Everyone Except Me

I once heard an ARP facilitator state that addicts commonly suffer from "terminal uniqueness." I think it's an AA-coined term, and it's interesting to me, because I know I've certainly suffered from many overdoses of uniqueness. Some of the concepts that I actually believe in moments of excessive uniqueness are, "I deserve this because . . . " "My situation is different because . . ." "I'm excused because . . ." "My bad choice in this scenario was made out of circumstantial duress, and no one else could ever really get it. Anyone in this situation would have made this choice."

Just as damaging as the "I'm excused because I'm special" beliefs, are the "everyone except for me" beliefs.

When I was in Young Women, several Young Women leaders would say things like, "I love each and every one of you." Immediately, I would think and believe, "everyone except me." How could she love me? She doesn't even know me. I'm not as cool as the other girls. She's not talking about me when she says that, but for sure, everyone else. I would neatly and abruptly excuse myself from all positive group statements. "Everyone is welcome to my pool party," meant, clearly, "everyone except Stephanie." "You have all taught me something," meant, "Everyone here except Stephanie has taught me something." "You're all beautiful," except Stephanie. "You're all talented." except Stephanie. "You have something to offer this world," except, clearly, Stephanie. This didn't just happen in YW, of course, but everywhere a general statement was made. Seminary. Sacrament Meeting. Family Home Evening. The scriptures. General Conference. Everyone except me.

I even believed that Jesus atoned for everyone except me. My sins were too bad. He didn't mean me, ever. I even figured that when He was suffering in the Garden, He just didn't complete it for me because it wasn't worth it.

How arrogant!! If I'd only known how arrogant I was! How absurd and unkind!

But then one day, we had a substitute seminary teacher. Her name was Sister Woolstenhulme, and I really liked her. She was lively and hilarious, and seemed to really understand teenage angst. Well, on this day, she was reaching me on a personal level.

"Do you ever feel like no one gets it?" she asked.
Well, yeah.
"I mean, no one could really understand you."
yeah.
"No one has it as bad as you."
I KNOW!
"No one besides you has ever experienced the hardships you have."
Seriously. It's so sad.
"Nobody gets it, right? Everybody else has this great life and they have no idea you're even there."
Sing it, sister.
"Do you ever feel totally ignored?"
yep.
"Do you ever feel abandoned?"
Yes.
"Aren't you just . . . so . . . totally alone? Everyone else around you has these great gifts, everyone else around you is smothered in love, but not you? Or that Jesus couldn't have suffered for you because your sins were too terrible?"
OH MY GOSH, YES! (I was near tears, now.)
"Well, listen carefully."
I was.
"STOP IT."
Wait. What?
"Who do you think you are? You're not that special."

She talked on, but all I heard was, "You're not that special," over and over in my mind. I became fully aware in that moment that by excluding myself, I was actually making myself more special than everyone else. I was the special one, if no-one-but-me was true. I was, in essence, putting myself above all the other people under the pretense that I was putting myself beneath them. I was setting myself apart in a way that no one had given me permission to do. I was making myself the uniquest one of all. Who did I think I was? I wasn't that special!

From that day, I started trying to accept that Jesus' sacrifice was for me, too. Honestly, I still struggle with accepting blanket statements of love, but now that I'm older, it's easier. I love each of my primary kids, I truly do. Even if I don't know them well, I love them so much. So I try to accept group compliments as self compliments, now.

This is not to say I do not suffer from terminal uniqueness, because I do. Sometimes, I feel like my addiction makes me special. I feel like being an addict means I have certain entitlements (please). I sometimes feel like I was just the special kind of person to need a sexual addiction in order to learn to love and depend on the Savior (please, like I'm so dang pure and good and righteous without it that I needed something extra sinful in order to qualify me for the Atonement). I sometimes feel like I get a pass on normal obligations because, darn it, addiction recovery is hard. I sometimes feel like I'm the sickest of the sick (read: the uniquest of the sick), the most challenged recoverer yet. Every addict except for me has an easier time recovering. (gag.)

Even though I still take upon myself extra privileges and excuses just because I'm a addict, I have learned and am learning that I am covered by the grace of our Savior; that He suffered for all and for me; that He loves all and me with a perfect, infinite, powerful love, because I'm not so special that He would come for the entire world, except Stephanie. No, I'm just exactly special enough. I'm His. I have been redeemed. Me. You. Everyone including Stephanie. Oh, how He loves me.

Aimless

I'm trying so hard not to care so much about what others think of me. YES, I FAIL! I fail, okay? Dear everyone in all the world everywhere, I FAIL! I have weaknesses and addictions and failures every day of my life. I've had weaknesses and addictions and failures my whole life. And I will continue to have them.

It's weird how every slip shocks me. I mean, I've had this pornography/masturbation addiction for so many years- why is it a surprise? I always think, how did that happen? I can't believe that happened. It feels like each slip blindsides me and I don't know where it came from. It's especially shocking on the days I have worked so hard spiritually. Like the days I had a wonderful experience at church or the temple, or when I've tried so hard to make a spiritual plan and have done visiting teaching and made an extra effort in my scripture study and made an extra effort in family and personal prayers. It's a bigger shock when I slip those days. But it shouldn't be. I can't perform myself out of addiction anymore than I can earn myself a place in God's kingdom. I can do all the right things for days and weeks and months, and still, if I'm hanging on to control of my life, I will fail. I will fall. I will slip.

I'm slipping pretty steadily every 4-6 weeks these days. I'm trying to rationalize: at least it's not every few days like it used to be. At least it's not every 2 weeks like it was for a really long time. I'm also trying to beat myself up: It's been so long. I have been fighting this so long- what is the matter with me? I've been attending ARP meetings for over three years, keeping this blog for longer, confessing to bishops for 17 years, been trying to "quit" for 19 years. Most my life. It's overwhelming.

How is it possible I don't get it yet? How is it possible this addiction is so much stronger than I am?

That's just it. I'm still trying to be the one to save me. I'm still trying to quit. I'm still trying to write my own story, to decide my own future, to lead my own life. I'm still trying to best addiction, but addiction IS stronger than the natural man/woman, and I am no better than anyone and I am not strong enough to conquer. I keep trying to be. I want to be. I want to do this alone.

But, if I let Jesus write my story, it will be a far more beautiful, glorious story than what I could ever write on my own. He offers to take the pen daily, and I selfishly grip it daily, as if to surrender it would be to surrender my freedom, when in reality it would give me so much more.

I'm so afraid to expose myself as a fraud. I do own my weaknesses but I own them in a very calculated way, so that even as I own them, I can appear "good." I own my weaknesses really so that no one else can hurt me with them. And I don't own them all. Sometimes my therapist calls me out on weaknesses that I haven't had a chance to own yet, and that makes me so . . . scared. It feels like exposure and I am terrified of exposure when I'm not the one to expose myself.

I sometimes pride myself about being "real," but there's nothing real about me. I'm terrified of being found out. I'm open to sharing only that which I am open to sharing- which is maybe a lot, but even in my sharing, I'm careful to not expose the most flawed parts of me. Because I would just die if someone were to see me as a regular human being.

The thing is, I am not simply weak. My weaknesses aren't all simply weaknesses. Many of them are rebellions. Many are straight up sins. Many are really horrible characteristics. Like, how manipulative I can be (I shudder as I write that). Or how I play the victim to get something my way. Ugh. Gross. Or how I would rather scroll through Facebook than pay attention to my angel kids. Or how I have evil wishes for people who hate me.

I am not as good as I portray myself to be. I am far more human than I want to admit. Step 1. Admit that you, of yourself, are powerless to overcome your addiction and that your life has become unmanageable. No. I will not admit that I am powerless. I will not admit that I can't do this. I am too afraid to admit that it's beyond my control, beyond my capacity to overcome, beyond my power. I must be the one to conquer!

Clearly, I cannot be. I have done step 1 a few times, to varying levels. But all the steps are onions. You do them to the best of your ability, and you peel off a layer. And then your ability changes, and you realize you need to do the step again, and another layer is discarded. I think I'm down like 3 layers of Step 1. The onion still looks like an onion.

I can't do it. I mean, I really can't do it. Jesus can. Will I let Him?

Today I will.

The Disease of Perfectionism and the Little Girl Who Showed Me Truth

All week long I fail and fail and fail. Every day, I look around and find something to hate myself about. A messy room. Unfolded laundry. Long grass outside. Fighting kids. 

It's my job to fix the world- at least my world- and I fail at that every day. It's my job to make my family and our lives perfect. Only, it isn't my job, but I have a hard time understanding that.

Perfectionism rules me, like a merciless dictator. Do it right, or not at all. Oh, look, you did it wrong- why'd you try? You do everything wrong. You should just do nothing. But you do nothing wrong, too. If it's not right, it's useless/worthless/futile/wasted.

Daily, I fight this. Well, sometimes I don't fight it because it's too hard to fight. Sometimes I give in. Sometimes I just don't try because to try is to fail. The struggle is real! Sometimes, I get tired of trying to convince myself of the truth that doing something wrong doesn't make me a failure; it makes me a human. All week long, I try to remember grace, but end up defaulting to guilt. Guilt, you see, is a primary symptom of perfectionism. Also, anger, defeatism, insecurity, anxiety, procrastination, exhaustion, self-loathing, and fear. That's me.

So, Sunday comes around and it most certainly holds more guilt and failure. I didn't prepare enough for Primary. I didn't go to bed on time. The children will never learn the songs because I didn't prepare or go to bed on time. And even when I do spend hours preparing, it's never enough- never right.

Tangent: This reminds me of a time when I was trying desperately to save my marriage. My bishop told me if I was a better housekeeper, my husband would want to spend more time at home, and he would be inspired to be a better husband. I now think that was a ridiculous thing of him to say (even bishops make mistakes), but I followed his counsel and made sure to have the house clean when he came home from work, and dinner waiting on the table. This was no small feat with a part time job myself, two babies under 2, and the depression that results from living with an emotionally abusive controller. But, it was never enough for my husband. The dinner wasn't cooked just right. He didn't have the right flippin' fork. I remember one day he came home, and I had worked so so hard, and the living room and kitchen were sparkly clean and dinner was ready, and I was so excited to see his reaction. Surely, he'd be pleased at the condition of the house upon his return. But he marched inside, inspected the living room and kitchen, simply nodded, then went down the hall into the laundry room and hollered that the laundry wasn't done. But what about what I had done all day? I was so sad. I could never be good enough for him; I could never do enough for him.
That was absurd of him, but I do the same exact thing to myself. I can never be enough for myself, because no matter how hard I work or how much I do, I only see what I didn't do. I've got to change this. 

So, anyway, today wasn't any different from any other Sunday. I woke up with the guilt I default to. I stayed up too late, what's the matter with me? I didn't prepare enough for primary, what's the matter with me? I'm a terrible person because I'm late to church. I'm a terrible person because my living room is a mess. I'm a terrible person because I'm eating breakfast ten minutes before church starts.

I went to church in the spirit of fear, dread, and hopelessness, and beating myself up because how could I learn anything in such an emotional state?

Well, the thing is, God is more powerful than I am. The Spirit can penetrate the hardest of hearts. I'm not saying my heart was the hardest of hearts, but I wasn't necessarily open for learning. However,  I was there. And I was honest about being there. I attended because it's a commandment and because I want to obey the commandments, and because I have my wonderful calling to fulfill, and because, despite my hard heart, I really did want to feel the love of God. And feel it, I did. I felt it during our wonderful Sacrament Meeting. I felt it during the Sacrament itself. I felt honored to have been worthy to partake of the sacred emblems. I felt the Spirit during the beautiful hymns of worship. By the time Sacrament Meeting was over, I was in a much more open, humble state. And I was excited for primary.

Regardless of how much failing I do in preparation for my calling, and regardless of how inadequate in it I feel always, I love it always. I'm always grateful for it. I have never enjoyed a calling more. I'm the Primary Music Leader, which means I get to work with my two favorite things: music and children. The sweet, sweet primary kids lift and inspire me weekly. I all too often go to church feeling down and anxious, and if I don't feel healed by Sacrament Meeting, seeing the children always does the trick. I have so much love for them, and I love being with them. I'm getting weepy right now just thinking of it. Oh, they are wonderful.

When it's time for Singing Time, I frequently have the kids read a scripture off of a picture I found in a Friend magazine. This one, in fact:

I try to remember to have it read at the beginning of each Singing Time, and then hanging it up on the board, so the kids will memorize it w/o knowing it, because it's such an important verse. But, I end up remembering about once a month. I remembered today. I asked for a volunteer to read it. Naturally, several hands shot up into the air. Rarely, I will feel compelled to call on a certain child for various tasks, and at this time, I felt compelled to call on a sweet little 8-year-old in the front row. Her name is Addie. This was Senior Primary, so the 7- and 8-year-olds are the youngest in the room. I usually choose an older child to read this verse because I don't want anyone to feel embarrassed if they can't read some of the words. Addie's mom is one of my dear friends, and so I knew that Addie struggled in school with reading. So, my instinct was to not choose her, because I felt she wouldn't know how to read all the words, and that that may embarrass her.

When I'm paying attention, the Spirit trumps instinct, and I called on Addie. I basically felt like I had to. She bounced out of her seat and eagerly skipped to the board where I'd hung the sign. With a smile and a soft voice, she read the verse. She struggled with more than half of the words. She needed help with several. As she read - slowly, struggling, smiling - my heart swelled with pride for her, and with admiration and amazement. (I'm getting weepy again.) She, undoubtedly, was aware of her own weakness, but she tried anyway. She needed help, but she tried anyway. And I wondered, Why? Why would this sweet girl volunteer to read something in front of people when she knew she would struggle? That goes against all my ridiculous rules. I can't do anything if I can't do it right, especially not when people are watching. How could anyone ever be so brave? Even when I was 8 years old, I never would do something in front of others that I didn't know I could execute flawlessly. And if I did make a mistake, even as a child, I would lament over it for days, and play the incident over and over in my mind, and let fear take over repeatedly. 

But Addie is wiser than I was; than I am. Addie, with that attitude, will learn so much. I hope Addie's courage will continue to trump her insecurities. I hope the next time I'm afraid of what others will think of me if I screw up, that I will remember Addie's courage. I can tell she has her mother's tenacity and determination, and I'm also so grateful to her mom, my friend, for teaching Addie by her wonderful example. 

Sometimes, when I'm compelled by the Spirit to call on a certain child, it's for the child. Today, while some of it may have been for Addie, it was for me. I think Heavenly Father wanted me to choose her so that I could see - actually see - that perfection is not the point. I feel like He wanted to show me that it really, truly is okay to struggle, and to not appear perfect. And that it's not so much about doing it right; it's about doing it. What a beautiful tender mercy!

Oh, sweet child. God bless you for your bravery. I will remember your example for many years to come.

I feel so honored and blessed to have a calling with these precious souls in little bodies.

It's Not About the Performance

I am a musician. Well, I guess that depends on how you define "musician," but I am a musician by my definition. :) And I participate in several music events a year, wherein I practice and then either play the piano in front of people, or sing in front of people. Some people would call this a performance, and sometimes it is.

As a director of a choir that sings at our local prisons for their LDS Christmas and Easter church services, I always tell my choir that it's less important that we "perform" than that we invite the Spirit. I tell them it's less about how we sound than it is about our testimonies. I don't want to discourage practice or effort, of course, but it's important to me that my choir not get hung up on performance and, essentially, perfection. I don't want them to feel bad if they miss a note, because the Choir's purpose is not about flawless execution.

It's about the journey. It's about authenticity. It's about connecting to our brothers and sisters in the prisons and bringing them messages of hope and love, not messages of musical flawlessness. It's about mutual growth; it's about baring our souls and sharing our faith. It's about service and sacrifice. (This is not to say we don't sing well. We are a quite talented group, if I do say so myself.) And, honestly, for being a total perfectionist myself, the Prison Choir (as we affectionately call it) is one thing that, for whatever reason, doesn't demand my perfection in my view. It's one of few (indeed, I can think of nothing else) of my endeavors for which I don't demand perfection in order to not be a failure. I am able to forgive myself for my mistakes during the practice season and for the mistakes I make at the prisons, because, somehow, God successfully gets it into my head, every year, that it's not about me. And, for reals, the dear offenders just don't care if we miss a note; they're genuinely grateful we're simply there.

Because... It's not about the performance.

I have seen addiction recovery as being totally recovered, like, not even having a desire to sin and use dangerous methods of coping. Like, recovery isn't recovery until recovery is complete. And that the journey from active addiction to constant sobriety is something that is a means to an end, and basically a sin in itself for as long as complete, eternal sobriety is not attained. So every slip is a huge setback and a huge disappointment, because it indicates that recovery has not been reached. And recovery seemed to be the ultimate and only worthy goal. Essentially, in my mind, total recovery was the performance; the perfect, flawless, rigid performance.

So yesterday was Thursday which means it was the night of my PASG meeting. I didn't want to go. I felt I had nothing to contribute, so why go? But I felt compelled to attend anyway, as I usually do, and I went, as I usually do. And it was seriously an amazing meeting for me. While I had little to contribute, I had much to learn, and learn I did. Many things. The Spirit was strongly whispering to my heart beautiful truths about me and my relationship to God.

And then, toward the end of the meeting, someone said, about addiction recovery, "if it takes a lifetime, that's okay." Sometimes when I hear stuff like that, I get discouraged. A lifetime? Will I be fighting this, slipping, hoping, failing, crying forever? I just can't handle the idea of fighting this till I die! But, yesterday, "if it takes a lifetime to recover, that's okay" sounded like comfort. It sounded like hope. It sounded like grace. It sounded like this quote by Elder Bruce R McConkie:

. . . everyone in the Church who is on the straight and narrow path, who is striving and struggling and desiring to do what is right, though is far from perfect in this life; if he passes out of this life while he’s on the straight and narrow, he’s going to go on to eternal reward in his Father’s kingdom. – “The Probationary Test of Mortality,” January 10, 1982

"It's okay if it takes a lifetime" sounded like "be kind to yourself. Be patient with yourself." Instantly, my choir came to my mind and how I focus more on the Spirit than on our performance. And it hit me- just like my choir isn't about the performance, neither likewise is addiction recovery about the performance.

You guys, It's not about the performance!
 It's about the process.

It's not about 100% success. It's not about completion. It's not about finishing addiction recovery because, honestly and truly, it may not ever be finished. Some people have depression their entire lives. Some people have diabetes their entire lives. Some people have Down's Syndrome their entire lives, or any given illness or disorder their whole dang lives, and sometimes, illness-- even psychological/emotional illness-- is lifelong, and that's okay, because it's not about the performance. Sometimes people have the disease of addiction their whole dang lives. It's about living life to the best of our abilities with what we have and what we know, to the fullest of our faith and hope. It's about learning the music as we go and sharing it, perfect or not, with those around us. It's about connection, faith, growth, and inviting the Spirit into our lives. Just like my choir, it's not about perfection; flawlessness. It's about finding joy and truth. It's about the process.

When my choir leaves the prisons, the inmates aren't going to hold in their hearts the memory of missed notes or forgotten lyrics. They will hold in their hearts the memory of our testimonies, of the Spirit invited by sweet, sacred music, of the messages of hope. They will hold in their hearts that we showed up, with something prepared, just for them.

And, also, not to compare God to an offender, but He also isn't as concerned about our execution as He is about the fact that we're here, that we prepare and try and work, that we allow the Spirit in our lives to guide us. If we slip or relapse- miss a note- well, that's just not as important as that we keep singing.

And if I don't "recover" tomorrow, it's okay. If I'm not "recovered" next year, it's still okay! Because . . . say it with me . . . it's not about the performance. 

I'm so inexplicably grateful for the Addiction Recovery Program. I'm profoundly, inexplicably grateful for my Savior and my Brother and my Friend, Jesus Christ, who patiently teaches me my worth, and stands ever before me with His arms open to scoop me in and keep me safe. Oh, how sweet is His grace. How sweet is His love.

The Grace Experiment: A Memoir (Day 1)

True to form, I woke this morning with my regular litany of accusations, all of which I would declare myself guilty. I stayed up too late, how could I? Well if I'd have done the dishes earlier, if I'd have spent less time on Facebook and done more good stuff, if I'd have done ______, then I'd have been worthy and probably would have been responsible to make it to bed on time. If, if, then, then.

But then I remembered grace. I remembered the experiment.

The word "grace" on its own is so powerful to me. I mean, the instant I hear it, or see it spelled out across my consciousness, I feel a calmness and a power. An exhale. Grace. It's a beautiful word. So, when I remembered grace, I felt calmer, and I shut up the guilt. I rejected the normal guilt of the morning and focused on readying for work.

I listened to a conference talk on the way to work and donned myself with an attitude of grace- of one who accepts the grace that is always, always there. And I had an amazing, happy day at work. I came home and did a few things and then headed off to my ARP meeting, and as I was driving, I remembered, with a 20-lb dumbbell of guilt and another 20-lb dumbbell of self-judgement, that I hadn't read the scriptures after work like I had planned to. So I hadn't read at all today. And those familiar voices, "seriously, Stephanie? How could you forget that?! Why are you always forgetting everything?" and just so much guilt over missing a simple duty and promise.

And then I remembered grace. And I smiled because grace makes me smile. And I hushed my frantic critiques and reminded myself the day's not over and that whether or not I read scriptures has no bearing on my worth. And I let it go.

And then I had a beautiful meeting where I actually tried to connect to the others in attendance which was awkward and bumbling but I had a wonderful time and it was a wonderful meeting. And I love those ladies, all of them.

So now I'm suuuuper tired and I'm going to bed with grace instead of guilt and maybe instead of all the worries I will think of all the blessings, and maybe I'll sleep better.

I hope tomorrow is as happy as today was.

The Grace Experiment: A Memoir (Embarking)

The other Sunday, I slipped. I spent the entire week, until last Monday, in a funk. It was a funk of self-loathing born of anger and frustration. How can I keep doing this when I know better? Why is this still a problem? I HATE THIS! I hate it! Why do I continue to indulge in something that I fully hate?

I was angry to the core and I covered my anger up with extreme guilt and self-loathing. And I was tired of fighting it. I didn't want to fight the negatives. I just wanted to wallow in them because, dang it all, I deserved that.

Anyway, I don't want to focus on that. Finally I pulled myself out of the sludge somewhere around yesterday. Today I had an appointment with my amaaaaaazing therapist, Soni, and gave her a bit of a rundown.

*******I interrupt this program to tell you the story of how I found my therapist. Last August, I made seriously horrible choices with a manfellow, and I therefore forfeited my temple recommend, which I'd only had for a few months after several years of not having it. I realized then that I was sicker than I had been admitting, because, I tell you what, I resisted almost nothing. I couldn't believe I was so weak especially after working so hard for so long. Anyway, I decided I needed counseling again. My last therapist had been the previous year, with LDS Family Services, and she was really great, but she said I was her healthiest client, and I didn't feel healthy at all, so I thought she thought I didn't need her. ALSO, she was all the way in Boise, and too expensive. So I prayed that I would find someone local, and someone who could really help me, and someone I could afford. At the time, I wasn't even employed! But I felt it was important, even so, to find a therapist. So do you know what I did? I Googled "Nampa counselors" and followed links till I found a website that had a long list of licensed therapists in Nampa.

Now, this was terrifying in a way. I was out there all by myself, referring myself, and I was terrified to find someone like David Ridley who would just ruin me further. I knew I would be looking for a woman for sure (because David Ridley poisoned me against male therapists- not that I believe all or even most male therapists are predators, but I figured my chances were better with a female, and that I could relate better anyway). And I read through the bios of several women therapists on the website. When I saw Soni's picture, I knew I needed to contact her. I hadn't even read her bio yet. I saw her picture and I felt that swoosh in the heart- you know what I'm talking about? I went to read her bio and hoped for some indication that she was LDS. She wasn't, but she was forthcoming about her Christianity, so we had that in common. And, she also didn't say anything about sexual addictions in her bio. I was slightly disheartened, but I emailed her right away, and she responded almost right away, and we set up an appointment, and I was humbled and impressed and inspired by her knowledge and her understanding and her compassion. And she is PERFECT. Well, perfect for me anyway. And isn't it awesome how God places people in our paths? She has certainly contributed to my healing, and continues to do so, and I feel so blessed to have been guided to her. ***********

Back to my post! So, I went to therapy today and told Soni what was up, and what was down, and she just guided the truth that I already knew to my consciousness. Grace. She talked a lot about grace. And you know what? I really feel like we LDS folk undermine grace. We say "faith without works is dead" like it's more important than "Come boldly to the throne of grace." There seems to be a cultural focus on works over grace. And we say the traditional Christians have it all wrong when they say all you have to do is accept Jesus into your heart as your Savior and you'll be saved.

But, here's the thing. If I truly and daily and completely accept Jesus as my Savior; if I accept His grace always, if I surrender my will to His, then I will be saved. I am saved. Every day. When we accept one thing, we, of a necessity, surrender another thing. If I accept that I am not 18 anymore, then I surrender the idea that I'm 18 still. You know? When I accepted that my marriage was over, I surrendered the idea that it would last forever. When I accept Jesus as my Savior, then I surrender myself. And when I surrender myself; my will, I will do whatever He wants me to do, and therefore, I will do good works, because I will do His works. We Mormons sometimes talk like works comes before grace, but I really think it's quite the opposite. Grace inspires good. Grace is what heals us and emboldens us, and enables us to do good. I was reading in Romans where Paul said, essentially, that belief is what inspires us to do good... but now I can't find the verse. I'll find it later. :)

Anyway. Grace abounds . . . always. And I'm going to work to stop rejecting it. Every day, I live in a place of guilt and fear. I make all my choices based on guilt or fear (or duty). I wake feeling instantly guilty for my upcoming failures and my last night's failures. I retire to my bed listening to the lullaby of the failures of the day. Guilt, guilt, guilty, every dang day, every dang moment. I'm so afraid that I won't hold myself responsible, that I make sure I beat the crap out of myself. It's not doing it for me anymore, so I'm trying an experiment; a trial, if you will. At Soni's brilliant suggestion, I'm going to work hard to start off my days with grace and not guilt. Can you imagine how different my morning will be tomorrow, when I welcome myself to the day and take notice of the grace around me? And then partake?

It's there. Always.

I'm going to work hard to reject guilt instead of grace. I'll give myself permission to take on my responsibilities, but without guilt. Without my own punitive sports announcer in my head. I free myself of tomorrow's guilt! I permit myself to see and invite and accept God's love for me, all day!

I kinda feel like tomorrow is going to be awesome. I shall report.

The Sensation of Temptation

Right now, it's like that biting itch you sometimes get, and you feel that you must scratch it immediately or you will surely die. It comes on suddenly, without warning, and then it's just there, powerful and strange and very, very needy. It MUST be stopped, and it must be stopped immediately, and the only way to stop it is to scratch the heck out of it. You know that itch I'm talking about.

It's like unto the itch of addiction, especially to the newby. At least it was for me. When abstinence was this new thing I had hope for, and this new thing I was trying out, denying myself of the coping methods I had grown accustomed -- addicted -- to, that itch was there. It was powerful. It was needy. It called for my immediate and full attention. It was physical, like an itch. After time, the itches became emotional. After time, the temptations to indulge in my addictions were due to emotional triggers. That crazy, intense physical need wasn't any longer a daily struggle. Occasionally, after a slip, I feel that intense physical need again. But it's easier to deny as abstinence becomes more than norm than indulgence, and after a few days, it's gone.

Except for the past two weeks. I feel like I'm just now starting to climb out of active addiction for the FIRST TIME. I am feeling those intense physical itches demand my immediate attention just like before. FOR TWO WEEKS. Oh my gosh. I can't believe I've survived, for real.

Hmmmm. On that note . . . I have survived. I have been receiving a physical beating from Satan for two consecutive weeks, and I haven't given in, not even a little. I haven't opened up a search window with sketchy intentions. I haven't entertained inappropriate thoughts. I haven't started up a questionable conversation with an old dude-friend. I haven't opened the door- haven't even reached to scratch that damn itch.

Well, what do you know. A victory I hadn't thought to acknowledge.

Do you know what this means?!?! It means Heavenly Father is helping me so much. It means that my regular scripture study and praying, following promptings, making myself available for service-- it means these things have paid off; are paying off. Satan is seeing my efforts and trying so hard to undermine them, but I am relying on my Savior more than I am on my flesh. This means progress. This means that doing more of the things I've been working so hard to do are even more important that I realized. And that I need to do them with more urgency to keep me continually safe.

I don't feel exhausted from Satan's buffetings, but I'm very annoyed by them. However, I'm also grateful for the strength God has mercifully granted me in this time. I have kept Him in the loop. As these itches, these temptations, vigorously seize me, I call out to Him.

I know I'm not immune. I know two victorious weeks does not mean I've won the war. I know I must still fight, and fight I will. I'm encouraged, now, because Satan can try his hardest, and as long as I'm keeping the commandments and holding tight to the Savior, I will not fall. Not after two weeks of constant buffetings. Not after a year of ceaseless enticings. Jesus is my Savior and my brother and my friend, and He is my rock, a foundation upon which if I build, I cannot fall.

At the beginning of last week, I kept getting this impression that I needed to ask for a blessing for help with my addiction. I didn't want to because it's sorta embarrassing. And I felt like I could handle it. (ha!) Well I finally decided that I didn't want to NOT ask and then find out consequences, so I asked my brother and he obliged. I think that the combination of the Priesthood blessing and my obedience to a prompting gave me enough power to make it through-- along with my trying to do those daily important spiritual boosts.

I'm grateful! I'm grateful I wrote this because by so doing I realized that by asking for it, I received the strength I needed from my Father in Heaven.

Tonight, I'll pray again for power to overcome. Because even now, I feel the buffetings of the Adversary. Even now, I feel him taunting, inviting, daring. In the words of the prince in one of my favorite movies, Ever After, "I will not yield!" Because I don't have to. Because Jesus is my Savior, and He can and will save me from this.