Chasing God

I thought I wanted to talk about God.

I have started and stopped this post dozens of times.   It's a touchy subject.   People have strong feelings about God, whether they ardently believe or steadfastly don't believe, and I have felt fearful about dipping my toe into these waters.  Part of the problem, the reason for all the starting and stopping, is I'm still figuring out how I feel about it all.  

For most of my life, God was this unknown entity I thought about only in church.   As a child, I would kneel and fold my hands with the rest of the congregation, peeking out of the corner of my eye to get the pose just right.  I would close my eyes and think:  Um, hello?   God?   I don't know if you can hear me, but if you can I just wanted to say, well, HI. 

During the prayers for the departed, I would diligently name everyone I had ever known who passed away, thinking:  God, could you please look out for them?   They are really special.

I've done my share of Tea Bag Praying - praying only when I'm in hot water - but for the most part God didn't play much of an active role in my life.

And then I got sober, and all the talk about a Higher Power got me thinking:  what does God mean to me? 

People would talk about their Higher Power, and it didn't scare me or produce any feelings of cynicism.   What I mostly felt was curiosity.  I would hear people talk about their Higher Power like a good friend or loving parent, and I would wonder how do they DO that?   How do they just talk to their Higher Power like he is on the other end of some divine telephone line? 

Over time, I figured out what was wrong.   I stumble over the word God.   Not in a does-He-exist-or-doesn't-He kind of way.   It's just that the word God always produces a mental picture of a man in flowing robes and a long white beard sitting on a cloud with a ferocious, inaccessible look on his face.   I probably saw it in a picture book, or in Sunday School, and the image stuck.

So I tried to let go of any pre-conceived notions I had of God.   It only sort of worked, partly because I couldn't lose a ritualistic feeling around prayer.   I would kneel to pray and I would spend the whole time wondering if I was doing it right.   Was I fervent enough?   Was I allowed to do this if I wasn't sure about my feelings about God?  

I've been reading a lot of texts about Buddhism, and I'm really drawn to it.    Buddhism, to me, revolves around acceptance, compassion and nurturing an ability to live in the moment, to accept what life dishes your way instead of trying to control or alter reality.

What I learn in my program of recovery and through Buddhist teachings helps me understand that what I crave is spirituality, as opposed to religion.   I bristle at the dogma of religion, the idea that there is a right way and a wrong way to communicate with God.   I've never been comfortable with the notion of Heaven or Hell - to me it has always placed pressure on doing it right, like I won't be allowed entry into the afterlife if I don't follow a certain set of rules.

I heard this expression, which is somewhat tongue-in-cheek but rang true for me:  religion is for people who don't want to go to Hell, and spirituality is for people who have been to Hell and are looking for a way out of it. 

Active alcoholism was so all about me - about my pain, my ego, my self-esteem (or lack thereof), my fears.  Spirituality, for me, is the pathway away from the self-centered fear of rejection; it leads me towards compassion, towards acceptance of myself and others.

I pray all the time.   I don't worry about who I'm praying to anymore.   It doesn't matter, really.   I give my will over to a kind of Divine Spirit, having faith that life isn't about a blueprint of right or wrong, that life is about millions of moments, and inside each moment is an opportunity to commune with compassion and love.   

And you know what?   It works.   I focus my energies away from self, away from Ego.   When I pray, I don't pray for outcomes as much as energies.    I pray for guidance to do the next right thing. I pray for compassion, gratitude and enthusiam.   Most importantly, to me, I pray for acceptance.   When I'm trying to bend the world to suit my needs, I'm moving away from compassion, away from love, away from the Divine. 

Surrendering my will, getting out of my own way, has produced so many miracles in my life.   When I'm not trying to force the world to yield to my desires, I'm pleasantly surprised all the time.    When life gets hard, when I'm faced with a challenge I don't think I can overcome, I think:  Oh yeah.  I don't have to overcome it, because it's not up to me.   If I get out of the way and focus on gratitude, acceptance and doing the next right thing - moment to moment - my molehills don't become mountains.   Problems that seem unresolvable settle into solutions, bit by bit, that I couldn't ever have imagined.

Now, I believe this to be true:  the world gives you back exactly what you put into it.

If I'm putting negativity, pain and anger into the world, that is what I will receive in return.    If I'm putting compassion, light and love into the world, then I'm getting compassion, light and love back.

I may not fully understand how I feel about God, and that's okay.   What I do know, now, is that I believe.   I believe in the energies that flow around and through us all.

Edited to add:  I would really love to hear from you.   If you have thoughts about all this, please share.  I promise I'm not grubbing for comments -- I'm truly curious to hear other persepectives on this - it helps me to learn more.   

A Letter to my Big Second Grader

Dear Greta:

You're a second grader now.   You said to me this morning, "I'm a little excited, a little nervous, a little calm and a little happy.   And I have the butterflies in my stomach."

You're so grown up now.   It seems only yesterday you were heading off to the first day of preschool, with your little ponytails and your first backpack:

Today you were chatting away about seeing your friends, about finally being the second grader on the bus:

Of course, your little brother was hovering all around you, looking up to you.  Someday, Finn:

Thankfully, there was an inch worm to distract him after you left, because he misses you when you're at school:

And, of course, we posed for our "First Day of School" picture, like we do every year:

I know the first day of anything brings butterflies of excitement and nerves, and you're so brave.   You have many amazing adventures ahead of you this year.   I'm so proud of you.

Happy first day of school, my big second grader.   We love you!

Monthly Giveaway - New Item!

Congratulations to Lauren, who won last month's giveaway!   Thank you to everyone for entering!

This month I'm keeping with the earring theme, and giving away on of my personal favorites .. the green quartz earrings:

Click here to view these earrings in my Etsy shop, click here. 

To enter, please leave a comment below saying you would like to enter, and please leave your email so I know how to contact you if you win!   If you're more comfortable emailing me directly, you can do so at ellieandsteve@verizon.net

This giveaway is open internationally.

The winner will be chosen at random (my daughter picks a name from a hat) on October 1st!

Thank you!

Existential Quicksand

I've been feeling a low rumble lately, some shiftless, slippery dark form rippling just beneath the surface of my consciousness.

I'm pretty good at ignoring it, in part because we are so busy.    These last two weeks of summer, when we didn't have anything specific planned, have still been stuffed to the gills with activity.    Playdates, swimming at the local Y, visiting family and friends, going to a fair, birthday parties - every day is jam packed from start to finish. 

The days blur by - each day mashing into the next one.   I rarely even know what day of the week it is anymore.  

Each day starts the exact same way.  I get a poke in the ribs at 6am, two sets of eyes peering at me expectantly.  "What are we going to do today, Momma?   Huh?  Momma?  You awake?   We're hungry."

As soon as my feet hit the floor, the kids are in motion.   I feel like a sleepy sun with two jittery planets orbiting my every move.  

Can I have Rice Krispies no wait I want waffles but not too much butter Finn hit me Sissy won't talk to me Momma where are my waffles I can't find my special lizard wanna play soccer I don't like this juice can I have milk there is too much butter on my waffles can we have a playdate Momma Momma Momma look at me I can jump on one foot NO I'M TALKING TO MOMMA NOW Momma is today the pool can we have a friend over will you play a game with me I'm hungry Momma Momma Mommaaaaaaaa.

I am not exaggerating when I say this level of chatter and activity doesn't stop until they close their eyes at night.  

Even when we're doing something - playing a game, say - they are vying for attention, asking what is next, peppering me with questions.     

If I stop moving, to check the computer  or - gasp - try to read the newspaper they are instantly on me.  I mean ON me.   Sitting on my lap, draped around my legs, sticky warm arms and legs pressed into mine.  

I try to carve out precious little chunks of time - a half an hour here or there to get jewelry orders done, return emails, have a phone conversation, do some housework.    Finn's record for leaving me alone is eight minutes.  Eight whole minutes before he pads in the room and slips silently into my lap, leans against my legs or simply follows me around like a pint sized shadow.   Greta can last the whole half an hour.   Barely.

That slippery, shadowy thing that has been lurking around in my periphery, sliding around in my subconscious mind, is an oil slick of frustration, and it is mucking up my clear waters of serenity and gratitude.  

By three o'clock every day I feel like I have gnats buzzing about my head - hungry, demanding little blood suckers that I can't swat away, because, well, those gnats love me and it's summer and it's been a great summer and I really don't have anything to complain about because we've had such fun and school is about to start and so I should enjoy the moments we have together and so I'll just grit my teeth and find the beauty in the moment and -

Well, you get the idea.   I'm trying to talk myself out of this existential quicksand, this sensation of constant stuck I feel. 

The truth?   I feel disappeared.   

I'm the snack getter and skinned knee kisser and sibling referee and chauffeur and playdate arranger and house picker-upper and chief cook and bottle washer.   And I'm sick to death of it.

I ache for some time to myself.   I have all these lofty ideas for my business and for my writing and it's just not worth diving into them.   Not now.    I have learned that trying to do those things and be present for the kids simply doesn't work.   They are still young enough that they need me to be the center of their orbit.    On the good days I am grateful for this - oh, so grateful.    On the not-so-good days it makes me want to run down the street screaming:  what about MEEEEE?????

Part of this can be blamed on the weather.   There is a little bite to the air in the evenings, now; the first of Autumn's caresses have arrived.   I am academically programmed, and every single fall I feel a tidal wave of energy, of ideas.   September 1st is like my New Year's Day; the slow, hazy days of summer are over and I want to be in motion.    MY motion, not the endless pinging around that is managing two young kids' schedules.

I'm trying to bring it back into the moment.   I know, in my heart, that these days are irreplaceable, that my kids' need to be close to me, that their undiluted love for me, is to be treasured.   I know it won't last forever, and that some day - sooner than I think - I will ache for these times. 

But the oil slick is there, I can't deny it.   All I can do is speak my truth, try to reduce its sludgy hold over me one word at a time.

Why Can't She Just STOP?

Why won't she stop drinking?  It's ruining her life, why won't she just STOP? 

If you are a loved one - a friend or family member - of an alcoholic, you may ask yourself this question a lot.

If you are drinking and can't stop, if you are drinking without your own permission, you may be asking yourself the same sort of questions:  what is WRONG with me?   Why can't I just stop?

In recent weeks I have had several conversations with people, on both sides of this equation, who are wondering these things.   It's an odd feeling, trying to explain something so complex and so personal for me.   Typically, when asked, I will share some of my own experiences, try to help people understand through the lens of my own addiction and recovery.    But everyone is different - there is no blueprint  for the way alcoholism presents itself, or progresses.    There is, however, one thing that is known by the medical and scientific community to be true.

Alcoholism is a disease.   The National Institute on Alcohol Abuse and Alcoholism says the following:

Alcoholism is a disease. The craving that an alcoholic feels for alcohol can be as strong as the need for food or water. An alcoholic will continue to drink despite serious family, health, or legal problems.

Like many other diseases, alcoholism is chronic, meaning that it lasts a person's lifetime; it usually follows a predictable course; and it has symptoms. The risk for developing alcoholism is influenced both by a person's genes and by his or her lifestyle. (See also "Publications," Alcohol Alert No. 30: Diagnostic Criteria for Alcohol Abuse and Dependence.)

When I was in treatment, and they were explaining the biological roots of alcoholism to me, it was freeing.   Finally, I was able to understand that I had a disease that I could no more control than I could if my body was fighting cancer, diabetes or asthma.    Will power had nothing to do with it, any more than will power would come into play if my body didn't produce enough insulin, or my cells had turned cancerous.  

I have heard - even in the alcoholic/recovery community - from people who don't agree that it is a disease.   I have heard from loved ones that the disease concept makes them fearful - that it enables someone struggling with alcoholism to throw up their hands and say, "See?  I can't help it!"

I look at it this way:  my disease is organic, it is biologically based like an allergy.   I didn't choose to be an alcoholic, or invite this disease to attack me through weak moral character or a lack of will power.   All I needed to do to awaken the seed of alcoholism that lay dormant in me was to drink alcohol.   Something I hear over and over in recovery meetings, and I identify strongly with, is people describing how drinking felt to them at first - like a light switch clicked on inside of them, that they had found something they had needed all their lives.   

I didn't have any choices once I drank - one drink and I couldn't predict what would happen.   I always drank with the intention of having only one or two.  I never set out to have too much, to ruin my health, my mental and physical well being.    This is why the allergy comparison feels so right to me - my body and mind react differently to alcohol, and it happens the minute I put alcohol in my system.

My disease may be organic, but my recovery is my responsibility.   I relapsed over and over as I struggled to get sober, and I look back at that time and try to figure out what the common denominator was, why for so long I couldn't stop, and then why I did, finally I hope, get sober.

I don't know that I'll ever have one answer for this question, but one fact remains clear to me:  until I understood that I was powerless over alcohol - that one drink triggered all the other stuff - I didn't have a chance.   For me, learning that alcoholism was a disease was the final piece that had to click into place.   Once I understood that will power not only didn't count, but was making things WORSE, I stepped out of the way and asked for help.   The same way I would if a doctor solemnly told me I had diabetes, the only question I needed to ask was "what do I need to do?"  

The treatment plan revolves around staying away from that first drink.    For me, it is recovery meetings, prayer and the comfort of talking with people who understand.    It is a disease that convinces you that you're not sick.  Once you feel physically and mentally better, once the wreckage caused by drinking is repaired, it is easy to believe you're okay now, that you can control it.    I go to recovery meetings and talk to other people in recovery to stay close to the fact that I can't drink in safety, to maintain my defense against that first drink (I go to meetings for so many more reasons than that, but that is a discussion for another time).

The other question that is asked by people struggling with their drinking and their loved ones is:  how do I know if I'm an alcoholic?   My response is always this:  it doesn't matter how much, or how often, it matters what it does to you. 

There are countless quizzes and checklists out there, but I like this one by the NIAA because it is short, to the point:

Have you ever felt you should cut down on your drinking?

Have people annoyed you by criticizing your drinking?

Have you ever felt bad or guilty about your drinking?

Have you ever had a drink first thing in the morning to steady your nerves or to get rid of a hangover?

One "yes" answer suggests a possible alcohol problem. More than one "yes" answer means it is highly likely that a problem exists.

I like this checklist because it cuts to the chase - 'regular' drinkers don't spend any time worrying about their drinking, or feeling guilty about it.     So many people are diagnosed after their life has become a roiling mess, and it is beyond clear to everyone involved that drinking is at the root of the problem.   This checklist could help people catch their disease in its earliest stages, when the niggling doubts and fears are mostly internal.

If you are struggling with alcohol, if you answered yes to one or more of the questions above, please get help.   A physician is a good place to start if you're not ready to talk with loved ones or walk into a recovery meeting.    

Facing the truth is the biggest hurdle towards getting well.    It takes courage - whether you're struggling yourself or you love someone who is - to tell the truth, to overcome the stigma of alcoholism and cut through denial. 

If someone had any other chronic and fatal illness people wouldn't wonder if they were weak of character or will power.   The stigma of alcoholism keeps people sick.  Denial - on both sides of the equation - prevents the symptoms from being recognized.   

The truth, however, could save a life, because alcoholism always, always progresses.  

Always.

Celebrity Hero Worship

When I was in New York for the BlogHer conference, I was invited to participate in a roundtable discussion about celebrity hero worship with three other bloggers:  Laura from The Hollywood Housewife, Jessica from The Mom Creative and Susan from GetGood.com.

The Roundtable was hosted by the beautiful and gracious Dr. Janet Taylor, and filmed to be put on Liberty Mutual's Responbility Project's website.  I love the way it turned out, (but, seriously?  Do I really sound like that?) and it was a pleasure to be in the company of such engaging, creative and intelligent women.

So, take a look if you'd like - and I'd love to hear from all of you on your thoughts about celebrity worship.  Is it something you think about?    How does it impact the way you parent?   Do you worry about how our children are inundated with celebrity culture through television, movies and social media?   What do YOU do about it?  

How It Works

I know a woman with kind eyes and a lion's heart.

She's a touch-stone, a soul mate; being with her feels as natural to me as my own skin.    It's a finish-each-other's-sentences kind of friendship, a lifetime of late night giggles, whispered secrets and knowing smiles.

We prop each other up, leaning steadily and sturdily on one another through soaring joys and crushing blows.  

When I'm with her it's like two puzzle pieces clicking into place - separately we are colorful and interesting, but together the picture feels complete.

Over the years our paths have serpentined away from each other and back again, winding and twisting along different paths as lives do, but always orbiting the gravitational pull of our twin heartbeat.

~~~~

One night, a little over three years ago, I called her.  I was drunk, scared, alone and desperate for her love, understanding and friendship.   "I'm in trouble," I told her.  "Please come."

She'll understand, I thought.  She'll know why I drink; we're two halves of a whole, after all.   She'll tell me I'm okay.

An hour later she arrived, eyes blazing with love and pain, but with a determined set to her jaw.   She marched into the kitchen and poured out all the booze, bottle by bottle.   Then she turned to me and told me the hard truth:  I had a problem, I needed to stop, I needed to get help.

It was not what I was expecting her to say, not at all.    I knew in my gut, for the first time ever, that she spoke the truth.   I needed to stop, and I needed to get help. 

She stayed with me that night, and in the morning as she left she hugged me and said, "You can do this, El.  I love you."

That day I checked into my first rehab.   My journey had begun.

~~~~

Today, as we stood trembling and teary in the intake area of the treatment center, my eyes were ablaze with the same determined love. 

"You can do this," I said to her as we hugged.  "I love you."

I opened her hand and pressed a little bronze medallion into her palm.   Etched into it is the Serenity Prayer:  God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.   It was given to me at one of my first recovery meetings by a woman I don't know, and haven't seen again.   She had many, many years of sobriety, and told me she wanted me to have it.   For strength, she said.

"This was given to me when I was new," I whispered to my friend, through tears.   "And now I'm giving it to you."  

Our eyes locked, and for an instant we were little girls again, finding our way through life together, always together.

Her journey is just beginning.   But someday?   I hope and pray that  she will give it to someone else.   She will pay it forward.

Because that's how it works.