling the rest what to do. There's a great deal of autonomy and working with others, usually one-on-one - called a sponsor/sponse relationship - who have been there.

- It's common for members to reach out to others during the week - for accountability, help, advice, and to help them keep from "acting out," as its called in our addiction. That kind of thing doesn't happen in church, at least in my experience. 

In church, you make friends who might help you follow the teachings of Christ or give advice on what to do when you mess up. But if your friends are busy, you are stuck. With group, we can just go to the next person in on the contact list because if your name is on the list, you are willing to take a call anytime.

- Everyone has heard of the "Twelve Steps." Those are the steps that many addicts take to get sober. But what's not often talked about is that the steps are much more than a way to sobriety. It's a way to God, if God is your Higher Power. It's a methodical approach to learn how to surrender, to forgive, and to serve.

I'll add the steps to the end of this post for those who have never seen them. One thing we make sure that new members of group know about the steps is that each one is as important as the rest - and that there's a reason they're in the order they are. Each is a foundation for the next one.

- Many support groups use a token system. They are to mark days, months, and years of sobriety. Unlike the above points, I don't advocate that churches give out tokens for years of being a Christian or for the months that someone has served. 

But I do like the emphasis on focusing on the work you do within yourself instead of external factors such as the number of members or the amount given to missions. A church with more resources is going to attract more people, increasing the membership. Churches in a higher socioeconomic area are always going to have more money for missions. 

This emphasis increases pressure on the little churches who might not have much that they should do more, instead of focusing on growing the Christ-followers who are there. Focusing on numbers instead of what's going on in hearts is toxic to the church as a whole, in my humble opinion.

To sum up, I love my current church but I would have never been open to coming here if it hadn't been for my support group. They showed me that unconditional acceptance is possible and that even a bunch of addicts can learn how to rely on a Higher Power - who in my case and many others, is God. 

Finally, as promised, here are the Twelve Steps. I'm including those from AA, as that's where they started and are the most well-known. Keep in mind that other addictions use these but adapt them to their specific needs.

1. We admitted we were powerless over alcohol — that our lives had become unmanageable.

2. Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.

3. Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood Him.

4. Made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves.

5. Admitted to God, to ourselves, and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs.

6. Were entirely ready to have God remove all these defects of character.

7. Humbly asked Him to remove our shortcomings.

8. Made a list of all persons we had harmed, and became willing to make amends to them all.

9. Made direct amends to such people wherever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others.

10. Continued to take personal inventory and when we were wrong promptly admitted it.

11. Sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with God as we understood Him, praying only for knowledge of His will for us and the power to carry that out.

12. Having had a spiritual awakening as the result of these Steps, we tried to carry this message to alcoholics, and to practice these principles in all our affairs.

Chronic Pain is Exhausting - and It's No Joke

It's a given that chronic pain is, um, painful, but until you live with it, you don't realize one huge side effect.

Chronic pain is exhausting.

The effort it takes to do everyday tasks when you are hurting is immense. Nothing and nowhere is comfortable, even bed. Even if the pain lessens or goes away in one area, often it then pops up in another.

Indulge me for a minute to let me tell you about a few hours of my life with chronic pain. 

Yesterday I did too much. I had several activities I needed to attend and, though there's technically always a choice about going or not going to anything, I felt in each case it was important to go.

Something I forgot to mention is that dealing with chronic pain is also a mind-game. Your body never gives you a heads-up on when you will have good days, bad days, or oh...my...gosh days. 

The day before yesterday was a pretty good day. Some activities were painful but overall, I made it through the day being able to do everything I planned (always a really good thing for someone in this boat). 

This definitely helped cause the doing-too-much yesterday. 

When I woke up, I assumed it would be like the day before. I planned my agenda for the day based on the day before. And, at first, I felt like I did the day before.

Until I didn't.

It really didn't start until later in the afternoon. The pain was more of a standard day's level than a really bad day. So, I went into my last activity of the day, the most important to actually attend, with pretty high hopes that it wouldn't end as an oh-my-gosh day. 

I was wrong.

It gradually got worse through the evening. I began to make accommodations - sitting whenever I could, stretching out the sore places when appropriate, walking around for relief a couple of times. 

When the event went longer than planned, I finally had to ask if I could go ahead and leave. I hurt so badly and it was almost over anyway. My request was granted and I left.

I hoped that hitting the bed would help. For a minute, it did. I felt blessed relief from hurting.

Until I didn't.

I fell asleep almost immediately and woke up about an hour later. But when I woke up - OH-MY-GOSH. It was so bad! It also triggered my RLS (restless leg syndrome), which just added to the fun.

My husband slathered pain relief cream where it hurt. He massaged the areas, using his fist not just his hands. I took RLS meds and more ibuprofen. A last ditch effort included adding our extra large heating pad turned up almost to the max. 

All that still didn't work.

I finally gave up and decided to take a hot bath, complete with lots of Epsom salt. You would think that would be a first line of defense - but the problem is that my bedroom is at the top of a long flight of stairs and the bathroom is at the bottom. Needless to say, when I am in that much pain, stairs are another joy.

Getting up them to go to bed is hard enough. But even knowing the trip down could mean sweet relief, it means a necessary trip up to go back to bed, a real nightmare if said relief was elusive.  

Thankfully, this worked. The hot bath, the Epsom salt, and the meds I had taken combined to make me feel a little bit normal (until I started up the stairs, that is). Though still in some pain when I crawled back under the covers, I was able to get back to sleep fairly quickly.

The next morning, though, the relief was gone... the pain was back in full force. Plus, even though I knew I slept most of the rest of the night, it wasn't good sleep. I kept nodding off throughout the day. 

I joked with my husband that everything hurt. Then I amended it and joked that everything hurt except this pinkie finger, gesturing to my left hand.

The joke was on me when I touched it to prove my point and it, too, hurt. The top of my pinkie finger actually hurt when I pressed lightly on it! 

Things that many would find to be relief could be the opposite for those with chronic pain. For instance - showers. A shower for a neurotypical could be the most relaxing and invigorating part of the day.

For a chronic pain survivor, a shower can be very painful. This is one reason showers might be avoided. It's not that the person is unhygenic or lazy. It's physically and emotionally a huge issue to take a simple shower.

I won't go into the same detail as before, but the emotional toll is almost as bad as the physical. Like I mentioned before, there's an element of not knowing that adds to the intensity of the issue. 

For example, it's possible to feel relatively pain-free (there's never a moment without any pain) for a week. So, your brain says, "This is going well. Let's plan a few things for this next week that have been put off over and over because of being in pain."

Then your body says, "Nope! Fooled ya!" Though it's always possible to go that entire next week at the same level as the week before, it's also possible that you are in the worst pain of your life at times during that week.

You never know.

It makes planning for the future extra difficult. I'm a photographer and writer. If only I had a crystal ball that could tell me what days I was going to be in pain, then I could plan when I'm going to do a shoot or when I need to have plenty of time to rest. 

But life's not that way. I never know. 

In addition, what another person might think would be a way to get away from the pain isn't always. I have back issues, which radiate down. This means sitting can hurt as much or more than standing. So working on editing photos or writing an article at my desk could be worse than being up taking photos at an event.

But I never know before which will be worse. I can't change the shoot to a different day just because I'm hurting. I can sometimes put off writing but if I'm on a deadline I can't.

It's just something I have to deal with.

The point of this post wasn't to whine and to make you feel sorry for me and my fellow chronic pain survivors. The point was to make you aware that sometimes a person can look fine on the outside but they are fighting back tears. Sometimes a person might need to stand up during a group activity because sitting one... more... second in that chair was excruciating. There are times when a person sincerely planned to go to a party but had to cancel at the last minute and if you looked at them, they looked fine - but they really weren't.

So pain-free citizens, please don't look down on those who deal with chronic pain. Don't think they are faking it or are trying to get out of doing something. These individuals are some of the strongest, bravest, hardest working people I've ever seen. Recognize that - and know that who they are is much more than what they do.

New Year's 2025 Musings

It's over a quarter of a century into 2025. I'm over two quarters of a century old. And boy, today, do I feel it.

New Year's Day is one of those holidays that often involves a lot of fun and relaxation. The major stresses of the holidays are over (except undecorating!) and many are off work. Watching football is the main activity for a good majority of the US. New Year's resolutions are now in effect, and though some may be broken before the day is over, there's still a lot of hope that this will be the year of positive changes.

But not for me... not this New Year's Day. I haven't felt this much of a loss of purpose, a loss of hope, in a very long time. As you know if you read this blog, I deal with bipolar, type 2, so depression is not just circumstantial. It's very much a chemical thing that can't be ignored, with medication, therapy and the support of others to keep going.

Let's talk about those ways I've used to cope with mental health issues...

We'll start with my therapy... A few months ago, my therapist said I was doing well and though I could come back anytime I needed her, I had met my goals and no longer needed to come regularly to sessions. I was surprised at what she said. I really thought that I would be in therapy once or twice a month the rest of my life.

However, don't think that because I was doing well in therapy meant that life suddenly became a bed of roses. (Whoever came up with that phrase, anyway? What about the dang thorns?!) It just meant that I was using the coping methods we had worked on in order to be okay whatever happened. 

So, let me reiterate - I didn't stop therapy because I stopped being depressed. I wish that was the reason. Maybe I need to go back but honestly I don't think it would change much. I feel my problem is much more intrinsic.

Okay... medication. Maybe I need to up the dosage on my meds. They seemed to be working well at taming the rapid mood swings I faced without them. But, looking back, maybe they weren't doing as well as I thought. 

Any changes with psych meds can be scary, though. For bipolar, successfully treating the depression can lead to increased mania. Treating the mania, can lead to more depression. It's a fine line - and the side effects of most psych meds are no joke on top of that - so going up or adding new ones has several risks.

Support... I have the support of lots of friends and some family. But they all have their own lives and their own issues. Being part of the sandwich generation, many friends my age are like me - helping their parents while their children are still somewhat needy. They are helpful but I can't rely on them as much as I wish I could. 

So, looking back at 2024, it was a dumpster fire. Wait - that's not a good metaphor. A dumpster fire may be a huge deal and can lead to other fires and the destruction of a lot, but eventually it burns out. 

I guess in a way, it fits. There was an end to 2024. The fire never went out, but the year did. 

2024 was a year of struggle, of loss, of rethinking what I should be doing with my life. In Dec 2023, my dad died. Because my husband and I live with my parents (well, now my mom), the first three or four months of 2024 were spent being there for my mother, helping her go through dad's things, helping sort paperwork that dad had all over the house (he had some dementia at the end). I have three brothers who helped some, but they were working and had their own families. They couldn't be here much to help with all the little things that a death involves.

Not long before dad died, my husband was fired. His original position had been eliminated and the one they moved him to wasn't a good fit. Being uncharacteristically optimistic, I thought it would be a good idea for him to join me in my business. There wasn't enough work for both of us, but there was more than I could handle, especially since I needed to be available a lot more for my mom than the previous year.

Having him home was a Godsend in many ways. We were able to share the paid work - my writing and our photography - and though we never had any extra, we made it. I thought we could start getting more work since there were two of us doing it full-time, but it never happened. In fact, the opposite happened.

Starting last summer, I think, work, especially photography, opportunities began drying up. We would get some amazing leads and then were ghosted. Great ideas we had never panned out. As the "owner," I kept butting my head against a wall, trying to figure out what was going on and how I could fix it.

We decided to give it six months and if it business didn't start picking up, then he would look for a regular job while I tried to make the business work solo. 

Well, the six months has come and gone. As you can probably guess, it didn't happen. But neither did a job. Things kept getting in the way - equipment problems that took a lot of time (and money) to fix, sickness, injuries, some amazing travel opportunities that we just couldn't pass up, family issues...

It was easy to say that "next week" we would work on it, knowing that though the money we had in savings that we had set aside just for this time of trying to make the business work for both of us, along with the current amount of work, was enough for the time being. It wouldn't last long, but we thought we had a few more months before we really had to act.

My husband, who did car appraisal work (photos only), had been making a good bit each month. In Oct, it had gone down to 10 jobs - not a lot, but that much still helped pay the bills. In November and December, he had 3 each month.

Then, another slam. The main client that I wrote for, where the majority of my monthly income was based, changed their format. My work has been cut to probably a 5th of what it was before. 

But the biggest problem, the main reason I'm writing now, is that I feel defeated. I've worked making this business successful for over 7 years now. I really thought that by now, I would be figuring things out. The future seemed bright. 

There are few things that hurt as much as your business, your passion of over 7 years, slowly failing and knowing you might not be able to stop it.

My last post was about my friend, sponsor and mentor, Jack. Going back to "support," he was my biggest cheerleader. Every time I had a success or failure in the business, I could go to him with all of the joys of success, as well as having him help me problem-solve the failures. He helped me more than I realized - until now. I miss him incredibly.

There are few things that hurt as much as one of your best friends dying and knowing you may never have someone else who can fill that void.

On top of this, my mom is doing horribly. She broke a vertebrae in her back and the surgery she had to fix it has apparently caused a break in another vertebrae below it. She's in incredible pain. She came to me this morning asking about a back brace she found online. I had to tell her that I don't think it'll help. I told her we needed to wait to go back to the doctor to see if there's anything they can do.

There are few things that hurt as much as your mom being in pain and knowing you can't help.

And on top of that, my daughter needs to move and she has no where to go. Due to some pretty major mental and physical issues, she hasn't been able to work much at all the past few years. She's finally getting better but still can't work full-time. She calls me crying that she needs to get out of her current living situation and I don't know how to help. We don't have room for her here (though we'll make room if we have to) and have no idea where she can go. 

There are few things that hurt as much as your child being hurting and knowing you can't fix it.

Depression has been part of my life as long as I can remember. It hasn't been constant, but it's always been in the background, waiting to rear its ugly head when I least expect it. As I said earlier, my depression isn't solely due to circumstances, and the circumstances I've been dealing with and am still dealing with are no joke. But they aren't the whole problem.

This depression is different. I usually say that depression is like swimming in a pool of molasses. Right now I feel like I'm swimming in a pool of molasses with a rock tied to my foot and wearing blacked-out googles - that no matter what I do, I can't see the wall that leads to getting out of the pool and even if I could, I don't have the energy to pull that rock to make it to the wall. 

So, for all of you who are having a joyful, fun-filled, hope-ridden New Year's Day, I'm glad for you (and I don't mean that sarcastically). Be thankful. 

If you're like me and having a really rough start to the new year, know that you aren't alone.

As of writing this sentence, it's 10:18 AM on January 1, 2025. There's around 10-12 hours left in the day before I go to bed. Maybe, just maybe, something will change before the day's even done.

However, even though it might not be today - and it might not be tomorrow. It might not even be within the week or within the month. 

But if we all keep going, even if we don't feel like it, there's always hope.

Dear Jack

It's been just over 2 weeks since he died, but it seems much longer because I wasn't able to talk to him the last couple of months he was alive. 

Jack - my sponsor, mentor, officiant of my wedding, and best friend - isn't here any more.

I've missed him incredibly and today that feeling was increased a thousand-fold.

Jack was my biggest encourager of my work. He's the first one (other than family) who really believed in me and both my photography and writing skills. He gave me advice when I asked but didn't continually critique my work. He told me stories of his own professional experience and others he knew in similar fields.

But mostly, Jack listened to me. He was the one I could always call when I was having a bad day or something was really going wrong. 

I can't remember when we first shared the phrase "the sh*t-truck just dumped another load in my driveway," but it became an ongoing joke as well as a phrase I would use if my call was an SOS.

The first time I had fun with this phrase was to give him a note that a family in a 3rd world country was going to get a gift of manure in his name. Now, that sounds like a joke in itself, but it's really a prized gift for a family doing trying to make a living through gardening. This was a legit Christmas present through an organization who helps feed families in 3rd world countries and give them the skills for jobs.

But the main time it was used was when I had a setback with my freelance business or my mental health (anxiety/depression/hypomania) got in the way of living life. I would call and I just had to say that the truck was back, and he knew where I was and how he could help.

Well, today was the first time that truck has dropped off a load since he's been gone. My tears for what happened weren't that extreme until I realized I couldn't call and talk to him about it... ever again.

Today has been a rough day, to say the least. I'm still reeling from the news I got and exhausted from the crying I've done so I'll make this short. My plan is to come back here and share things about him as I remember them, but as it's hard to keep up with this blog as it is, no promises.

But for now, I just want to say to him once again what I always said before leaving an in-person meeting or hanging up the phone: "Love you, big brother." (And I will always miss you!!!!)