The Christmas season: Joy and sorrow both have their places

The Joy

I hope you have been enjoying the holidays. We had a very nice Christmas.

Christmas Eve was spent with my mother-in-law and my stepdaughter and her family. Then we had Christmas dinner with my mother and one of my brothers and his wife.

And Santa visited the Barbour household and was very generous.

Chase Bird sniffed out his stocking after I laid it under the tree Christmas morning—I think he smelled the catnip in the toys.

He dragged the stocking around. Then we helped him get his new toys out. He seemed pleased.

I received something in my stocking that I’ve never received before: a bag of coal. I thought I had been pretty good this year, but apparently . . . Santa thought otherwise.

Oh, well, there was plenty of candy in the stocking, too. And actually, the coal is really candy.

The Sorrow

The ending of the Christmas holidays always leaves me feeling a bit low. But this year I’m trying to take a different perspective.

One of my mother’s younger sisters died last Saturday morning. It was not unexpected—she had been suffering from terminal cancer. But it’s always a sobering shock to hear of the death of someone who has been in your life—your whole life.

This week a person in our community who was probably known by just about everyone died. He was a good man, a public servant who served the schools and the citizens of the county for most of his life.

So how do we make sense of sorrow in the midst of the joy that we’re “supposed” to feel this time of year?

Somehow the sorrow seems to be in direct opposition to the holidays. But maybe it’s not.

The Christmas Story, whether you take it literally or figuratively, is one of love. Grace, peace, compassion—they are all there in the story.

Other religions teach love, too. As a Christian, I happen to celebrate Christmas.

For me, Christmas is a reminder of the love that we must share if life is to hold any meaning. Loving others is acting out the love of God. It’s love that we celebrate, and it’s love that comforts.

And if Christmas is a time of remembering this love, then that love should be lived out for the rest of the year.

Maybe the festivities are drawing to a close. But the love is not.

Learning: The role of ritual

The word ritual can have terrifying connotations for people with obsessive-compulsive disorder.

The compulsive rituals we perform to try to alleviate the anxiety caused by obsessions result in even more anxiety. They become the source of much pain and much waste.

Religious rituals are especially difficult for me. I’ve written about my scrupulosity and my particular problems with praying.

Lately, however, I’ve been thinking about religious rituals in a more positive light.

In the years after I left religion behind in my 20s, I made brief forays back into spiritual practice, but I continued to eschew what I considered to be meaningless rituals.

During church services, I wondered what was accomplished by response readings, recited prayers and ceremony. What did those rituals have to do with finding God, with learning to live a good life?

I came back to formal religion over seven years ago, for various reasons. One was that I wanted to have a home for my spiritual questions.

I have been happy with my decision overall. I must admit, though, that the rituals in my United Methodist tradition at one time did not mean a lot to me. They were exercises to participate in until we reached my favorite part of the service, the sermon.

I think differently now.

What I have been learning is that rituals have a way of bringing me to a place where I am ready to seek God’s presence.

The book “The Case for God,” by Karen Armstrong, helped to launch my meditation on ritual.

In the book, Armstrong traces the ways that God has been perceived and practiced since man had the first inklings that there was perhaps more to the world and to life than what he could see or experience with his other senses.

Armstrong writes that before the matter of belief became so important, ritual was deemed the way to make myths come alive and become meaningful. She places a great deal of importance on the role of ritual:

“Religion is a practical discipline that teaches us to discover new capacities of mind and heart. . . . It is no use magisterially weighing up the teachings of religion to judge their truth or falsehood before embarking on a religious way of life. You will discover their truth—or lack of it—only if you translate these doctrines into ritual or ethical action.” (The Case for God, page 10, e-version)

She writes further about the role of ritual:

“Many thousands of people find that the symbolism of the modern God works well for them: backed up by inspiring rituals and the discipline of living in a vibrant community, it has given them a sense of transcendent meaning. All the world faiths insist that true spirituality must be expressed consistently in practical compassion, the ability to feel with the other.” (The Case for God, page 14, e-version)

I am learning that one way I can prepare myself to practice compassion is to attend my church’s services and participate in the rituals. Doing so helps to prepare me to listen more intently to the scriptures, to the sermon and to the quiet voice within.

During the service, we listen to the reading of the scriptures based on the lectionary. After the reading of each selection, the leader holds up the Bible and says, “The Word of God for the people of God.” The congregation responds, “Thanks be to God.”

We sing hymns. We sing the Gloria Patri.

We listen to the minister’s sermon, based on the scriptures that we have heard.

We read as a congregation an affirmation of faith, usually the Apostle’s Creed or the Nicene Creed.

All of this gives me much to ponder, including the unity of us all.

During communion, we first pray for forgiveness. We then greet each other in peace before taking part symbolically in Christ’s Last Supper.

There would normally be all kinds of red flags flying around me with any talk of forgiveness and prayer.

And to be honest, I have yet to begin a personal prayer practice.

But in a group setting, I can follow along with the words that were written long ago. I don’t have to make up the words and worry that I haven’t said the right ones.

Being with others also helps. It’s not a ritual that I’m doing alone. I don’t feel alone.

What do you think of rituals? Do you participate in any rituals that are comforting, that go beyond the rote to become meaningful? Or does the thought of participating in any rituals make you uncomfortable?

Starting to believe in new possibilities

This has been a weekend where things I’ve experienced and things I’ve read have given me new hope and a new sense of positive possibilities.

As I wrote about in my last post, my therapist gave me my first cognitive behavioral therapy assignment on Friday. It was to sit down at my computer at 8 a.m. yesterday and write for a cumulative 30 minutes. I was not allowed to edit or check my writing.

I did it. I sat down at 8 and started writing. A lot of it was freewriting, where I just typed without thinking. Out of that grew some ideas for my memoir, things that I will explore more in the future.

I took two minutes to operate my coffee machine and make myself a cup of tea, so I actually stopped writing at 8:32.

It was strange sitting down to write with no real preparation or rituals. I literally got out of bed a little before 8, went to the bathroom, started the coffee machine, started up the computer, and started writing.

It was hard not to stop and make corrections or read over what I had written. Usually I stop frequently and read over what I’ve written so far, making changes as I go along.

This exercise was supposed to push through the avoidance that I bring to my writing.

I rated my anxiety at a 6 or 7 during the exercise. Some of it was related to the non-editing; some of it seemed more generalized.

I rated my anxiety at a 7 when I was done. After that, for the next two hours, it was not more than a 3 or 4.

It wasn’t so hard, so I’m thinking that maybe it wasn’t hard enough. But I sure did feel good after it was over. Part of that came from the fact that I got myself out of bed to do it. And I realized that I could keep on doing it when I wanted and deal with the anxiety as it came.

I plan to set a schedule for doing my own writing. I know sometimes those of us with OCD get wrapped up in schedules so much that we tend to ritualize it too much. But I believe I need the self-discipline. And I am starting to believe what my therapist told me on Friday: motivation comes after action, not before it.

I read a lot yesterday and today. I almost finished “Brain Lock” today, and the chapters on revaluing, on the four steps and freedom and on OCD and family really hit home with me.

I gained a new understanding about the freedom to move forward that treatment can bring me as I get better. I began to think about how I can begin to accomplish so much more and be a person who reaches out and helps others more rather than one who sometimes hides from connections and responsibilities.

I’ll explore these thoughts in future posts.

And one more thing happened this weekend that gave me hope.

Let me preface this by saying that I’m not trying to toot my own horn. I want to share how I was given a whole new perspective on my work.

A while back, I wrote a post about my job and how I feared it wasn’t what I was supposed to be doing. I have been feeling bored and at loose ends on the job, and I hate feeling like that. I need to feel that I’m making a positive difference.

On Friday, I received an email from one of the officials that I often turn to as a source for my stories covering county government. It was a surprise, because this official is not a “touchy-feely” kind of person.

He told me he thought I did an excellent job on an article I wrote about the county’s budget concerns for this week’s paper. He wrote that I had “the ability to report very complex issues in an understandable manner.” And he noted “the community service that you provide.”

I almost wept when I read it. Maybe I am doing what I’m supposed to be doing by continuing to work for the newspaper. Maybe I am providing a service. Maybe my work has meaning. Maybe all of my writing can have meaning and help others.

The possibilities, I think, are endless.

Does OCD have a purpose?

I remember a time when I didn’t obsess about sin, dirt, and danger, when I didn’t wash my hands until they were raw and pray constantly in attempts to rid myself of that sin, dirt, and danger.

According to current theories of the causes of this anxiety disorder, I was probably born with the tendency towards having it. So I in essence never lived a pre-OCD life. But memories from my early childhood remind me that I did live a short time without obsessions and compulsions.

Have you ever read articles about people who suffer from a particular disease, who seem to think they were meant to have the disease so they could help others with it?

I am fascinated with that idea.

Behind the idea that a person is meant to have a disease is the notion that there is a higher purpose, a higher power and a plan at work.

I’ve been obsessed with finding out my own purpose for years. I’ve written dozens of “mission statements” for myself. None satisfy me for long. None adequately address the part of me that identifies with OCD.

Though I have experienced many good things and many successes, OCD still plays a big role in my life, though sometimes it’s subtle.

I don’t know if I believe God or a higher power created me to have OCD. I believe in God, but I don’t understand Him to be a person-like figure who had me in mind when He gave out the OCD.

I’m comfortable with the mystery of not knowing for sure who God is, because I know I’ll never know for sure during my time on earth. It’s one of the few mysteries I’m comfortable with.

That comfort did not come easily, but that’s for another post.

Even if a higher power did not “give” me OCD, I have it and it has affected my life to the point I cannot easily imagine life without it.

So what am I supposed to do with it, and the depression and general anxiety that have been along for the ride for most of my life?

One of the quotes I included in my last post, the passage from the Gospel of Matthew, speaks to my belief about what I’m supposed to do with my life: serve others.

How I’m supposed to serve and help others is not always clear to me. And I definitely need to improve in how much and how I serve others.

But the meaning of my life will be in how I use what I have—OCD and all the rest—to help others and realize who I truly am, a creation of the Divine.

I treasure the memories of my pre-OCD life. For much of my life, I have washed and counted and checked and sought reassurance. I have wasted time and water and soap and talents. I have forgotten who I am and have identified with OCD strongly enough to push me to the brink of suicide.

But as a friend recently posted about herself, I am what I am.

Do you ever wonder about your purpose in life, and how your OCD, anxiety, depression or whatever your challenges may be fit in?

Christmas thoughts

I recently finished a book called “Christmas Is Not Your Birthday: Experience the Joy of Living and Giving Like Jesus,” by Mike Slaughter. It gave me a different perspective on the holiday season, and I’d like to share some of my thoughts about it.

I’ve posted and some of you have posted and commented about the disconnect between the expectations that the holiday season is “the best time of the year” and our real feelings about this time of year.

In addition to not having a jolly attitude, I’ve had another problem with the holidays, of my own doing.

I talk about how commercial Christmas is, and how the emphasis for so many people is on spending a lot of money on gifts and expecting lots of gifts in return, and stressing out over trying to make things perfect.

I admit, thought, that I’ve been a part of that consumerism too. I spend way too much money on Christmas gifts, and I look forward too much to the gifts that I will get. And I certainly stress out over everything I supposedly have to do to get ready for the holidays.

“Christmas Is Not Your Birthday” gave me a new way of thinking about the holidays. Perhaps that is what I needed, a new way of thinking to replace my old way of thinking and acting.

Slaughter, too, talks about our focus on self and consuming during the Christmas season. He recognizes that people’s idea of an ideal Christmas is not rooted in reality.

He reminds us that the first Christmas, the night Jesus was born, was not an ideal situation either: “The real Christmas was a snapshot of poverty and anxiety, not feel-good warm fuzzies.” (p. 20)

Slaughter said in his life on earth, Jesus was focused on helping those in poverty, which did not just mean just those with a lack of money:

“Also, understand that when poverty is used in the Bible, its meaning is broader than ‘economic limitation.’ Poverty, in the deepest biblical sense, is any kind of brokenness, whether that be in a personal or cultural context, that restricts people from living in the fullness of humanity that God intends.” (p. 54)

What makes Christmas and the rest of our lives meaningful, according to Slaughter, is serving others as Jesus did.

I thought of those of us who suffer from maladies that many people don’t understand, like OCD, anxiety and depression, when I read this passage in the book:

“Likewise, God shows up and speaks to us through others who have experienced similar struggles and come out on the other side. That means your experiences of pain, and, eventually, hope can also become the seed for God’s miracle in someone else’s life.” (p. 34)

That certainly gives me comfort and hope. I hope I can carry a sense of meaning into the new year.

I hope all of you have a safe, peaceful and joyous holiday, no matter how you spend it. Merry Christmas!

*All quotations from the electronic version of the book.