Mindfulness can be divided into three practices. Though they are simple, they must be done purposefully to allow change to occur.
First, mindfulness is focusing on one thing. You can think about anything, but we typically go down the same neurological pathway we have already created, the path of “the worst-case scenarios” (What if my son dies in a car accident? What if my mom is dead on the floor of her house and no one finds her?) I focus on my own physical body. Then, I stay focused on my body and become aware of its stress.
The second aspect is being in the present moment. Instead of worrying about what might happen (future) or what has happened (past), I focus on the present moment. I think about what IS happening, right now. Depressive thoughts tend to get us stuck in the past; anxious thoughts tend to get us worried about the future, so focusing on the present is a change of perspective. Training our minds to be in the present is a skill that must be learned through repeated practice. If our minds drift away to an anxious thought, we must gently bring it back to the present. Our minds tend to think about other people’s opinions (OPO’s), and we lose power by focusing our energies on something that has not happened (and likely won’t). We increase our power in the present because the only thing we have is the present.
The third thing and most important aspect of mindfulness is being non-judgmental. It is stopping our many judgmental thoughts (on self and others). Research indicates we have 2,000 to 3,000 words a minute going through our cortex; most of them are judgments of ourselves; “I’m so stupid, I can’t believe I did that,” or “What will they think when they find out what I did?” Being non-judgmental is accepting the present moment and our present circumstances (even if we think they are unfair).
I am judgmental when I blame others, get angry, accuse, resent, or wallow in my own bitterness. When I think I’m being a stupid idiot for not calling Deb the day she died, I’m being judgmental. The goal is to accept what God has done for a few focused moments. I might not want or agree with my present circumstances, but they are present. Acceptance is no small matter.
After Deb’s death, I had to practice this skill every day. I HAD to practice mindfulness to keep me sane. This process allows God to work his healing power without my anxieties getting in the way. He gets the credit, but I am not a passive responder. The latest research now shows evidence that this works. I can self-regulate my emotions by using mindfulness. I thank God for this skill.
Finding God
O Lord,
Help me know you. And help me know your plan.
I’m trying to make sense of my life but things don’t seem to add up. I’m trying to hold to you but sometimes you seem so far away.
Please help me find your peace and rest. Forgive me for my obsession with myself. I only think about myself. I’m so inward-focused that I don’t see you or what you want me to do with others. I find your strength when I work to love others, but I’m not doing that now.
Help me fight against not caring anymore. About anything. There is a war going on in Israel, and I haven’t even prayed for peace. What’s wrong with me?
You come into my life and offer me good things, but I’m lost. And to be honest, I’m not so sure I trust you anymore. I want the pain to stop, but it keeps getting worse.
Can’t you hear me, Lord? Don’t you want to save me from my misery?
Please help me through grief at the pace I want to move (as quickly and painlessly as possible), but you are moving at a different speed. Forgive me for my impatience. You are good, and I’m just hurt. You have never failed me. You have only given me good things, yet I don’t feel it. Not now.
You invite me to worship you. And when I worship you, I begin to heal. I’m realizing for the millionth time that when I take my eyes off you, I get stuck in my puny little problems. You are worthy of my attention, so very worthy.
You have blessed me more than I deserve. And all I think about is my pain. Forgive me for losing focus on what’s most important.
Oh Lord, you are so kind to me. So very kind.
Help me see you as you really are, Jesus. Allow me to see your beauty and forgive my unbelief.
In Jesus’ name, Amen.
Learning
I’m trying to learn what God wants from me in my condition, which kind of sounds like I’m pregnant. I know he is with me, even though I don’t always feel it.
Sometimes I don’t feel anything. Sometimes I feel everything. But God is somehow with me. My heart is flopping around like a fish out of water, going from one extreme to another. I don’t like it.
My Bible (the final authority on this matter) encourages me to stay grounded in God;
“Don’t panic. I’m with you. There’s no need to fear for I’m your God. I’ll give you strength. I’ll help you. I’ll hold you steady, keep a firm grip on you.” Isaiah 41:10 (MSG)
I’m in a dark place. These words breathe life into me. I can feel it in my soul.
I wonder to myself, “Why I’m even here? Why should I even try? Does it matter?”
When I calm down and remember the truth, I can change my perspective. He’s with me. He’s here, even when my feelings lie to me and say God is too far off to care.
This verse is a comfort to me.
Deep breath in. Deep breath out.
This pain is temporary. God is good.
My Ambivalence
Therapist Jo McRogers suggests that grief causes us to be very self-focused. This is true of me. This makes me wonder, am I selfish, or am I healing? Perhaps I’m healing selfishly. I’m not sure if this is a sin to be confessed or a strength to practice. All I know is that I’m very self-focused.
I’ll happily share my struggles with you, but I likely won’t be as interested in hearing your struggles. Hopefully, this self-consuming frame of reference will be short-term, and I will go back to “normal Andy.” Hopefully, I won’t feel so miserable because I’m tired, so very tired.
In my condition, I’m trying to find hope, but the hope I see seems like at least a year away. I don’t feel hope now, but I know the feeling will eventually catch up to me, kind of like summer taxes. I feel a grace-filled Savior tapping on my shoulder, whispering, “Be kind to yourself.” I try, but it’s uncomfortable. I don’t know how to be kinder to myself. Perhaps I need to receive grace IN my confusion, in the present, knowing I’m not balanced right now and “not fit for human consumption.” I waffle. I’ve become a human waffle.
Could I possibly be more ambivalent?