Teapot's Long Walk

At the end of my last post, Satan had delivered his one-two punch of guilt and self doubt. I was leaving a job I had truly loved, and a place that I had thought rested on the pinnacle of the Christian faith, and I was walking toward my van to leave both forever. And everything was black. Everything. My faith in man and God was gone, and I did not want to move forward.

I resigned of my own choice. But that decision was based on how the administration of my department had treated me as a woman, and co-worker, as well as the lack of support from the school administration. I had fought, since my husband had left the school two years before, to receive the same benefits as my male co-workers. After a long year of paying tuition for the only child enrolled at that time, and a struggle to work until five and throughout the summer without the benefit of paid child care, my struggles seem to pay off, and I was granted back tuition and child care. I was exceptionally happy, and I felt validated. The news came while my family was on vacation in South Dakota, and I actually looked forward to the end of vacation and my return to work.

Someone posted the other day on Facebook saying that if you can tell your story without crying, then you are healed. But, even four years later, I still can't talk or write about this without shedding a least a few tears. 

When I returned to work after vacation, things became much worse. I had a staff co-worker lie directly to my face, and then deny it. I overheard comments and implications about how I, along with one or two other department employees needed to be forced out because we demanded too much training for our student workers. And I found that many of the female students did not want to deal with that same co-worker because of the questionable things he said to them. Scheduling changes in training were made and I was not informed, along with many other actions and talks that I now realize were harassment. At one staff meeting, I made the statement that if I were a man, I would be more respected. One co-worker said to me under his

breath "You know, there's an operation for that."I did report it, and I was brushed aside. Yet I still heard in chapel, and in faculty staff meetings that all these kinds of decisions were made by godly men, making prayerful, godly choices. And I kept trying.

But day after day, I returned home from work, crying, stressed and sick. Rumors about me and my family flew around the school, and made their way to my church. It wasn't that I was worried about the rumors because that's just what they were. But it was those who heard them, knew they weren't true and did nothing. At all. In fact, the main rumormonger was promoted above to "keep him away from the students as you requested." As the school year passed, I knew I had to leave for my own health, and for my family.

That long walk was only a hundred feet or so, but by the time I reached the driver's side door, I had determined that God must be watching from very far away, if indeed He existed, and that I had been an idiot to trust that He would bother with me.

So, here I am again-at that van. The walk is over, but the next few months were very dark. Again, I say that if God had not watched over me, and lead me even in my blindness toward Him, I would not be here to write these words.

Next, I'll finish the details of those darkest months, and share how God in His wisdom and grace delivered me.

God is Good,

Teapotjan

If I Could Fade Away

If I could fade away

• by Teapotjan, 21 minutes, 4s ago

If I could fade away from this place, this earth, this mortal vale.
And leave behind no tears, no sorrow, no regret, no fail.
I would.
I would fade away and fade, until vapor marked my final tear,
And be not sad, not hurt, not mortal, not . . . .here.
I should.
I should not feel this way at night, in the morning, and the in betweens.
My own self wars against me, and loses, and wins, and screams.
I could.
I could leave, but the leaving would be like a slash in time.
And I would cause tears, and sorrows, and regrets not mine.
I won't.
I won't fade away until God erases my breath, my heart, my place.
I'll stay and work and live in Grace.
I'll wait.

RIP Robin Williams.

Teapotjan

Serving When Sad-The Blue Teapot

Sad Teapot by Neiil Oswald.
 https://flic.kr/p/8scaVu

If you read many of my posts, or know me, you know that I am a professed victim of depression. I suffer from a mental illness that is as real as any physical disease. Anything or nothing can signal the black clouds to gather and darken overhead. And if something difficult happens while I'm under that black cloud, it is easy to allow it to surround me and choke out all light and joy. However, over the years, the Lord allowed me to learn the signs of the approaching gloom, and He sends comfort at just the right time to keep me from disappearing into that black, cold cloud.

That's not to say I don't have my bout of tears, sighs, and general mopiness. Believe me. Ask my family, my dog, my close friends, my therapist, my doctor. I get to a place where chocolate seems to be the only good thing in life, and I have none and I don't feel strong enough to get in the car and go get it. It can get bad. Real bad. And this short, stout little teapot of a woman can get very, very blue.

The most astounding thing about what the Lord has done for me in all of this? Even in my darkest blue state, when someone calls me for help, the clouds grow lighter, the blues fade, and I find myself being able to give that person sound advice that can come only from the leading of the Holy Spirit. This unworthy vessel can serve even when suffering because I have made it available for the Master's use. That's just wild. Really. Think about it. All I have to do is what I was made to do, be a vessel to His glory.

Am I always ready for use? Nope. I'm flawed. Sometimes, I do let the clouds choke me and fill me up with dread, shame and hopelessness. That's when depression easily leads to sin. Satan delights in tricking God's children, and he will use any weakness he can to pull us from the delight of God's presence. And since he is second in power only to God, he can do a very thorough job of it. Don't doubt that. He is evil, but he is very talented and creative.

So what to do? As I said earlier, I have learned the warning signs, some of which are particular to me, and when I heed them I do better. When I am hit with something particularly difficult? I understand that it's natural to be sad, and down, and understand it will pass as it has in the past. But I also know that I need to tell someone, and admit I'm struggling. There is no shame in asking for help. In fact, especially for those of us recovering from the "Big F Fundamentalism" mindset, it shows great bravery. We ask for help when we have the flu, don't we? If we ignore the symptoms of flu and carry on as normal, we may injure ourselves to the point of dying, all while infecting and hurting everyone we contact. The same potential is there when we suffer with depression and don't recognize its power to harm us and those around us.

If you think you may possibly suffer from depression, reach out for help. This link: Signs of Clinical Depression, sends you to WebMD's site and has a great deal of good information about the medical side of depression.

Serving when sad? It's possible as long as we listen to the leading of the Spirit, and realize that depression is an illness and process that we must recognize and handle with care in ourselves in others. 

Praising Him under the clouds and waiting for the sun,
Teapotjan

Teapot's Tremendous, Terrible Year in Review. Part One

I'm not one for New Year's resolutions, but I do believe in goals. Not that I'm good at setting them, but I think they are important. Seriously. Maybe I show set a goal of improving my method of setting goals, but . . . .

Anyway, I do plan on blogging more consistently, even in the face of upheaval and change. Blogging helps the tempest in the teapot not grow to hurricane proportions, and maybe I can continue to help and bless people as I go.

Onward to the year in review! 
2013 contained a lot of happiness, disappointments, and general suckiness. I'm thrilled to kiss it goodbye soon. But, even while I go through its last days and think back, there isn't much I would change. That's hard to say really, but I wouldn't have learned the lessons I have learned, met the people I met, and grown the way I have grown without some of that said suckiness. 

January started out pretty well. But we had to pull my daughter from regular school because of her chronic nerve disorder. She missed her friends. She still hurt. She hates doctors appointments. And we learned that we are TERRIBLE at homeschooling. Remember that whole goal setting problem I have?. . . well apparently, it's genetic. 

February held its own challenges at work. My supervisor did not think I was doing my job well, so it was requested that I go to three weeks of classes about 2 hours aways from home. I enjoyed the classes. Made some very good friends, and did well in all of my scores. One of the connections I made allowed me to help with a project that brought me great satisfaction. What those classes did not help was the view that my supervisor had of my job performance.

March. I was disliking the long hours at work, and the seemingly endless things I was doing wrong. I was growing more and more depressed and working harder and harder, but I believe I was attempting this in my own strength. After a particularly candid visit with a friend I starting blogging at her suggestion that it would help. She was right.

April. Oh, sweet April. I posted my first blog entry in April. I've been reading back through some of those entries. I relived some of the emotions, and I bow my head and thank God that I have made it to the end of this year without any time in jail. I'm being facetious of course, but let's just say God and my family had to be patient. The number of issues I had at work seemed to decrease, but the strain of the hours, my daughter's pain, and an overcrowded house taught me some thing about myself that I didn't like. But God was good, and I grew closer to Him.

May marked my final month at my job. In spite of asking how to improve, and receiving satisfactory answers, etc. I still did not live up to my supervisor's expectations, and the month ended with me resigning that job at their request. If you know me even a little, you know I cried. My pride was hurt, and my wallet was suicidal. I know other things happened, but even now, that resignation overshadows my joy in anything in that month.

June brought relief in some areas and more stress in others. I was out of a job, but I enjoyed the free time to help others. I started trying to work on my art. My husband, baffled by my tears, confused by my complicated personality that had elevated me to delirious highs only to send me plummeting into aforementioned tears, worked to support my dream of becoming an artist and having a studio. But as hard as he tried, that old, suicidal wallet held back much of what he could do. However, as I will explain in the near future, God did not desert me or my family.

That's enough for one sitting. I have much more to share. Please pray that I will keep reaching for my current goal of consistent blogging. And if you have any comments or suggestions, please share either in the comments or by email, or on Facebook.

Thanks for reading. Stay tuned for part two. Spoiler alert! God is Still GREAT.

Looking back and looking up!
Teapotjan

Nice Guys Finish Last?

Being raised in a Christian home in the South by kind and loving parents formed me into what most people consider a "very nice person." God gave me the gift of empathy, and I love trying to help people try to live a happier life by supporting them and giving counsel when necessary.

This sounds great, doesn't it? "How Christ-like. How generous. How very nice you are," people tell me. I don't help people for praise or for anything in return. I do it because God gave me this gift and attitude and I want to serve Him by using it. At least that's what I like to think. 

The problem comes because most people are not nice. People in general are suspicious of those who are nice, thinking that they must have some hidden agenda that drives their actions. Even in Christian circles those who are incredibly helpful received the labels of "kiss-ups," "do-gooder," or "opportunist," among other things. The current generation of young adults has become so jaded by the "it's all about me" syndrome, that the help of others becomes an intrusion, or an insult to their individuality.

In the last few days, what started as a prayerful attempt to bring resolution to a situation between mutual acquaintances, and to find an answer to a pressing need in my own life and home, was labeled as a rude intrusion. And I found that my offer of help in the future would not be needed and they would seek a neutral party if the need should ever arise.

Because I had worked at being neutral, and had prayerfully initiated a meeting that I attended with great discomfort, I was flabbergasted! Actually, I still am. I had seen an issue. The issue affected people around me, my new business, and my home. I needed information, not gossip, or opinion, so I did what I know is right. I went to the source to get the information, and offered to mediate or help in the future. While I didn't get the answer I wanted, I honestly respected the person's decision, and consider it closed. 

The point of this post? To tell you that on this earth, nice people do finish last. At least in the perspective of the temporary. My initial reaction to this whole situation? I planned to NEVER help anyone but my very closest, most trusted friends again. Ever. Done with helping young people. Done with going out of my to help or offer assistance. Done dealing with the emotional baggage others carry. Done. Finished. Retired. Over it. Me, myself, and mine, that's it.

My feelings after a couple of days? I've learned my lesson: Nice people do finish last on this earth. They often get overlooked, walked on, questioned, and labeled. But when a "nice" person faces Christ and has their actions judged by the Savior, those things questioned by other people, but done in the name of Christ will endure the fires of judgement, and will indeed be the things that LAST. Those difficult tasks completed in the name of Christ become trophies to throw at His feet, and I'll take my LAST place in His light for eternity.

Will I still help people? Yes. Will I jump in as readily? Maybe not. In the last two years, I've been twice burned after two huge investments of time, money, and emotion. Can we learn from every situation? Yes, and it seems that we learn more from the bad ones. 

So, here I sit in last place, stinging, and hurt, but hopeful. Hopeful that I'll get to see resolution and growth in the people I help, and hopeful for His soon coming.

Looking to the finish line with hope and faith,

Teapotjan

Water is Ready, But I Can't Reach the Tea

Since you are joining on my journey from guilt to grace, I'm going to be as transparent as possible, tell you my problems and frustrations, and then see how God makes them a lesson. He always does. So . . . let's talk about this morning. 

It's my last day off before doing a three day work weekend: Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, twelve hours each day. I don't get much accomplished on these weekends except work. I'm no spring teapot and thirty-six hours in three days just takes a bit more out of me now than it would have twenty years ago. That being said, I try to get a few things done ahead of time. You know, silly stuff like cleaning, and spending time with my family and so on. 


I slept in for a bit. When I woke up, I lay there planning what to do. I've been putting off my bedroom until I could put away winter clothes and bring out the spring and summer stuff. So today was the day! My husband wakes up, and he's sick. Running a fever. Tired. Needs to rest. In the bedroom. Argh. Not mad. Just can't reach that goal. Grumble. Need breakfast, need coffee.

Since I don't have to work, I think a biscuit that I don't have to eat in the car on the way to work would be great. Hubby doesn't want one. My dad wants a sausage, egg and cheese, the one other person awake wants bacon, egg and cheese. Sounds good. Make coffee. Go to get in van, and I'm parked in. Since I wear my emotions on my sleeve these days, I cry dumb tears of sheer frustration. I could have a meltdown. I'm tired. I deserve it. But then I won't get a biscuit, and neither will my dad, and neither will the other awake person. So, I have to rouse the driver of the car that parked me in, and have them move it. I somehow muster enough kindness to offer that person a biscuit as well, but they were going back to bed. BACK TO BED? 

I guess I haven't mentioned that my next plan of attack was to clean and vacuum the hall and family room before I went this afternoon to babysit for one of my dearest friends and hangout with two of the cutest twins this side of anywhere. But that would wake the sleeping-in person whom I had already gotten up to move the car so I could get the biscuits. ARGH.

Thankfully the trip to the biscuit place was uneventful, because the Lord knew this teapot was probably steamed up enough to commit some serious road rage crime. I delivered the biscuits to their proper recipients and sat down in the uncleaned, not-vacuumed family room to watch television, drink my coffee, and eat my biscuit while not in a car. And I can't find the remote. I think I have, but it turns out the one I found was the old, broken one that had the batteries removed and was thrown away. But, like a zombie, it had returned from its grave and was now apparently searching for battery brains. ARGH! ARGH!

What to do? What to do? Pray? No, I'm too mad. Get up and look for the remote? No, the old one would just eat its batteries. Plot murders? No, those are illegal and I work in law enforcement-too much paper work. Ah! I'll write. That's the outlet the Lord has provided and that's what I'll do!

And as I write, I think. What does the Lord want me to learn? Why am I frustrated to the point of tears. I have the stupid hot water, why can't I reach the stupid tea? It's just tea. . . .It's just cleaning. . . .It's just a minor delay. It's just . . .minor. 

Where once I would have continued to be frustrated, I'm sharing my lesson learned  through the outlet the Lord has provided. Instead of feeling wretchedly guilty that I'm not a good wife, mother, friend, daughter, I'll look to Him for grace to do what I need to do today. Even while writing this, I feel calmer and eager to see my friend in a short while. It doesn't hurt that I'll get in some cute, twin snuggles later today, either. 

Is it a perfect day? No, no, it's not. Is it an awful day? Yes, partly it is. Is it a day to be defeated? No! I don't have to enjoy the struggles and frustration. But, I can sure learn lessons from these struggles and any others that come my way today. Will I cry again today? Maybe, maybe not. But that's another outlet the Lord has me use now, so no big deal.

It's Grace, folks. Not guilt. It's lessons learned, and forgotten and learned again. It's crying, and laughing, and helping, and loving and apologizing and whatever it needs to be to serve Him.

Besides, I actually like coffee better. And I CAN reach that. 

Parked in, but okay with it. Sorry I groused.

Teapotjan

The Teapot SCREAMS

Since today is "Throwback Thursday" I thought I'd share an experience from the early 80's and take a break from the serious and sad, and go with light and fluffy.

I grew up an only child. I had eye problems that to this day cause issues with my depth perception. My parents were very loving, and protective and spent a lot of time and money to help correct some issues with my eyes resulting in three operations when I was six and seven. I stumbled on stairs (still do) and curbs (still do) and missed the other side on jumps (ditto) because I couldn't (and can't) judge the distance correctly.

All that to say this: When it comes to adventurous endeavors involving physical activity, I am a complete chicken. I don't need a big adrenaline rush from jumping off cliffs, parasailing, or roller coasters. I have plenty stored up right here in my near-sighted, imaginative brain.

But after I married a thrill junkie, and taught hyper high school kids for a year or so, I decided that I needed to conquer my inner-chicken and ride a roller coaster. Looking back, I'm sure it was all because of some stupid sense of pride, with the key word there being "stupid."

One lovely spring day my husband and I took off for Six Flags Over Georgia for a break from teaching and paramedic-ing. We went to shows, and rode the the water rides, and then came the question that changed the day: "Wife" he said, "Do you still want to conquer your first roller coaster ride?" "No." I answered. Then "Yes." Then "No," etc. for about an hour. Then finally, "Yes. Yes! Okay. Let's go."

We approached the park's famous roller coaster "The Great American Scream Machine." I should have known from the name that this was a bad idea, but now my stupid pride pushed me forward. As I stood in line, I watched children barely tall enough to ride this wooden monster jump into the frail looking cars hooked together with chains made of what must surely be paper clips. They hopped in smiling, took off, and returned with bigger smiles and shouts of "Again! Again!" I could do this. I'm no kid. I'm a GREAT AMERICAN and this is my MACHINE.

Finally, we came to the front of the line, and my husband in some fit of mistaken sense of help asked for the front car. "It will be easier" he said.  I smiled, (Not really) and climbed in and let the faceless executioner nice ride worker secure us "for our safety." And we began the click, click, click of our slow ascent to the top of the universe.

And I screamed. Then I screamed again, "We are all FOOLS!" Not even at the top, I began to cry. I mean really cry as in the big, huge drops that always melted my mom's heart. We reached the peak of the pinnacle of the top of all things known to man, and as we paused at the top I surveyed the world for the last time, and then we dropped. I get a little short of breath just reliving this, so bear with me. . . . Okay. We sped through loops and ups and downs while the tears that flowed from my eyes flowed back into my well-moused 80's style hair. And this GREAT AMERICAN helped this wooden monster earn its name and I SCREAMED, and I cried, and my hair blew, and I plotted my husband's death, and then it was over. 

Our car pulled into the station, and I sat there stunned. The nice ride worker mentioned that I should get out of the car because others were waiting. I looked at him, but didn't really see him. My husband led me out. "Take a step with your right foot, now your left. Oh, and you should breathe." I finally found my way to a curb clear of traffic, and I plopped down, and continued plotting the death of my husband, along with the death of that nice ride worker, all those little enthusiastic kids, and the inventor of the roller coaster. I could tell my husband felt badly for me, but he kept looking at me and stifling a chuckle. That chuckle did not bode well for the dismantling of my death plot for him. 

After around thirty minutes, the world came back to a semi-normal level and I went to the restroom to wash the dried tears from my face. I walked in and looked in the mirror. As I mentioned, my hair was moussed and that I had cried huge tears of terror. Those tears had flowed back into the hair at my temples, melded with the mousse, and dried. While the rest of my hair had a nice, wind blown look of death, that hair stuck straight out from the side of my head like the bristles of a broom. I began laughing. It was a hoarse, scratchy laugh due to the vigorous screaming. But it was a hearty laugh because I looked so ridiculous and because I was happy to be alive. 

This roller coaster created hair style was not a good look, and I am grateful that this all occurred before the advent of phone cameras. Not that I'm really all that vain, but because my husband would have taken the picture and make it my profile picture, and then I would have been widowed and in jail in my twenties.

I'm sure there's spiritual application in there somewhere. God's grace protecting all those innocents from certain death by allowing me to laugh at my hair. Perhaps the experience showed me that I could try some things that made me uncomfortable without actually dying. Or maybe, I just needed to mark this off my bucket list early before I had kids, so that I could allow them to ride without fear due to my great example of the past -because I certainly wasn't going to join any one on any future roller coaster rides. Or maybe, God allowed me to do this so I could make you laugh. Hope it worked. 

Love and screams,
Teapotjan