Healing Is A Choice by Stephen Arterburn

As a nurse, the title of this book curiously called out to me. A choice? Interesting. And so the journey began.

Some months ago, I received the book Healing Is A Choice by Stephen Arterburn. The cover entices you with the statements "Ten decisions that will transform your life and ten lies that can prevent you from making them". Intrigued and curious, I began to read ...

From the preface of this edition, the book spoke to me in ways I never dreamed possible. "I knew God hated divorce, but I did not fully understand many of the reasons until I went through it myself. The pain of it all is more intense than I ever imagined, and that pain lasts much longer than I had expected. It is not totally out of my system yet, even years later. It lingers deep in my heart, and no matter how effectively I grieve, I suspect that there will be some painful residue for the rest of my life." Can the author read my mind?? I didn't know what to think already, and I had not yet started chapter one!!

This book delves deep, hits home, and encourages you to ask sometimes painful questions of yourself. Answering them honestly will be one of the best things you can do to help put yourself on the road to true healing. This is not a one-time read -- I think it is going to be, at least for me, a reference work that I turn to for answers. Not only are the questions designed to make you think, but the examples and stories provided can sometimes have the effect of making you look over your shoulder to see if someone is reading your mind!

Read this book. Take his words as they are meant, to help you unlock the healing potential within. "There is no excuse good enough to lead a life less than you were called by God to lead." How true. Thank you, Stephen Arterburn, for that reminder.

Disclosure of Material Connection: I received this book free from the publisher through the BookSneeze®.com <http://BookSneeze®.com> book review bloggers program. I was not required to write a positive review. The opinions I have expressed are my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255
Note: I received a copy of this book for free from Booksneeze and loaned it to a friend who has yet to return it. I bought another copy because it meant that much to me! Well worth the read!

How Does It Feel?

In 1965, Bob Dylan penned a song that, to this day, is considered one of the greatest rock songs ever written. Instead of the happiness that seems to permeate the music most relate to the sixties sound, its words are angry and sarcastic. Dylan jeers at Miss Lonely's fall from her ivory tower, asking repeatedly "how does it feel?"

I love music. When I have to do something that I do not particularly want to do, such as clean the house, I tend to turn on (and turn up) the music. Our cable provider has a channel that plays a mix of 60s music, and I felt like that would be a good fit tonight. Suddenly I hear a familiar intro and the in- your-face, unmistakable voice of Bob Dylan asking "How Does It Feel?"

How does it feel

How does it feel

To be without a home

Like a complete unknown

Like a rolling stone?

 

 

The harmonica, the guitar, the organ: none of these can disguise the power in these simple words.

 

Do you ever feel like this? I can't say that I do quite as much as I used to, but there have been days when I have felt EXACTLY like this! I have had days (weeks, even) when I just wondered why on earth I was even here. There have been dark times. Times when I wondered if it was worth getting out of bed in the morning ... what was the purpose? There have been days in the past when I felt as if I had no home ... even though I have never, and I do mean truly NEVER, been without a home in my life. I had so much to be thankful for, why was I acting so sullen and silly? I had family, friends, and did not want for much of anything. Even in the leanest of times, I never had to go without.

 

Tonight, this song made me think about something that the past few years has been teaching me: without Jesus as a focus in my life, I am without a home. Oh sure, I have a roof over my head and a bed to lie in every night. I have a vehicle to drive, I earned an education, and I have a job. Factually speaking, the only one of these that I have ever been without is a job, and that was by choice.

 

Further on in the song, Dylan asks Miss Lonely

 

Ain't it hard when you discover that

He really wasn't where it's at

After he took from you everything he could steal

How does it feel

How does it feel

To be on your own

With no direction home

 

What better description of the pathway of your life when you realize that Satan gives you nothing, only takes? Without Jesus, you are on your own. He is the direction home, to heaven. Jesus is everywhere ... even in the lyrics of a classic Bob Dylan song.

 

Jesus, thank you for opening my ears to hear what you were speaking to me tonight. Please help me to listen always, and to never underestimate your ability to make yourself known. Help me be the words that someone hears to bring them closer to you.

 

"So I was left alone, gazing at this great vision; I had no strength left, my face turned deathly pale."~Daniel 10:8 NIV

 

 

 



What Do You Believe?

Working night shift can play havoc with one's schedule. For many night shifters, "normal" is sleeping most of the day and staying up all night.  I have found, even with cable, there is often nothing of interest on television in the middle of the night - especially if you're not in the market for a fitness program/diet/amazing hair product/kitchen tool/pillow. Tonight, I found a show on the Science Channel titled "Curiosity: Did God Create the Universe?"  featuring Stephen Hawking. A world renowned theoretical physicist, Hawking has won many awards and is widely regarded as an expert in his field. Professor Hawking, however, is reported to be an atheist.

I decided to turn on the show, and see what was presented. While I consider myself open-minded, I also will freely admit that I do not agree with the scientific explanations of how the earth, the universe, and the human race came to be. I believe that God created the heavens and the earth, and that God created man. I don't necessarily think that Adam could be put down on Main Street USA without some significant adjustments (clothing, for starters), but I believe that Adam and Eve, made by God, were human.

This is not the first show that I have watched (or attempted to watch) that offered a non-Biblical explanation for the creation of the universe. My other viewing choice was a show on the Military Channel that offered an asteroid as the explanation for Sodom and Gomorrah. While I did not necessarily believe that either, it was presented in an interesting fashion. The topic of creation and the presence or absence of God is always one that will bring about a discussion. The depth and intensity of the discussion depends on the beliefs (or non-belief) of those involved.

I believe in God. I do not have to see Him to know that he exists. He lives in those who believe and profess Him. I believe that Heaven is real and Hell is a place that I don't want to go. I believe in miracles. I try very hard to live so that others can see Him in me. I do not always succeed, and some days are a struggle, but I have faith that He will continue to guide me as long as I trust in Him.

Father, I ask that you help me to grow my faith and teach others of you. Help me to profess you in all that I do.

"Now faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see ... By faith we understand that the universe was formed at God's command, so that what is seen was not made out of what is visible."~Hebrews 11:1, 3

Saturday, We Searched for Seashells

No matter what you may have read, no matter what you have learned in a classroom, no matter what you think you know - the creeping dissolution that is Alzheimer's is extremely difficult to deal with. When the disease affects someone you love, it becomes a frightening abyss on whose edge you teeter, often without a safety net. There are good days, sometimes there are good moments. There are not-so-good days, and terrifying moments. When your loved one denies that anything is wrong, it can feel as if you are swimming upstream in molasses weighed down by fear.

I suspected something was wrong shortly after the accident in the fall of 2010 - the one where she apparently pulled into the path of an oncoming vehicle while attempting to cross the circle one morning. I began to notice memory lapses, minor things at first: forgetting a word when telling a story or asking a question. Minor confusion and slight forgetfulness were attributed to the accident, the painful and slow-to-heal break of her collarbone and the fact that she was off work for over four months. Once she was back to work, everything was fine! It wasn't, but that was the delusion that we allowed ourselves.

2011 was a difficult year for her, in many ways. Her great-granddaughter went back to NY. In early August, a difference of opinion caused her to leave the job that she had held for more than fourteen years. Why did she leave? We don't really know - it's doubtful that we ever will know the real reason. Her story? 'They' stated that she had to learn to mix paint and she didn't want to. An ultimatum was issued and she refused ... deciding instead that it was time to quit ... and she walked out the door. While on a short trip home for the family reunion in September 2011, my husband and I asked her to come to Louisiana and visit for a while. It was then that I realized just how much she had truly changed.

My extremely and almost fiercely independent mother had suddenly become dependent. She lived with us for almost 6 months -- and not once during that time did she drive herself anywhere. If Rob or I didn't take her, she stayed at our house, venturing outside only to walk Max or to get the mail. If we didn't turn the tv on and find something that she wanted to watch, she would leave it off, sitting in silence for hours working puzzles, reading, or talking to the dog. She did not cook meals, she used the microwave or snacked. She almost obsessively washed the dishes, not wanting even a single piece of silverware to sit in the sink. When we arrived home from work, we got a complete report on how many times she had to clean up after the dog. I changed my habits, making certain that I cooked before going to work so I could fix her a plate to make sure that she ate. On my days off, we went around town, to make sure that she got out of the house. After we returned from NY in early March, she started saying that she wanted to go home because she had stuff to do. I fretted, stressed, worried, delayed ... and finally gave in. 

I took her home in April. She drives her own car around town, visits friends, goes to church. She makes noises about traveling to visit family members (my sister in Kentucky, her sister in North Carolina), but thankfully has not done so. She sits in her recliner, working puzzles and watching tv. I don't think that she's slept in her bed in months, instead dozing off or sleeping in the recliner. She putters around the house, finding places to put the latest sale item that she just had to buy. She talks animatedly and frequently ... about the past. She did not recognize her own sister, and we wonder how many other people she no longer recognizes. She gets angry if you correct her when she makes a mistake, and will drop or change the subject, refusing to talk about the error.

This weekend, my sister and I both came home. My daughter and grandbabies were down for a visit, and she wanted to go see mama before heading back to NY. It was stressful, infuriating, and scary. Cheryl and I had decided that we were going to take a day trip to the beach. She hadn't been in years, and my youngest niece had never been, so to PC Beach we headed. We talked mama into going with us, and she dressed in her shirt, jeans, socks and shoes. She fussed most of the way down there, stating that she hadn't lost anything at the beach and that she should have stayed at home. She told us how they used to bring their own drinking water when visiting Uncle Delmas and Aunt Fronie, because they lived in Panama and their water was awful. And that you shouldn't make tea from that water because it would taste so very bad. She fussed about the smell, the wind, the water, and the sand. When I walked toward the pier to take pictures, she followed. When I bent over to pick up a shell, she asked me what I was doing. I told her that I was collecting shells, and showed her the tiny but perfect one that I had found. 

Suddenly, she had a purpose! Whenever she saw me pick up a shell, she would look intensely at the surrounding sand to make sure that she could find some too. She got excited when they were different colors. She blew the sand off every single shell that she picked up. And for a few minutes, she forgot that she didn't want to be at the beach. She was happy helping me pick up shells. 

Every day is progressively more difficult. I cannot even begin to fathom what it must be like for her ... the confusion, the struggle. God, please give us the strength to help her through this. The task ahead of us is not an easy one, and we are going to need all the help you can give us.

"Children, obey your parents in the Lord for this is right. 'Honor your father and mother', which is the first commandment with a promise, 'so that it may go well with you and that you may enjoy long life on the earth."~Ephesians 6:1-3 NIV

and the hits just keep on comin' ...

So anyway. Last night was the first night back at work after two weeks off. It's usually difficult, for most of us anyway, to come back to work after that many days off at one time. I headed to work, however, with a positive attitude. There were ups and downs, but all in all, not a bad shift. Imagine my surprise when a chance encounter unveils the "good meeting" (held while I was gone) and its results. I can't decide whether to be insulted or thankful.

I hope that I put on the happy face. You know which one I mean. The one that says, "yeah, I expected as much and it validated every single thing I was thinking, and ohbytheway, thanks so much for the slap in the face. Let's do this again, shall we?" The news, however, is a double-edged sword. I do not in any way begrudge part of the change that was made. Change is good, for it keeps things from becoming static. Change is a growth process, for nearly everyone involved. This particular change just happened to come without warning, and was delivered in such a way that I felt insulted. I was left with doubts about not only my skills and rapport with my team members, but was left with the crushing doubt of wondering if the rapport I thought we had achieved was only a figment of my own undeniably over-active imagination.

So how do I handle this situation? Do I confront them? Confrontation in the workplace, as a general rule, is NOT a good thing. Someone inevitably gets hurt and it makes for a strained working environment. Swallowing the issue doesn't always work either. The person (in this case - me) who holds their tongue builds up a pool of bitterness and resentment, and can end up lashing out at an inopportune time. And I have learned all too well the negative effects of speaking before you think, or speaking before you think things through. No matter how hard you try, you cannot unsay hurtful things. 

I am hurt right now. Hurt because not one of my coworkers saw fit to even hint at what was coming. Apparently it was their idea. At least that's what I was told. And therein lies the rub. That's what I was told. As in nearly everything in life, there are two sides to a story. Do I want to try and uncover the other side? There is a chance that it is exactly as was said. That might make things worse. Do I really want to know what my coworkers think of me?Or do I just let it go? As earlier posts over the past weeks have shown, I obviously have a problem with letting go. I'm going to fret over this. So much so that the vicious circle of thought running through my head on the way home was a repeat refrain of the pity party I had all those months ago when I changed shifts and began working with a new team.  What that enlightening and self-defeating phrase kept telling me to remember was that "these are the people you work with. They are not your friends." 

While I don't want to think those kinds of thoughts, I can't help it. And I know what will happen, because internally, it has already begun. I will withdraw until I make myself miserable. Oh wait. That's already here. I will temper what I say, because I feel as if it does not matter and I don't want to make things worse than they already are. I will remind myself that although we are a team, I'm not really a part of it, but an add-on that came later and never quite made first string. If that is so, oh well. I'm a survivor, and this too shall pass. 

Dear God, today I am adrift in a leaking lifeboat with neither paddle nor life jacket. I am surrounded by treacherous waters. No shore is in sight. The beacon from the lighthouse flickers, and fades with each rotation. Can I cling to its steady strength, or will it, too, leave me shattered and alone?

"You are my strength, I sing praise to you; you, God, are my fortress, my God on whom I can rely." ~Psalm 59:17 NIV