ADHD of the Soul

My intended quiet time in the early morning hours is not what it once was. What was a long period of worship, reading of psalms and proverbs, journaling, and prayer, is now like a blank time of intended decompression. I can’t get my brain to settle down to rest with God no matter how early I rise. Everything in me is numb, racing, restless- all at the same time. I have ADHD of the soul. 

My soul is in overload, overdrive, and is overstimulated. With too many different thoughts and needs competing for attention, my mind flips and flops around not able to attach itself to anything. My morning spiritual quiet time has morphed into my morning numbing.  I cannot access that pure peace I once received daily. God seems to be silent …and honestly, I’m hardly  asking questions anymore. I’m flat. My desire is stale. Everything is depressed. 

But thank the Lord for laughter. I am still able to laugh and laugh a lot. Laugh until I’m crying.  Tears are tears, and my soul needs an outlet and laughter has been good medicine.  I feel alive after a good laugh, I’m reminded there is still joy. This is God’s gift to me right now, satisfying my deep thirst during this season of emotional drought, soul drought, and even spiritual drought. 

I love reading, and typically all different genres, but it is now a point of contention for me. My mind jumps around… Is this the most important thing to read? What scriptures are most important for me right now? What movies, what prayers? I mean, where do I even begin if I can’t even decide what books to read?   And so I spend too much time wondering if any of it is even worth my time. Am I in the mood for anything at all?  Probably not.  

The same way with food. I crave nothing-nothing sounds satisfying or tasty. When I’m hungry, I just want my stomach filled – I don’t care what it is. Often I have toast for my meals. Sometimes with avocado, and sometimes just butter and salt.  These kinds of meals satisfy me. I have cooked about once a month this past year.  I cooked 2 to 3 meals a day for most of my adult life including a time as a private chef for 7 families. Eating is now just  a means to an end.

My soul, mind, and emotions are like an over stuffed closet. Jumbled, full of random items, some things need to be discarded , while others need to be kept and given new life, or repaired, donated, polished, repurposed, or even altered. This is what needs to be done in the closet to my mind, the closet to my emotions, habits, beliefs. The attention deficit is real, and the best way to eliminate the deficit is to remove distractions-create uncluttered space so the soul can expand and thrive. I’m currently  on a focused personal journey to purge the closet of my soul, making room for healing, alterations, and new things to come. 

PTSD and Daffodils

 I’ve a love hate relationship with daffodils.  I love how they spring up to life in all their glory at the end of a grey, dead winter.  If they had a personality, I feel they would be an introvert. They stand alone, unassuming, and unaware of the beauty they bring to darkness.  I love them because they remind me of a scene in Willie Wonka & the Chocolate Factory when Willie Wonka(Gene Wilder) picks a daffodil in the factory, holds it like a cup & saucer, then proceeds to drink from it. Metaphorically speaking, we all drink from their beauty on an overcast day in late winter.  In Mississippi, that day is always in February.  Their arrival is my keeper of time.  

And I hate daffodils for that reason.  

When I see their cups upright on a humid overcast morning in February, my body kicks into PTSD.  A few days ago at work, I looked out the floor to ceiling windows-February hit me like a weighted blanket.  The lump in my throat was back, the full body burn was back. The inability to swallow was back.  The anniversary of my husband’s tragic sudden death was back. The body keeps the score.

The knock on my door came around 3:30am. My husband was out of town on business. I cracked the door & heard these words, “We have a fatality to report”.  Just writing those words makes my body feel as if an elephant is sitting on my torso. 

At some point In following days, my friend Beth came over with a bouquet of daffodils she’d picked from her garden.  The bright yellow flowers seemed as if they were the only color in my house at that time. 

Daffodils make me think of Beth and her tender love she extended to me that day. They remind me that beauty & life still spring up after a dead  winter. I bought a fixer upper last year. Next to a low broken down brick wall, clumps of daffodils are in bloom.  Their unexpected placement in the landscape means they’ve been around awhile and have seen lives come and go, and yet still show up to share their light & hope. They are like a messenger, blowing a horn as if to say, “Hear ye hear ye!  Winter’s almost over, the worst is over, more beauty is coming.”  More beauty is coming.

Trauma Triggers

 

Trauma triggers are real. They are like unexpected trapdoors in the brain-they open up out of nowhere causing you to fall into a dark space grasping for something to take hold of to work your way back to the light.  Yesterday something as simple as the weather resurrected trauma back to life and a trapdoor opened underneath my feet. 

 

11 years ago today, at this very moment, while still in robe, my house was slowly beginning to flood with people who wanted to help or simply sit in the presence of others who were mourning the same loss.  Today marks the 11^thanniversary of my husband’s tragic, instant death. While some years can pass without a trigger response, others do not.  

 

When I opened the kitchen door yesterday morning to let the dogs outside, a trapdoor simultaneously opened. I’ve never liked Mississippi in the month of February, and then when Michael died in this month, it sealed the deal.  The weather is always awful.  Ice storms, brown grass, rain, humidity, overcast more than sunny.  The weather yesterday was exactly like it was the morning I was informed of Michael’s death.  Overcast, muggy, heavy, suffocating.  The front door of my house seemed as if it stayed open as people flowed in and out. I remember looking out the front bay window and seeing people walk through my yard to get to the front door because they had to park far away for all the cars in the street.  I can still see the solid grey overcast sky, the brown grass…I feel the weather.

 

When the kitchen door opened yesterday, the heavy humid air entered my lungs like a ten-pound weight and my body transported itself to the early morning hours of February 22, 2011- my entire being went numb, as it did that day. Suffocating weather. My brain walked through the last time we saw him, his smile, the hugs, the “have a great day”, the “good night I love you” on the phone, and all the other “last” nuances. Trauma causes all kinds of physical symptoms in the body.  For me, I felt as if I was in soundproof room with glass walls while everyone else was busy moving and talking on the other side of the glass. Ears ringing, lungs barely breathing, weight pressing in from all sides. 

 

Once the trapdoor opened, and I realized I was falling, falling, falling,...into the abyss without sight of a bottom in the darkness, I sent an SOS text to a few friends to pray. By simply doing the next thing and then the next thing, I was able to get ready for work and out the door. But I was treading water in the dark just below the surface.  Sharing my internal weather with my coworkers helped.  I wanted them to know that despite the fact that I was moving through all the necessary tasks, this was the undercurrent in my brain. By late afternoon, I found my way back up and my feet were on solid ground again.

 

The different triggers have decreased over the years but I’m still continually surprised when they pop open in the most unexpected places.  One trigger that took me forever to overcome was the scent of a candle from Anthropologie. Their signature scent candle sat on the mantle above the fireplace in my kitchen in February 2011, burning every day as people came in and out, hovering quietly throughout the spaces in my house. It took me years to be able to walk into Anthropologie without feeling nauseous or as if the same elephant from the day he died was back sitting on my chest.  I no longer like the scent but it also no longer triggers me.

 

Today I’m good.  No triggers.  It’s still overcast outside, but I hear birds chirping outside as I type. The trap doors are fewer than they once were and the dark holes below them are not as deep. Today I’m thankful for the healing that has taken place.

 

I honor Michael’s life, his love, and his light today.

Seize What Flees

I do yoga. I'm no expert, and still intermediate, but in addition to my more intense workouts, I do it regardless of my skill level.  It’s a perfect fit for this introverted, thinking, feeling, contemplative soul. At the beginning of class, instructors often read a thought for the day -a nugget of wisdom to apply to our practice and our day.  It helps “set your intentions” for your “practice” on the mat.  With words and thoughts being one way God shows up for me, these introspective moments on the mat consistently snatch me away into the presence of God-I feel as if I’m sitting at His feet and He’s teaching me a truth I need to embrace. I love the phrases used during this time…Set your intentions…in your practice. 

...I see the bigger picture.  

These moments reground me in my intentions for my purpose and practice of life itself. Intentional and intentionality are now buzz words in our culture...as well as the word practice.  Be intentional.  Live with intentionality.  Practice kindness.  Practice love.  Practice mercy, compassion, patience.  Practice living…full living, embracing every moment.

A snippet from a reading in yoga class this weekend stuck with me...the last few words spoken before we began our “practice.” 

Seize what flees. 

My mind dove in with God, What do I need to seize? Yes, time flees. Minutes, hours, days, years…they flee more quickly with each passing year of life. How much time we squander! How much time we lose waiting on life instead of practicing living life. How much time we lose waiting to take action.

...but time is not the only thing that flees. 

Relationships flee...opportunities flee…some are only available in a moment. Am I seizing these kinds of moments when God presents me with a gift, a choice, an invitation and an opportunity for more?  

“As each day arises, welcome it as the very best day of all, and make it your own possession. We must seize what flees.” ~ Seneca

Take possession of today.  Seize it. It's the best day of all. Seize opportunities for relationship.  Seize opportunities (take action) for love, mercy, compassion, healing, forgiveness, and joy.  Seize whatever you see God has placed in your path as a gift to you.  We often make requests of God, but when He presents the answers to us, we either allow it to pass us, or worse, we doubt it’s even Him...even when that thing we desire, or the opportunity to offer ourselves, is standing right in the middle of our path. Instead of embracing the life He's handed us on a silver platter, we think to ourselves, I need more time, it's not time yet.  

I have learned first hand, life is short...and sometimes is cut short. 

It is time. Seize what flees. Welcome today as the very best day of all.

Set your intentions for today...then go do it. Don't allow the opportunities set before you to flee.

Like a Prayer

 

Yes, I’m talking about lyrics from Madonna…and, a confession.  I, like many other twenty something females in the late 80’s and early 90’s, channeled a bit of Madonna’s clothing style. If not her, then I borrowed some looks from Janet Jackson and Paula Abdul…don’t judge me☺ I was a hip hop dancer and choreographer and carried a flare for the edgy look…still do.  But just because I wore my bangs big, a long stack of black rubber bracelets up one arm, or the denim mini-skirt, showy earrings, and fitted crop top or even the cut off t-shirts, it doesn’t mean I interpreted their music the same way.  I don’t care what a song’s intended meaning is; it speaks differently to every individual. I danced and choreographed, and dressed, using my personal interpretation of songs and of life. 

…And this past week, God surprisingly opened up the words, “just like a prayer, I’ll take you there”, in a way that speaks to me, Jené Ray Barranco.

Just like a prayer, I’ll take you there…this small phrase recently kept me tossing all night.  Now, a week later, the reverberations of these words linger, they echo in my head 24/7-this track has no pause or stop button. I hear only the words, no music…Why? I finally ask God if He has something for me in this- I feel He’s leading me somewhere with this small phrase from a wildly popular, and controversial, song released by Madonna in 1989. 

I’m a questioner, a seeker of meaning, an adventurer, an excavator looking for truth, with an insatiable appetite to discover the authentic, and the beauty, which takes intentionality to discover.  God created me this way and it drives everything I’ve ever written. It drives my life choices and the direction my feet take on the paths I charter. At first, these paths seemingly appear to be rabbit trails, yet are not rabbit trails at all. Instead, they are subtle invitations from God to go with Him on an adventure where He has something to show me. The result is a greater connection with my Creator and a deeper understanding of creation.  My soul expands on these little road trips with Him, just as lungs expands with a deep breath, receiving everything the body needs for continuance of life. 

I’m reminded of a prayer request I wrote in my journal January 4th, 2020. “Send me messages, love notes from You, through the channel of music…through all forms.” This was not a premeditated request but words that flowed right out of the depths as my pen flowed the desires of my soul onto the paper.  God knows music speaks to my innermost, intimate being, the deepest places where my own words feel inadequate.  I set aside every January as a month for intense time of pressing into God and seeking His guidance for the New Year with introspection, opening my soul to the rabbit trails, as well as the main paths He is opening for me.  I want to embrace every adventure He may be preparing for the two of us on the roads we will create together. 

A week ago a friend of mine responded to an email of mine with a quote from the author/speaker/teacher Joseph Campbell.  It surprised me because, outside of the people in my writing world, I had never heard anyone mention his name, much less share a profound passage from his writings.  

…Enter Just like a prayer, I’ll take you there

With Joseph Campbell’s work recently being spoken into my life again, I’m reminded of a well-known quote of his as I begin to write this morning.   If you can see your path laid out in front of you step by step, you know it’s not your path.  Your own path you make with every step you take.  That’s why it’s your path.

Just like a prayer, God takes me there, alongside Him, on the path we make with each step we take together…even on the rabbit trails. These rabbit trails are my path. I discover this path through experiencing life with each courageous, willing, reverent, step I take into the unknown.

Prayer is an interacting with God. It connects me to Him, joins us together-we are listening to one another-walking with one another. Any time I interact with Him, feel connected to Him, it's just like a prayer because in, and feeling,  His presence.

…Thanksgiving and a grateful heart are prayers. 

…Time spent with Him is prayer.

…Prayers and worship carry the power to transport us out of our circumstances and into His presence.

…When I chase after these kinds of prayers, I blaze my own path with Him by my side.

And just as songs speak differently to each individual, so forms of prayer speak differently to each soul and connect us with God…they take us there, enraptured into His presence.

For me, these lyrics from Madonna resonate with my spirit in this way. God whispers this to my soul…Just like a prayer, I’ll take you there, into My presence. He can take me there without a written prayer, without being on my knees, without being in a church…He’s God, omnipotent, omniscient, omnipresent, creator of ALL things!  The Creator of my body, soul, spirit, and mind.  I follow Him on the side roads with a spirit of an adventurer, and pause to honor Him, to experience His beauty in all things.  

When I experience beauty, I experience Him…just like a prayer. 

“Like a Prayer”

Snowcapped mountains, crisp air in my lungs, awe overcomes me… just like a prayer, it takes me there.

Evening light at ocean's edge, sand underfoot, waves rhythmically crashing, baptizing me in peace…just like a prayer, it takes me there

Full moon on a dark lapis sky, God’s beauty leaves me breathless…. just like a prayer, it takes me there

Ancient cathedral enveloped in silence, acoustic vacuum swallowing my steps, elevating my soul…just like a prayer, it takes me there

Morning mist rises on a lake, hope colors the horizon, thankfulness swells…just like a prayer, it takes me there.

Symphonic calls of geese crescendo overhead, decrescendo, contentment exhales from my soul…just like a prayer, it takes me there.

Midnight glory casts across my bed, the light of the moon romances my heart…just like a prayer, it takes me there

Ethereal notes, operatic pitch, pulling a gasp from my lungs  it lifts me to a heavenly realm…just like a prayer, it takes me there, raptured right into His presence.

The Mark of Something New

Ten years ago today- it was the day my life changed in an instant, like a bolt of lightening preceding a growling tremor of thunder, causing my soul to vibrate through every cell in my being.  As if my body was still resonating from that vibration, today I awoke around 3:30am-the same time the tsunami rose instantly from the unsympathetic depths and obliterated everything it touched. On this day, ten years ago, only minutes after hearing him say, Good night, I love you, on the phone, my Michael was swept up to heaven within the powerful vortex of that bolt of lightening.  

 

In my book GOOD NIGHT, I LOVE YOU, I write, 

 

Grief hits like a tsunami…a tidal wave of emotions, pain and crashing waves that are utterly overwhelming.  Following the initial devastation of a tsunami comes a series of crushing waves that are called the Wave Train. The emotional overload after Michael’s death continued to wash over me and wreak havoc. One after the other, these waves continue to hit, and only after a period of time, begin to lessen in strength and destruction. A steady, continual crashing of emotional waves of grief crushed me daily…sometimes to the point of suffocation.  I barely pulled my head above each wave in time to sustain the next onslaught… 

 

Over the days and months that followed, the waves of grief continued to wash over me—crashing in, receding out, crashing in, and receding out. Each time the pain washed over me, I felt as if a part of my heart and strength were stolen from me and forced into the current to be swept out into the violent riptide. Unlike the sea, the waves were unpredictable and came on me from different directions. 

Facing each wave individually was the only way I could brace myself and endure the continual onslaught. During the short periods of recessions, I compartmentalized the waves by writing about the severity of each one, how it affected me, what I learned about life from the blow, and where I experienced the pain.  I recorded the days in an effort to remember where I had been when the wave hit and how I got back on my feet after each one. No matter how hard they hit me, I slowly and deliberately rose to my feet, reestablished my footing, and prepared for what kind of waves might hit next, anticipating from what direction they might come.  Often, they returned only to hit me with the exact same force and wound me in the exact same place.  At other times they were less severe or wounded me in places I did not know existed. 

 

As I cautiously walked through the debris from the storm, I began to pick up pieces of my heart as I recognized them.  I picked up shards of my life.  I picked up memories I wanted to keep.  I even picked up my children, as they were washed up on the beach as well.  We were alive, but barely. I tightly held onto all of these things, pulling them into my chest as I retreated into the only place I felt safe, my own private world of grief.

Grief is deep. It’s shocking. It’s complex. It’s dark, lonely, and unpredictable. 

 

After many years, the Wave Train all but stopped, with the exception of the unexpected gentle waves occasionally slapping up my side, as they do when you are knee deep in the water relaxing in the peace of the sea. You may stumble a bit, but if you have the practice, you spot it coming and allow your body to lift with the wave. 

 

I’ve not had this early wake up call every year on this morning, but this year I had a knowing it would happen again.  For many years now, I’ve known something would be different about the ten-year mark. It would be a true mark:a boundary land, something such as a fixed object designed to record position, the starting line, a sign, a point reached.  I felt a shift in the spiritual realm at the beginning of this year-a level had been reached; there was a new starting line. I had reached the boundary land at the end of long dark valley.  The air changes when you come out of a valley, it’s lighter and the road ahead now captures the sunlight. The possibilities spring up before you as suddenly as a tulip opens after the bareness of winter. 

 

Despite the circumstances of what this morning commemorated, I awoke with a spirit of gratitude.  For quite some time after Michael died, I lost my ability to pray. I was completely mute.  God and I sat side by side in silent conversation. I'll never forget the night I spoke to Him for the first time.  I was lying on my side in bed with the presence of the moonlight shining on my face, when my lips spontaneously uttered my first words of prayer in a whisper…Thank you   It bubbled right out of my soul without a thought. A sacrifice of thankfulness broke through. I was thankful for God’s faithfulness to me.  I was thankful for 25 magical years with Michael Barranco. I was thankful for my three children, for life itself, and for redeeming love.

 

Since that morning ten years ago, each morning, before I even get out of bed, the words Thank you are whispered aloud to my God.  When I turn out my light at night, again- Thank you. Thankfulness truly can rise out of any circumstances.

 

The new open land, a promised land, now beckons me. In the book of Genesis, Jacob travels with his family to new lands and a new life.  On the journey, his first love and wife, Rachel, dies in childbirth. The scriptures say, “He set a memorial, then journeyed on.” He honored her…then moved on. I have set a memorial for Michael Anthony Barranco, Sr. I have honored him with word and deed.  The midnight hour is over and, though I may not be able to see it yet,  God has prepared a journey with adventures before me. The words Thank you are not heavy enough to express my gratefulness of making it to the other side, having crossed over into new land. 

 

When Michael died, we were attending a multi-ethic church in Jackson, Mississippi.  He frequently sang solos alongside the choir, belting out his signature R & B style of singing.  I invited this choir, robes and swaying included, to sing on stage at Michael’s funeral.  The song I chose was “I Wanna Say Thank You.”   When they broke into the chorus for the first time, I could not contain myself-I simply had to stand up.  With a hanky in my hand held high, I stood with an overwhelmed grateful heart for God’s faithfulness.  The entire crowd, of close to one thousand people, all rose with me, and we said Thank you. 

 

If I never live another day
If I never see another smiling face
If I never breathe another breath or take
Another step I want to say Thank You

If I never hear what's to be heard
If I never speak another word
If I never see another sight or taste another bite
I want to say Thank you

Thank you for all that you've done thus far
Thank you for being the God that you are
Thank you for food on my table I know 

You are able, I wanna say thank you

 

Thank you for food on my table
Thank you for making a way
Thank you for watching over me

I wanna say thank you

 

 

Sea of Tears

Death and grief, they are inescapable- I’ve written about this before.  It entered into my world again on Friday.  Not directly, but no matter how indirectly or directly it strikes your world, once it has come to your own doorstep, the compassion for others quickly rises when you learn someone else has just opened their door to find inescapable death and grief waiting for them.

In an instant, a friend of my dear friend Janine lost her 21-year-old son in a car accident. No warning.  No preparation.  These things we cannot explain away.  They happen.  He was a newlywed of 2 months.  He and his young bride had yet to even receive their wedding photos from the photographer. 

My thoughts went to the young bride.  They went to the young man’s mother, his father, even his best friend.  If I could sit at their feet right now and look into their eyes, what would I say?  What are the most basic things I could say that would help them in the long run during their walk through the dark valley that lay before them?

I remember going to see my internist a couple of months after my husband died in a car crash.  My heart rate and blood pressure had been all over the place.  My sleep was nonexistent.  He gave me specific and basic advice. “Cry.  When you feel the urge arise, cry.  Don’t push it down.  Let it out.  Now, you can’t emote everywhere you go-there will be times when you are out that you will need to hold it together.  But when you can and where you can, go ahead and cry.”

Another doctor gave me basic advice.  Fear jumped on me the first night after learning of my husband’s death. My heart beat raced and pounded in my chest so hard I thought it might burst through my chest.  My blood pressure was erratic, both high and low, plus panic attacks, and even social anxiety disorder.  I was petrified of going to get coffee, to church, and most of all - the grocery store. 

One day while checking out in the grocery store where I had shopped for 25 years, my heart began pounding-all the blood was dropping from my head.  I'm going to pass out right here, right now. Can I even make it to my car? This was not the first time it happened in the grocery store. I call my mom explaining my situation. “If I don’t call you in 5 minutes, come straight to Kroger.”  

After buying my own blood pressure cuff and experiencing this scenario too many times, I met with a cardiologist.  After multiple tests and a month of wearing an external monitor that sent daily reports directly to the hospital, he sat me down for some real talk.  He told me he lost someone tragically while in college.  His body experienced everything mine was experiencing.  He looked at me and gently said, “Jené, there is nothing wrong with your heart.  It is strong and healthy.  Here is what I want you to do. First, get rid of your blood pressure cuff.  It feeds your fear, which in turn makes things worse.  Cry when you need to. The next time you are out and this happens, keep your eyes straight ahead and tell yourself, ‘I will not pass out. I am fine. I am healthy.' Press through it.  Don’t give into the fear.’ “

In The Little Paris Bookshop, Nina George tells a magnificent story of Monsieur Perdu, a Parisian bookseller who thinks of himself as a literary apothecary. From his floating bookshop on the river Seine, he prescribes books for the hardships of life.  Prescribing the exact book a reader needs, Perdu mends broken hearts and souls. The only person he has not been able to heal is himself.  He’s been grieving for twenty years over the loss of his lover.  She abandoned him leaving only a letter behind-a letter he has yet to open.

In one small tender scene, Perdu checks on a neighbor who has recently been deserted by her husband. Noticing her reflection through the frosted glass window on her front door, he quietly knocks then addresses her through the door.   Without ever opening it, she leans in and speaks through the frosted glass.  He closely watches her reflection.

“I need to cry some more.  I’ll drown if I don’t.  Can you understand that?”

Monsieur Perdu responds, “Of course.  Sometimes you’re swimming in unwept tears and you’ll go under if you store them up inside.”  I’m at the bottom of the sea of tears. “I’ll bring you a book on tears then.”

So what basic advice could I share with this young bride, this mother, and this father who have just experienced tragic loss?  What can I say to help them in the long run during their walk through the dark valley sprawled out before them?

Cry.

Cry some more.

Don’t swim in unwept tears or you’ll go under.

So cry some more.

Don’t apologize when you do cry.

Take deep breaths.  Frequently.

Talk about him.

Tell stories.
Take more deep breaths.

Take care of your grief – don’t put a Band-Aid on it.  Treat the wound; protect it. 

Don’t put grief in a closet or sweep it under a rug to make your life look clean.

Don’t go back to business as usual too soon.

Lay down your stoicism.

Allow yourself to feel.
There is no timeline-so take your time, rest and stop along the journey every once in awhile.

Even King David knew how to let out all of his tears.  “I'm exhausted and worn out with my weeping. I endure weary sleepless nights filled with moaning, soaking my pillow with my tears.  My eyes of faith won't focus anymore, for sorrow fills my heart.  There are so many enemies who come against me! Go away! Leave me, all you troublemakers! For the Lord has turned to listen to my thunderous cry." Psalm 6:6-8 The Passion Translation

Crying does not mean you have lost your faith.  You are simply human and hurting- you need God’s presence more than ever.  He does not abandon you during this time, but sits beside you.  He grieves with you.  He feels your pain.

Your tears, your cries… they are your prayers.