Who Can't be Helped

This morning I called Mom with a question about a kid we know with severe mental illness. Lots of people had relatively negative experiences with him, but I always felt privileged that he was nice to me and liked me. Maybe it's because he could tell I care? Whatever the case, recently he's done some really drastic things. And he's in a mental health facility.

I asked Mom if she thinks that incurable mental illness exists; she said yes. My instinctive response was to question, "Why?" Why would God let that be a thing; let some of His precious ones live forever trapped in fear or despair, let them live alienated from other people, let them be so sick they can't even understand Him, can't understand love?

Of course, no one has an answer, not even my mother.

She did say something very interesting though, and to me it was compelling: "We try to make 'them' be like 'us' when they can't. Instead we should realize that they can't be like us, and instead of making things harder we should be making their world a safer place."

AMEN.

I just have this huge privilege and burden called compassion. At least, that's what my therapist says.

But the thing is, people are people. I mean, obviously. But the people who will always live in an alternate universe, the ones who don't see the world "normally" are still people too. They still need love even though they quite possibly can't reciprocate, or even understand, it.

They're still people.

And because institutions identify people by their diagnosis(es), because the average person has no idea, because society itself stifles vulnerable honesty, someone needs to speak up. Someone needs to say, "You are a person, a valuable human being and I love you." Someone needs to say, "This person that you discount and malign? This person is my friend and I will fight for them." Someone needs to shout, "We are people! Don't overlook us!" And we all need to say, "I see you. You are priceless."

On the flip side though, everyone has the right to remove themselves from hurt/danger. When dealing with dramatic behavior, no one can afford to be naive. Everyone absolutely deserves safety. Everyone deserves to be treated as the precious, beloved, little one signed by God, that they are.

He loves everyone.

So should I.

Now I'm just waiting to see where this mission from God leads me.

May you all find your mission from God, that one cause that gets your pulse racing and your eyes watering, the single thing that you would fight for with your dying breath. And may you be radically victorious.

~Dolly

Empty Places

A memoir assignment in English IV landed around the one-year anniversary of my grandparent's death. Here's what I wrote:

"I love you Grandma!" a little girl exclaimed while rolling out sugar cookie dough. Flour and sugar dusted the table, as well as most of her lime-green jumper and one small eyebrow. 

"I love you Grandpa," that same girl, a little older now, thought as she climbed out of a farm truck. Her eyes sparkled as she thought of the joke they'd just shared.

That little girl was me. Years later, as I stood beside a pair coffins, part that little girl still inside me. . . died.

I clearly remember the weeks leading up to the car wreck. Grandpa and Grandma were going to go on a road trip across the United States, stopping in at friends' and family's houses on the way. Spring was coming- Easter was soon. Grandma talked of almost nothing else, and Grandpa talked of almost nothing (as usual). He still showed anticipation though, in his quiet way. Everything reflected hope.

Just a few days before they left, we stopped in for a quick visit. Grandma excitedly beckoned Mom and me over and pulled something out of her dress pocket- a cell phone! She showed us how it worked, told us how many minutes they had rolled over. Her excitement was contagious, and we all laughed before she gave me and Mom each an enthusiastic hug.

Then a few days after they left, a Friday- Good Friday- Mom and Dad called my brother and I downstairs. Somewhere in Wisconsin, there had been a random car wreck. But for us, it wasn't so random. Because Grandpa had died immediately. Because Grandma was in a hospital somewhere far away, on life support. This wasn't just a random wreck on the news. This was pain. Loneliness and uncertainty, yes; but nothing at all like random.

At first, there were no reactions. Just silence- then came quiet crying that morphed into sobbing; this was real. Dad flew out to Wisconsin that day. He came back and got me a week or so later, I think. Time blurs around these memories: there are clear scenes and moments, but no full, coherent timeline.

The hospital was comforting. Sterilely white; white walls, white hospital beds with white sheets, white ceiling, white tile floor that reflected the blindingly white lights. There were no emotions here. Everything moved on a schedule, everything was structured. Everything would be fine.

I spent a lot of time in Grandma's hospital room, and often there was just the two of us. I'd sit in an office chair that was about as tall as me and I'd color and pray. I also brought a paperback, spiral-bound hymnal and my Bible, and sang out of one and read out of the other. Days at Grandpa and Grandma's house had always been bookended with Bible reading, and Grandma and I used to sing together while washing dishes. I hung on to hope that those things would happen again.

Then on Dad and my last day in Wisconsin, a cocky young intern or something came in and started unhooking the tangle of wires and cords attached to Grandma's head. I asked why.

"Because she's just doing so much better!" he replied cheerfully, barely glancing up from what he was doing.

Hope! Maybe God wanted to help us!

We flew home shortly after that. Driving away from the airport, Mom and Dad started discussing what would happen when Life Support was pulled off. I freaked out. Uncontrollable crying; intense, sharp jabs of pain through my heart and stomach. Complete helplessness. Everyone knew this was coming. But Dad was dealing with so much that he'd forgotten to inform me of what was going on. So, I had no introduction chapter to grief- not for the wreck that killed Grandpa- not for the sustained injuries that killed Grandma.

Coming home was hard. As in, it-would-not-be-Christian-to-punch-this-person-in-the-face, kind of hard. Whom did I want to punch? Those relatives who put on an elegant display of tragic grief, the people I didn't know at all who introduced themselves just to force their grief on me, and definitely that lady who looked at me so sympathetically and insisted that things were absolutely terrible for me and I was completely miserable from being reminded of my horrible loss at every turn. "The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy. . . long-suffering. . . " Sigh.

Now, as I sit in what used to be Grandma's kitchen and write about her, as I gaze out at the washroom where Grandpa used to come in to clean up and I write about him, I realize how much they taught me and how much their death changed me. From Grandma I learned industriousness, how to respectfully disagree, and the importance of loving those people you disagree with. From Grandpa I learned to wait for others to speak, to value words, to talk (safely!) to a stranger, and how to say things without speaking.

In losing them, I utilized what they taught me. I had to love those people I wanted to punch, and to express that love by letting them speak their grief. I had to learn to say, "I get it. I'm dealing with this loss, too," without talking, to use a simple facial expression to communicate openness and sympathy. I learned that people struggle, and I need to have patience and love them anyway. I learned that hurt doesn't come all at once, but in waves. Even now, over year later, some residual grief will wash over my heart, and its salt will sting the places that are still cut open.

But I can look back, back over what my grandparents taught me without saying a word, and forward- forward to seeing them again sometime, who-knows-when, and saying "thank you" for all the things they taught and still teach me.

You are honored, missed, still loved and forever(?) remembered. 

Stereotypes, Example 1

Stereotype Challenge #1: Depression

If you know me, you probably think of me as a relatively happy person. That's the first myth of depression. You might not know that someone has it. I'm not constantly depressed, for one thing, and for another, I can sometimes hide it. But the biggest reason is this: If I'm depressed, you probably won't be there. I will be at home, slogging through it, and only the people closest to me will know.


The second myth, the one I encounter all the time in Christian circles, is that depression is purely spiritual or mental. I don't become depressed because of 'negative self-talk' or whatever; I berate myself, or allow Satan to berate me because the depression is already there. It makes me weaker, more open to spiritual attack, but my depression is not a purely spiritual problem.

Also, fixing the way I view myself will not fix the problem. It might make things slightly easier, but it definitely won't fix the problem.  Negativity is a symptom or by-product of depression, not the cause of it, and to just combat depression on a spiritual or mental level might not work for everyone.

One other thing: DO NOT accuse a depressed person of just not seeking God enough. It makes sense, apparently, because if someone is depressed, they must not be experiencing the 'joy of the Lord.' Thus, it follows that if I just pray enough, read my Bible enough, trust God enough, cast out enough spirits in the name of Jesus, or anything else you want to put in there, my depression will miraculously be gone!

But.

This is dangerously close to legalism. Also, I can't speak for everybody: we're all different, but I accuse myself enough already, especially when I'm depressed. (Negative self-talk, remember?) I don't want to come across as some accusatory know-it-all, so sorry if that's the case. I guess I'm just making an appeal to God's people to remember to act with grace. (And yeah, ok, I really need that reminder too, especially with how this blog post is going. )


Closely related to that myth is the thought that there is always (or almost always) an obvious mental or emotional cause for depression.

Depression doesn't need a reason. It can strike out at anyone, and the church (including myself) needs to learn how to empathize.

Some people do have depression battles stemming from intense grief or trauma, but others may be depressed because of hormones or other physical reasons that are less obvious. The question, "What do you have to be depressed for?" can't always be answered. When I was asked that (by someone I love dearly), my life was pretty easy and good. There were no obvious "reasons" for my depression. It just was.

Honestly, my life is still pretty easy. I shouldn't struggle with depression, right? My parents love me and the Lord, I'm at a healthy church, and no one's bullying me or anything. Not only that, but I am seeking God. Depression just doesn't always mean that a person's life is terrible.


Fourthly, depression is not my, or anyone else's identity. It is a disease, a handicap we struggle against. Honestly, non-depressed people probably already agree with this. It's for those of us in the middle of the problem, that I write this. Depression is not my fault, or your fault. Just like a person with a physical handicap can live life, they just need to work a little harder on some things than other people, so we with an emotional handicap can live life, it's just a lot (yes, I'll admit it) harder for us than for some other people.

We can't control that. And just as someone with paralyzed legs can use a wheelchair, we should use the resources available to us. Whether those be emotional/spiritual counselling, natural medicine, or drugs, there are options for us. I know that sometimes it's quite literally impossible to think rationally or make any sort of decisions. I've been there waaayyyy too many times! So, one of the biggest resources to utilize, is other people. People who at least somewhat understand and/or are willing to learn how life is for you and what can be done to help. Mostly just people you know you can depend on to make good decisions when you can't.

For non-depressed people, I guess I'd just ask you to be the kind of person others can count on in their times of need. It's something we all long to do, I think. We want to be useful and helpful to the people around us, right?

Well, you are. When you listen and love and don't judge, you are doing exactly what God designed you to do. Thank you for that.

Farewell! Hope this made some semblence of sense!

~Dolly

The Best Kind of Friend

My heart is full right now.

My closest friend just let me call off our plans for tomorrow and agreed to come over and do homework with me because this week has stunk and I'm kinda behind.

Who does that, right?

Hannah's just one of those people though. She's loyal and fun and totally practical when I need her. She's up for girls' days out, and she's also cool with just hanging out at her college or one of our houses watching TV or swapping pics of cute guys. (Damian McGinty, anyone?)

We've had so many laughs together, but I know that if I need someone, she'll be ready to cry with me too.

I remember this summer, when we were hanging out almost every day. Seriously, her lovely German Shepherd wasn't even getting hyper when I came over, I was there so much! Anyway, I think we both got to a point of thinking 'Is she getting tired of seeing me all the time?' and were each relieved to find that the other person felt the same as we did and wanted to hang out again. Tomorrow. :)

Through this summer, we moved past a lot of insecurities with each other, insecurities in our friendship.

That's why our friendship is still just as strong even though she's in college and I'm stuck at home feeling terrible a lot. We know that both of us wanna make things work out. We're both committed.

So, Hannah! Thank you for being awesome. 😉 Thank you for messaging me randomly on Facebook to ask about hanging out. Thanks for not being scared away by my problems. Thanks for being so selfless. Thanks for being able to talk about anything from crushes to trusting God in pain.

Especially, thank you for being a fantastic baker and lovely-tea maker. 💖

Love you, dear!

~Dolly

Self-Grace, Self-Indulgence, Self-Accusation

I just recently started to grasp the idea of self-grace, or basically just cutting myself some slack.

I've always been such a perfectionist with myself that I would become physically sick when I felt like I'd messed up. I did realize that my stomach-aches and/or headaches were stress-related, but that knowledge didn't make the symptoms any easier. Instead, my brain would start to desperately search for answers, but only be able to see flaws in all of them. This has been especially infuriating for my family, because to them, a solution is just so simple and easy, but I just haven't been able to accept that. I'd get so worked up that I couldn't see a way out.

Then this past week came. I'd been slowly growing in the balance between being harsh with myself, and giving my self free reign.

Anyway, this past week was really hard. I was exhausted, my brain pretty much ceased functioning, and I was feeling depressed. These are all things I've beaten myself up over. "You're lazy." "You're stupid." "Quit just giving in to self-pity."

But somehow, for once, I went into survival mode and just cut myself some slack. I skipped about half my school work, entirely abandoned my chores, and gave up on internet time restrictions. Now, for any teens who might be reading, and might be tempted to use this as an excuse to do the same. . . no! I mean, if you're just having a bad day, this is not the treatment plan I'd really recommend. (Besides, your mom probably knows me, and I don't wanna get in trouble!) :)

However, this was a big, like, huge deal for me! I couldn't even cope with basic life functions. And this was the first time I've quit fighting, and just let myself be. I'm exhausted? I can rest. My brain isn't working right? I can let it take a break. I'm depressed? Fine. I can't change any of this, so why fight it? Just let it be, and cope with what I can do, and what I have.

Then came the end of last week and beginning of this week.

And I started feeling a little better, and I tried to go back to normal and found out I was. . . just slightly. . . addicted. Bummer. This is where self-indulgence comes in, because that's what my self-grace turned in to. This is also where self-indulgence usually starts becoming self-accusation.

But!

By God's grace and with His help, the cycle has been (at least temporarily) broken! And, for now, I'll take it!

Because this time, instead of pointing fingers of disgust at myself for failing, I realized that this is part of a learning curve, and I can move on, unencumbered by shame and misplaced guilt. And here's the really cool part: I prayed for help. Okay, that's not too exciting, since that's part of life, but. . . I got help! As in, God started helping me grow in self-control! And in three days, I'm almost back to normal on that front!

Just to clarify, this isn't some starry-eyed, naive view of things. My exhaustion and mental blocks aren't gone, but they're a bit better. I really don't believe it's God's will for my mental/emotional struggles to miraculously disappear. That's discouraging. Majorly. But, I can look at what He's teaching me, and I choose to, because in this discouraging world, that's one little bit of encouragement.

Thanks for reading! May you always seek God, and may He keep teaching you!

~Dolly