#6 - Hot Lava! Living With Anxiety

Phil, Heather, Blake
when Hot Lava was big!

When my boys were little, they had a game they called “Hot Lava!” They spread every towel we owned all over the house and leapt from one to another—safety zones in the hot lava flowing through the rooms and down the hall. 

Twenty-five years later, their wonderful game became in my struggle to find consistent work. Only it’s not fun. For six years I've been leaping from towel to towel, part-time job to temporary job, unable to linger comfortably, poised for the next jump, always looking ahead while looking back. The longer I go without permanent work, the less likely it'll ever happen. Depression dominates my little game of "Hot Lava."

I’ve been writing a great deal about how God has kept me more or less solvent the last six years, providing much-needed “safety-zone” towels of summer jobs upon which to land. He’s even provided adventure along the way and moments of peace. For this I’m grateful.

But as I begin another winter scrounging for seasonal work in Alaska or the Yukon, familiar anxiety builds. Can I find work? If so, will I find housing? In both Alaska and the Yukon, affordable housing is nonexistent. The stress descends and I find myself physically and emotionally taxed. I know I can’t keep this up. The anxiety is killing me.

But unlike the boys who folded up the towels and put them away when they grew weary of the game, I have to keep playing. It's February and real work is forthcoming so I'm back to embracing seasonal employment in the Far North. 

Is it possible to keep playing Hot Lava without the worry? If I could manage it,  I might even enjoy it the ever-changing scenery.

At Christmas, my daughter gave me a devotional book by Sarah Young. She suffers chronic issues of her own. Her short daily devotionals are not take-away points gleaned from easy living with the occasional bump—but rise from a space of unrelenting stress. ah, ha! She’s found a way to jump from towel to towel without the anxiety. According to an interview she did for Christianity Today, she simply sits and listens. Jesus, she says, is calling. He wants to talk to us.

“Walk by faith, not by sight,” He says. “I am with you, watching over you. Turn your thoughts to me, don’t jump ahead. Rest in Me today. Trust Me absolutely. You can only find me in the present.”

What if I quit looking for God in the past, the hot lava of rolling toward me with pending doom? What if I stop searching for safe landing up ahead? Can I really trust Him for the future, without looking where to jump in get myself another five months of financial survival? 

What if I simply look for Him where I am today? Will I find Jesus here?

There is no end to the anxiety for "women of certain age" find themselves constantly looking for full time work paying a livable wage. Help me to relax, and just take one step at a time instead of leaping forward in panic.

#2 - One Day At A Time, Taking Care of Parents With Dimentia

This is the day the Lord has made;

Let us rejoice and be glad in it.

 --Psalm 118:24  (NIV)

Mum In The First Home Dad Built Us
Port Coquitlam, BC, Canada, 1962

My mother has dementia and does not want to go to a facility better able to take care of her. So far, we’ve been able to accommodate. My sister and brother have taken on the lion’s share and together have held down the fort for the last few years, enabling her to stay in the last home our father ever built—which provides Mum extra comfort. However, as the disease advances, we have to rethink the arrangement. She knows this and is filled with fear.  Her fear, coupled with the demands on me as I help out temporarily, leave me exhausted, concerned, and at times barely able to hang onto my own sanity as I get sucked into the vortex. I find myself walking away, escaping the circumstances, bowing my head and biting my lips—as if this might force words that could provide for her a measure of assurance.

This morning I woke with dread, the day weighing heavily before me. What new burden would I have to confront, what new confusion would my mother have to suffer? A Psalm came to mind—each day is new and made by God. In this, we can rejoice and be glad.

I found Mum in bed despondent, teary, so full of fear there’s no mitigation at hand. I’ve heard other people say to watch a parent slide into an unreachable place is gut wrenching. I more fully understand this; and unable to soothe her or even get her out of bed, I had to call on my sister.

Tresa’s a therapist and has been dealing with Mum a long time. She’s more practiced. She has better skills. And so I left the situation in her hands, went downstairs, and had myself a good cry. And I had to ask: How can I rejoice in such a day? Worse, How can I rejoice and be glad in the many to follow? Listening up the stairwell to Tresa as she repeatedly told Mum we care about her and that, no, she’s not a bother, I found myself grateful for such a sister. She got Mum out of bed, got her dressed, and calmed down.

I have to be honest. I don’t know about tomorrow and the days ahead. But this day, this particular day, I can rejoice and be glad. 

           

Dear Lord: Help me not look too far down the road, but to take each day as it comes and to find in each day the blessings You bring. And wherever it is Mum goes as she loses reality, speak the words we cannot so that she, too, can trust each day to You.