The Day After

You guys. Satan is real and his name is Spring Forward. He comes at 2:00AM on a Sunday morning. The very Sunday when you promised the whole entire blogosphere that you would toss caution to the wind and go to church. That Sunday.

I told you it would be a battle, and I told you I would fight it. I did. And we went to church.

We were just a little late.

Funny thing happened, too. Saturday night I titled my post "Stay." and then Sunday morning, the main theme of the message was to stay. I sat there and was like, hahaha, God. You're so cute.

I wasn't totally free from the distraction of my own mind on Sunday morning. But I found myself being more intentional about my thoughts. More focused. Less judgey. And I'm really good at being all judgey. I'm really good at judging you for being judgmental. Like, really good.

I found myself being more thoughtful.

It was really nice, actually. And I probably didn't have as much of that sourpuss face that I'm well-known for having. People who don't know me say I'm intimidating. People who do know me, often tell me that they thought I was intimidating before they met me. I'd like to say this is tragic, but really, I secretly like it. There's a very real part of me that kind of enjoys the fact that people are scared to talk to me. This way I don't have to pretend to be nice as often. I told you I'm here to confess my ugliest parts, right?

Anyhow, I have a lot of thoughts swirling around tonight, and I can't really hone them in. So I bid adieu. Until tomorrow.

Stay.

I've already been scolded for not posting anything yesterday. By my mom. We all need a "biggest fan" in our lives. Thanks, Mom.

I did, in fact, write yesterday. But it just wasn't blog-worthy. The short of it was this: our dishwasher is gone so I'm crying about having to give up our dishwasher for Lent (a new one will be installed this week, so I shouldn't be crying about this); also, I should've worked into our marriage vows something about how my husband needs to answer every phone call I make to him. Every time. It doesn't matter what he's doing, where he's at, if he started a new job that week, if he's using the restroom, if he's in an important meeting. It doesn't matter. My needs are obviously more important than his.

So there was that.

I wasn't exactly full of inspirational thoughts yesterday. Not that I'm really trying to inspire you, I just wasn't inspired.

Today was a good day, though. I have not one dirty dish in the kitchen, the laundry is all clean, a family bike ride transpired, I got to watch my all-too-big little boy play in the great outdoors, and I am sitting here on the couch next to my gracious and merciful husband, while said little boy is fast asleep in dreamland.

It is Saturday night. And while there is an unspoken expectation that we will be attending church in the morning, I can also equally expect that creeping feeling to arrive in the morning. The one telling me that this is my last opportunity to spend time with my family before Monday. The one that begs me to find things I need to get done at home so I can have a legitimate excuse not to go to church.

I'm going to fight it. And I'm going to go to church.

Also, I should clarify a couple things. I received some feedback after my last post from extremely kind people inviting me to come check out their churches. While I really do appreciate the invitations, and believe that your church communities are great places, I am not currently looking for a new church. I need to stay where I'm at. Something that makes me uncomfortable. Some people fear change, I thrive on it. Staying is hard for me. I am highly adaptable, and I crave the adaptation to new environments. This can be an exciting life, but a dangerous one. So I am learning to tame myself.

So I stay. I stay so that I can grow. I stay so that when the next thing in life gets hard, I know how to stay.

I Don't Like Church

I really don't like church. Like, I have a really hard time going, putting a smile on, singing along with songs that tell me to lift my hands, and pretending like all these people around me are my friends/family (some really, truly, are). What's really sad is that I have these feelings at my own church that I actually really love. When I visit other churches, I leave with an itchy scratchy nauseated feeling. I really don't like it, and am always reminded of how much I really do love my church. But then I go to my church and it's the same story. I fake smile, stand for singing, and go through the whole routine.

Every Saturday night I think oh, we should probably go to church in the morning. But then Sunday morning comes, and all I really want is to stay home with my family, make them breakfast, go to the park. Play with them, and enjoy their company before the busy week begins. 

So this is my story for the past three years or so. And I keep identifying this as the church's problem. I keep wanting to find a church that better suits my needs. I want a place where I can find more people like me (Lord knows conservative suburbia is not that place) and I want to have conversations about things going on around this world, about controversial issues, about my real and deep and profound thoughts. I want this without feeling like the conversation will end with the other person offering to pray for me because the conversation has turned into my own spiritual brokenness. (But yes, please pray for me. Always.) 

So basically, I ultimately have a very consumeristic view of church.

Well that sucks. 

Yesterday I wrote about my birthday coinciding with the commencement of Lent. It was short, and didn't go into detail about what I would be sacrificing for Lent. While I had an idea, the complete picture wasn't clear to me. Although I am expecting clarity throughout this season, it is a little clearer to me now that what I am to sacrifice is my attitude. In case you haven't noticed (humor me, please), I am rather arrogant. This attitude of arrogance has prevented me from experiencing Christ in Communion at church. It has prevented me from experiencing Christ in the songs we sing, in the faces and stories of the people surrounding me. 

In order to sacrifice this part of me, I have to confess that it exists in me. 

I realize that I am entitled to my feelings, thoughts, beliefs, etc. But what I have done is keep them to myself. Because I am arrogant and believe that no one around me will get it. Because my thoughts are deeper than yours. My feelings are more rational than yours. My spiritual experiences are more profound than yours. I simply am just more cultured than you. 

So while you are all lining up to be my friend (because, obviously), I will commit to writing each day of this Lenten season. I will commit to share the deep, the profound (in my own head, at least), the stupid, the silly, the spiritual with you. 

"...Lent isn’t about punishing ourselves for being human – the practice of Lent is about peeling away layers of insulation and anesthesia which keep us from the truth of God’s promises. Lent is about looking at our lives in as bright a light as possible, the light of Christ. It is during this time of self-reflection and sacrificial giving and prayer that we make our way through the over grown and tangled mess of our lives. We trudge through the lies of our death-denying culture to seek the simple weighty truth of who we really are. Lent is about hacking through self-delusion and false promises. We let go of all the pretenses and the destructive independence from God. We let go of defending ourselves. We let go of our indulgent self-loathing. Then, like the prodigal son we begin to see a God running with abandon to welcome us home. But we can’t begin to see this God until we hack through our arrogance and certainty and cynicism and ambivalence. The Psalmist says that God delights in the truth that is deep in us. The truth. Therefore there’s no shame in the truth of who we are; the broken and blessed beloved of God. There’s no shame in the truth that our lives on earth will all end and that we are in bondage to sin and cannot free ourselves. It’s not depressing. What’s depressing is the desperation of trying to pretend otherwise. What’s depressing is to insist that I can free myself I just haven’t managed to pull it off yet." - Nadia Bolz Weber

Come along.  And pray for me. 'Cause I can't pull this off on my own.

Ashes to Ashes

Today is my birthday. It is also Ash Wednesday. A day when we are reminded of our need, our Hope, and our identity - all in two swoops of a thumb on our forehead.

Ash Wednesday has only fallen on my birthday one other time since I've been alive, and the two don't coincide again for well beyond my life expectancy.

I actually find it pretty profound to receive ashes on the same day that I celebrate my birth. The paradox of celebrating life and remembering death, and then again choosing Life is not lost on me. Entering this season as I embrace a new year of life feels right. "Happy birthday, Tarissa. From ashes you have come, and to ashes you will return. Turn from your sin and believe the Good News."

Amen.

This Happened.

Soooooo yep! It's been roughly two years since I've updated my blog. Sounds about right. I've never been good at keeping the e-masses informed about my life on the regular.

But my brain won't shut up at me this time. It keeps yelling... "SHARE! WRITE! DO SOMETHING!!!"

Fine.

So y'all know by now (no thanks to my blog, obviously) that I am now the proud mama of the cutest 1-year-old on the planet. I mean, seriously. Who knew that this little man would steal my heart and my life would never be the same? Oh, you did? I think you told me that sometime along the way, but I didn't know it until I knew it. You feel me?

So life is dramatically different. And while I thought I would promptly return to full-time work 12 weeks after the little guy was born, turns out my priorities changed and would do anything I could to spend more time with him. I left my job and started working extremely part time. Which somehow strangely affected our finances and budget. I know, weird.

I recently started a new job working three days a week. Twenty-four hours a week total, and it's working out pretty well. I work in an administrative roll at a small, corporate firm. Nothing too exciting, but I like it well enough and it helps pay the bills.

But I'm missing something. There is this space in my heart that has been there ever since I can remember. The need to be somewhere in the mission field (this sounds very churchy to me, and I think I need to use another word here. But that's a whole 'nother blog post). And I've read all about being a "different kind of tax collector" and maybe you have, too. But I mean something more. Like you know when you're growing up in church (or maybe you don't, but go with me here...) and the missionary comes and tell you there are three ways you can help: go, send, and pray? Yeah, well I was always like "Yo! I'll go! Send me!" So I went, and it was awesome. And I would dream of days when my then imaginary husband and kids would be with me.

I pursued an education to support my vocational dreams. Then I got married. Then I had a kid. Then we tried to buy a house. For almost two years we looked, put offers on, went into escrow, backed out, and waited for several houses. We came extremely close to purchasing one in particular. In the nearly eight months we spent waiting for it to come through, our hearts changed. We no longer wanted that house. We no longer felt attached to the idea of purchasing a house, period. But instead of backing out, we chose to continue to pray for God's will to be done, for Him to speak clearly to us, and to wait and see what happened. The wait ended when our realtor called to inform us that the bank was asking over $60,000 more than what it had originally given a verbal approval for. We immediately knew God's hand was on this situation and felt peace as we could now let go of the house entirely.

So I have no house (no, we are not homeless). But I'm actually excited about it. And I still have an amazing husband and a way-too-cute son.   I don't know what our future holds, but I know Someone who does.

The Best Road Map

Do you have a therapist? You should. No, really. You should. And it should be someone that you really like and that you feel like you can tell everything to. I mean, I have other people in my life that I can tell everything to, and that's a good thing. You should have that, too. But there's something very different about telling someone who has no bias whatsoever. It's very freeing. It's very validating. I highly recommend it.

Thank you to everyone who has spoken kind words to me, either in person or via the web. Those words mean so much to me, and I do not take them lightly. Through this journey I have become closer to many who have shared that they were struggling with similar things. There is life in community. Don't go it alone.

I actually wanted to share something else today, but wanted to give you that quick update.

Here is what I wanted to share:

Nearly every day my husband and I read a small devotional together and pray. Our schedules sometimes differ, and sometimes he leaves before I make it out of bed. On those days, I will often read the devotional and spend some time in prayer on my own. The book is called Jesus Calling, and is written as if it were Jesus speaking. Today's devotion reads,

Let me prepare you for the day that stretches out before you. I know exactly what this day will contain, whereas you have only vague ideas about it. You would like to see a map, showing all the twists and turns of your journey. You'd feel more prepared if you could somehow visualize what is on the road ahead. However, there is a better way to be prepared for whatever you will encounter today: Spend quality time with Me. 
I will not show you what is on the road ahead, but I will thoroughly equip you for the journey. My living Presence is your Companion each step of the way. Stay in continual communication with Me, whispering My Name whenever you need to redirect your thoughts. Thus, you can walk through this day with your focus on Me. My abiding Presence is the best road map available.


This speaks to me today. And I felt like I should share it.

And Now You Know.

I've never been much for self-disclosure. I like my privacy, and I respect the privacy of others. (Okay, I get nosey sometimes, but who doesn't?) You generally can't figure out my day to day happenings by looking at my Facebook. I don't "check in" anywhere. I don't tell you what I'm up to. Sometimes I might post a picture or let you in on a small, sometimes significant detail. I don't use Twitter, and I don't Instagram. I'm aware of the benefits of social networking, and I'm aware of the risks of social networking. I don't limit my general candidness based on either those benefits or risks. I'm just someone who would rather sit and have coffee with you one on one. If you get me alone, I'm an open book. I'll tell you close to anything. You will probably want me to shut up. 

So this is different for me. 

I've recently been really inspired by the bravery of others. People that I know and people that I don't know who use their platform to be brutally honest with their readers. I've been personally affected by one post in particular written by a friend who I went to grad school with. She laid it all on the line, and she made a difference. In the hopes that someone who reads this might find solace in the words that follow, here goes everything:

Tomorrow morning I'm going to therapy. After ruling out a hormone problem, we're (me and the doctor) pretty sure that this Thing I'm dealing with is depression. I don't just feel sad sometimes. I feel tired. I feel overwhelmed. I feel anxious. I cry. A lot. I can't focus. I don't want to be around people. I get angry. I don't feel motivated. I've lost interest in many things that I used to be passionate about. The list goes on. 

This is something I have dealt with most of my life. It comes and goes, and I generally get through it on my own. These feelings are not new to me. No, they are all too familiar. In the past I had my own bedroom to hide in. I had my own meals to prepare. Really, I had no one but myself to worry about. Yes, it may have affected others around me when I would isolate myself, but no one was ever greatly affected by my own emotions. Things are different now. I don't have my own room. I can't just pick up and leave when I want to get away. I can't hide anymore. And that's a good thing. But it's a hard thing. I am grateful for my husband who has been so supportive and put up with so much more than he deserves. It is time to get well. 

I was referred to a therapist, and after finding out that our health insurance actually covers this, I gratefully made an appointment. So I go tomorrow. 

Why is this so hard to talk about? Why is there so much shame and stigma attached to this issue? Why did I desperately wish there was a hormonal imbalance that I could blame for my rather unsavory disposition? As a society, we stigmatize mental health issues so quickly and further make each person struggling with one feel even more marginalized. This is such a lonely place to be. And largely because I'm afraid to talk to people about it. Largely because it's so misunderstood.

I've barely talked to anyone about this. And I'm still not really sure that I'm ready to. What I am sure of, is that I'm ready to get better. I'm ready to feel like myself again. 

I know am a blessed person. God has blessed me with so much to be grateful for, and I am grateful. He reminds me daily that He is bigger than I am. I am His child, and He takes care of me. I am grateful today for people in the mental health profession who are trained in compassion and understanding the issue of depression. I am grateful that He has provided this resource for me to take advantage of. I am grateful for friends and fellow bloggers who have taken courageous steps in talking about their own struggle with depression. 

J and I on our recent trip to Monterey, celebrating our first year anniversary. GOOD day!