Life According to Gribble

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Metaphors and Me

February 27, 2020 / / 0 Comments

My husband’s death broke me in a way I never thought possible. It was a pinnacle of major life-changing events, though not the last I will ever experience. The thing is, every time I get a major life-changer, I am first confronted with a great turmoil. A moment of hope emerges from the chaos. I feel the call for better, greater things. Future goals become clear and all seems bright. Then a sudden storm pulls the Earth out from under my feet, smacks me in the face with a flying wall, and gives me not a single moment to stop for tea with Dorothy.

My world rolls forward around me. My motivation disappears, I switch gears to adjust, and then I find I am going nowhere. There is a time and a place for changing tracks. My life just seems full of endless change points and when it seems like I’m on my way, the light at the end of the tunnel turns out to be a train.

What is holding me back? (Maybe all the metaphors are making the situation more complicated than necessary.) The one of the biggest problems in my way is my mental health. Too many people are scared to open up about something as personal as mental health. Fear of judgement is very real regardless of how much others may think a situation shouldn’t be feared. I’ll tackle that issue in another post…eventually.

It’s too important to go unsaid, so here I am about to bare my mental/emotional issues and display them for all to see. The fact is I am constantly fighting against myself for control over my life. What does that mean? In some ways, I see my mental health disorders as separate metaphorical people inside of me. (Yes, I am going to unleash a whole new set of metaphors.)

These metaphorical people in me have different needs. OCD-me craves order and completion. Bi-Polar/Manic-me wants to live life to the fullest and do everything all at once. Bi-Polar/Depressive-me is stuck in a place of crushing defeat. PTSD-me is overwhelmed by intermittent triggers that send me to the point of paralyzing panic. Anxiety-me cannot banish the fear and apprehension of so many potential outcomes of my present and future actions. I have been told my intrusive thoughts are part of OCD-me but whenever I try to explain it myself, I become confused again. Maybe the intrusive thoughts are simply the Mini-Me of OCD-me. Okay that’s a stretch even for…me.

Then there is just plain Me who is trying to get everyone to play nice. They are constantly bickering and it’s a massive challenge to feel as though I am not going crazy with the push and pull of each piece. In fact, I am completely uncomfortable with myself. Where do I go from here? How do I cope? How can I move forward with so much going on in my head?

I was reading a book about entrepreneurship called Mad Genius by Randy Gage when a thought struck me. He stated, “Chaos creates order and order then builds on itself.” Then my mind jumped to another great quote, “A house of order is a house of God.” Bring it together and I suddenly experienced moment of clarity. Maybe everyone else has come to this conclusion, but I’m sometimes a little slow to the game. And what was this epiphany?

To create a house of order,
I must first wade through the chaos that is my life.

Easier said than done, but necessary all the same. Now the question is: How do I do that when I am already overwhelmed?

That’s an discussion I’ll explain in part 2 of this post series next week as this post is already getting long. (I also hate cliffhangers, but alas, they are sometime necessary.)

Pyrography (Woodburning)

February 11, 2020 / / 0 Comments

Gribble here. My girl has begun practicing pyrography again. Pyrography is the art of burning designs into wood for all you normal people who don’t know what that is. I snuck a picture of one she did around Christmas. Keani says she still has some touch up to do and stain/sealing it, but I think she did an amazing job for a first try in many years.

Woodburned plaque saying: A truly happy person is one who can enjoy the scenery on a detour.

She saw this quote on the back of a semi as she was driving one day. It’s amazing where you can find inspiration!

I’ve found that Keani seems more emotionally balanced since she started doing more crafty things. Her inner artist out is dying to come out. I can see it in her expressions and actions. Maybe she’ll do a portrait of me next!

Why is this happening to me?

June 28, 2018 / / 0 Comments

I have had to turn to my faith more than a few times these past two years. It is by no means uncommon for us, as survivors, to have a crisis of faith. We face a little one-word question that puts us to the ultimate test of faith. Why? Why did they have to die? Why am I still here? Why did they leave me? Why don’t they get the chance at a full life?

The short answer is a simple and frustrating, “I don’t know.” The longer more specific answer relates to the story of Joseph in Egypt. Below is a brief (I promise this actually is brief compared to the full version found in the Bible) synopsis of the story.

Joseph was the youngest and most favored son of his father, Jacob. His older brothers were overwhelmingly jealous of the favor their father showed Joseph. They decided one day, when their jealous anger rose to a peak, they would to kill him. Before they murdered their brother, they saw a caravan of merchantmen traveling to Egypt. Why kill their brother when they could gain a profit by selling him as slave?

Once the caravan reached Egypt, Joseph was then sold to a man named Potiphar, a captain of the guard to Pharaoh. Joseph worked hard and became Potiphar’s right hand man until Potiphar’s wife decided she wanted more from Joseph than he was willing to give. The wife grabbed Joseph’s coat when he literally ran from the house. Joseph shrugged it off and kept running. Of course the wife, having been rejected, decided to cry to her husband saying Joseph made advances toward her. Her proof was Joseph’s coat in her hands. Potiphar believed his wife and sent Joseph to prison.

While in prison, Joseph was yet again blessed for his work ethic and given the duty to oversee the prisoners in his ward. About this time, Pharaoh became angry at his chief butler and his chief baker. They were both placed in Joseph’s ward and experienced odd dreams on the same night. Joseph interpreted both dreams saying in three days the butler would be restored to his former position and the baker would be executed. True to Joseph’s interpretation, the butler was restored and the baker was significantly less fortunate.

Two years later, it was Pharaoh’s turn in the disturbing dreams department of dreamland. No one could interpret Pharaoh’s dreams. The butler spoke up and told Pharaoh about his experience with Joseph.

Pharaoh called for Joseph and demanded an interpretation of his dreams. Joseph explained that Pharaoh’s dreams were a warning. Though the next seven years would be plentiful, a great famine would strike all the lands of the Earth the following seven years. Joseph then suggested Pharaoh invest in a pretty comprehensive food storage program. Impressed, Pharaoh told him it was now Joseph’s job to create and oversee the aforementioned investment program…and have power over just about everything else except the throne.

The famine came as predicted seven years later and guess who made an appearance in Egypt two years into the famine? Yep, Joseph’s brothers. They didn’t realize who Joseph was at first, but don’t you worry, his brothers were graced with a pretty serious “Oh #&%@” moment.

Joseph could have done anything to them and no one would have faulted him; however, he chose a different path. He didn’t take them as his servants. He didn’t make them experience the sudden death round of the “how shall we play with brother today” game. He was happy to see his brothers. Joseph rejoiced! He told them not to be angry with themselves for selling him, because God sent him there to save many lives, including theirs.

This is where we bring ourselves back to the present. Whether you believe in God or not, bad things happen. It is an unfortunate fact of life we cannot escape. Joseph gained some understanding of why he was sent to Egypt when his brother’s showed up to purchase food, twenty-two years after they sold him to the caravan of merchantmen.

Just as Joseph lived in slavery and prison for so long, we also find ourselves in horrific places after the trauma of losing our loved ones. I won’t lie to you. Grief shows no mercy to anyone, and patience plainly sucks. Faith is all that will sustain us.

I still don’t have any specific answers why BJ had to die 11 days before his 35th birthday. All I have are speculations at this point. I take great comfort knowing that some day I will have the answers. It may or may not be in this lifetime, but I have faith the answers will come. You will also have the answers at some point. Don’t rush that moment. The Lord left us here for a reason. Looking too hard for answers we are ready or able to receive will only bring frustration and unhappiness. All we can do is take everything one day, one task, one moment at a time until we receive those answers.

Please remember you are far from alone in your journey. Faith, with all the other emotions we have swirling around our psyche, is not easy. Our goal should be to seek others who also struggle. Together we can help each other move forward in a positive and productive way.

You are loved more than you know!

Handcart Lessons

June 18, 2018 / / 1 Comment

Around March 2018, I was barely able to keep my head above the watery chaos of depression. My husband had suddenly passed away about a year and a half prior. My children were the only ones keeping me from letting myself go. They already lost their father. They needed their mother – not that I was much of a mother at the time. Granted, I was much better than I was the year prior, but I’ll go into the crippling effects of depression another time.

I thought back to an experience my nephew shared the prior year when he came home from a church sponsored event called Trek. Every few years my church organizes a pioneer journey for youth ages 12 through 18. The journey reenacts the pioneer experience during their trek west. Everyone dresses in pioneer garb. Youth are broken up into “families” with at least four children and one couple from the congregation serving as “Ma” and “Pa”. The youth pull loaded handcarts over 20 miles of difficult terrain in a three-day period.

My nephew told me about an experience that had surprising effect on me. The final hill is always given to the ladies since many pioneer men didn’t make it to their destinations. That left the women to bear the burden of finishing the journey.

Every young man was sent to the top of the hill.  The young men were told they were not allowed to help the young women. They could only silently watch. My nephew said it was a powerfully emotional experience to watch the young women struggle up the steep hill. Being unable to help was like torture.

When the first handcart finally reached the top of the steep hill and crossed the line marking the end of their trek, the young women ran back to the hill. The girls were exhausted, but they couldn’t bear to let their sisters continue to struggle on their own. One by one each handcart finally reached the top of the hill.

There were no shouts of joyous accomplishment and applause when the last handcart made it to the end. No one shrugged their shoulders and asked when they could get their phones back. The young women hugged each other with love, grateful to have made it to the top. They were proud of their accomplishments on that journey, but humbled by the sheer determination it took.

Every young man stood with their hat reverently held in their hands. Some freely shed tears…I mean got sand in their eyes. They were emotionally hurt, proud of their sisters, and distressed in their limited role of watching; however, they felt the Holy Spirit testify of the greatness of the pioneer’s tragically earned achievements. I thought a great deal about that story for a long time.

My unexpected lesson hit me this past March. I was trying so hard to get my own handcart over rough terrain and my dear husband’s spirit was forced to watch, unable to help. What kind of special hell is that? And I was the one making that hell even more bitter. It certainly wasn’t on purpose, but it was true all the same. I had eyes on my husband for so long and didn’t see what I should have.

Everyone handles tragedy in different ways. The death of my husband just about broke me, but I decided I couldn’t cause him and my children any more pain than they already had to endure. I somehow found a way to pull myself back to the land of the living. It wasn’t an overnight change. A great deal of heartache, prayer, hard work, and tears went into the process of moving on.

Unfortunately, the process never truly ends. Good days and bad days still trade off custody. What matters is keeping my eye on the goal. Continuing to progress to the best of my ability. Some days it is all I can do to keep the handcart from slipping backward. Other days I make good headway. It’s a matter of not giving up.

I have learned we all need to keep our eye on the top of the hill. Every step gets us a little closer. Celebrate those small steps because they add up quickly. The strength we discover when we reach the top of the hill will be a powerful testimony of our love for those who can only watch.

Be kind to yourself and know that you are loved!

Welcome to Life According to Gribble!

June 4, 2018 / / 0 Comments

My name is Gribble! As you see in my handsome picture, I am a vintage 1980’s Lots-a Lots-a Leggggggs caterpillar who has seen better days. My girl adopted me when her mother brought me home for Christmas. I remember my girl was about as tall as me when she held me in her little arms. That was decades ago though.

My girl’s now grown into a woman who has also seen better days. Her name is Keani (pronounced K-on-E). She is a mother, widow, and is finally following her passion. Writing. Because I told her she has no other option. Being the wise woman she is, she gracefully accepted my not so subtle hint.

Why have I come to this extreme, you ask? (This is where you ask.) The past several years have been the most difficult of Keani’s life. My girl battled a great deal of clinical depression in 2015. 2016 made its début with a miscarriage, followed by the death of her husband, the death of her uncle, a move from Utah to Washington state, a period of homelessness, and a deeper view of the rabbit hole called depression. 2017 wasn’t much better with the death of her late husband’s grandmother and the death of her own mother. Then her cousin’s son was killed in a very tragic car accident in 2018.

Tragedy has a way of changing a person. The life lessons Keani learned during the painstakingly slow and frustrating process of “Moving On” were gained by prayer, soul-searching, hard work, and a lot of tears. I created this blog as an outlet for my girl to share her life lessons. Just like Keani, many individuals are trying to navigate the grief that comes with loss. Those things that have made such a difference in her recovery will be of use to others – maybe even you.

Don’t be confused though. This is my blog. She may be doing most of the sharing, but I will be supervising with expert precision. I am, after all, her oldest and longest friend.

Wow! This is one long post for a Gribble. Until next time!

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