Fear not.

And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid. And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. ~ Luke 2:9,10

Fear not.

Life is terrifying sometimes.

Fear not.

You will find yourself at the mercy of things,

Beyond your control.

Fear not.

People will hurt you,

Often on purpose,

Usually not,

Fear not.

Things will flow past in the river of your life. 

Storms will rain down,

Broken branches will block your way,

Currents will change and hide the channel,

Troubles will wound your lonely little craft,

Fear not.

Though the world  laughs and judges,

Offers you shame, not acceptance,

Though the ones you love doubt you,

And the mystery of things seems to bury you

Let it be,

Fear not.

You are not alone,

You have love in you,

Life that leaps inside you,

At the sound of your name.

Like a weary companion trudges along beside,

With no knowledge or understanding, to guide the way,

You have love around you,

Peace, for which there are no words,

Truth for which there is no proof,

Fear not.

There is a place for you,

Shelter from the cold and the dark,

Not what you might have chosen,

Not what you expected or hoped for,

But a place where you belong,

A place only you can fill,

A task only you can do,

Fear not.

There is a story to tell,

Your story,

A story many will hear, 

And many will not understand.

It is as simple as a box of straw,

And glorious as a choir of angels,

No one else can tell it for you,

Much as they may try,

They will need your voice,

Your heart,

Your song,

The ones who hear,

Will not be the ones you expect,

They need to hear you sing,

Even if you sing off key,

Fear not.

An pregnant girl,

A confused fiancee,

A harried innkeeper,

Shepherds, terrified,

Magi, laden with useless tribute,

A puppet king filled with jealous hatred,

And there among them,

A baby,

The innocent creator of the universe,

God in the straw,

Unafraid.

That's what Christmas is all about, Linus.

It isn't about trees and paper and bags,

It isn't about angels and virgins and shepherds,

Not hymns,

Not bells,

Not turkey,

Not pies,

Not doctrine or dogma or history or theology.

The meaning of Christmas,

The true meaning of Christmas is in you, Linus,

It's the love that wraps around you like a blanket,

It's the courage that keeps you going,

The compassion that lets you care,

Christmas is the joy you feel for the blessings you have

And the strength to overcome the blessings you lack,

The meaning of Christmas,

The true meaning of Christmas,

In the face of all logic,

In spite of good sense,

No matter what yesterday's failures have taught you,

Or whatever tomorrow's dangers might be,

Christmas

Is reckless

Fearless

Love.

And if you can't believe in that, Linus,

You can't believe in anything.

Fear not.

Happy, Holy Day.

Merry Christmas.

Love,

Pennsy

#465: What We Are Not Now

It's getting to the point where I'm no fun any more. I am sorry.

Yesterday's session with Mike, my  therapist was especially difficult. Tearful. Which probably means that we were on to something. Let me try to wrestle with what I think that might have been.

Sometimes it hurts so badly I must cry out loud, "I am lonely,"

The tears are evolving. A few weeks ago, they were tears of shame. Tears of grief. Tears of loss. Now, they are tears of fear. Of loneliness. I cry because I feel like an empty cup where love and laughter once overflowed. Then, I grieved for the loss of people I loved. Now I ache in the empty places where they once lived. The suffering is still real, but it carries a kind of hope along with it. Pain can change, can soften over time.

Remember what we've said and done and felt about each other.

Because we are human, we cannot choose but to remember. When the wounds of loss are fresh, reflecting on the past can sting like alcohol on a skinned knee. The pain of remembering is worse, more intense than the pain of the loss itself. It isn't just the emptiness that hurts. It's knowing that those beautiful times are gone and will never be repeated. No, we cannot choose but to ache at those memories, but what we can choose, and time is our friend in this, we can choose how we respond to them. 

Don't let the past remind us of what we are not now. 

And there it is. Stephen Stills' words have been ringing like his guitar in my mind for the past few days. He wrote Suite: Judy Blue Eyes as an expression of his own grief at the imminent loss of his lover. If you let yourself get caught up in the musical hooks of this great song, it feels like a toe tapping celebration. But I hear something more. I hear a man fighting for his life against an enemy I know well.  Depression is a murderer; he is also a liar. One of his favorite lies is that our past and our future are the same. The things that have gone badly for us, the patterns we discern are doomed to repeat themselves. The good we have lost will never return, and whatever good may come in the future is bound to be lost as well. 

Tearing yourself away from me now, you are free and I am crying,

This does not mean I don't love you, I do

That's forever, yes, and for always.

And there is the first part of the answer. Though the loss is forever, so is the love. Depression wants you to believe that the love leaves with the beloved, but that is not true. Love is the force at the center of the universe. God is love. Love, once given, can never be withdrawn. Even when a relationship comes to a stormy, angry end, the love that was set into motion in that relationship remains, like a child born of a short lived romance. Love lives, even without the company of the lover. Presence can come and go. Love is for always.

Something inside is telling me that I've got your secret,

Are you still listening?

Fear is the lock, and laughter the key to your heart

And I love you.

"Fear is the lock..." And so it is. Fear shuts our hearts up tight. Keeps us safe in our fortress. Fear remembers only the hurt, not the love. Fear has not hope for the future, only dread for a past that is fated to repeat itself. But laughter, true laughter shakes the heart's doors open so it can receive the things only an open heart can know. Compassion. Delight. Serenity. Yes, even pain. Only an open heart can be hurt, but the price of letting fear lock up our hearts is so much greater than pain. Because a closed heart has no way for love to come in. And a heart that holds no love is wasted space.

I am yours, you are mine,
You are what you are,
And you make it hard.

The things and people we lose... they are never really gone. If we loved them with truly open hearts, then they changed us, we changed one another in ways that will never go away. Life happens. Tragedy. Happiness. Celebration. Grief. Each moment, no matter how dark or frightening, is a blessing to be savored for itself. If we let fear fix our gaze on yesterdays gone, terrified of tomorrows that have not yet come, then we let our hearts be locked against the beautiful possibilities that today has to offer.

Did I lose a job once? Yes. I can work in fear of losing this one, or I can work with an open, loving heart, drinking every sweet blessing that today's work has to offer.

Did I lose a friend? Yes. Each of us has our own ship with its own course. We travel together for a time, and then life may part us. If we are wise, we will not waste a second of our journey together travelling in fear of separation. Since I'm preaching from the book of Stills today, I'm reminded of another lesson. "Love the one you're with." God sends us people for a time, and sometimes takes them away again. Let the few precious moments we share be filled with laughter and love, not fear.

Have I lost my mind? Yes, I have lost control of my thoughts and emotions. sometimes for weeks at a time. i can look back and see patterns, but my past does not have to be my destiny. Thoughts can change. The way we cope can change. Mike is helping me to understand how my thinking produces the episodes I experience. Is my depression partly orgainic? Yes, probably. But it can be fed and thrive if I keep my heart locked up and fearful. Bad brain chemistry can give me a bad day or two. Bad thinking can send me into the shadows for months. Healthy thinking, loving mindful living can help me to live each moment as it comes, grateful for the blessings of the past without being fearful of the possibilities the future holds. I can learn. I am learning.

We are learning together.

Peace,
Pennsy

Bushwacking

That's what my training feels like this week. Like chopping through vines with a dull machete.

Running is all I really want to do, and each run leaves me with sore calves and ankles, a stiff, limping gait, and the nagging feeling that the dream may not happen. I don't know if my legs will ever be able to run me around the Bluegrass.

I've tapered my weight lifting way down to save energy for running, but instead I just feel logy. I guess these feelings of doubt are part of the journey, just like the achievements. That perspective ought to give me some comfort. Ought to.

I have a 5K training run scheduled tomorrow morning, after two days off. I'm hoping that the rest will help my legs to come back. I really don't want to limp for three miles in next week's race, and I also don't want to blow it off.

Yeah, I'm listening to my body like the trainer told me. I just don't care for what it has to say today.

Thanks for sticking with me. I'll go chop some more vines now.

Peace,

Pennsy

The Angry Red Monster "down there"

It had to happen sooner or later. In the aftermath of yesterday's run, I discovered that angry red monster between my legs -- no not that, you cheeky monkey -- I mean chafing thighs.

I immediately flashed back to attempts to run in high school and college. Inevitably, this it what sent me back to the La-Z-Boy. It aggravates two of my key fears - being fat, and getting hurt while exercising. I don't think it qualifies as an injury per-se, but it will definitely knock me out of the game if it gets much worse. Given my size and my genes, I expect this is always going to be an issue for me, so I did some research. Powders and Vaseline are both recommended to prevent rubbing, but my experience with powder is that I sweat it off, and vaseline just seems to make my thighs sticky. This results in more friction and a sort of deep fryer effect. There are lots of home recipies that people like, but the one I see the most is a combination of 1) Spandex compression shorts and 2) Body Glide, a fearfully expensive product that an awful lot of runners swear by. It turns out that this isn't just a fat man's problem.

I managed to find one source for giant spandex shorts (now there's a phrase that shouldn't be spoken out loud) so I'm going to try that combination. (Another $35 investment - I guess that makes up for the bargain I got on my shoes). I don't plan another long trot until next weekend, so I'll have time to heal (I'm trying triple antibiotic ointment which is Mrs P's panacea, and some time on the elliptical until the swelling goes down.

I'm doing several things wrong "down there" as it turns out. cotton shorts are a bad plan for a big sweater because they get wet and stay wet, making them rub all the more. Some folks even get chafed, bleeding nipples (pause for my head to stop spinning) when they run in cotton tee shirts. Baggy shorts make things worst, because they rub, and they ride up your leg. Also, boxers may let the boys swing free in the breeze, but they also let them rub against the thigh, creating even more friction, chafing where no man should ever chafe, and in the worst case I care to think about, causing a hideous condition called testicular torsion which sounds like something that happens when you sit on an electric drill. I'll be switching to something a bit less cottony and more snuggly at once.

Oh and I have a great fitness tip for travelers. Don't do a long run, then sit in a car for four hours. Mrs P and I had to take a trip to Southern KY yesterday after the gym, and by the time I got back home, my knees felt like they were full of broken glass. I'm thinking that a long run followed by cramped stillness in the passenger seat of a Malibu is a really bad combination.

I slathered on the Ben-Gay, but the pain still kept me up most of the night.

Today's workout will focus on the upper-body, I think.

Peace,
Pennsy

Fat Old Man Finds Hope Sweating with Young Hotties

One of the ways I keep my mind sharp is to read blogs. I found this encouraging word on That's Fit:

In a German study of over 300 people, those who began exercising in their forties were half as likely to develop heart disease as people who never exercised. Interestingly enough, that risk reduction is nearly the same as that realized by people who have been sweating their butts off in the gym since they were in their teens and early twenties. So, you see, it is possible to play catch-up with your health.

One of my irrational fears is a fatalistic sense that I am going to die young like most of the men in my family. When my Dad passed, I started a morbid countdown. By my old reckoning I have 11 years to live.

I find two words of comfort in the Rothenbacher study.

First, I have a chance to change my destiny by living differently than my ancestors. I can move more, eat less, and ingest fewer poisons than they did.

Second, I can stop feeling bad about waiting so long to start. Turns out exercising before you are 40 is a waste of time!

Think I'll go lift weighs and quietly pity the beautiful young people who could be home watching TV and eating ice cream for the next twenty years.

Of course after that, they'll have to really bear down.

Peace,
Pennsy

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The photo of Pennsy's next health club is from the UK website Church Urban Fund.

That's UK the country, not the basketball team who are having a decidedly up and down year.