Our Crazy Marriage

Joanne: The morning meeting

Something else we're doing differently since December is having a morning meeting. Every single day. 

 

We sit in our big comfy chairs and talk through our day. How we're feeling. What we're hearing from God. Our plans for the day. Cares. Concerns. Work stuff. Newsy stuff we forgot to tell each other. Stuff about the girls and parenting. Fun stuff. Hard stuff. 

We drink coffee. I eat a bowl of Cheerios with some yogurt and blueberries. Toben reads to me from Scripture. We talk about it. We hold hands. We pray.

It takes anywhere from 30 minutes to an hour, depending on the day. And Fridays just don't work for more than a few minutes as Toben's coming in from his AA meeting and I'm going out to a standing coffee date with a friend.

Nothing fancy. Nothing too complicated about it. But this small practice of a morning meeting has made such a difference in our marriage in the past few months.

We feel more connected. More united. More on the same page. And we know that we have time set aside each and every day just for us. A time and a place to talk about whatever needs to be talked about. 

Joanne: Someone I love needs help. Help!

So there's a tough question. Or a series of tough questions.

How do I get someone I love to seek help?

How do I make someone I love take their meds?

How do I help someone I love see what I see?

And the tough answer is that you can't. I hate typing that as much as you probably hate reading it.

But you can't force someone to open up and swallow a handful of pills. You can't make someone go to the doctor. You can't show someone else what you see when they won't--or can't--open their eyes.

You can't control another person. It's not about finding just the right words, coming up with the perfect argument or persuasive speech. If the person you love won't seek help or take the help offered, it's not your fault and it's not something you can control.

It's not your fault. It's not something you can control.

Mental illness is not rational. It doesn't make sense. And it's not about fault. And you don't have control.

So what can you do?

You can talk. You can gather friends and family to intervene and paint a big picture of what mental illness without help, without treatment is costing. You can arm yourself with information.

But.

The only person who can change another person is God. 

And so we are left with prayer. Pray for the person you love. Pray that God would set them free, that God would open their eyes, that God would open their ears, that God would move in a mighty way.

I know that doesn't feel like enough. Trust me, I know that it sounds hollow sometimes. I know the burning desire to do something, to see an immediate result, to feel like you're moving forward. I know that prayer can feel like standing still and doing nothing.

But prayer is not a last resort.

Prayer is active, not passive.

Prayer is powerful, not weak.

Prayer is purposeful, not without purpose.

Prayer is productive, not ineffective.

Prayer changes things. Not always in the ways we expect, not always in our timing. But God's Word tells us the truth and promises us that our prayers matter. That our prayers have purpose. That our prayers have power.

"The prayer of a righteous man is powerful and effective." James 5:16

Know that my prayers are joined with yours as you pray. As you have commented and shared your story here, it is my joy and my privilege to pray for you each week. 

It doesn't matter if I know the whole of your story or that we have never met face to face. God knows. I've said a million times that it is God's response to prayer that has brought Toben and me this far. Prayers from friends and family and from people we've never even met and never knew were praying for us.

Your names are whispered to the all-powerful King of the universe, whose ears are attentive to our prayers.

Joanne: Thank you

So many of you--here, on Facebook, on Twitter, over email, via text message--let me know that you were praying for us yesterday. Thank you seems like such a small thing to say in response, such a simple way to express how much your prayers mean to me.

In the midst of Toben's diagnosis and the worst of our struggle in 2003 and 2004, it was the prayers of God's people that sustained us. People we knew--and people we didn't know--lifted us up before the Throne, saying our names and asking God to meet our needs. Even when those people didn't know what to pray for, God knew and responded.

Prayer changes things.

It's something we say often in church-y circles, something that seems so basic, so obvious. So simple that we forget its power.

"I'll pray for you," we say. It seems like the least we can do. Surely writing a check or providing a meal or solving a problem would be of greater value. And perhaps that will be a way in which God answers prayer.

"I'll pray for you." It is not the least we can do. To actually do it, to pray for another, is the most effective thing we can do.

When we pray, the God of the Universe, the One who made it all and who holds everything in his hands, the King of all Kings hears. He bends his ear to hear our voices and he listens. He pays attention. And he responds.

No, the timing isn't always what we'd like. Sometimes it seems that he's not paying attention, that he's running late. But his Word assures us that his timing is perfect. That he is never not working. That the good work he began in us, his children, will not be left undone.

Your prayers for us yesterday changed things. No, it didn't fix it all in snap. But there was a noticeable ease by yesterday afternoon. Everything that's been hard didn't go away, but we had the strength to endure. And to endure it together, rather than at odds with each other.

I'm reminded of part of Psalm 138 that I've been memorizing with my Bible study group:

As soon as I pray, you answer me;
 you encourage me by giving me strength.

It may seem a small thing to pray for another person. The truth is that it is not. To pray for another is huge. 

So again, I am grateful.

Joanne: I hate feeling powerless

I struggle so much with feeling powerless when Toben is especially affected by all the horrible stuff that goes with being bipolar. It's been a rough few days around here for him--anxiety is plaguing him like crazy. 

Watching it, I can totally see why it's called an anxiety attack. 

What it comes down to is feelings of panic and anxiety setting themselves up against the truth of what we know. I don't know what it's like to be bipolar, but as I told Toben this morning, I do know what it's like to have my feelings and my knowledge at war. 

Hello, PMS. Feeling things so powerfully that I know are NOT true, but being so weighed down by oppression that I want to give up and give in.

(Luckily, God's timing is good and I do not have PMS this week. If I did, I think we'd really be in trouble with both of us feeling overwhelmed by feelings.)

I tend to be a fairly logical person, so my method is often to try to talk Toben out of feeling what he's feeling. Not sure that's helpful. But we talked about it this morning in terms of feelings and knowledge. We talked about action we can take and knowing what's beyond our control. 

He just sat down and said he's feeling better having talked. Thank you, Jesus.

In the midst of these past few days, I've been reminded to drop to my knees and intercede on his behalf. Even if I don't know what to pray and all that comes out of my mouth is, "Help him, Jesus. Please. Please, help." 

Just typing this I'm reminded that I'm not powerless in the face of Toben's anxiety. Because I can pray. I believe with all my heart that prayer is powerful and that God listens and acts in response to my prayer. I believe, Lord. Help my unbelief.

Joanne: Watching Toben switch meds

A couple of my friends have emailed me to ask how I'm doing with all the changes in medication for Toben. Good question!

I'm doing okay, for the most part, though I will say that it's hard. Because here's the thing--there's not much I can do about it. And I'd really, really love to wave my sparkly, pink magic wand and just fix it. 

I keep a close eye on him and ask a lot of questions. I find that the more we can talk about it, the easier it is for both of us. Sometimes just talking about how he's feeling, or what he's anxious about helps. Especially if he's obsessing about something. Somehow I think getting it out loud helps him get it out of his head a little bit.

At the same time, sometimes it's best just to let it go. Like the other night when he kept getting up to check his email over and over and over again like he described in his last post. I was able to tell him that it's dinner time, the work day is over for everyone involved in his job, and it was time to shut the lid of the computer and leave it be. I think maybe that helped some--to give him some concrete direction. But when he got up to check it anyway, drawing more attention to it after we had talked about it would just make him feel worse.

I just don't understand it. And I've learned to live with the not understanding and to accept it.

Last night he was feeling so badly--nauseated and dizzy and headache-y--and unable to really hang with the girls as they went to bed. Emma kept begging and he just couldn't. So that meant me explaining it to the girls a little more about what was going on and making sure we really prayed for Daddy as they went to sleep.

It's helped for us to have some good, long conversations. To focus on the dreaming about next year rather than the stress of it all. And even though we are excited, it IS stressful. I have to wonder about the timing of switching meds and then all this change coming up with a new job and a move. But I think know that God knows best, so we're just going to go with it!

And even though it's hard, we are talking. The last time we dealt with major medication changes/switches/adjustments, our life was stonily silent. So even though some of this reminds me of things that have happened in the past, just talking about it together is making it okay. In fact, as soon as he gets off the phone this morning, we're going to go for a walk.

Prayer is the biggest thing, really. With all the changes that would cause anxiety in anyone, I just keep on praying for him. And that's the best, most helpful, most powerful thing I can do when all is said and done.

Joanne: Asking for prayer

I believe that God sometimes puts people on our hearts to pray for--we don't know why, but we're compelled to pray. Later--or maybe even never--we find out why.

But there are those times when we need to ask people to pray for us too, in addition to asking God to prompt prayers on our behalf. Ask and then receive, as it is written.

For some people, it's easy to ask for prayer. For others, it's hard. 

It's hard for me.

Sure, I can ask for prayer for a friend, for a family member, for my children, but it's hard for me to ask for prayer for me. It feels like admitting I don't have it all together. Which I don't. And I know I don't. And I know others know I don't. But saying it out loud is uncomfortable. It makes me squirm a little in my seat.

Asking for prayer--and then sitting still and letting others pray for me and pray over me was a hard lesson to learn. I felt awkward. I felt like a taker. And I'd rather be a giver. I felt guilty that I wasn't praying for them in return. I felt uncomfortable just receiving.

But it was a good lesson to learn.

I meet with a group of moms at my kids' school every Thursday morning. We pray for the school, for teachers, for students, for families. And we pray for each other. 

This morning as I was telling them about Toben's medication transition (sounds official, huh?), I was humbled and blessed when one of them said, "We will pray for you too." Really? I don't need prayer. I thought. I'm not the one changing meds. I'm fine.

But I chose to listen to these incredible women rather than the voice in my head and was blessed. Encouraged. Loved. Lifted up. Supported.

I believe with all my heart that prayer changes things. I've seen prayer change Toben and change me and change our marriage and our family. Prayer works.

In the midst of pain, it can be hard to show someone our woundedness. To cry out for help rather than to suck it up and pretend to have it all together. It takes courage.

I hope you have people you can ask to pray for you, those kinds of friends with whom you can be real and open and honest and broken. The first time we do anything is always hard, but I can't encourage you enough to ask for prayer if you're in the midst of dealing with a crazy marriage.

Sometimes courage looks like asking for someone to pray for you to have courage, to be brave, to stand strong. Sometimes courage looks like admitting we're terrified.

Joanne: "If you just had more faith..."

I have to tell you that I haven't been told this a ton, but believe me when I say that I've heard it enough times to know that some of you have probably heard it too.

When hearing part of our story, others have told me, "If you just had more faith, God could heal Toben." 

Over the years, I've become pretty good about smiling and answering calmly, rather than running from the building screaming, or staying to hit the person over the head with my Bible. My big, heavy Bible.

Here's the thing.

I know that the people who've said these kinds of things to me aren't mean and malicious. They don't mean to hurt me, to make me feel awful, to be condescending. (Even though it TOTALLY comes across that way!)

They just want to make me feel better. To explain the why and how and what to do of a hard situation. I get that. I like to have all the answers, to be able to explain those things too. But recently I've been challenged to let it go. To be okay with not knowing, not understanding. To trust that God is in control, knows best, and I can rest in that.

So how do I respond?

Yes. God can heal Toben. He can rearrange his brain chemistry and all those things that I don't understand that cause mental illness. I don't doubt that in the least.

Yes. We need to pray for healing, for wholeness. I believe that wholeness and healing go hand in hand.

Yes. When we pray, we need to have faith. I have faith. And I want to have more. I want my capacity to believe God to grow and grow and grow and never stop growing.

Then I finish sharing our story.

I believe that God has brought healing to Toben's life. All wisdom comes from God and he has gifted medical science with incredible knowledge and wisdom. Scientists who develop drugs. Psychiatrists who prescribe and monitor those drugs. Just like diabetics who require insulin, Toben takes his medication to live a healthy life.

Yes, I still pray for Toben. Every single day. But my prayers about his mental illness are more along the lines of using it for God's glory. Of strengthening Toben in the midst of it. Of thanking him for the medication and the income that allows us to pay for it. (Because mental illness is crazy expensive.)

If God had healed Toben immediately, we would have missed out on so much that I'm glad we didn't miss. This kind of healing has grown our dependence on God, our faith in God, our love for God. It has proved again and again that God is sufficient.

I wouldn't wish this kind of thing on anyone. But neither would I trade it. While mental illness isn't a good thing, God has used it for our good. And I can honestly say that I'm thankful for it.

Toben: Where Was God?

We have gotten some questions about what was going on for me spiritually while the worst of my mental illness was manifesting. The short answer is that God was no where and I couldn't have cared less.  He was somewhere way behind me as I walked the oposite direction.  It's not that I was mad at God--I had plenty of other things/people that I directed my anger at but God wasn't one of them. I just didn't want to have anything to do with him.  Part of it was that I didn't have the energy that I percieved I needed to pursue him.  The other is that pursuing him to that point seemed to have gotten me to exactly nowhere. 

I know a lot of people struggling through similar stuff that feel like God is punishing them or out to get them or something. That wasn't me.  I didn't even think God cared enough one way or the other--if he were out to get me or wanted to punish me that would have indicated a level of involvement that I didn't believe existed. Suffice it to say that I didn't pray, read the Bible, go to church or do anything else spiritual for over a year.

Then things changed.  I remember a very specific phone conversation with my friend Jonathan.  I was out in the backyard and he asked me what was going on spiritually and I told him that I had shut down, that I didn't know where God was and I didn't have the energy to go find him.  I'll never forget what Jonathan said. "You don't need to go looking for him.  He'll find you.  He loves you too much to let you get away." I was blown away.  I had spent my entire faith life feeling like I needed to be the one in pursuit and that somehow God was a bit illusive and it was going to require my effort to keep close to him. But what Jonathan said flipped all that for me.  He told me, "Wherever you are on your spiritual path, just sit down.  Don't run to God or from him.  Just sit and wait.  He will show up."  I feel emotional as I write these words because I can put myself right back in that place.  I can still feel the impact.  And for whatever reason, I accepted what Jonathan had to say as true and right and good.  I am convinced to this day that God put the words in Jonathan's mouth.

So in my mind I did that very thing.  I pictured a long road, stretched out as far as I could see in front of me and behind me.  Most of my life I had been walking or running ahead expecting to find God just over the horizon.  Problem was I never reached the horizon.  Sometimes I turned around and headed the other way, willfully so, turning my back on God.  But now, in my mental image, I just sat down by the side of the road.  That's all I did or could do.  I didn't want to run away from God any more, but I didn't have anything in me that would have compelled me forward.  I sat down.

And here's what happened: I went to AA and God found me.  I know that it would be better or more spiritual to say that I stumbled into church and God met me there.  But that's just not the case.  On August 28, 2004 I went to my first AA meeting (the morning after an intervention) and audibly heard the voice of God.  He said, "This is for you."  Simple as that. No stained glass or altar, just a bunch of drunks in a shabby room drinking bad coffee out of paper cups, telling their stories,  sharing hope and strength.

The first three steps: I had to admit that I was powerless over my addiction (and metal illness)--that my life had become unmanageable. I had to believe that a Power greater than myself could restore me to sanity.  And I had to make a decision to turn my will and  life over to the care of God. Those words are read right off the top.  And as people started to share I knew I was right where God wanted me to be and that he was going to use this to restore me to sanity.  And that's all I wanted: to be restored. I wanted to be restored to sanity, to my family, to my friends, and to my God.  God used AA to do all of that. 

Then I started going back to church.  I can't remember my first time back and it's not like the Spirit descended like a dove or anything, but I went to church.  And I started praying daily--the Serenity Prayer, the Lords Prayer and what my sponsor called the "oh shit" prayer (excuse my language) to be prayed in moments of pure desperation.  I prayed more during those first few months of sobriety than I had ever prayed or have prayed since.  I was totally dependent on God.  But it was a different kind of dependence.  It wasn't one where I had to work at it and chase God down.  I just had to sit there and allow him to sit beside me as we looked at all my junk together. 

I hope I am not sounding super spiritual here: I am not.  But God brought me through hell to change my theology, to radically transform my relationships with him--to move me from one of striving to one of trusting.  From one where my sickness and sin separated me from God to one where he stand with me as we deal with that stuff together.  That has changed everything for me.  If it took going through hell to get this figured out then I think it just might have been worth it.

Joanne: Day by day--cheesy, but true

Jennifer asked a good question:

What I want to know is, what makes some people give up, and others keep working on it?

Here's my answer off the top of my head. 

I have no idea.

For us, for me, it was simply getting up in the morning, breathing in and out, and getting through the day as best I could, going from one moment to the next, asking God for help, and going to bed at night to get up and do it all over again the next day. 

How's that for ripping a line right out of Sleepless in Seattle?

Well, maybe I do have somewhat of an answer. It's making the choice to stay together today. And then making the choice again tomorrow. To do what you said you'd do when you promised to stick it out in sickness and in health.

What do the rest of you think?

(I think there's another question in this one for another post: What's the purpose of marriage? How we answer that is a determining factor in answering this one.)