Dear Chris Gorham

There are 3 things that have driven me to finally write this (although I have been thinking versions of these thoughts for a long, long time). These 3 things have also led to me address this letter specifically to you (though the general points apply to many others) rather than writing a broad article discussing the topic. Other writers discuss it far more eloquently than I can, anyway.

They are:

1) The YOMYOMF Network production of Yellow Face, starring you. [Part 1] [Part 2]

2) This Characters Unite PSA presented by you. (You did this a while back, but it came back to haunt me when I watched Yellow Face)

3) This tweet by you:

These 3 things put together have disturbed me. My pragmatic self and my idealistic self, who have been known to have the occasional tussle but generally agree to co-exist relatively peaceably, have gone to war.

My pragmatic self loves (actually I think adores may be more accurate) you in the role of Auggie. (This may be a small understatement).

I love that Matt Corman and Chris Ord conceived the character in the first place. 

I love that you have taken the role so seriously – done your homework more thoroughly than many (maybe even most) actors in your position seem to do. 

I love your attention to detail. 

I love that you obviously think about what you do, that you have immersed yourself so thoroughly in the role that it comes as second nature to you. 

I love how you keep the research up and bring practical, authentic suggestions to the writers and directors.

I love that while researching this role you have learned and cared, and that you want to share that through your work and through your interactions with the media, general public and your fan-base.

I love how you’ve grown Auggie from the somewhat cringe-inducingly (proper word, non?) stereotypical blind guy in the Covert Affairs Season 1 pilot episode to probably the most authentic, plausible (and sexy-as-hell) blind male lead character we’ve (or certainly I’ve) seen on TV.

But

I also have an idealistic self:

This self wishes I didn’t like you so much in the role, because really, honestly, it feels you should never have landed the role in the first place. 

This self finds it hard to accept that the role of one of the very few disabled characters on TV (to see how underrepresented people with disabilities are you can look here) was given to a sexy-as-hell able-bodied man. 

This self can be very, very cynical about things like TV-Network anti-ableism PSAs.

This self found watching you in Yellow Face very, very difficult.

There are, for me, parallels between Christopher G. and Marcus G(ee). 

Both of you are charming, easy-to-love, decent men with your hearts solidly in the right place.

Both of you, through putting on “face”, developed greater awareness of the degree of discrimination faced by others. 

Both of you add(ed) your voices to those calling for change.

Both of you started out as part of the problem: Marcus in “yellowface”, you in “cripface” (not my own term).

And that’s why my idealistic side is yelling.

Because can you say “I Won’t Stand For Ableism” when you, a sighted man, are playing a role that could (make that should, actually) have gone to a blind actor?

Because can’t being an able-bodied guy who plays a blind guy reinforce the attitude that living with a disability means there are some jobs (like acting) that are “off-limits”, rather than changing it?

Because, while you speak publically about ableism in general, you have never spoken publicly about the ableism within the industry in which you work, and which you obviously love, and that makes you appear oblivious to it. Are you oblivious? 

A while back you were interviewed by Maureen Duffy of VisionAware. She posed this question to you:

"...And of course I have to ask this question: How do you respond to people who believe that the role of Auggie should be played by a blind actor?"

And this is how you answered:

"Honestly, I'm almost never asked that question. Certainly, a blind actor can be capable of playing a role like this. I think that goes without saying. I really can't speak for the producers, nor the network, as to why they chose as they did."

Does the fact that you aren't asked ever bother you? Is it politeness that stops people from asking, or is it conditioning? Are people so used to seeing able-bodied actors playing disabled characters (and seeing them lauded for their skill in those roles) that they don't even question the right- or wrongness of it?

I understand that you can't speak for the producers, nor the network. My pragmatic side acknowledges that there are multiple possible reasons why you were given the role of Auggie. Some of them are echoes of reasons given in Yellow Face to justify the hiring of white actors in Asian roles. Here's one, which I quote from Yellow Face [with a little adaptation]:

“If you know of any…[blind] actor who would be right for the part…please give me his name. We have searched literally around the world…”

It's one that may well have been true in your case. I wasn’t there. I don’t know.

But even if that was the case, is the justification enough? 

If that was the case, shouldn’t questions be asked as to why there wasn’t anyone “right for the part”?

Is it because disability and acting ability are mutually exclusive? (There’s the implication in there somewhere – and isn’t that ableism in its most blatant form: “You have a disability and therefore you can’t…[fill in the blank]”?) 

It's obvious from your interview that you don't believe that.

So why didn't they (assuming they tried) find a blind actor for the role of Auggie? Why is the pool of actors who have disabilities so (allegedly) small that the majority of disabled roles still go to non-disabled actors?

Is it because writers don’t create enough disabled characters? I’m not talking about major roles alone, although, of course, there aren’t enough of those either. Why do we so seldom see everyday minor characters who incidentally have a disability: the history teacher, the doctor’s receptionist, the dad taking his kids to school, the accountant, the swimming coach, the barista at the coffee shop? Why don’t we regularly see disabled actors in roles that could be played by either a disabled or non-disabled actor? Why, on the rare occasion when we do get given a character with a disability, is there such an emphasis on the disability? Scott Jordan Harris puts it perfectly, in his essay on Disability in Film for the BBC’s OUCH! blog: “I hope, too, that we soon see many more films that do not focus primarily on disability but in which disabled characters are simply sewn into the fabric of the story, just as we are sewn into the fabric of life”.  Without these roles, can actors gain the experience needed to grow? Without the prospect of future roles, how many potentially brilliant actors leave the profession (or never consider it in the first place) because, practically, no matter how good you are, the likelihood of ever actually being able to earn any kind of living as a disabled actor is slim (another understatement).

Is it because very few kids with disabilities out there are able to actively join school drama activities? How many talented kids are subtly sidelined? How many kids with disabilities have attended Roosevelt School of the Arts, or graduated from UCLA with a BA in Film and Theater Arts as you did, for example? Are the numbers near representative when compared to other types of school or degree? How accessible (in all respects) are schools and courses like these?

Is it because the structures, systems, procedures and environments within film, television and theatre are inaccessible? How much discussion is there around the concepts of “universal design” and “design for all” when it comes to the various aspects of film-making?

Is it because in an industry still largely obsessed with physical beauty/perfection (and that’s a topic for another diatribe on another day) there is an automatic assumption that disability is the antithesis of beauty, that a person can’t actually be disabled and sexy-as-hell, and so there is little “space” for disability?

Is it because too few people ask themselves difficult questions? Is it because too few people are asked to ask themselves difficult questions? 

You would have a much better idea of (and access to) the answers to these questions than I. This is your world, your industry, your home.

It is obvious that playing Auggie has given you an opportunity to see close-up the discrimination faced by people with disabilities in both blatant and subtle ways. It is also obvious that you want to do something to address that discrimination.

Could you do that where you find yourself right now ("charity begins at home" and all that)? Should you?

I know this can get complicated. Yellow Face explored some of those complexities in a way that resonated with me. I grew up in South Africa - a white child in the final years of apartheid. I benefited (and still benefit) from racism in its most blatant, systemic form. The T-shirt I wear says "I benefited from apartheid".

There's a story about that, too. A story that also reveals the complexities involved in addressing discrimination. It's the story of a T-shirt campaign that started a national conversation [you can read an interview with the two guys who started the campaign here - it's a very interesting read]: a campaign which, by acknowledging the elephant in the room, got people to start talking, arguing, asking the difficult questions, dealing with the difficult answers.

There are blurry areas. There's the spectre of "benefiter's guilt" (what right does a benefiter have to speak about discrimination at all?) set against the unique position a benefiter is in to be able to speak to other benefiters. There's the smudgy line that exists between "not standing for" discrimination - speaking up when you see it, in whatever form it shows itself - and speaking for someone else, negating their right to advocate for themselves.There's the fear that the problem is so overwhelming, so integral, so deeply woven into mindsets that one person's speaking up isn't going to have any significant effect on the whole (but may have negative effects on the person). There's the probability of getting it wrong sometimes. There's the ugliness that emerges (both within oneself and others) when engaging on this level and that has to be dealt with. It's a messy, messy business.

But, as Roger Young says in that interview (he's talking about racism, but I think it's valid for other forms of discrimination too):

"Our society is still divided on racial [discriminatory] lines. It’s how we see things. In order to dismantle that thinking, we have to make things equal economically, we can only do that by talking about race[discrimination]. That’s the complexity. It’s going to take generations to sort it out. But that’s no excuse to put your head in the sand."

Does one risk all that mess?

It's a question each person can only ask of themselves. I ask it in my context, again and again. And I'll admit I don't always answer "yes". I suppose, really, in this letter, I'm asking if you ask it of yourself in your context. And if you don't, I'm asking you to consider asking it.

It might mean that while you continue to do your best to give us competent, confident, authentic (and sexy-as-hell) Auggie, you acknowledge that the very fact that you are the actor playing that role is a sign that “something is rotten in the state of Denmark”.
It might mean acknowledging that the way things are is far from where they should be; that although there has been progress (and you have contributed to that progress) it is not yet sufficient to justify any form of self-congratulation.

It might mean owning the discrimination that does exist, calling it what it is, supporting those advocating for change and those inspiring implementation of change at all levels - from the grass roots upwards.
It might mean being uncomfortable.

It might mean wearing both T-shirts (figuratively) in your own back yard.

Or it might not.

Ideally I would have liked to converse about these things with you, preferably over a cup of coffee. Writing a letter seems cowardly in a way. (As, by the way, does publishing it on a blog, albeit highly obscure, where other people can read it without you having had an opportunity to respond if you so wished. Unfortunately I couldn't think of any way to avoid that).
I must admit I thought long and hard about whether to even write it at all.
And maybe if you hadn't been cast in Yellow Face I wouldn't have.
But that play is all about exploring the complexities surrounding discriminatio: it's about examining the blurry edges, it's about figuring out when and how to respond in the places in which one finds oneself.
It's about asking questions (of yourself and others) and asking others to ask questions.
And that's why I stuck my neck out and wrote it: because I haven't seen anyone else ask you these questions, or ask you to ask these questions (of yourself and others), or ask you to ask others to ask these questions.

Yours,

with admiration, affection and hope that this is read in the spirit in which it was written

Ash T.

Poem Written on Mother's Day

David

They told me on a Friday
You were dead
And Daddy was away
And didn't know to come right away
And my friend gave me lilies
Because what was there to say?

For a week I carried you
Still, heavy, silent
A breathing tomb

I birthed you on Good Friday morning
Held you in the hollow of my hand
Tiny, formed, delicate, alabaster

They told me we could bury you
So Tuesday we did
Paper shroud, cardboard coffin
Mommy's letter in a bottle

My baby
Who lived in my hope
But died in my body
Who lived in my heart
But never in my arms

I planted a lilac to remember you by
I had to leave you and the letter and the lilac behind

On Fragility and Anonymity

Last night, watching my husband stand up to put a DVD into the player, I had one of those odd moments where I feel somehow detached from the immediate present and float out into some sort of external view of things. So at the same time as seeing the vitality of him, his beautiful physique, his obvious strength, I was struck by his terrible fragility - at how easily even a strong, healthy body like his can so easily be broken or break down. How very precarious life is.

And I was once again aware of how tiny, in the greater scheme of things, a single human life is. Here is this person, precious beyond belief to me, and significant in his way to us, his family and friends, to those he works with and to those who seek his advice. But we too, are small unknowns, and once he's gone, his memory is unlikely to last much beyond a name and maybe a few small anecdotes after a few generations.

It seems more than a little sad.

I understand the almost frenzied efforts of many for just a little fame. It does seem hard to live with the idea of a life hard-lived, with so much effort and care and struggle and achievement, vanishing from consciousness so quickly.

But as I think back to the tiny percentage of humans whose names are attached to achievements great enough to keep them in human consciousness for some time I see how the their significance is built on the unseen lives and actions of so many, many others. Shakespeare would not be known today if there were no-one then who loved his work enough to perform it and watch it, and if there were no-one in our age to love his work enough to continue to read it, publish it and perform it, or even just to talk about him. Even underneath that one has to see the role of his parents, even if just biologically, friends who supported him, the builders who built the homes where he lived and the theatres where his plays were performed. The list is endless. Some of those were significant enough in his life that without their contribution Shakespeare would have drifted into anonymity, as most of us do.

And so the whole of humanity takes on the form of a live organism with all the cells and organs working together. Occasionally their combined actions, historical and contemporary, reach some kind of critical mass that produces someone who benefits enough to produce something that launches them into either fame or notoriety.

There is potentially no insignificance in the lives of any of us. Insignificance is not the same as anonymity. And there is a enough of a difference between the two to make it worth the struggle to live a life well.

Dusty, Wicked Witches and Doxa

Doxa: "Glory":

 (doxa from dokeo = to think) in simple terms means to give a proper opinion or estimate of something and thus the glory of God expresses all that He is in His Being and in His nature, character, power and acts. He is glorified when He is allowed to be seen as He really is. To be where God is will be glory. To be what God intended will be glory. To do what God purposed will be glory.

Charles Ryrie says that the glory of God...

is the manifestation of any or all of His attributes. In other words, it is the displaying of God to the world. Thus, things which glorify God are things which show the characteristics of His being to the world."

 from http://www.preceptaustin.org/romans_818-39.htm

Last Sunday our conversation at church evolved into a discussion on God's glory. We discussed how so often we make our faith about us: God's plans for us, God's promises to us, our purpose in the kingdom. Our friend who initiated the conversational drift read this scripture to us: Jeremiah 9:23 and 24:

"23  Thus says the Lord: Let not the wise andskillful person glory and boast in his wisdom and skill; let not the mighty and powerful person glory and boast in his strength andpower; let not the person who is rich [in physical gratification and earthly wealth] glory and boast in his [temporal satisfactions and earthly] riches;24  But let him who glories glory in this: that he understands and knows Me [personally and practically, directly discerning and recognizing My character], that I am the Lord, Who practices loving-kindness, judgment, and righteousness in the earth, for in these things I delight, says the Lord." (Amp version)

It was a mind-set change in a way, but I realised this weekend how it cuts both ways. As I had begun to understand it last weekend it had been about not taking God's glory for ourselves, but rather about being willing to be channels for or reflections of God's glory; about trusting Him to do things the way they are designed to be done; about not rushing the process because of our own needs for significance, recognition or desire for fulfilment of purpose.

The other side of the story is this: when we see ourselves as too important in the equation, as makers of glory, rather than reflectors or channels, our failures and mistakes become almost paralysing. We become people of fear and shame, risk-avoidant and secretive of error. God on the other hand seems to be quite comfortable with our failings. Psalm 103 is just such a beautiful expression of his attitude towards us. Verse 14 in particular speaks to me so often when I am in a place of deep shame about my inner attitudes or outer actions - "...He remembers that we are dust". Wonderful.

This week I have been struggling a little with my attitude towards the kids when they are not quite getting things right. My inner wicked witch has emerged more than once, leaving me very diasppointed in myself. How will my kids ever find the relationship with God that has so enriched my life when I (who they know relates to Him) am such a poor image of who I tell them He is? God, it appears has not as many worries about that as me. He chooses to use fallen, faulty, dusty humanity to reflect Himself to the earth. I can't begin to understand His thinking, to be honest, but I begin to realise how great God must be, if even the small flashes of glory we manage to reflect in our broken state are enough to make a difference, to bring about the alleviation of the groaning and pain and travail of the earth. (see Romans 8)

Self, Emotion and Products

Today has been a difficult day - a wrestling with inner demons day. I suspect we all have them. We just don't often talk about them.
Things have been going well since my psychiatrist visit. I have been maintaining a pretty good sleep schedule and have a bit of a morning routine going (wake up; make tea and go out into the garden with it, my meds and an apple/orange; check up on the seedlings/ new plants and do a bit of watering if necessary; then come in and begin with the chores of the day). It has meant that I start each day with a bit of peace, which has been very good for me.
Today it didn't take too long for the peace to depart and it was something fairly simple that did it. After dropping Seth at school I called past the P.O. Boxes to collect my post. One of the items was a marked assignment from one of the courses for which I am about to write exams. I was gutted to find I had only been awarded a 50% mark. I was surprised too - at my worst I am a 70%er, and usually an "A" student. I haven't received a mark this low for anything since my earlier Veterinary Science days, and even then, I'm not sure I ever did. I tried to be stoic about it, but the inner seething soon began, and I found myself unable to resist a "post-mortem" of the assignment.
Then the seething really began, because I could not find out where I had gone wrong. It seems as if there are two possibilities. 1) whoever marked my assignment did a pretty shoddy job -  there are one or two indicators that there may be an element of this. 2) I have missed something really big, and am thus not as good a student as I thought - particularly because I don't understand how I could have done things very much differently.
Neither of these options makes me feel comfortable. The second option leaves me in doubt of my intellectual capabilities - something that I feel I can rely on in myself - an aspect of me that has always given me validity. The first places me in a position which is one I possibly dread even more than being seen to be stupid - being in a place of conflict.
All day I have battled with what seems like an over-exaggerated degree of anxiety and discomfort. I feel, if I'm honest, that I have been a victim of injustice. (I have stored that feeling in my "empathy" memory bank). At the same time there has been this worry that I may be powerless in the situation (another unpleasant sensation for that memory bank). I am not sure if the University will remark the assignment. If they don't I will just have to bite the bullet and go into my exam with a pretty pathetic year mark (this assignment counts 30% towards my final course result) - and so I have the concern that I'll have a pretty bad looking mark at the end of all this work, even if I do well in the exam. Then there's the worry about whether I will do well or not. If I could produce SUCH a bad result when I thought I understood the work, do I really uderstand the work?
But underneath these superficial emotions lies something deeper. I realise I'm taking this very personally. For me, this marker hasn't just given my work a low mark, he's given me a low mark. I feel despised. I feel rejected. I cannot seem to accept that this man didn't like my work. To me it feels as though he didn't like me. I still don't know why he rejected my work, but what I do know is that he has never met me, and so his rejection cannot possibly be of me. Even if there are some underlying issues on his side that have caused him to be harsh on my efforts due to my demographic, name, home language (or whatever), the fact remains that he does not know me, and so cannot have rejected me. But still I feel so very personally hurt.
I am reminded of something that stood out to me when reading Hettie Britz's book on children's temperament types (Growing kids With Character). In the chapter where she describes the "Lollipop Trees" (melancholic temperament type) she makes a statement that goes something like "I am my emotions and I am  my product". I remember relating so strongly to that. If you dismiss my emotions or reject my products, you're as good as rejecting me.
It may be temperamentally in my wiring, but as I see it written here, I can see how blatant a lie it is.
I am NOT my product. The idea that I am gives me no room to make mistakes, and because of this leaves me fearful of any form of risk or new venture. I am afraid to try, because failure is tantamount to destruction of myself. In the same way I am NOT my emotions. There are ways I respond that may make others uncomfortable (for various reasons). If that happens that does not invalidate me. I remain myself, even if my emotions are unrecognised, or invalidated.
There is in me a tremendously deep insecurity. I have a deep need to be liked by others, and as a result have a very thin skin. In conversation with an acquaintance last weekend (who happens to be something of an expert on the 36 Strengthsfinder Strengths) I had that point driven home again. He had been observing me interacting - we were at a childrens' party, and said to me that he felt that "Harmony" was a driving strength in my life. What he meant by that is that my need to maintain harmony, to not rock the boat, to have others like me, coloured the majority of my decisions. Harmony can be a great strength - it's wonderful when it comes to getting people to work well together and to get on (something I do well - I'm like oil in an engine). But it has this flip-side, and couple that with what my psychiatrist calls a "rejection-complex" you have a pretty "stuck" human being.
A line in my Social Work notes jumped out at me, as I reviewed them today. In a section on self-observation, when discussing aspects of oneself that one might encounter and find painful, this is listed as one of the aspects: "You may...learn that...you have unmet childhood needs for acceptance and approval that lead you to avoid confrontation or withdraw from conflict". As I read this I could feel the pure recognition stirring. That was me - completely.
And yet that is NOT me. I have a future that involves making mistakes and learning from them and doing what I need to do whether or not others like it. I HAVE to move forward. I HAVE to have the courage to step out into the "Yeses" I have said.
I may need to seek help about this, but however I achieve it I need to get to the place where I KNOW myself as God knows me, apart from my emotions, and apart form my products.

Names

"What's in a name?", Shakespeare asks, in Romeo and Juliet, as well he might within the context of that play. God, it seems, as one reads through the Bible, would answer "Everything". He places tremendous stock in names: He instructs parents what to name their children; He re-names some; He Himself carries many names - each reflecting an aspect of Himself, and of course He identifies Himself by the name "I am".
Names have meanings, connotations. They are an almost sacred part of our humanity. It is seen as one of the ultimate signs of abandonment, of cruelty, for a child to remain unnamed by its parent(s) - a sure sign of rejection.
In the Bible, when God met with someone - in those meetings that would alter the courses of lives - He often re-named the person with whom He met. It was one of the covenantal symbols (one which we still carry into marriage today for the most part). A change in name symbolised a change in identity, and thus a change in direction.
In 2008, when God and I reconnected in a more meaningful and deep way, God gave me a new name: "Mama". I was pretty unimpressed. I was going through (yet another) identity crisis at the time - questioning the significance, and global usefulness, of my seemingly hidden stay-at-home-mom life. The name therefore was pretty much exactly what I didn't want to hear.
And yet deep down I had to acknowledge it. It felt true.
My friends will describe me as an "earth mother". I'm not quite sure what they mean by that, but I do know that I "get" kids. I know how to talk to them, to get down with them. They invariably trust me, like me, and at the same time respect me. I don't know how I do it - it just happens.
And yet it's an aspect of me that I continually avoid. Somewhere inside me there's this great fear that surrounds the idea of spending a lot of time with kids. I suspect I fear exhaustion more than anything. Being with them can energise me so much when all goes well, but there are times when it does the opposite - drains me.
Or does it? I'm beginning to wonder if it's having kids around me, but not being engaged with them that's draining.
This is something I'm noticing with my own kids: when I'm trying to find my own space, do my own thing, having them milling around can be completely exhausting. I dread having crowds of them buzzing around the house, especially if I'm rattling around with not much purpose. But put me in the mix, let me be actively part of what they are doing, engaging with them, and it goes the other way - I come alive, and feel alive for hours afterwards.
What I don't understand is why I find it so hard to step into that engagement. Today I got down all afternoon with my kids. We played Twister together, cooked supper as a team while dancing in the kitchen to music selected by each member in turn, played a quiz game during supper, and then cosied up on the sofa to read together and then watch TV. It was magic. It was like the family life I dreamt of even before I had kids.
So why don't I do it more often? It's not that hard. It certainly wasn't today.
Maybe the bipolar has something to do with it. For so long I have been unwittingly protecting myself from anything that might lead to exhaustion, for fear of the consequences. Ironically though, avoiding the kids, instead of engaging with them, is actually more draining.
I know that the name "Mama" has wider implications than merely within my own family. I know I have a Mama role to play within the wider family of God, and I think I possibly (maybe even probably) may fulfil the role with other people's kids in school settings. These are stories yet to be lived.
I do know that God confirmed this name to me again when He told me to say "Yes to Kids" in August 2010 (sparked, incidentally, by an aching sense of longing when watching scenes of kids in a classroom setting in Rob Bell's "Shells" Nooma).
And I know that the first kids I need to say "Yes" to are my own.

Frog in Hot Water

I grew up hearing the frog in hot water illustration. You know, the one in which two frogs are put into pots of water. The first is put into hot water, and naturally leaps straight out. The second is put into cool water which is then heated slowly, and does not leap out at all (in the versions I've been told, said frog eventually boils to death, but in the interests of prevention of cruelty to animals my second frog merely leaves his hot water much later - and at a higher temperature - than my first frog). The story is told to illustrate how, when a negative situation develops slowly, we are likely to pay far less attention to it (and to tolerate far more of it) than we would if we were dumped directly into it.
It's been a bit like that for me. Certain patterns in my moods have been so slow to make themselves clear and have developed so insidiously that it has taken these 9 yeses (and a bad patch of exhaustion/depression) to alert me to patterns which (I have subsequently found out) many around me have been aware of for quite a while.
I'm used to being happy, it's my natural state. I'm also used to patches of depression. I've had five major depressive episodes of long duration - one soon after we were married, and then post-natal depression after each baby. Perhaps that's why these two to three-week lows every now and then haven't really registered. Especially since the main symptom is fatigue rather than sadness. Yes, I'm irritable and sometimes even a bit over-sensitive and tearful, but surely everyone feels that way from time to time. I have super-energetic periods when I feel invincible and on top of the world, but I've never been crazy or out of control.
The problem, though, is that I never know how I'm going to be. In the up periods I feel I can do anything (and I DO get an immense amount accomplished). The problem is that when I hit a down patch I am all but incapacitated. It's a struggle to just get through the basics - get the kids to where they need to go, do the shopping, maintain some sort of order in the house. Even packing the dishwasher can leave me wanting to lie down.
Up until now I've just rolled with the punches. My way of coping was to get as much rest as was possibly feasible during the flats and catch up, packing in as much as I could, during the highs. Because I'm a stay-at-home Mom that has been possible to a great extent, and so I suppose I'd never badly needed to take a proper look in the mirror, so to speak.
Until God asked me to say 9 yeses. I was in a good space when I said those yeses, and so to say them was easy. But then the next slump hit me and it dawned on me: I have debilitating moods swings. They are not merely a function of my personality type. They are severe enough that I actually could probably not hold down a regular 9 to 5 job any more. I realised that I needed help.Without it I was not going to be able to say yes with all the implications that those yeses carried.
And so Friday I went to see a psychiatrist, who confirmed the diagnosis my research had suggested: cyclothymia (a bipolar mood disorder). In talking to her it become evident that my mood swings are actually very strongly linked to natural rhythms - seasonal (I often joke that I "hibernate" in winter), monthly (my husband will have no hesitation confirming PMS) and daily - sleep deprivation is a strong trigger for depressive patches. And so I am now on a mood stabiliser called Lamitrogine, and will be getting some help with respect to setting up rhythms and routines to help avoid instability triggers.
I am feeling very hopeful that some of what is inside of me may now have a chance to come out, and be useful to the world.
All a rather unexpected fall-out of those yeses.

Solitude II

I have transposed the post below from my other blog, where I published it on the 10th of August (a mere 6 weeks ago, but in some aspects almost a lifetime ago. The period of solitude I alluded to in this post triggered (amongst other things) a cascade of positional shifts that led to the beginning of this blog. As I write today I face another two weeks of solitude as Adi flies to Brazil for a week, and then Cape Town. At the same time I stand on the edge of more life-changes. Once again I wonder whether the timing is merely co-incidental or if God is needing me alone for a little while to do some more of his work on me.

Published on 10 August 2011:

Solitude

(Alternative Title: Sometimes You Don't Recognise It Until It Jumps Up And Bites You On The Backside)

We have a close friend who every now and then takes a Sunday off and vanishes to a lonely quiet place to seek solitude, regroup, think about things that are on his mind.

I have had such a problem with that. My problem's called envy!
Although I am an extrovert, and am energised by interactions with people for the most part, there are definitely times when I find myself absolutely CRAVING time out from others and time to be alone. I find this often happens when God is pushing something up from deep down in the murky depths inside me - when things are stirring but I haven't actually been able to put enough of a finger on the activity to be able to label or define what's going on. I feel a restlessness building up, and with it this urgency to make some time for myself so I can get with God, or with my heart, or whatever I need to do, and process everything in peace. (Adrian knows it's happening because I start to get tetchy and irritable and give him a bit of the cold shoulder - poor long-suffering man.)
This has been happening over the last three weeks again. God pulled up and rekindled and old (but VERY significant) dream of mine - pulled it up further than it's ever been before (to the point that I actually voiced it for the first time to a few people other than my husband). The problem was once it was up and out there and all nicely exposed I didn't know what to do with it. I went through a horrendous couple of weeks (the closest I've been to slipping into depression for a long while) wrestling with this whole issue: Was it time to pursue the dream? Should I push it? Why was God raising it all up again in me? Should I do something? Why was I getting no direction from God on the matter at all? I began discussing my dilemmas with a few people including Adi and some of the peeps from church. Separately, without any mutual discussion, Adi and another person both came to me and said that they felt that God wanted me to lay the dream down. Well, that was the last straw - here God had bubbled it all up, and now I just had to squish it all down again. It was all very Abraham and Isaac and I was somewhat devastated, pretty confused, and completely surrounded by kids, business and stuff to do - the domestic zoo in all it's glory. I could feel myself spiralling down andwith all the stressing came that intense craving for solitude - some time to get alone with God, to do the Jesus-thing and go spend time on the mountain in prayer.
Ha, ha, ha - couldn't see it happening in my world!
ANY homeschooling/unschooling Mom of 4 will tell you that alone-time just ain't an option. There are so many wonderful aspects of the path I've chosen - closeness with my kids, strength of relationships within the family - but they come at the price of privacy. I am almost never alone. There are always kids here: mine, other people's, and where I go they go too (when they're under four that even includes the bathroom). There are times when they'll all be occupied doing various things, and I'll get some time to myself - but they tend to be unpredictable, and generally just as I'm getting into some or the other lovely groove there'll be a sibling spat I'm required to umpire or a "mortal" wound needing kissing, or a show or demonstration or exhibition which I must attend immediately. Sometimes I feel quite overwhelmingly desperate!
I was having a moan to God about it a few days ago. Not only was all this happening, to top it all, I could see no chance for me to even leave the kids with Adi for a day so I could go off somewhere because he was going to be away...
And plop, suddenly into my spirit dropped the answer. Adi is going to be away. There's the space I need.
My problem is: I love my husband. He's gorgeous and fascinating and does such interesting things every day that we LOVE to talk about. So while I've been thinking that the kids are my great barrier to solitude, if I'm honest, (because I'm a night owl, it's in the evenings that my best processing is done) it's Adi who fills that time. And so God graciously arranges these trips so that he's away for a week or so at just the time I need my processing space. If I look back over the last year or so, where there were major trips he took those times were times of significant  break-through for me.
How could I not have seen what was staring me right in the face?
It just didn't look like what I was looking for, even though it was exactly what I was looking for.
I wonder how many other things I miss because I think I know what they look like?

Linking Obedience and Rest

On Tuesday mornings a small group of us meet over coffee to discuss (ostensibly) biblical doctrine. We comprise the main pastoral couple from our church (Clemens and Chrissie), our church administrator (Lynn-lee), another one of the young leaders from church (Kulani) and me. An interesting little group we are, but such life and wisdom springs from our discussions. We have not yet managed to stay on planned topic (we are currently SUPPOSED to be working again through Sam Soleyn's series onessential doctrines), instead somehow we end up zooming off along the most delightful and meaningful tangents. And every time I am challenged and pushed just a little closer to God.

This week instead of discussing what we were supposed to be discussing (and to be honest we are now so far off track, I'm not exactly sure what that should have been - laying on of hands, possibly?) we ended up talking about a connection I had not made before: the link between rest and obedience.

Rest has once again been a key theme coming through strongly since God started to move in our hearts late in 2008. And it keeps coming back as if the Lord is unveiling more and more of what it is, what it means and where it is to be found - something like the layers coming off a package in a game of pass-the-parcel.

-We who believe can enter in a place called "His rest" (Hebrews 4)

-The balance has shifted towards rest from striving

-Rest stems from sonship. Orphans need to work for their provision and protection; sons are always with the Father and everything He has is theirs (Luke 15:31)

-Rest and trust are inextricably linked - we rest because we trust that God is good

-Rest is not lack of activity, but rather it is directed activity, free from stress, worry and anxiety.

What Clemens brought into the equation this time was something that had jumped out at him while he was preaching on Hebrews 4 at the City Centre meeting on Sunday. As he read Chapter 4 from verse 1 to us it hit me too. Rest is lost through disobedience. This is not in the context, though of some slavish relationship where if we disobey God punishes with unrest. Rather it is His word to us that leads us into rest. He leads us beside still waters and restores our soul (Psalm 23). He makes known to us the path of life (Psalm 16:11 - Psalm 16 interestingly is what Kulani had had on his heart all week as well). And so it is out of who He is, His goodness, that He speaks, knowing that if we choose to do what he says we will find rest. And so obedience leads to rest - very simple actually.

And yet over the last three weeks I have struggled like I haven't for a very long time to find any kind of rest. Physically I have been spent - needing ten hours of sleep per day, naps in the afternoons and still feeling too tired to do much more than the bare minimum required to maintain the house and care for the kiddies. Emotionally I have slipped closer to depression than I have been in a long while, and spiritually there has been a tiredness and lack of energy - a loss of some of the usual spark.

As we sat around the table, three small, but specific things that I felt God has suggested I do daily popped into my head: things I had acknowledged as coming from Him, but things that I have for various reasons (apathy, lack of taking them seriously, finding "better" things to do) neglected to do. They are: 1) Read scripture to my children daily; 2) Read aloud (literature) to the children daily - as part of their learning, and  3)Blog daily.

And so I'm going to do this little rest experiment. I'm going to take God at his word and fight for those 3 three things to become part of my daily "furniture". And I'm going to document the process and any perceived results.