Blind Ride

Up. Down. Up. Down.

As a child, would you be dared to do it? To be strapped into a cold, unfeeling contraption and be taken on a wild ride. Up…up…up…then down! Down, down, down the steep drop only to be dragged back up. There would be a loop just to make it interesting, but you had seen the whole track before you’d gotten on. You knew it would stop, and you could brag to your friends that you were no chicken! That you had dared to ride!

Can you see it? Can you see the rollercoaster of your childhood? Yes? Now, do me a favor. Before you even get to the park, close your eyes. They’re glued shut now. There’s a coaster there that you’ll be on for the rest of your life, but it will constantly change, and there’s no peeking!

You don’t remember when it started, when you were guided into the seat to be strapped down. The click of the restraint is so soft you don’t recognize that it’s locked in forever. You don’t realize at first that it won’t go away, not even if you scream or get sick of the ride. Because you no doubt will. You will want off eventually, but there’s no way to get off.

That is the world of my bipolar disorder.

My particular brand of bipolar disorder is fast and intense. Up. Down. Up. Down. Throw in a loop to keep her guessing. And that’s within the space of a few hours. Most people get ups and downs that last for weeks to months. Mine can last less than an hour before I’m thrown in a new direction.

I’ve seen that some people don’t believe in what I have. They don’t believe that bipolar can be that fast, that it’s only a part of my personality and not a chemical imbalance. It’s impossible for bipolar disorder to be like that. My response? Meet me.

I go up and down, with the added bonus of social anxiety and other delightful surprises from Apsperger’s autism, a very high-functioning form of the condition that is no longer recognized as separate from high-functioning autism.

I am very open about my bipolar. I am very open about my Asperger’s. I see no reason not to be. It’s disconcerting to actually be the one on the ride. The observers need at least a little warning of why I get very quiet then start shouting random songs, why I stubbornly try to talk about one subject, whatever my current Aspie interest is.

I still can’t tell how high I will go up, how low I’ll go down, how long it will last, or even which one is next. I’m sure that on this side of heaven, it won’t go away completely. But, I can hope it’ll get better. Just live one day at a time. That’s all I can do.

Smell the Color 9

“I would take ‘no’ for an answer
Just to know I heard you speak.
And I’m wondering why I’ve never
Seen the signs they claim they see.
Are the special revelations
Meant for everybody but me?
Maybe I don’t truly know you,
Or maybe I just simply believe:

I can sniff, I can see, and I can count up pretty high,
But these faculties aren’t getting me any closer to the sky.
But my heart of faith keeps pounding so I know I’m doing fine,
But sometimes finding you is just like trying to smell the color 9. Smell the color 9.

Now I’ve never felt the presence, but I know you’re always near.
And I’ve never heard the calling, but somehow you’ve led me right here.
So I’m not looking for burning bushes, or some divine graffiti to appear.
I’m just begging you for your wisdom, and I believe you’re putting some here.

I can sniff, I can see, and I can count up pretty high,
But these faculties aren’t getting me any closer to the sky.
But my heart of faith keeps pounding so I know I’m doing fine,
But sometimes finding you is just like trying to smell the color 9.

I can sniff, I can see, and I can count up pretty high,
But these faculties aren’t getting me any closer to the sky.
But my heart of faith keeps pounding so I know I’m doing fine,
But sometimes finding you is just like trying to

I can sniff, I can see, and I can count up pretty high,
But these faculties aren’t getting me any closer to the sky.
But my heart of faith keeps pounding so I know I’m doing fine,
But sometimes finding you is just like trying to smell the color 9.
sometimes finding you is just like trying to
sometimes finding you is just like trying to smell the color 9.

Smell the color 9. Nine’s not a color. And even if it were you can’t smell a color. That’s my point exactly.”

“Smell the Color 9” by Chris Rice.

Sometimes this is very true. I’ve never had any big experiences where I knew God was telling me something. To me, His voice is a quiet whisper, nudging me along. But I know the feeling of disappointment from not getting something. A good friend of mine gets dreams all the time, and I just get so mad. “Why don’t you talk to me like that?” I ask. The answer is simple. I’m not my friend. Books speak to me much more than dreams do. And I’m grateful, beyond anything that He talks to me, but I can’t help but wish it was different. But then again, if I was any different, my past or my personality, than I simply wouldn’t be me. And the same is true for you, too. 🙂

Comedians

If you want a list of good, clean comedians, I have a few. There’s John Branyan, Bob Smiley, Chonda Pierce, and Jonnie W.

The epitome of clean comedy has to be Tim Hawkins. Crown him to be the king, and the queen is Jeanne Robertson. Tim Hawkins has so many bits that its hard to narrow it down. I suggest searching for his ‘hand-raising’ bit. Jeanne Robertson’s best bit has to be ‘don’t send your husband to the grocery store.’

All of these men and women are hilarious, and completely clean. Trust me when I say that there is little I love more in life, besides God, than a good laugh. I think that one thing God has gifted to me. Even when I’m depressed, I can find things to laugh at. Makes the darkness just a little bit brighter. I don’t know why He gave me such a pronounced sense of humor, but He did.

Something I’ve noticed about myself over the years. I can remember two things very clearly: jokes and songs.

I’ve gone through two iPods, not including the one I have, and one computer crash. Unbeknownst to me, my father had copied my songs from my first iPod, and when I discovered the CD, I put the songs on there back on my current iPod. With a few hiccups, I remembered the vast majority of the two hundred or so songs. Not exactly word for word, but its close enough that its a little bit scary. I hadn’t heard some of those songs in over four years.

Now for jokes. I couldn’t quote Tim Hawkins’ acts word for word, but if the situation calls for it, I can quote the appropriate joke. And it’s not just Hawkins’ work. If I think its funny enough to warrant repeating, I will remember it. (Poultry-geist isn’t worth repeating, Dad. It’s just the worst joke I’ve ever heard.)

I don’t understand why God gifted me like that. Maybe I’m supposed to light up some dark places in people’s lives with laughs and songs of hope? I don’t know. I’ll find out one of these days. In God’s own time. May His will be done forever and always. Amen.

Truth

I have read Randy Alcorn’s Lord Foulgrin’s Letters and its sequel The Ishbane Conspiracy so many times I’ve lost count. Something that I’ve always been bothered with is the fact that they felt a missing piece of themselves, that they knew they were looking for Something and Someone great. I have never felt those longings. I have a theory on that that I would have to share.

When I think back, age didn’t matter. I think I was five, because it was before my parents’ divorce, so we’ll say five or six to give us a little wiggle room. I don’t remember much. I don’t remember if I was reading my Bible. I don’t know if I watched Storykeepers, which is a television show about the lives of early Christians in Rome. I don’t have any idea of what I was doing before this happened. Now that that’s out of the way, let’s get back to the story.

I remember crying harder than I’ve ever cried before or since. I was on my knees by the window that was to the side of the foot of my bed. And I was praying. I remember saying ‘please’ a lot. I was crying and saying something like, “Please, God, forgive me! I know I don’t deserve it! But please! Forgive me!” And I honestly believe he did.

Fast-forward through my life, and I got into things I shouldn’t have. I was reading things I had no right to then started writing them when other people weren’t giving me what I wanted. I was lost…or was I? Was I a lost sheep? Or was I a sheep that had just strayed?

When I was sixteen, my bipolar disorder surfaced, and it is BAD. I hardly have any normal periods. To top that off, we found out that all my life I’ve had a type of high-functioning autism called Asperger’s Syndrome. But something else happened when I was sixteen. I started writing a book. That book turned into three, and I called it the Lost Scrolls Trilogy. My father had prayed for me to use my writing as a good thing. He didn’t know what I was writing, but he wanted me to use it for the Lord. And I did.

The thing that gives me pause is, throughout all my life, I’ve had certain things that stuck with me to this very day. But that day at the foot of my bed, while I was on my knees, seems so out of place. I believe God claimed me then. That is the only thing I can think of that would produce so many tears and so much impassioned pleading.

And something else is that I was only FIVE! For so long I have wondered why I didn’t have a moment that I knew that I was His, well and truly, and oh-so-fully. I think that I do have one, and it isn’t forgotten as I have thought to myself that it might be. I think I was five years old when the good Lord showed me my sin, and He took me to my knees so I could, in a very childlike way, confess my sins and ask for forgiveness. It’s only sad that it took sixteen years for me to realize that.

As one of my characters in my book states, “The Great Shepherd finally caught me, Fily. I was a naughty little sheep, but he forgave me and is bringing me to the rest of the flock.”

And ain’t that the truth?

Through Aspie Eyes

Here’s one of the reasons college is a bad idea for me. It is a look into Aspergers Autism, which I do have. And before you comment, “Aspergers doesn’t exist anymore,” I say it does. I do not agree at all with what the ‘professionals’ did to the Autism section of the DSM. They are wrong, in my opinion, as Aspergers is a specific branch of Autism. Anyway, rant over. Please enjoy. 🙂

 

Crowded rooms, professors and students passing by

Running and shouting loudly to friends

They brush me, bump me, touch me, too.

They talk and talk all the time!

Why can’t they leave me alone?

 

I step outside into blinding light,

Flinching as pain assails me.

The students all hustle by, questioning me.

No I’m not fine, but I don’t tell them that.

Why can’t they leave me alone?

 

Itchy fabrics, uncomfortable clothes,

With flowing skirts, flapping against my legs.

Textures always grating against my skin.

Why can’t I wear what I want to?

Why can’t they leave me alone?

 

No, I won’t eat what’s on the plate!

It doesn’t feel right to me.

That’s like fire, and that is icy!

They snap and growl for me to eat.

Why can’t they leave me alone?

 

More talking, more people! That’s quite enough!

It’s much too loud in here!

Incessant talking and buzzing lights!

I don’t want to stay! I wanna go home!

Why can’t they leave me alone?!

 

Cover my ears, bite my lip

Rock back and forth to soothe

Eyes close tight then a sudden touch.

A hand covers mine and up I look and see

A promise to be left alone!

 

Silence, peace, and tranquility

Just me and my thoughts right now

I am home and in my room, surrounded by all I love.

I can do what I want and love it, too.

They finally leave me alone.

 

My interest blocks out the noise

That the rest of the house makes

I am absorbed in this writing

Making new places where there are

Places everywhere to be alone.

 

Who Can Tell Me?

This is a poem by Emeal (“E.Z.”) Zwayne.

“Who can tell me where I came from?”
The little boy would ask.
His question was a good one,
Yet he faced a trying task.

Each man had different answers,
As he was soon to learn.
This brought him great confusion
And it caused a deep concern.

He fist went to his schoolmates
And they spoke with one another.
“I know,” said the brightest one,
“You came from your mother.”

Now this had satisfied him,
Yet only for a time.
For as he grew year by year,
His thoughts began to climb.

He then looked all around him
At all that he could see.
And his mind began to wonder
How it all had come to be.

He thought about the universe,
The span of outer space,
And every star and planet
That exists in every place.

He thought about the rounded Earth,
Its tilt and its rotation,
And all the seasons that occur
In yearly circulation.

He thought about the darkness
And he thought about the light.
He thought about the sun and moon
That rule the day and night.

He thought of all the creatures
Of the land and sea and skies,
Of all the different species
And their variance in size.

He thought of all the plants and trees
And all that each provides,
Each growing from a tiny seed
With roots the soil hides.

He then looked at humanity,
The sea of different faces,
Varied tongues and characters
From many distant places.

He thought of mortal bodies,
With features so profound;
And the sense of taste and touch
And smell and sight and sound.

He thought of reproduction
And the miracle of birth.
He thought of human life itself
And all that it is worth.

He then considered human will:
Both the weak and strong.
He thought about the conscience
That discerns right from wrong.

He thought about emotions
And feelings that arise.
He thought about the love and hate
And tears that flow from eyes.

He thought about the anger
And the joy that’s all around.
He thought about the happiness
And sadness that is found.

And filled with curiosity,
This boy would daily strive,
In hopeful expectation
That his answer would arrive.

He spoke with scientific men
Who claimed his question solved.
They told him of a great big bang,
That all things had evolved.

He then spoke with philosophers–
Heard some of them insist
That there’s no true reality
And we do not exist.

He spoke with many people
From different groups and sects,
And heard the vast opinions
Of various intellects.

Now baffled by confusion,
A very troubled youth;
Unable to discern
What is error, what is truth.

He almost gave up looking,
But he took a second look.
And very unexpectedly
He found a special book.

As he gazed upon the first page,
He knew his search was done.
His questions were all answered
In Genesis chapter one.

With a nod of understanding,
He smiled so elated.
For now he surely knew–
“In the beginning God created…”

God Is Holy

This is set to the tune of “Jesus Loves Me.”

God is holy, this I know
For the Bible tells me so
Sin can’t stand in front of Him
So our prospect’s very dim

All have sinned, from young to old
None should tread the streets of gold
We deserve eternal fire
We are truly in the mire

Yes He is holy
Yes He is holy
Yes He is Holy
The Bible tells me so

My Lord Jesus died for me
Hanging from a rough hewn tree
He did this to set me free
Satan’s lost his grip on me

“It is finished!” One final cry
And on that cross my Savior died
Then his blood ran to the ground
And his heart did cease to pound

Easter morn came sure and fast
Death for him just couldn’t last
No longer did the tomb imprison
Then came the news, ” He is risen!”

Now before God we may stand
Soon forever in His land
Covered in the Lamb’s pure blood
Now all God sees is His son.

And so this song must end dear friends
And your time here He does lend
Tho’ Heav’n comes to us swift and sweet
For now we are His hands and feet

God hates our sinning
Yet he truly loves us
Listen to the proof now
Just look to Calvary