Don't I know you?

I've recently gotten back in touch with one of my cousins, and it's fantastic. Even though he's four years older than me, we were kind of close for a while there, mostly once he was in college and then when I was. The Hitchhiker's Guide was on my radar thanks to him, as well as a number of 80's bands that he and his brother would talk about in their furnished basement with a bar (fancy!).

When he went away to Michigan State, his mom took me with her to visit him at least once, if not more. She let me drive, which was very exciting, and I quickly learned that it's important to slow down when getting off the freeway, especially with a curved exit ramp. What else did I learn? That college life is really expensive, as he lived in a corner of a basement and paid a lot of money for it, that college students are disgusting (piles of garbage in the kitchen), and that the above parking garage was nicknamed the Human Habitrail. (I was certain that his genius mind had come up with that on his own.)

Once I was in college, we actually hung out from time to time, which was great. A few times, when my parents were out of town, he came to stay with me, even though I was quite able to stay by myself. I just didn't want to. Those times, we would hang out, I'd criticize his choice of girlfriend, and he even went out with me & my friends a few times.

He's smart, creative, hilarious, and I love him. But life, marriage, kids, family drama, and geography conspired against us, and we've gone many years at a time without talking at all and definitely not seeing each other. This time it was the impending death of our grandmother that put us in touch again. The day she died, I tried the work e-mail I had for him to let him and his mom know what was going on, since my mom couldn't get in touch with my aunt.

As we wrote back and forth, we both declared that it couldn't happen again; that we needed to stay in each other's lives. So we have continued. Three months have passed now, and we're still in touch. Sure, you could scoff, but I say that's pretty good. We're writing at least once per week, we've each shared writing with the other, and we're laughing and being honest. What makes me so happy is the pleasant surprise that he's still him. A few messages into our exchange, I was laughing and realized, "Oh, yeah! I totally love you! I forgot about that."

Plus, we have to stay in touch because I owe him a black eye from my first decade. There's a foil ball coming for you, cousin.



photo credit: Elizabeth/Table4Five via photopin cc

Happy To Be Alive Day!

Let's just put this out there right away: 20 years ago today, I tried to kill myself. That's what this is about.

On January 11, 1993, I was depressed, I thought, about a boy, so I took higher than the recommended dose of something and went to work. At work, I promptly freaked out and told my boss what I had done. She told me to go throw up, then she took me to the hospital. We were nervous and laughed, making fun of other people and myself and the situation (drinking charcoal is not pleasant, I say), but when my parents showed up I freaked out. I knew that what I had done was serious. I had to spend that night in the hospital, and I was so afraid to fall asleep, because I thought I would die and go to hell.

I hadn't really wanted to die, but just to escape. I didn't know how to deal with problems and emotions, I had been fighting depression since at least my senior year in high school, and I wanted to leave my life. If I would have had a million dollars, I would have run away and moved somewhere instead of trying to kill myself. I was mostly embarrassed by what I had done and didn't want people to know, but I ended up calling Dom in the morning and telling him, and then Carolyn called and pestered my dad when I didn't show up for biology, so he told her. I believe she said something like, "Mr. O'Brien, Robin wasn't in class, so where is she?"

After that, I got therapy and meds like I needed, though I had darker times to come later. But starting the next year, I called January 11th "Happy to be alive day." Though I had moments where I wanted to escape again and had suicidal thoughts, I knew that I didn't want to die. I don't remember every year to celebrate this day, but I was in the car this morning, heard the date on NPR, and thought, "Jan 11. Doesn't that mean something to me? OH YEAH!"

Twenty years. That's a long time. And I'm still happy to be alive. Don't get me wrong, I'm still depressed. It's part of me that may never go away. It's something in my brain; in my chemicals, and it's not a bad or defective or shameful thing. About 3 years ago, maybe more, I got on some anti-depressants for the umpteenth time and I've stayed on them since. Before I had done the thing that soooooo many people on psychiatric meds do, and after being on them for a while, I thought, "Oh, I feel better now. I don't need them!" DUH. I finally learned that it isn't about me having a bad life or not trusting God enough or any sort of need to pull myself up by my bootstraps. It's just something about my body.

So depression is like an old friend. I recognize it and know the steps to the dance. I'll admit that sometimes it takes me a little while to catch on. I'm dumb sometimes and I'll let my meds run out, then when I want to do nothing but sit on the couch, staring into space, I feel defeated. Then I'll either figure it out or Seth will say, "UM! Have you taken your medicine?" OH YEAH. That. Sometimes, even with my medicine, the depression is particularly strong. Nothing is necessarily going on in my life that is sad or stressful, I objectively know that I'm happy and have a great life, but I don't want anything. Those times always pass. I talk about them at least with Seth, if not with others, too, and they pass. I don't feel guilty about them.

My life is amazing and I'm happy to be alive. I'm thrilled to say that those people that were with me during that time are still my friends and I love them so. I'll use a word I stay away from and say that I cherish them. Thank you, friends, for visiting me in the hospital when it was obviously painful for you. Thank you for playing a super-depressing song followed by yelling at me for ever making you feel that way. Thank you, the boy at that time, for making me go to church with you after that. Thank you, dad, for telling me that "tens of people" would have been affected by my death. Thanks for putting a hospital glove on my teddy bear so that he became "Gregory, the Chicken Bear." I love you.

Prostitutes as Metaphors

I'm teaching at the young adult group on Sunday (actually, the next 3 Sundays, I think), and I'm starting out teaching on the book of Hosea.  For the summer we are having a focus on story, while also trying to draw together the Old and New Testaments, since not everyone understands their cohesion.

Hosea is about the prophet (Hosea), who is told by God to marry, well, a ho.  Some translations say, "a woman of whoredom."  (Best word ever?  Likely.  Whoredom.  Work it into your conversations, if you can.)  Anyway, God tells Hosea to marry this woman and raise another man's (men's? possibly) children.  It's a bit heartbreaking, and Hosea has to go and buy back his wife, I think more than once.  God did this as a representation of what the nation of Israel had done in it's relationship with him.  They had turned from their covenant with him and turned to worship other gods, basically whoring themselves out to whoever they thought would serve their purposes best.

The thing is, it isn't just about the old nation of Israel.  It's about all of us.  We're all dirty whores who look for security wherever we think it can be found, trying this and that, worshiping our own desires instead of trusting God and remaining faithful, even when we can't see what he's doing.

And the great thing is that, even though there is a covenant and rules and God always threatened to destroy Israel, his abiding patience and desire to be with them/us overcame his anger.  There was always, "But if you'll turn to me and obey my commands," and other conditions like that.   And Jesus did all the buying back that we need.  That's the best part.  "While we were yet sinners, Christ died for us." Romans 5:8.  

He loves us in our whoredom, in our filth, in our stank.  He adores us and wants us and already bought us back from sin.  We have to choose to stay.  

Redefining My Boundaries

As you may know, I've gotten slightly more into politics over the last two years or so.  Though I've always done my research and voted, I never really paid much attention to what was going on or read the news much.  Not that I became a political junkie or anything, but I started reading more articles, which led to getting more invested in one point of view or another, and it also means that I saw a lot more of the ugly side of things. 

You might not be aware of this, but our media is very polarized right now (NO!) and things like Twitter and facebook make it much easier for that polarized spirit to leak out of your computer and get all over your friends and family.  For me, though I tried to stay neutral and only enter the political posting waters from time to time, I still found myself getting more and more angry at people- not simply for their posts that I may disagree with, but for the attitude I inferred from these posts.  There is a real spirit of anger, judgment, and hatred that turns my stomach, but I was getting caught up in the mire of being angry because these other people were always so angry! 

The other day, Glen Beck pushed me past my breaking point.  So what was it that I broke through and what am I leaving behind?  All my mini-political junkie trappings.  As painful as it is to me, I'm not watching the Daily Show or the Colbert Report anymore.  I'm not following columnists on Twitter.  I'll hide more people on facebook if I have to, but I'm not going to fight anymore, even in my own head. 

It's not my job to be right.  It's not my job to convince people that...well, of anything really.  At least not in the "I'll convince you with my words and badgering and facts and figures" kind of way.  I am an influence on people, and especially on a decent number of students.  What am I teaching them by posting snarky political things or arguing with my friends and family in a public forum?  Not love and respect. 

Am I saying that one should be uninformed?  Not at all.  I just need to concentrate on what my job is and what my job is not.  I am a teacher and leader and example; hopefully of love, mercy, humility, and grace.  I know where my priorities lie. 

I love friends!

Uh-oh. This was going to be about specific friends and bonding, but it might turn into a long-winded treatise on why I love facebook and twitter. You've been duly warned. Oh, and I just thought of another friend-themed rant. Woah. Focus, robeena. Pick one and move on.

Okay, today's topic is: we need more words in English for "friend." Alternatively, I need to grow up. The issue is that I am a fairly affectionate person who also happens to need a decent amount of affirmation herself. (It is quite natural that these things go hand-in-hand. My #2 love language is "words of affirmation," so I give that easily.) So I find myself calling this person or that "my best friend" or "one of my best friends." Then I also have to qualify that with "in California" or "in the whole, wide UNIVERSE," or some such 3rd grade nonsense.

Why do I do this? I think part of it is that, especially when introducing someone to "one of my best friends," I want to emphasize how special this person is to me. I'm trying to express that I love this person a whole lot and I'm excited for you to meet them. I just with there was a less childish way of doing it.

People mean things to me in different ways. Obviously, Seth is my best friend, period. I suppose that my sister would be next. But from there it starts to get confusing. There are long-time friends who have known me forever. There are friends who have been there through thick and thin. There are the people that I can rely on in any situation. There are the handful of people that I could talk to for days on end with no break and we'd still be having a great conversation. There are the friends that know me and I can just be near them and be completely myself with no walls. There are the few people out here in CA who I feel I have a lot in common with and with whom I can be sarcastic and watch TV. Obviously, some of these categories overlap, but all of these people are precious to me, and I want everyone to know it.

Maybe I should start collecting foreign words for "friend." There have to be words for some of these things out there. Of course, I would still have to explain the word to someone if I used it in public, but I think it would make my heart smile to have a word for just what someone means to me.