During the day and now at night, I have tried sitting in the grass and wooing Amos to me. I have sung songs, spoken invitations, and told him silly puppy dog stories. I have held out his Babies and laid out a path of treats. All to no avail. Primarily, as I labor to cajole Amos out onto the grass, he makes circuits about my perimeter by navigating the brick edging of the beds, the sidewalks, and the stepping stones. Sometimes, he just sits on the steps. Most of the time, he is begging me to come back to him.
If I carry him to the grass with me and attempt to set him down, he returns to the safety of a non-grass surface so quickly that he becomes a fluffy white blur. I am not sure why, but his fears are growing deeper, stronger. Within their grip, Amos becomes near paralyzed and his entire focus is getting to a place of safety. Oh, how I understand my puppy dog!
I do find it odd that as some of my fears have eased, Amos' have grown. Now, he is more at ease in the house with people coming to visit or stopping by. Once he has met someone, he seems to remember that person the next time ... not that I have a lot of visitors. But his barking and shaking and climbing atop my shoulders is much, much, much less inside the house. With the seminary grad student's fiancé, Amos battled only the slightest bit of fear, before finding his ease. Seeing that made my heart sing. So, I am not sure why out of doors has become an even greater problem.
Even though he is just a puppy dog, I have started giving Amos choices. I ask him questions and he responds. True, he may only be able to recognize one or two words in the question, but he does not always decide the same way. For example, when we have been outside for a while without any sort of production, even though he has made known his need to be outside, I will ask him if he wants to go poo-poo-outside or to go inside. He does not always choose the safe haven. Another case in point, shockingly, when I ask Amos if he wants some food, he does not always choose to rise from his snoozing spot.
Amos has also learned more than I have taught him (I am proud to say that he has learned the command "come"). By this I mean that he has learned the patterns of my life and responds to them. Those, too, include their choices. For example, he has learned that when I get out of bed and pick up the ice packs, that means I will be going downstairs to fetch new ones. Before, Amos would never allow me to leave his side without following, but now, most of the time, he merely waits in bed for me to return. If I am slow (usually when I also check my blood sugar and then inevitably have to get something to eat), Amos will move to the top of the stairs and wait there. So, he makes choices according to his comfort level and he has learned to trust that I will return.
Since I now live my life by alarms going off from my phone to remind me of what I need to be doing all day long, when an alarm sounds whilst the two of us are lounging in the GREEN chair, Amos will automatically get up. When I shut the laptop at night, Amos will get up and head upstairs. In the mornings (or what passes for Myrtle mornings), if the alarm sounds in my bedroom, Amos leaps up and is all ready to get out of bed. But if I get up without an alarm, Amos waits until I tell him that it is time to "get up" before he moves.
When I get ready to go out (spend time standing in front of the mirror in the bathroom, Amos lies at the end of the hallway by the stairs, because he knows that I will be leaving. As we move downstairs, he follows me. When I grab my bag that I take with me (to hold medical stuff and my pocket Book of Concord and my Kindle and such things as to help me pass the time), Amos will then go sit at the front door.
When I get out the purple beach towel, Amos knows he is getting a bath and heads to the tub rather than the basement door (standing at the laundry sink to bath him hurts too much now). When I get out the nail clippers, Amos goes and hides behind the pillows on the couch, tucking his paws between the seat cushions. When I fetch this one particular pillow, Amos will oft beat me to the bathroom where I am going to writhe on the floor for a while.
I have also stopped punishing Amos or even speaking or moving in a negative manner when Amos has what I call a "fear poop." When he is really frightened, Amos poops. Even if I try to be proactive, such as when I know a stranger will be in the house, and have Amos conduct his major business just prior to the stranger's arrival, Amos still manages to poop again if his fear gets the best of him. His indoor "accidents" rather bother me and it was not uncommon for my upsettedness to be visual and vocal, as well as internal. Recently, however, I realized two things: 1) The result is from fear, not willfulness, because he asks to go out when he is in need and 2) my ire primarily stems from the feeling like I have failed as a good puppy dog owner when he has an accident inside. Neither of those are reasons for punishing Amos or making him feel badly for what has happened.
It used to be that when Amos had a fear poop, he would run and hide because he knew what my reaction would be. Now, he only backs off a bit, although he does still hang his head. Sometimes, I have to work at controlling my emotions at the sight (or rather smell since that sense if oft the first indicator of a problem), but I will simply fetch a stretch of toilet paper, some paper towels, and cleaner. I do not praise Amos for the accident, but I allow him in the GREEN chair, once I am settled back down, without out any sort of fuss or negative response to his joining me.
Thus, Amos has learned my routines, my patterns, what my movements mean. And he makes choices based upon them. I am also giving him choices, and he responds to them. In short, Amos has adapted to my life as it has changed over the two years we have been together.
Would that it were I had, too.
I have not.
Realizing this has weighed heavily upon me.
Tell me that I should get over something or accept something, and you are putting me under Law. Tell that it is okay to feel badly, to struggle, to not want the life I have, and you are giving me Gospel. Freedom. Mercy.
I want that from others. I need it. But I also want and need it from myself. I do not believe that I can, by myself, change me or heal me. Psychology is important, but so is spirituality, at least for those who live a life in Christ. Wanting to believe does not always mean that believing will be easy. Understanding the gift of Mark 9:24, however, can give you the freedom from the law of having to believe yourself. "Immediately the boy's father cried out and said, "I do believe; help my unbelief."
Lord, I believe. Help my unbelief!
This same juxtaposition of belief and unbelief, in a sense, can be found in the first part of Psalm 119: 94, "I am Yours; save me...."
In the psalm, the psalmist spends much of the time giving argument for his piety and his faithfulness and much of the time begging for salvation, for instruction, for refuge. To me, it is that same pendulum of faith and doubt. And, as I told someone recently, I have come to understand how it was that Luther could have developed his theology of the cross from the Psalter.
There is a part of me that ... pridefully, I guess ... is disappointed that the Praying the Psalter blog I created simply does not get much traffic, even though for 105 straight days now, I have posted psalms to my Facebook wall from it. I thought people might like it, might begin to start reading the psalms, praying them, for few that I know actually do so. I thought the blog might be a tool for showing how rich in comfort and solace the Psalter is, just as how I hoped the Book of Concord Snippets blog would do the same. For, in both, I have come to see how intimately I am known by God and have, thus, found both a measure of peace and a weapon against my relentless foe.
But even if no one else uses it, I find myself going back and perusing the list of labels and considering the frequency of specific topics. Granted, with Blogger's 20-label limit, it is not a perfect referencing index, yet it is informative. For example, in 105 psalms thus far, the cry "how long" occurs 11 times. A longing that is not triumphant in faith, but rather a tad doubtful or despairing or weary. Consider the frequency of some of the other labels in those first 105 psalms: afflicted (22), refuge (25), rescue (8), save me (11), restore (6), remember (12), adversaries (13), enemies (34).
I wish I were still a researcher and could properly code and analyze the content of the prayers of the Psalter. I know the end of the Psalter has lots of praise and rejoicing, so no accurate conclusion can be drawn, yet, upon the Psalter as a whole. But in my experience I regularly encounter the struggling sinner rather than the rejoicing saint. Sometimes, the doubt and despair swing on a pendulum in the same psalm, such as with Psalms 42 or 77. Sometimes, I see the exact same cry worded identically or nearly identically across several psalms. And those cries are ones seeking help, refuge, salvation, and recompense. Recompense for the petitioner and recompense for his enemies.
Why are you in despair, oh my soul?
When will You remember me?
Will I be forgotten forever?
When will Your anger against me cease?
The psalmist speaks of a broken body, heart, and spirit, of a weariness so deep and so heavy that he is consumed by it. He waits for rescue. He wonders if he will be rescued. He remembers God. He longs for God to remember him. He is taunted by his enemies. He taunts them. He drowns in despair. He walks in hope. That is faith. This faltering belief. This wavering conviction. The two sides of the coin being certitude and doubt ... a coin smelted from everything in between.
In the midst of this, I have begun to recognize a pattern. In some psalms it is very obvious. And so I wonder if it is also in others, merely subtly and thus beyond my notice. In this pattern, the psalmist counters his own unbelief with a recitation or a remembrance of the deeds of the Lord, of the works of God. The psalmist steps outside his thoughts, feelings, and/or circumstances and chooses to focus on God. Extra nos again.
I wonder if part of Luther's inspiration or impetuous behind including so many specific things to say to our foe in times of struggle in the Large Catechism is because of this pattern in the Psalter. There is a conversation with the self mingled in with these prayers that is the same as a conversation with our foe. When you ask yourself, answer this. When satan accuses, respond that. Luther gives very concrete examples of making a choice to speak what is True, to remember it, in times of doubt and despair.
Again, all throughout the Confessions, are references to the anguished and anxious soul. Many times it is to them the author points as the very reason for the Gospel. In so doing, we learn of the very real, very effective comfort of the Bible. It is not an empathy or a sympathy, but an actual comfort that guards and protects, that soothes and heals.
In the Psalter, it is a listing or acknowledging or remembering of who God is and what He has done, is doing, and will do that is the counter to anguish and anxiety, to suffering and despair, to doubt and hopelessness. There is no condemnation for those struggles, but a response for them. And, to me, often that response is this conscious choice of the Psalmist to let God's Truth be refuge or weapon or both.
In my opinion, there is no better example of this than Psalm 42. I had learned the first three lines of that Psalm in a praise song and thought it was yet another unwavering proclamation of faith. Yet another example of a Hero-of-the-Faith praising God. But it is not. Read it. Read it again. Read it slowly and swing with the petitioner as he moves from belief to unbelief, back and forth and back and forth again:
As the deer pants for the water brooks,
So my soul pants for Thee, O God.
My soul thirsts for God, for the living God;
When shall I come and appear before God?
My tears have been my food day and night,
While they say to me all day long, “Where is your God?”
These things I remember, and I pour out my soul within me.
For I used to go along with the throng and lead them in procession to the house of God,
With the voice of joy and thanksgiving, a multitude keeping festival.
Why are you in despair, O my soul?
And why have you become disturbed within me?
Hope in God, for I shall again praise Him
For the help of His presence.
O my God, my soul is in despair within me,
Therefore I remember Thee from the land of the Jordan,
And the peaks of Hermon, from Mount Mizar.
Deep calls to deep at he sound of Thy waterfalls;
All Thy breakers and Thy waves have rolled over me.
The Lord will command His lovingkindess in the day time;
And His song will be with me in the night,
A prayer to the God of my life.
I will say to God my rock, “Why hast Thou forgotten me?
Why do I go mourning because of the oppression of the enemy?”
As a shattering of my bones, my adversaries revile me,
While they say to me all day long, “Where is your God?”
And why have you become disturbed within me?
Hope in God, for I shall yet praise Him,
The help of my countenance, and my God.
SIGH.
Oh, how my Creator knows me and my Good Shepard saves me, and my Comforter loves me to have caused to be penned this prayer, to give this gift to me!
When Pastor Brown posted on his blog that it was okay to be sad and lonely at Christmas, I was soothed and relieved. I was also emboldened. His post gave me the courage to choose to not force myself to go to church during Easter. Yes, Easter has nothing to do with my past, but the associations remain within me. Choosing to allow the time to pass without the strain of battling all that is within me and having to be surrounded by joyous folk and all that family togetherness at the same time was good, right, and salutary for me. I had no migraines this Easter. I was sad and lonely and I struggled, but I was migraine free. And my wounds were not deepened, because I neither punished myself nor heaped shame upon myself for not being in church.
All of this is not to say that faith is a choice. It is a gift. This I know. But we do have choices in our lives. Choices that I believe come from the strength of the Living Word.
In the Psalter, the petitioner speaks of doubts and struggles and speaks of Truth. The Truth bears the weight of those doubts and struggles, literally turning mourning into joy. For the longest time, I thought that transformation was a permanent one, but how could it be here? We live in a fallen world where the devil, the world, and even our own flesh fight against us, trying to tear us from God. How, then, could the struggle to believe ever really be over?
I have given Amos the freedom of choice. In doing so, I have given him the freedom to be who he is and not who I think he should be or who I want him to be. Yes, I will continue to try and work on things, such as his fear of the outdoors, of grass, because it is important that a dog be able to tend to his business if he has learned that his business is to take place on the grass (ground) out of doors. But I will not force him. I will only speak the truth to him. I will give him the opportunity to choose and accept his choice either way.
Sometimes, this means that I have to drag myself from the GREEN chair when he asks to go outside repeatedly because his fears drive him back indoors before he can tend to his bodily needs. Twice. Thrice. Four times before his relief is found. In fact, most of the time this is his choice. Far less than I want does he look longingly at the back door before taking a tentative step away from the safety of the back steps (and me) onto the sidewalk, onto the surface that will lean him to the object of his fear but also to the relief of his body.
I still find myself terrified as I am writhing in agony from my innards malfunction, but I am learning to choose to let that fear be okay to experience as I work to remember or to recite at least one thing that I know to be True about God about, who I am in Christ, about what the Holy Spirit is doing to me through the Word and through the Sacraments.
One thing.
That is another gift of the Psalter. In Psalm 27, the psalmist boils down all his longing to just one thing: to dwell in the house of the Lord forever. All else can fade away. All hopes and dreams and desires. And in focusing on one thing, all doubts and fears and struggles can also pale in power. Present though they may still be, perspective has set them in their place within the life of faith. Some day only one thing will be left. Perhaps not now. Perhaps not for decades. But eventually.
Barring some mighty work of God, I am not going to be that suffering saint. I am not the one to rejoice in my suffering and walk in confidence all the way. I am Psalm 42 and 77 and a host of others. I want to be 91 now but I understand that I will be some day. And I know that Christ is now. In Him is enough. Even if my life in Him is a broken, quivering mess.
As Luther advises, greet the taunts of your foe without prevarication.
"You are a sinner!"
Yes, I am. But I am baptized.
"You are not worthy to approach the altar!"
No, I am not, but Jesus bids me come anyway.
"You struggle to believe!"
"You struggle to believe!"
Yes, I do, but I am not saved by my belief but by the obedience and faith of Jesus Christ.
"You are not holy!"
No, in the flesh, I am not. But in Christ I am and the Holy Spirit sanctifies my sinful flesh through the Word of God and through the Sacraments and will not cease to do so until I am made whole and holy in glory.
"You are weak."
Yes, I am, but Jesus is not.
"You don't even know what to pray!"
No, I do not, but God arranges the prayers on my lips, Jesus continually prays for me, and the Holy Spirit is always interceding for me.
"You do not have the confidence of the Christians around you."
"You do not have the confidence of the Christians around you."
No, I do not, but Jesus left the 99 to go after the one who wandered away.
"You do not want the cup of suffering!"
No, I do not, but neither did Jesus. He chose it anyway, for me, knowing that my knowing He did would still not keep me from struggling and doubting and not wanting to suffer. He forgives me, so I can at least accept who He has forgiven.
"You live in fear."
"You live in fear."
Yes, I do, but the Psalter shows me I am not alone in those fears.
"You live in shame."
Yes, I do, but the Psalter tells me that God delights in me and recompenses me according to the cleanness of my hands.
"You do not always rest in the Truth."
No, I do not, but the battle is over and you have lost. Even if I forget that victory for a moment, a day, a month, a year, the outcome is the same because it is not I who clings to Christ, but Christ who clings to me.
I am Yours, Lord. Save me!
As someone who has been "accomplishing" and "doing" her entire life, living a life that is ever dwindling in strength and stamina is a struggle. I feel the failure. I feel as if I am a succubus upon the world. I do nothing. I serve no one. I further not the kingdom of God. If you could see how little time I spend away from resting and recovering, I think I would die of shame. Honestly, I am not sure I could even be around my best friend and be who I really am ... not mask, not pretend, not over work myself or strain my body and mind to the point of near collapse. I just cannot be that person yet.
But I can no longer punish myself for that particular struggle. I can try to do something from the confines of my new existence, even if I am afraid it result in scorn and failure rather than in service. And I can focus on just one thing in the maelstrom that oft rages around me.
I am Yours, Lord. Save me!
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