Anyone who has spent any amount of time on this globe will experience panic attacks. These attacks can be initiated by any number of things. It could be as simple as forgetting an appointment, news of a gravely ill loved one, uncertainty about the future, dimming prospects, and the list goes on. These attacks rush in and leave us stunned and silent, fighting the impulse to run and hide.
I have had more attacks than what I consider my share. Gravely ill children, my mother passing away, jobs lost, circumstances far beyond my control. These have become such a part of my world that I can predict where I am in the process. By the way, this self awareness does not minimize the impact, it merely helps me understand where I am.
So what does it look like in my world? The news comes blasting in from left field. Usually I am in involved in the most mundane activities. It takes a few moments to realize what is happening, then the inevitable casting about for alternatives that must be considered..it is a joke, it is not possible, it is not serious (although it sounds terrible) my mind wanders all over for a moment. Then the confirmation that, yes indeed, there is a serious problem. Then the continuing process of trying to decide what to do, when, and what are the consequences.
But in the midst of all the processing of the news is the physical impact of the attack. My bride's response is to stop eating. When we share the event we develop a "battle speak" that gives the other one clues about where we are. She will get up and out to release a little of the tension. I will wait and then try to see if I can help. My response is to feel like I can't quite catch a deep enough breath, there is a heavy feeling in my chest, and most embarrassing of all, I feel like I am going to burst into tears at any little thing.
Here are a few things we have learned about these attacks. Stay busy. Keep your hands busy, keep your head busy. We had such an event this past weekend and my bride worked feverishly on a quilt, I washed/folded/put away clothes, washed dishes, anything to keep busy. But the real work, the real effort is to continue to hand this event over to the One who can comfort, can work it out, does see the future. So while I am folding a tee-shirt, I say a prayer, then the next set of socks, prayer, drinking glass in the dishwasher, prayer, pick up a stray toy, prayer...
There is something inside me that makes me think these attacks are somehow nonspiritual. That they reflect a shallow or imperfect faith. When I compare my experience to those around me I wonder why I can't seem to find the ability to be joyful when it feels that my world is crumbling from under my feet. But I have learned that my nature does not gloss the circumstances. In fact, my head runs through all the thought strings and some of them are terrifying. So how to deal with this dissonance.
In the old book I find my savior praying to the point of sweating blood. I find a plea to change the inevitable conclusion to the story. I find the authors of all the books peering into the face of disaster, feeling the panic, and then submitting to the events and clinging desperately to the thin rope of faith. When I find people who are in the midst of the same type of attacks I advise them to ignore the impulse to evaluate their faith. I encourage them to simply trust it. The roller-coaster of emotions are natural and God-given.
As in this past weekend, we found some answers, we found some equilibrium, we have found a moment to set aside the battle armor from other attacks. We still find ourselves worn out from the ordeal, but the smoke has cleared and the losses were minimal.
Godspeed to those who are in the midst of these attacks. Cling tight to your faith, let go the notion that you should act in any certain way.
Don
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
Friday, January 13, 2012
A Mixed Bag
Yesterday was one of those days where I felt that I was hitting on all cylinders. The day spent with one of the reps who was new to his territory and we called on three accounts. Each was so different from the other that we were able to spend time building strategy for each one. We talked about territory management, forecasting, strategically approaching his business to swiftly maximize his business. I texted my bride and told her I LOVED this job, mostly because after a long layoff, I was able to do what I love to do.
So as I crawled into bed, far from home, but content with the day, it occurred to me that the farm that I had grown up on, which had been a presence in my life for the past 50 years had been sold that day. My dad and I talk every week, a couple of times a week and he had called me on Monday and said they were closing on the farm. I tried to put it out of my mind because there was nothing I could do about it except be grateful that it was something that my dad wouldn't have to worry about any longer.
But it made me sad. I recalled romping down at the creek, getting muddy by sliding down an embankment into the murky water. I recalled the few times a water snake would come swimming down the middle of the creek causing quite a commotion as all us kids cleared out of the water to the snake pass..he had the right-of-way since we were all terrified of snakes. There were the summer thunderstorms where we would get trapped in the barn and marvel that we had to yell at each other because the rain and hail were so loud on the old tin roof. There was the craziness of building our own sled and hooking it behind the tractor and dragging each other at speeds that could cause serious damage if we fell off (or were slung off!)
Of course there was always the mischief that three boys could conjure up.
Fixing the electric fence was always a challenge as one brother would stand at the break in the thin wire and another would stand at the switchbox to turn it off so the mending could take place, then turn it on when it was completed:
"IS IT OFF?" yelling was the I-phone of the day
"YES, IT IS OFF!"
"ARE YOU SURE?"
"YES! I'M LOOKING RIGHT AT IT!"
So you tenuously pick up the cold strand (furthest from the swithcbox) and then hesitantly pick up the potential "hot" strand. About one out of ten times the big joke was to leave the current on. When the repairer picked up both ends he became the closure in the circuit and the alternating current would blow a shock through you that would leave your joints buzzing, your teeth rattling, and an intense urge to urinate. Of course you couldn't hear the hooting and laughing for several seconds because it took you that long to realize again what had happened. Sometimes it was just easier to walk the several hundred yards back and forth to make sure the thing was off before grabbing the ends. Trust was not a big player for us boys at the farm.
And of course there were the meals. Mom was a firm believer in the big breakfast. This was long before the metro days of cholesterol, fat count, and all that. She just knew we needed lots of calories for the work of the day. So every morning she made piles of bacon and plates of scrambled eggs, biscuits and on Saturdays she added pancakes to the menu. We gobbled it down and knew we would be ravenous by lunch. Then there were the Saturday evenings of setting up the long folding tables and eating out under the big, old pecan trees. The heat of the day dissipating under the shade as we ate steak and fries and whatever else she put in the table. It was a golden time as we worked and joked and ate as a family of field hands.
But along with all the memories are the best and most fundamental lessons. The contentment of having tired muscles and sore back from a long day of farm work. To understand that hard work is its own reward. It was a moment of contentment to rock back on your heels and watch several hundred yards of sprinklers throwing 40' streams across the Bermuda pasture and realizing that you had laid that pipe straight and true. To take pride in a job well done. I remember staring back at the precision of the rows laid down while driving the old Farmall-H that was older than I, but at my direction turned back the rows and lifted the dust over me. The lessons that callouses and farmer-tan and grit in your hair and in your teeth are badges of honor..honor that not many from my day were allowed to hold. The lesson that shared work builds community, and lives.
And so the day brought joy and fulfillment and pride and regret and sorrow and a slight sense of displacement. For you see this was the place for the past 50 years that reminded me of where I came from, who I was in a fundamental way. The sight of the old farm house reminded me of grandparents and parents, siblings and friends who had all shared the omelet that was me. It now belongs to someone else, it is no longer mine except in the memories of my life and the strands that have woven me into who I am.
Godspeed to those out there who turned this bend in the journey. Most have by my age. But as in most things in life, it is better to let your backpack view the journey that has been, and your boots find the journey that will be.
Don
So as I crawled into bed, far from home, but content with the day, it occurred to me that the farm that I had grown up on, which had been a presence in my life for the past 50 years had been sold that day. My dad and I talk every week, a couple of times a week and he had called me on Monday and said they were closing on the farm. I tried to put it out of my mind because there was nothing I could do about it except be grateful that it was something that my dad wouldn't have to worry about any longer.
But it made me sad. I recalled romping down at the creek, getting muddy by sliding down an embankment into the murky water. I recalled the few times a water snake would come swimming down the middle of the creek causing quite a commotion as all us kids cleared out of the water to the snake pass..he had the right-of-way since we were all terrified of snakes. There were the summer thunderstorms where we would get trapped in the barn and marvel that we had to yell at each other because the rain and hail were so loud on the old tin roof. There was the craziness of building our own sled and hooking it behind the tractor and dragging each other at speeds that could cause serious damage if we fell off (or were slung off!)
Of course there was always the mischief that three boys could conjure up.
Fixing the electric fence was always a challenge as one brother would stand at the break in the thin wire and another would stand at the switchbox to turn it off so the mending could take place, then turn it on when it was completed:
"IS IT OFF?" yelling was the I-phone of the day
"YES, IT IS OFF!"
"ARE YOU SURE?"
"YES! I'M LOOKING RIGHT AT IT!"
So you tenuously pick up the cold strand (furthest from the swithcbox) and then hesitantly pick up the potential "hot" strand. About one out of ten times the big joke was to leave the current on. When the repairer picked up both ends he became the closure in the circuit and the alternating current would blow a shock through you that would leave your joints buzzing, your teeth rattling, and an intense urge to urinate. Of course you couldn't hear the hooting and laughing for several seconds because it took you that long to realize again what had happened. Sometimes it was just easier to walk the several hundred yards back and forth to make sure the thing was off before grabbing the ends. Trust was not a big player for us boys at the farm.
And of course there were the meals. Mom was a firm believer in the big breakfast. This was long before the metro days of cholesterol, fat count, and all that. She just knew we needed lots of calories for the work of the day. So every morning she made piles of bacon and plates of scrambled eggs, biscuits and on Saturdays she added pancakes to the menu. We gobbled it down and knew we would be ravenous by lunch. Then there were the Saturday evenings of setting up the long folding tables and eating out under the big, old pecan trees. The heat of the day dissipating under the shade as we ate steak and fries and whatever else she put in the table. It was a golden time as we worked and joked and ate as a family of field hands.
But along with all the memories are the best and most fundamental lessons. The contentment of having tired muscles and sore back from a long day of farm work. To understand that hard work is its own reward. It was a moment of contentment to rock back on your heels and watch several hundred yards of sprinklers throwing 40' streams across the Bermuda pasture and realizing that you had laid that pipe straight and true. To take pride in a job well done. I remember staring back at the precision of the rows laid down while driving the old Farmall-H that was older than I, but at my direction turned back the rows and lifted the dust over me. The lessons that callouses and farmer-tan and grit in your hair and in your teeth are badges of honor..honor that not many from my day were allowed to hold. The lesson that shared work builds community, and lives.
And so the day brought joy and fulfillment and pride and regret and sorrow and a slight sense of displacement. For you see this was the place for the past 50 years that reminded me of where I came from, who I was in a fundamental way. The sight of the old farm house reminded me of grandparents and parents, siblings and friends who had all shared the omelet that was me. It now belongs to someone else, it is no longer mine except in the memories of my life and the strands that have woven me into who I am.
Godspeed to those out there who turned this bend in the journey. Most have by my age. But as in most things in life, it is better to let your backpack view the journey that has been, and your boots find the journey that will be.
Don
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
Christmas Past
It is official. Santa and all his minions are safely captured and back in the attic.I have mentioned on this blog my love/hate relatoinship with the holiday we know as Christmas. My memories are of kids and grandkids, laughter (lots of laughter) snuggles, wrestling with the grandkids, finding a parent when a dirty diaper is detected, cooking, cleaning, and late night decaf with just a little bite of something sweet. But my last memory is always putting the cases and cases of decorations back in the attic. Next year will be very little decorating coupled with a very quiet Christmas as all our kids and grandkids go visit their in-laws.
I told my kids to marry orphans..Did they listen? No.
Anyway, Godspeed to another holiday season. Hope yours was a good one.
Don
I told my kids to marry orphans..Did they listen? No.
Anyway, Godspeed to another holiday season. Hope yours was a good one.
Don
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
I Don't WANT to Grow Up!
As the official start to the new year I hopped on a plane and flew to the City of Angels. Apparently all the flights now are completely booked. This one was full of business men, young couples, families, and the assorted foreigner. I was seated comfortably in row 21 on the aisle. Fortunately next to a young, slender Asian woman, who promptly dropped off to sleep and didn't wake up until the wheels jounced her awake in LA. I'm sure she was not nearly as pleased to be slotted next to a stocky, white-haired, business traveler, but as the book says it rains on the just and the unjust..my seat was dry.
There was the usual bag engineering, eye-rolling, and fitting of all parts into small spaces. Then we rolled out the bird and took off.
My eldest daughter gave me a Kindle for Christmas. It is one of the small, simple kind..which matches me. There are only a few buttons and not much trouble you can get into. The first thing I downloaded was the NIV Study Bible, then the Girl With the Dragon Tattoo trilogy. So for three hours I read. This thing is incredible, light, compact, easy to store, nice print size. The book was even good. Of course I had a few frustrating moments realizing that the "forward" and "backward" key is both sides of the instrument..who knew? So I played and read and had just a grand old time at 37,000 ft.
As we were approaching the airport, they came on and asked us to turn off all electronic devices. I had a close call a couple of weeks ago with a new business I-phone where I didn't know how the blasted thing turned off. I was frantically trying to find the right button, texting my bride for instructions and trying to ignore the flight attendant standing there, tapping her foot, arms folded, giving me the evil-eye. I did not need or want an "Alec Baldwin" moment. Finally my bride texted me back with great instructions and saved the day and my career. Anyway, I turned off my Kindle and was stowing it away when I noticed that several of the business men around me blithely tapping away on their I-pads, PCs, and E-readers, ignoring the attendants after several warnings. I thought, "Good Grief! Turn those things off! My 8-year-old grandson obeys better than you do!" I wanted to slap them with my Kindle! But each one had to have an attendant ask them specifically to turn them off.
What is up with us that we never seem to grow up in certain ways? Our actions are not in a vacuum, they impact everybody. Now I will tell you I suspect the pilot was landing that bird with or without their little E-machines on, but really, can't you listen just once and turn the little monster off?!?
So I did the only adult thing I could do. As soon as the seat belt light clipped off, I jumped up and blocked the aisle by grabbing my suitcase, rolling briefcase, and my jacket in time to keep them from jumping off.
I can be a childas well as the next guy.
Godspeed, what a fun journey it will be this year.
Don
There was the usual bag engineering, eye-rolling, and fitting of all parts into small spaces. Then we rolled out the bird and took off.
My eldest daughter gave me a Kindle for Christmas. It is one of the small, simple kind..which matches me. There are only a few buttons and not much trouble you can get into. The first thing I downloaded was the NIV Study Bible, then the Girl With the Dragon Tattoo trilogy. So for three hours I read. This thing is incredible, light, compact, easy to store, nice print size. The book was even good. Of course I had a few frustrating moments realizing that the "forward" and "backward" key is both sides of the instrument..who knew? So I played and read and had just a grand old time at 37,000 ft.
As we were approaching the airport, they came on and asked us to turn off all electronic devices. I had a close call a couple of weeks ago with a new business I-phone where I didn't know how the blasted thing turned off. I was frantically trying to find the right button, texting my bride for instructions and trying to ignore the flight attendant standing there, tapping her foot, arms folded, giving me the evil-eye. I did not need or want an "Alec Baldwin" moment. Finally my bride texted me back with great instructions and saved the day and my career. Anyway, I turned off my Kindle and was stowing it away when I noticed that several of the business men around me blithely tapping away on their I-pads, PCs, and E-readers, ignoring the attendants after several warnings. I thought, "Good Grief! Turn those things off! My 8-year-old grandson obeys better than you do!" I wanted to slap them with my Kindle! But each one had to have an attendant ask them specifically to turn them off.
What is up with us that we never seem to grow up in certain ways? Our actions are not in a vacuum, they impact everybody. Now I will tell you I suspect the pilot was landing that bird with or without their little E-machines on, but really, can't you listen just once and turn the little monster off?!?
So I did the only adult thing I could do. As soon as the seat belt light clipped off, I jumped up and blocked the aisle by grabbing my suitcase, rolling briefcase, and my jacket in time to keep them from jumping off.
I can be a childas well as the next guy.
Godspeed, what a fun journey it will be this year.
Don
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