God
How I Learned About Peace at the Mere Age of Twelve
I’ve been learning life lessons well before my baptism in 2013. This one sticks out as one of the earlier lessons in my life about what I had not attributed to Fruits of the Spirit. In fact, at twelve, I didn’t really even know what that meant. And what harder of concept to grasp, such as peace, when the world falls apart on a daily basis? We’re stricken with grief almost daily. We don’t get that job we interviewed for which would provide better means to care for ourselves or family. We deal with the loss of loved ones to such awful things like cancer or murder. Such is the case with this particular post. What makes peace one of my favorite fruits of the Spirit? You’ll find out soon enough.
The year was 1999 in the first week of September. My mom and dad were pulling their hairs apart fitting in the pressures of raising me and holding down their jobs all the while helping my oldest brother John and his wife Diana pack and prepare for a big move to Salt Lake City, UT. The ironic thing is Salt Lake City is such an integral part of my family’s concept for leaving the nest, which I don’t know why, it just is. But I digress. Imagine wrangling an awnry twelve-year-old and worrying about the middle wayward son who at that time bounced between his dad and my house like a pinball.
We’d loaded up my dad’s truck, a trailer and a UHAUL and set for the open road. What is only a 4 hour or so trip from Grand Junction to Utah’s capitol city, is more like a boring and emotionally exhaustive trek which seems much longer than half a typical American’s workday. When we finally arrived to John’s new home, they unloaded the couch first so my mom, sister-in-law and myself could have a place to sit before helping them transfer the important things in for the night. Given this was in the days before the big book of mobile telecommunication, I cannot remember exactly how the looming bad news was discovered, but a message somewhere/somehow came through from someone that my brothers’ father was involved in a shooting outside a busy Grand Junction grocery store. And he didn’t survive. What’s worse, my middle brother TJ was sitting in his dad’s truck and watched the entire horror unfold before his eyes. And since TJ had been trying to get a hold of my parents and our brother John, he freaked out and decided he was going to drive the entire distance from Western Colorado to Salt Lake City in the middle of the night to be with us. This was my first major witness of life happening and furthermore, the bigger why do bad things happen to good people conundrum.
In the weeks following that horrible event, pastors and family friends would visit our house to console my brothers and my mom (who even though divorced the man I called Uncle Hobert, had maintained a better friendship with him than marriage). It wasn’t until one of my mom’s cousins whom is a local pastor here in town, taught us about peace. You might be thinking, How in the heck can someone be peaceful in the midst of such a tragedy? Well, I thought the same thing. And the ever so budding learner I was in my adolescence, I surprisingly understood as if I’d came up with the concept myself (though I sooo did not). He told us that while God doesn’t plan for someone to die of disease, famine, murder, etc, He is still presented with decisions to be made. Decisions which literally cause even our Great Father to change the trajectory of people’s lives.
He makes these reassessments so quick, 100 human beings couldn’t measure the speed of His Omnipotence. And while God didn’t plan that happening, He decided to take my Uncle Hobert home to the kingdom because should he have survived such an event, his quality of life would have been so terribly poor, he would have suffered until he passed away from natural causes anyway. And that peace is not necessarily linked to feeling good about a bad situation, but rather having our faith in God who knows better than all of us, is to provide us peace and wholeness in a different fashion knowing that he didn’t suffer long and that God had a better plan. It hurt for my brothers and especially so for TJ. I can only imagine what it was like to watch the man he looked up to so fondly being shot and killed just a couple of yards away. As a matter of fact, I feel like some of my issues are so minuscule compared to witnessing the hands of satan influence such a wicked event.
What I do know, is my uncle along with the other gentleman [David Gilcrease] whom died in vain, were the 9th and 10th Colorado recipients of the Robert P. Connelly Medal for Heroism in addition to the first recipient of Gov. Bill Owens (residing Governor at that time) who started The Governor’s Medal of Valor. Both men showed their selfless acts of heroism in trying to mediate an escalated situation involving an ex-husband dragging an ex-wife into the parking lot by her hair. Unfortunately, all three people lost their lives due to this wicked event. And the husband had shot himself before the police arrived on the scene.
“Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.” (Philippians 4:6-7 NIV)
You see, the peace we sometimes receive from The Holy Spirit is not necessarily to be understood. And when we ourselves go to the throne of His Holiness, will we may even find out the answers to many things. But I can’t help but think, we can have peace every single day if we just give God our troubles (along with our praises) and watch as he washes away the hurt. We may never know why this happened or that. We may never truly understand why our loved ones fall ill to the detriments of Alzheimer’s or cancer. We can, however, find peace and stillness in knowing that God is in control and He will make things right again (when they were misaligned from His great plan) soon, if not sometimes instantaneously. If there isn’t much to be said for this fruit of the Spirit, then what is there?
[extra post] Have you ever…
Have you ever had so much joy in your heart you were just about to burst, but yet you know that you still have to remain humble and pragmatic? But also you figure the best person to talk to about your joy would be to send it straight up to the big cheese Himself?
Well, that’s happening. Right now. As I prepare to brush my teeth and go to sleep, I sent up a little friendly warning to God with a big grin–“You’re about to get a long talkin’ to, so you’d better buckle your seatbelt!”
Thursday Thought: Straying Away from a real Stick in the Mud
We all have that one person who has kept us in a spiritual rut. For some it may be a spouse, or a pre-marriage relationship. Others, it’s probably a friend or acquaintance who seems to commandeer their thoughts and emotions, assuaging them with unhealthy wisdom which pushes them to greater depths below the surface God wants them on. For me, it’s been a mixture of everything except of course a spouse. And when I say mixture, I mean several people. Part of being Autistic is not really knowing a person’s intentions below the surface. However, in the past, my intuitiveness has read into the wrong signs and signals time and time again. Bea has reminded me on countless measures that just because a person is giving, doesn’t mean their heart is in the right place.
Take about five minutes to watch this video from Ted Shuttlesworth Jr. on youtube about the 3 Types of People who keep us bogged down, unable to be fruit bearers for Christ.
I can’t believe I only just recently happened upon this guy’s youtube channel. For when this video first published, I was at the beginning of what truly was the longest spiritual rut of my life. (See; the last three years until now) and let me point out that I am so guilty of surrounding myself with containers, complainers, and abstainers. What’s more, I’m guilty of being those three different types myself. But thankfully, we don’t have to continue walking down that avenue. And let me also elaborate that while God wants us to be kind and forgiving to all His children, that is not a decree that we must be their friends. We can love and be kind from a distance.
“Do not be deceived: ‘bad company ruins good morals.’” (1 Corinthians 15:33 ESV)
After the past month and encountering some very revealing truths about some of the people I live close to, I am a first-hand witness to once including a few of these types of people as of very recently. A few weeks ago, one of them explained in a text message that their management job requires too much of their attention and they just don’t have the time to do nice things for others because they’d rather spend their off time to themselves in their own space. And because of events leading me to revelations which proved previous incidents I had suspected to be true, I have stopped asking them for any more help because this was God’s way of proving Bea’s aforementioned wisdom is sound advice.
So friends, think about this today as part of your Thursday Thought and who you might need to love from a distance because they might be keeping you from living out God’s calling in your own life. Since personally doing so, I can see so many things clearer now. When otherwise I was just blinded by some real sticks in the mud. But if there is one thing I’d like everyone who reads this to take away, it’s this:
Time is the only thing we have in limitless supply. What can’t be done one day, we can finish in another. We need to be open to the opportunities God gives us each and every day and be mindful of these green lights to be the light in someone’s dark day. Even if it means we are taking an hour of our own day to gift the fruits of the Spirit, we will have an hour tomorrow to complete whatever it is God required our attention elsewhere for.
Prayer:
Lord, by the sake of your mercy, please enlighten each of us to become more mindful of your green lights. Give us the goodness to evaluate our relationships and determine which ones need love from a distance and which ones we can keep around in our innermost circle. Help us to identify the goodness in everyone, but be pragmatic in the decisions we make going forward each continued day of our lives. We know that you bring people in our life for a reason and a season, but we need to be sure we’re paying attention to your ultimate timeline and realize when those seasons have shifted–for it is not against your will to love from a distance, but ensuring that our hearts remain purely intentional and open to your divine wisdom of knowing what’s best for each of us. We thank you for this day, and we are appreciative of the love you shower upon us. In Jesus’ name, Amen!
What’s Ahead for The Heart Mechanic in October
By the fallen leaves and crisper air whisking through my nostrils when I’m outside, I declare Autumn is finally upon us. Happy October, everyone! I wanted to touch base and catch everyone up to speed on the themes I spoke about in September and link you with past posts which you may have missed, in case you’re interested in going back through to read them. Aside from that, I wanted to give an idea of my themed goals for the blog this month.
Coming forth this October, I plan on covering my favorite Fruits of the Spirit (how I give them to others and receive them all the same). October also marks two unique life-markers for me. One being my baptism six years ago. The next being my second “spiritual birthday” of sorts, for it is with God’s grace and master plan that the heart inside this old rib cage still beats today. Yes, the “doozie” I suffered when trying to alter God’s timeline for my life. I probably put more weight into October 14th than I do my physical birthday in May.
September’s overall themes centered around my reading through Max Lucado’s book “Traveling Light” and speaking of personal testimonies to my own prison of want, self reliance, and lack of great patience. Also, how taking a gracious and more understanding approach to diversity is healthier on our minds and bodies than acting selfish or crass.
Key posts from September you might have missed:
How A Single Night of Failure Provided a Bridge to God’s Timely Blessings
Why Humble Pie May Taste Like Liver… but it’s as Good For Us as Broccoli
How I’m (now) Trying Not to Act Like a Spoiled Doctor’s Kid
How We Can Have Our Cake (and just maybe) Eat it Too
Why I Was Too Busy at Work that I Accidentally Stole Something
Throughout October, I have a format I’m going to try following throughout each week. I’ll continue the Thursday Thought section which I hope aids in providing biblical reasons we should be incorporating a different approach to certain things we encounter almost daily.
Then once per week, I will talk about this month’s theme: Fruits of the Spirit. And some fun seasonal theme sprinkled throughout for good measure. Fall is my first favorite season, so be prepared for some of my best blog posts. It’s in Autumn and Winter when I drink the most coffee, and coffee is definitely my writing fuel.
So to start out the month here at The Heart Mechanic, let’s start with a dive into some scripture and prayer.
“[But] the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control; against such things there is no law. And those who belong to Christ Jesus have crucified the flesh with its passions and desires. If we live by the Spirit, let us also keep in step with the Spirit. Let us not become conceited, provoking one another, envying one another.” (Galatians 5:22-26 ESV)
Prayer:
God in the Highest, please lighten our minds to accept the gifts for which Christ your son gave himself up so that we could be given these graces. Each day this holiday season (and all times thereafter) invite our souls to partake in the works of The Holy Spirit and guide us through the Spirit all the same. We applaud you and your blessings you provide in our life, even those which seem so small and insignificant. Help each of us to identify your Fruits and inspire us to share them with everyone around us, through each step we take is in your Holy name. Amen!
Why I’m Better than the Lies I Tell Myself
We are our own best sabotagers, aren’t we? We feed into the lies we tell ourselves due to a number of different reasons. I’m in a new season of life where I’m constantly running into inspirational stepping stones which speak volumes for my self confidence. Don’t get me wrong, having self confidence and being boastful are two completely different concepts. Though, the end result of a task usually boils down to our self confidence which is the foundation of belief that we’re good enough, worthy enough to complete it in the first place. This is an area I’ve lacked greatly the past year in particular.
This time last year, I was working as a taxi dispatcher for a man who 1) took great pleasure in debating with anyone whose belief in God didn’t align with his– which he relentlessly denied there was one, and 2) treated his staff like soldiers in Nazi Germany. This man cut me down to size at every turn, and on many occasions held no qualms about berating me and my abilities via telephone at three o’clock in the morning. His alcoholism and addiction to video games occupied his time otherwise, when he wasn’t instilling fear of his superiority into the employees at his company. I’d worked so hard, given him extra hours of overtime and was first to volunteer when another dispatcher would be consistently late or call in altogether. By the end of November after making what I thought was a reasonable business decision, giving a hard working driver some much deserved reprieve, I’d been reduced to nothing more than pond scum and my confidence in doing any job at all made me inferior to the lies thrashing around my mind that I was not good enough to excel at anything ever again– professionally or personally.
“But false prophets also arose among the people, just as there will be false teachers among you, who will secretly bring in destructive heresies, even denying the Master who bought them, bringing upon themselves swift destruction.” (2 Peter 2:1 ESV)
I cannot count how many times this egomaniac sent my blood pressure and anxiety through the roof of our ozone layer. While none of this is the key concept for today’s blog entry, it does however help me land the plane for my primary moral of the story. Sabotaging our truth. Whatever truth may be sinking into our hearts, it’s not there for no apparent reason. It’s there for when we finally decide to toss the rhetoric of failure by the wayside and give our full-self into something without fear, without deniability, just diving in head first.
This month has certainly spoken volumes to my self confidence practically more so than any other time in my life. While it hasn’t gone without some real heart-ache and deep conversations with God–even prayers in a different language I swear to Him that I have no recollection of its coherency–I’m coming out of the month stronger than I was entering it. And if anyone truly knows me, I have not been fond of the number nine. (September being the ninth month of the year). But by the grace of His Holiness, I am certainly coming out feeling like David after he conquered his giant with nothing more than a rock. Both professionally, and personally.
Something occurred to me last week, as I struggled in more than difficult waters, another lesson learned and I did something I hadn’t done since 2016. Any other time before my transition back to the Godly flow of things, I would have told myself I was not worthy of cooking something that required poultry. Each time I’d previously think of preparing something which requires the utmost care and consideration to temperature and storage, I’d remind myself that if I practically burn a pot of water, how could I cook chicken in the oven? However these days, budget conquers convenience and I needed to just do it because a carnivorous beast like yours truly cannot survive on salads with cottage cheese alone, and sliced deli meat is rather costly. Upon returning home from the grocery, I was presented with two cooking mediums. I have a decent sized Crock-Pot, which for one person is way big enough but you should know me by now if not personally, that my brain is only capable of an all-or-nothing mentality. Or I have an oven and pans to bake in, like people have done for centuries. I wanted so much to take the easy way out, giving thought to the allure of convenience. But something else, something more omnipotent [God] nudged me in the direction of baking my barbeque chicken thighs the old fashioned way. The method which required culinary brilliance I thought I hadn’t been worthy of. But I proved my inhibitions wrong, and boy am I glad I did.
Outside of looking up which temperature and time-frame online to bake chicken thighs, I did everything else by what my mind was guiding me to do. When my timer went off to remove the chicken, after the 45 minutes I’d been instructed to wait from online, I noticed most of the pieces remained relatively pink beneath the skin. So instead of panicking and throwing my fists to the heavens for sending me down the avenue of failure, I decided to keep a patient attitude and figured I’d let them cook another 20 minutes before removing to pour the sauce over them. This proved to be the appropriate approach. Sure enough, after allowing the extra time, they came out looking almost perfect and the extra 10 minutes of baking with the sauce slathered across them would be the right amount of time.
“[to] put off your old self, which belongs to your former manner of life and is corrupt through deceitful desires, [and to] be renewed in the spirit of your minds, [and to] put on the new self, created after the likeness of God in true righteousness and holiness.” (Ephesians 4:22-24 ESV)
Within minutes, I found myself settling in to enjoy the meal I’d prepared. Sure, it was no complex recipe and something most of you could have done in a state of sleepwalking, but I was happy with the result. I was so satisfied that I didn’t listen to the lies deep within telling me that I would mess up even the simplest of entree. This has further sparked my interest to dive back into a world of discovering my inner culinary self. Since I can now cook chicken the old fashioned way, come November, I aim to accomplish my next poultry mission. I have never cooked a turkey, but I figure at 32, it’s high time I stop self sabotaging myself and just go for it. All I truly need for that is a cooking thermometer, to ensure the inside is the temperature it should be.
And on the professional front, I am headed into this seasonal job on Monday with the confidence and patience that I am capable of achieving the necessary skills and knowledge required to do it with faith and confidence. It may only be customer service, but this is the most exposure to customer service I’ve had since mid last year.
I hope everyone has a wonderful new week upon us. It’s bound to get colder here in Colorado, as we welcome the changing of seasons with open hearts. If you have any good Autumn reads to enjoy under a nice weighted blanket, please send them in my direction.
Why I Was Too Busy at Work that I Accidentally Stole Something
By a show of hands, who here has all experienced a time when you rushed to get something finished and your brain was so frazzled by the end of the task, you made a mistake or did something without realizing it?
Yeah, I thought so. Even though I couldn’t see your hands raise, I know without a doubt that everyone has. I can’t tell you how many times I have, because these sort of blunders are almost as routine as washing my hands. But there is this one moment where I can thank my lucky stars it didn’t have a negative outcome. Or thank God. Or both!
Many moons ago in my pharmacy career back when I lived in the quaint small City of Westfield, Indiana, I was constantly rushing at the end of the night. There were more prescriptions needing filled in the queue each day than technician hours. And in corporate America, the new normal seems to be “increase productivity by reducing labor hours” which we all know does not work that way. This one particular night, I found myself scrambling around to fill the remaining thirty scripts in the queue within the last hour. My efforts to appease my cohorts opening the next morning seemed more important than a reasonable pace. You truly don’t understand this concept until you’re “unspoken-ly” reigned ‘the workplace whipping post.’
That night, we had a floater pharmacist closing with me and as you might already imagine it was just her and myself for the last five hours of the day. Unfortunately the politics of the pharmacy industry have worsened considerably since then in 2011. The fills remaining on the screen were only the automatic refills due for the following day. But there’s no worse feeling than starting out a shift with two pages of drugs to fill hours before the sun even rises. Somehow, I did it. The surprise was only due to the fact of working with a floater pharmacist who God bless her soul started her career in the days of apothecaries. Portia, if you are up in God’s kingdom by now, I say that with love and respect.
But my brain was so very tired. Not only did that mean filling the scripts, labeling them, and waiting for Portia to verify them–it also meant filing them away in the waiting bin. Also factor in putting away the stock bottles back to their respective shelves and the minor housekeeping of closing duties, and you had a very fretted Chuck/Carl by the time I was walking out to my van. In fact, I was only rushed out of the pharmacy because the the closing front-end supervisor was in a big hurry to leave (as per usual). So here I am using my key to unlock my driver’s side door.
The frigid negative twelve degrees on an icy December night in Indiana usually renders automated locks useless.
I climb into the seat so I could begin the wait for my windshield to defrost enough as I glance into my other hand. There I sat clattering my teeth in a freezing frenzy while noticing I was still holding onto my counting spatula. The pharmacy’s counting spatula. Let me tell you that theft of any reason is a bad thing, let alone from an environment which loss prevention and security are top priorities. I was mortified. I’d been running ragged the entire night and somehow my brain didn’t think to let go of it. To you, it was just a spatula. Thank goodness it wasn’t a stock bottle of medicine or something way worse, right? But theft is theft and I didn’t even intend to take it. My hand just never let it go.
I went into work the rest of the week wondering if someone had noticed, because it was the most favored counting spatula. You develop these sorts of preferences when you rely on something as simple as a spatula to help keep up a fast momentum. Obviously it was the most brought up subject behind the counter that following day and nobody let up on the subject the whole rest of the week until one of our favorite patients passed away and that became the new hot topic. Did I turn it back in? No, I didn’t.
I was too scared of the backlash it would have caused because I was already the resident whipping boy.
Neurodiverse adults tend to don some inscription on their forehead making them vulnerable to workplace bullying. And I was also not wanting to be watched like a hawk because I took something from the pharmacy. Since it wasn’t a drug bottle, and I would never have ever taken a drug bottle in my right mind, I didn’t want to unnecessarily add some target to my back. I’m just thankful it was something relatively innocent such as a spatula.
The moral of the story is, we too often are in a hurry and we make little mistakes. Steps are skipped and usually we become absentminded in what we’re doing. As we bring this week to a close, let this be a good reminder that God is in control of our lives and our feet, and we need not rush to the approval of others. While there is certainly something to be said for helping lighten the loads of our fellow man, we have to make sure that our ability to do so isn’t going to compromise the quality of our intentions. Sometimes, just sometimes, the morning techs will have to start out their shifts with a few extra things to complete.
Thursday Thought: Keep Our Eyes on the Godly Prize
“When I win the Powerball, I will…”
We’ve all heard that expression and I’m willing to wager (pun not intended though) that each one of us has said it more than once. We proclaim what we would do if we just came into a mountain of money. And how much better it would make our lives.
The other day I had to ride the bus which required stopping into the transfer station to board a separate route. As we turned into the bus corral, I noticed the Colorado Lottery marquee which boasts of great jackpot potential. Back when I turned 18, I might have shown more enthusiasm for games of chance. But after living in the real world, I gradually lost interest in gambling. Since then, I’ve only played the lottery about ten times, if not less. You see, and please feel free to comment if you think I’m wrong, I don’t feel that God shares that enthusiasm for gambling either. I can think of many other beneficial uses for $2 (which often exceeds that nominal ante) than throwing it away! And you don’t truly know how valuable two measly bucks is until you’ve had to hold onto your last couple of dollars for an absolutely good reason.
Take four minutes and watch this video provided by The Southern Seminary on YouTube. He makes a very valid point, and helps reinforce today’s “Thursday Thought.”
I’ve probably mentioned before that money is just an object. And it’s proven that most people who have a lot of it, are not happy and they can sometimes stray further away from God. After all, what could they possibly need God’s help for when they have more money than there are the number of people residing in their home state? By no means will I ever judge anyone for playing the lottery, because that is a decision of free will humans are provided with and whether they won and gave it to charity or not–is between them and our Father.
But what if instead of gambling away our money in the incredibly high hopes of receiving abundantly more of it, we put it to better use? What if we spent just that five bucks doing something more Christlike? I’m sure I don’t have to provide you examples of what $5 can do for someone, and I won’t. But I will challenge each of us to pause before dropping any measure of currency on games of chance. I compel all of us to think about putting it to better use. For if we spend that instead on beneficial ways to help improve someone else besides our own false hope, we already have the riches we need through satisfaction of participating in kindness and encouragement. Earning more of God’s adoration for serving others in His name. Yet more, if we have Faith in God we have all we truly need, and anything else we earn along the way is just nothing more than icing on the cake.
By no means am I saying money in and of itself is evil, because it isn’t. But what I know for sure, is that money can have an extra influence of temptation from the enemy to do less Christlike things. In the past three years, I have seen just as much greed from people who have so little, as someone with more money [than God] than half the Earth’s population. (Furthermore, that euphemism couldn’t be further from any basis of fact. God didn’t invent money, humankind did as a means of putting a value on trade for products or service.) Money is not the root of all evil. The love of money, however is very much what turns God’s smile upside down. If money were merely a dark entity, Bill & Melinda Gates wouldn’t have helped hundreds of millions of people across the globe. There’s something to be said for earning money and relying on it via pure luck. God didn’t just hand David an entire kingdom and thrones of riches. God rewarded him because he earned it and used that experience to test David’s truest intentions. And we all know how that story ends!
“No one can serve two masters, for either he will hate the one and love the other, or he will be devoted to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve God and money.” (Matthew 6:24 ESV)
On my spiritual journey and having matured spiritually now from even say three years ago, I can confidently say that I don’t want great monetary wealth. I’d rather see a hundred million blessings and miracles happen with my own eyes, than a hundred million dollars which would most likely push me away from Jesus.
Prayer:
God our great Father, I pray on behalf of us all. Please lighten our hearts and straw us away from the prison of want. For if we have your grace and your love to guide us on the missions you’ve prepared us to do, we need nothing else and have your attention that our basic needs be met. Humble us, Lord, so that we can think of better ways to serve you that doesn’t involve games of chance in order to do it. Thank you for the mighty blessings you’ve already provided us, we vow to go forth with humility in your great name. Amen!
Why I Don’t Want You To Read This Post
After reading this through before pasting into my blog, I almost wasn’t going to post this entry. But then I realized that this is an excellent opportunity to display my own flaws and weaknesses because some of my posts may seem “preachy” (and I’m barely even qualified to give my own self advice, let alone any of you), but I’ll leave this up to you to read or not. It’s a very raw look into my life which I often keep hidden behind a mask. I apologize in advance there is no real scripture in today’s post. Some days The Holy Spirit just knows what we need even if we don’t actively seek it that day.
It’s been a hard fought day. It isn’t some strange phenomena for tears to fall from my eyelids, but it is out of the ordinary when they’re a result of loneliness. Given how I feel about living alone and being in a quiet atmosphere, you should be asking, “Chuck, how can you cry about being lonely when you enjoy being alone so much?” The short answer to that is, there are stark differences between the act of being alone and the object of loneliness.
On the same side of the coin, one could hypothesize I brought this all on myself. And while you’d be correct, it was not a feat won all by it’s lonesome. I speak often about how it feels to be autistic, and while that’s such a huge part of my life (especially as I get older and older), it isn’t the single most thing which causes me so much affliction. I don’t talk about bipolar disorder too much because for the majority of my adult life, I have denied it. Sure, there have always been the problems presenting themselves in the fashion which wreak havoc (sometimes more than autism) in my personal life. But I hate to admit it due to the stigmatic effects it has in society today. I’d be closer to the truth if only I just offered this window of transparency to my readers. And after today, I feel it’s the perfect opportunity to come clean with how it makes me feel. And while surely it is not all of the baggage I carry in my mind–for there are other things which make me a large part of the broken world which you are cut from similar effects–today I’ll focus purely on the mental health aspect. That’s a big enough pill to swallow. Which that in and of itself is an oxymoron for the world of Chuck Franklin, because I haven’t taken a single mood stabilizer or antidepressant since just before Christmas of 2017.
Before I begin, let me address what bipolar disorder and mental illness is not.
- It is not God given.
- It is not learned behavior.
- It is not ‘just an excuse’ for acting irrationally.
- It is not fun.
You might think that list of four things should be self explanatory… an inherent production of common sense. Then there’s the first one. No, I don’t believe in a God who harms His children.
While we were created in His image, I choose to believe that mental illness is brought on by the fall of man which dates back to Adam & Eve. I believe that we have certain differences which are a result of the flawed world that we trample.
It’s caused by genetics and the consequence of environmental impacts and since it’s just like any other DNA trait as is human brilliance or red hair, God uses it as a tool. Nowadays, I choose to think Mental Health is nothing more than a circumstance which God decides to use under His supervision to bring us closer to Him and to measure when our issues can be put to some greater positive use of helping or relating with others.
Bipolar disorder or any other mental illness (note, you will never see or hear me label autism as a disease) is not learned behavior. While we certainly are exposed to it on a daily basis whether we realize it or not, I keep the hope in the fact that my brothers and sisters in Christ don’t use it as an excuse for our occasional bad behavior. I’d also think that neither of us would (in our right minds) choose to act out in anger or agitation. Unfortunately though, since we are so not perfect, it happens. Some are better at identifying their feelings or emotions and can assess better than others and cool down before heating up. But sometimes, we’re all just bound to ‘snap’ and it just ‘is what it is’ every once in a while.
I also hate to break this to anyone who thinks this (and you’d be surprised how many people I’ve heard say this) that bipolar is fun. I’m sorry, but I don’t find joy in spending night after night after night awake researching new subjects or exploring my creativity through paper crafting, or writing, or spending long nights watching movies and taking two hot showers sometimes in an eight hour period just because my brain won’t shut off and let me sleep like the rest of the world. I find joy in those interests most during the light of day. And, I don’t find pleasure in starting new projects or interests on the flip of a dime. But it happens so much with me, I cannot count on one hand how many times I’ve switched interests. On Monday, I can decide that I’m going to take up baking, so the next day or (instantly, as in the pleasures of online shopping) I venture on a spending spree to get new pans and utensils which are necessary to baking. By Friday, I’d have lost complete interest in baking when I meet the demise of my horrible talent at fixing something that another person would dare identify as edible. And in those days in between, I can shockingly survive with two or three short naps the entire week.
The sporadic and messianic zeal of conquering a brand new concept or hobby one minute, then losing interest in whatever half brained idea I’d dreamed up the next, clashes directly with my autistic disdain for change and crave for routine based living.
During these periods of pure mania, I’m generally at the peak of my elated self. I’m so confident and happier than a dog basking in the sun, then usually after an entire day of headaches and throwing my fists in thin air (which typically occur after a week or two from when the mania starts), I plunge straight into the depths of my already sinking mattress. It’s days like this which my mind becomes haunted by the consequences of my behavior. Shame and guilt elude my every thought and I feel the sting of loneliness. It’s in those transitions of rage and anger which I’ve pushed away family members and friends. Now don’t get me wrong, I have arrived at the acceptance that God has cleaned out my inner circle of friends for great reason. However, I am to blame for some of the relational woes and it’s days like this when I shake my head at how unfair mental illness is.
You probably find yourself thinking that I could just try medication again. I should attend rigorous therapy. I should interact with others in person more. And for a typical person, all those could be great suggestions. But like I mentioned above, my mental illness battles the faulty brain wiring and I have a real-life cartoon of the devil on one side of my head and an angelic entity on the other. Medication hasn’t worked in the past, and trust me when I say this, eight years ago when I found out I was both autistic and bipolar, I’d began the entire circuit of medications. They just don’t work for some people. And since moving back to Colorado, I’ve yet to find a suitable therapy provider who truly understands the full scope of my mental health needs without judgment and preconceived bias. Grand Junction leaves much to be desired in a clinical perspective. Much like our doctors here, Western Colorado is full of therapists/psychiatrists and barely any of them measure up to the brilliance which I’d once had in Indiana. They just don’t get it.
So as I lay here, bereft of real gumption to get up and do anything productive, I revert back to my first paragraph. Some days just have me crying tears of regret and loneliness. It’s in these moments which I can’t escape the confines of hell which satan has placed me in, because even if I did have a spouse in my life to bring the physical comfort God wants for me, I’m sure I’d find some way of pushing them away too.
How a Single Night of Failure Provided a Bridge to God’s Timely Blessings
I don’t know about you, but I can never seem to put on my socks whilst standing. Call it lack of equilibrium, or I’m bigger boned than most, or whatever you will. An excuse isn’t going to miraculously give me that ability, because I am not capable of creating miracles all by myself. If I lift one leg and hunch over, I’m just bound to fall over. Only when I am seated, can I truly focus on putting the socks to cover my tootsies– safely and comfortably. You might be thinking I’m about to write about self-reliance. While this aligns nicely, I am also speaking up about patience. Taking things one at a time to focus on whatever I need to without the, well, fear of failing. We hate failing in today’s world, don’t we? But we certainly don’t have to fear that. In the words of Duckie, one of my favorite childhood cartoon characters in “The Land Before Time”… Nope, nope, nope.
Earlier this week, I shared a personal story about a huge struggle I encountered after The Big Cheese took my momma back home to be in His kingdom. That particular feat began with lots of physical pain which doctors couldn’t define what was causing me to feel all that I was suffering. With a lack of answers why, they tossed around words like “psychosomatic” and “idiopathic.” I grew even more frustrated because it was affecting my ability to stand, and work in anyplace which required me to stand for long periods of time–or use my legs at all for that matter. This persisted for a good year, and you know what ultimately caused it? Worry. Nothing was getting better. My life was not improving, even after overcoming my for-all-intents-and-purposes… addiction to painkillers and muscle relaxers.
“Be patient, therefore, until the coming of the Lord. See how the farmer waits for the precious fruit of the earth, being patient about it, until it receives the early and the late rains. You also, be patient. Establish your hearts, for the coming of the Lord is at hand.” (James 5:7-8 ESV)
Nine years ago, I might have cracked open to scripture only in the frailest and darkest of times. And only then, that was maybe a couple times a year. Looking back now, I can identify that period of time as a result of little patience. I thought I was able to do everything myself, despite my legs turning into grape jelly. That’s when I met Bea, whom I consider my life adviser. We’d crossed digital paths in a Facebook group for writers. This was when I realized, God put her in my life for a reason. She was very much a motherly figure, the kind of emotional support a human provides another. I’d joined a temp agency to try even earn fifty bucks that week, if that’s all it would turn up.
The next day, I got a call asking if I was willing to work with a catering company who needed help at a wedding event. Having never served anyone anything in my life before but sass mouth, I was uncertain if I was a good fit. Since I was anything but a coward, I put forth the attitude to try. But this temp job required a white oxford shirt and black pants, of which I had neither. I spoke with Bea on the phone about the opportunity and she offered the encouragement that I should try it. The fact I lacked to meet their clothing requirements was in fact, no obstacle at all. Bea went to her local Chase Bank and deposited the money needed into my account so I could go to Walmart and jump through that hoop.
Evening arrived and I drove myself to the catering business’s central kitchen and helped load the van of all the food and utensils needed at the venue. I rode with them and a handful of other workers to the wedding site. This is where things went downhill, in the most literal and figurative sense combined. The venue was behind a clubhouse which literally rested at the top of a hill. After the reception began, I was shuffling my ‘big bones’ up and down a hill for three hours. Because of my mobility concerns, my head rarely looked up from the ground. I was pouty because I was uncomfortable physically and mentally (see; I have never liked large groups of people). If I had to count how many times I genuinely smiled instead of plastering a fake one, I’d say it was only during a brief conversation with a lady whom was my Home Economics Teacher in middle school.
Fast forward an hour later. Silver platter in hand with my head locked-in on the ground, a gentleman I didn’t see in my peripheral vision was headed up the incline as I was stepping down. We bumped into each other, causing the tray of disgusting looking tapas to smash firmly into his shirt which probably cost more than I was surely making that evening. Little did I know at the time, it was the father of the bride. Major yikes. What I was sure of, was upon impact, I lost balance and tumbled down the hill. Not one soul walked over to help me up or see if I was even okay. I picked myself up, walked over to pick up the tray and hobbled myself back to the catering tent where I sulked for about twenty minutes wondering why I was putting myself through such torture.
After having my pity-party, I was asked to help serve dessert to everyone seated at the tables where I was required to hold a platter of cake slices above one hand and a carafe of hot coffee in the other. Of course, my little blunder caught most people’s attention, I was being criminalized because I ran into the bride’s dad. Like how dare I be clumsy, right? Bouncing from this table to another, I was sure to catch the stink eye and disgusting sighs from people in the wedding party. I didn’t like how rude they were, and by that point I was just “not having it” so I sat the carafe of hot coffee down on the last table I’d served, dropped the tray which thankfully was bare by that point. Put my hands in the air, proclaiming, “You guys are horrible people. Mean and rude people.”
I hobbled toward to the caterers tent and told the owner that I just couldn’t do it anymore and my legs were giving out. I needed to just go home and clean up the scrape on my arm which had came in contact with the sharp edge of a rock on the tumble down. He let out a cavernous sigh, but appeared to not show a look of surprise before replying, “I get it, I’m sorry this didn’t work out.” He reached into his pocket and handed me cash from his own wallet. It was $100. That was certainly way more than I would have earned if the night went without a hitch (no pun intended). He said if I could sit down and wait a few minutes, he would take me back to my parked car at their business. He apologized for my fall and showed me so much grace and understanding. I called Bea while sitting down to wait for him. I was distraught and having a breakdown. For I failed miserably, yet somehow The Lord came through this man with a generous and understanding heart. I could see some disappointment in the owner’s eyes. But if I could place my finger on his true feelings, he showed more understanding and compassion than giving the enemy a bridge into my mind which had already been in a fragile state. He bore the fruit of the Spirit which was certainly everything mentioned in the below scripture.
“But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness.” (Galatians 5:22 ESV)
The next morning, I returned to Walmart to get some food with that very gesture of Faith from the catering proprietor. As I was leaving, I ran into an old colleague from a previous job. She told me that her ex-husband was needing a couple new employees at Pier One Imports. Some of you know me personally, and know where I’m headed with this. That job, combined with the help and support of Bea and her husband, is what lead me into the new life I’d established in Indiana. Pier One Imports let me transfer to a store in the Hoosier state so I wasn’t moving with no employment.
What is something you can look back and say, “Huh, you know it was through patience and taking one moment at a time which led me to XYZ?” For certainly had I not taken one moment at a time and not experienced that evening, I wouldn’t have been blessed with the “early rain” [the Pier One Imports job] which led to the “late rain” [the end result which was employment post-move].
God is never early, He is never late. But He’s always on time.
You’ve all heard that phrase, surely. The Hebrew translation to this is referred to as mow’ed, which means ‘appointed time and place.’ We just need to be patient and believe that God is going to arrive on time.
Prayer:
“Yahweh, please help me and all your children sit still just a bit longer. Let us put our Faith in your plan and learn to take it one moment, one step at a time. For nothing we try ourselves is ever going to hurry your mighty power even a second quicker. I appreciate the blessings you bring into our lives each and every day, which were in your will to happen timely and seamlessly. Hallelujah to you and your perfect son Jesus for letting our hearts beat according to your clock and not our own here on this green earth. Amen!”
The Heart Mechanic 