WE ARE BEING WATCHED!

I've been aware of the spiritual world from my earliest memories.  However, it wasn't until my teen years that the reality and presence of both good and evil in the spiritual world manifested itself to me.  There was a real struggle for my soul that began as I started searching for God and desiring a relationship with Him.  Demonic spirits physically attacked me and attempted other ways of separating me from God.  But before I tell that part I need to share some things I've learned along the way.  

Humans are surrounded by spiritual beings on this earth; in fact, we are out numbered!  These spiritual entities are either good or evil.  When we were created God also created angels, and they were given great power and authority to do whatever God assigned them.  At one point about one third of the angels decided they wanted be like God rather then serve Him.  God sent these rebellious angels down to earth where they would spend the remainder of their time until the earth was destroyed.

  

I call those evil beings demons, and their leader satan.  They have incredible power and should be taken seriously.  They are able to disguise themselves as “angels of light” in order to deceive us.  I have learned if there is ANY fear associated with a spiritual encounter then it is evil or satanic in it’s source.  Also, and this is very important in discerning  the difference between good and evil entities, demons cannot stand the name of Jesus Christ!  They will flee when they hear His name, and I have experienced this numerous times.  Even when sleeping if I have a nightmare that is demonic all I have to do is call out Jesus name and they run.

  

Unclean spirits speak:  Mark 1:26  “And when the unclean spirit had torn him, and cried with a loud voice, he came out of him.”

They walk. They need to rest:  Matt 12:43  “When the unclean spirit is gone out of a man, he walks through dry places, seeking rest, and finds none.”

They can be talked to. They listen. They can be commanded to leave.  Mark 5:8 “For he said unto him, Come out of the man, thou unclean spirit.”  Mark 9:25 “When Jesus saw that the people came running together, he rebuked the foul spirit, saying unto him, [Thou] dumb and deaf spirit, I charge thee, come out of him, and enter no more into him.”

They fight.  Luke 9:39  “And, lo, a spirit takes him, and he suddenly cries out; and it tears him that he foams again,
and bruising him hardly departs from him.” 

The critical thing I learned is that a human’s spirit is different from the angel’s.  Angels are a separate creation from us.  Humans never become angels.  Angels were created to serve God in spiritual matters, and God has equipped them with special powers to do this.  Part of the angels’ responsibilities are to watch over us.  One of the special powers angels have is they can take on physical form!  It’s a great comfort to have this knowledge about angels.  However, angels are NOT to be worshipped.  They are creations of God just as we are.

  

On the other hand, satan and his demons seek to kill, maim, and destroy.  They desire to exert as much control over mankind as possible before this earth is destroyed.  They want to separate us from God, just as they are separated.  Demons are miserable entities, and they want humans to be as miserable as they are.

Discerning the difference between a good and evil spirit is critically important, but true discernment involves testing them as stated in 1 John 4:1.  “Beloved, believe not every spirit, but try the spirits whether they are of God: because many false prophets are active out in the world.”  So, how does one go about testing the spirits, you might ask?  The answer is in 1 Corinthians 12:3.  “Understand, that no man speaking by the Spirit of God calls Jesus accursed: and no man can say that Jesus is the Lord, but by the Holy Ghost.”

Therefore we test the spirits by asking them if Jesus is the Christ and Lord, and if he walked the earth in human flesh. This will not phase a spirit from God, but it will have an effect on negative spirits who are deceptively pretending to be good. These spirits will try to fool us, but the power in that question will either anger a negative spirit, or simply make it leave without another word.

Humans have the ability to close doors to demonic attacks, but we also can inadvertently open doors.  Ouija boards, tarot cards, seances, books on the occult, astrology charts, fortune telling, necromancy (contacting the dead), certain movies and video games, and pornography are a few of the ways humans can open doors to demons without even realizing it.  As a teenager I was attacked by demons many, many nights.  They had the ability to physically chock me, as well as hiss in my ear terrible things. I hated those terrifying encounters in my bedroom.  As an adult I wondered why demons had this kind of control over me in my childhood home.  After my NDE (Near Death Experience) I realized my dad’s sexual sin (I was an incest survivor) opened the door to satan and his demons in our home.  At the age of 19 I discovered the power of the name of Jesus, and no longer struggled with these physical attacks by demonic forces.

Most people love to talk about angels, and they clammer for  stories from those who have been rescued by angels, or who have seen angels doing amazing things.  But hearing about demons makes us uncomfortable, and we'd rather not think about that side of things.  Yet both spiritual entities are to be taken equally seriously!

God motivated me to share all this so you can avoid being deceived!  Satan has no power over us when we acknowledge him and his minions, avoid those objects and activities which invite trouble, and use the powerful name of Jesus Christ.  The choices we make concerning spiritual beings (both good and bad) impact not just ourselves, but our families as well!  So choose carefully.

ARE YOU AVERAGE?

I just learned from a very reliable source that “Americans will have an average of nine operations during their lifetime”.  The source is this month’s AARP magazine which is now one of my favorite reads.  (Aug/Sept '2014, page 18)  It got me to thinking about my 62 years on this earth, and my ten surgeries. 

Before the age of 50 I experienced three surgeries.  Two were minor, if there is such a thing as a “minor” operation; a tonsillectomy and a tubal ligation.  The third was traumatizing, scary, and came with a year of recovery.  My spine required fusion from T1 to L3 and a titanium rod was placed permanently into my back.  That surgery would also mark the beginning of the end of my fifteen year marriage.  “In sickness and in health” turned out to only be in health.  There was an ugly separation, a divorce, and a new life in college where I met my forever husband.  He taught geology classes, and I fell in love with this gentle, compassionate man.

  

My 50th year was a rough one.  I was flown to OHSU for emergency open-heart surgery and a total pericardectomy.  The sternum is sawed in half, then a heart/lung machine is attached, and the heart is taken out in order for the covering of the heart (pericardium) to be completely removed.  The recovery period was a year.  This surgery came after a couple of years of being sick with a mysterious illness which ended up being diagnosed as Sjogrens Auto-Immune Disorder.  From that point on I needed one operation after another; gallbladder, appendix, open-lung biopsy, thyroid, two cataract surgeries, and finally at age 56 oral surgery to have all my teeth removed.  Three days later I accidentally overdosed on Valium.  Twice during those six years I almost died.  Yet my second husband loyally cared for me and nursed me back to health through seven operations, and life threatening illness.

  

My medical story has an amazing ending.  I hit Americans average of nine operations and topped it by one, but then the unexpected happened.  God told me during my overdose that I would be healed, and I was.  One year later I no longer suffered from Sjogrens, or Lymphasytic Interstitial Pneumonia, or Valium addiction.  I’ve enjoyed almost six years of good health.  I give God the glory, not just for healing me, but for bringing a man into my life who would hang in there through sickness as well as  health.

I see a blog in my future about how to prepare and get through surgery in ten easy steps!  

A HEAVY BURDEN I'M DONE CARRYING!

Tonight I had an epiphany, a moment of sudden revelation and insight.  For many years I’ve been extremely critical of myself as a parent.  I have three wonderful adult children whom I’m so proud of.  But whenever one of them struggles with something, or faces difficulty I blame myself.  

There are many times I’ve taken the blame for my children’s problems.  I could share specific examples, but because these stories are not just mine but my children’s I don’t feel free to describe them on this public forum.  (I think I just heard a collective sigh of relief coming from a couple of specific places on the planet.)  

There is one example I’ll share however.  My children are all in their mid to late thirties.  Two have never married.  And I’ve blamed myself.  Something I did, perhaps my own difficult first marriage, resulted in my children’s failure to marry.  The thought going through my head has always been, “It’s my fault”.

Not until I married the second time did I find marriage to be the satisfying experience I enjoy now.  My children were entering their teen years when I found my forever partner.  It’s always been my pray that my kids would find their forever partners too, but it just hasn’t happened . . . because of me.

This is a deep seated blame I had no idea where it came from until tonight.  

My women’s Bible study group is reading Joyce Meyer’s book, “Battlefield of the Mind”.  I got to one paragraph in the book which hit me cold in the face.  “Things that were on your parents can be passed on to you.  Attitudes, thoughts and behavior patterns can be inherited.  A wrong mindset that your parents had can become your mindset.  The way you think about a certain subject can be passed down to you, and you won’t even know why you think that way.”

Before I even finished reading this paragraph a long forgotten memory rushed to the surface.  It was a Friday evening in March of 1988.  Earlier that day I had been issued a restraining order on my first husband, and left with my children.  It was the day my fourteen year marriage ended.  I phoned my elderly parents to tell them.  My dad angrily responded, “You’ve ruined your children’s lives.  They will never get over this.  You’ve destroyed them.”  He handed the phone to mother, and didn’t speak to me again for a long time.  That’s all he said.  That’s all he needed to say.  In that moment I internally came into agreement with him.  From that point on anything bad that happened to my children was my fault.  I may not have said it out loud, but inwardly that is how I felt.

My parents grew up in the Great Depression.  They saw things in black and white, especially when it came to how families looked and behaved.  My dad always taught his three daughters that divorce was unacceptable when there were children involved.  Period.  One sister got divorced.  Then I went through divorce.  And finally my youngest sister divorced as well.  Many years later my dad would confess to me that his greatest shame and sense of failure in life came from all three of his children getting divorced.  He asked me, "Where did I go wrong with you girls?"  I simply replied, "Life happens daddy.  It's not your fault."  Yet here I was carrying the same false guilt my dad carried because he'd "shared" it with me.    

As the shame of this memory washed over me tears of pain came to my eyes.  I heard God clearly speak to me.  He said, “Your children have not been ‘ruined’ or ‘destroyed’”.  God continued, “Your children are mature, wise, and emotionally healthy adults who have weathered that difficult time.  In fact, they have great insight directly as a result of going through that time.”  God finished by saying, “Stop blaming yourself falsely because of angry words your earthly father spoke that day.”

Thoughtless words said many years ago had burdened me with a heavy load.  God released me tonight from the shame and guilt that were never meant for me to carry!

WHAT TRUE LOVE LOOKS LIKE

I'd been sick all day. In fact, I'd been sick all week, and all month. Withdrawing cold turkey from fifteen years of valium use was knocking the breath right out of me. I'd never been this sick in my life. When I wasn't in bed I was in the bathroom. I went through three months of this. One morning at 3AM I headed to the bathroom. There, on hands and knees, my husband scrubbed the floor. He said it was the only time he could clean it without disturbing me. Those three months Jay did everything for me. Everything. Even if he had to get up at 3AM to do it.

He continues to love me in that deep and abiding way five years later. Last spring I made the mistake of eating too much fresh pineapple at a wedding in another town. On our way home the next morning my husband and I stopped at a thrift store where I lost all bowel control. I didn't make it to the bathroom in time so I was a mess. My husband insisted on coming into the restroom with me (it was a single stall room) so he could help me get out of my clothes, clean me up, and run to the car to get me a clean outfit. He also rinsed my soiled clothes in the sink. He did all this quickly, efficiently, and without complaint. His biggest concern was that I might be getting sick again, but I assured him it was just the pineapple I ate the night before. 

True love is not always best illustrated by flowers and candlelight, chocolates and poetry.  True love shows up especially brilliantly in illness and adversity.   I'm so blessed to have a husband who does not think it a burden to take care of me. In fact, he considers it a privilege. Perhaps it's because he's almost lost me twice that he holds to me so dearly. Whatever the reason, this anniversary I'm grateful for 23 years with such a man in my life.

Jay & I in August, 2013

MY VETRAN'S DAY HERO

My dad was born March 10, 1923 on a farm in rural Montana with eight brothers and sisters during the Great Depression. At 15 (1938) he worked in a CCC camp because there was no food or jobs at home. At 17 years my dad lied about his age in order to get into the U.S. Army Air Corp to fight in World War II. (After 1942 it would be called the Air Force.) It was his dream to get out of Montana, and fly in a plane. On his test flight he puked his guts out, but begged the officer to let him stay in the Air Corp which he did. My dad would fly 30 missions over Nazi occupied territory as a tail-gunner in the famous B-24's. Stephen E. Ambrose wrote an excellent book called, "The Wild Blue" which is about the men and boys who flew these “tin coffins” over enemy occupied territory. 

Because of the poverty he experienced in his youth my dad seldom took things for granted, either material possessions or relationships. He always appreciated a good meal, a roof over his head and the few clothes he owned. He married my mother at the age of 30, and had his three girls relatively late in life. Which made his family all the more important to my dad. He loved his family above all else although he never expressed that love with hugs and kisses. It just wasn't in his nature. But we all knew we were loved beyond measure. 

It was also late in life that my dad gave his life to the Lord. He served God at 45 years of age along with his family. We never went without. Our needs came before his own. He barely finished high school, but he loved to learn, always had a job, and didn't believe in sitting around doing nothing. After 20 years serving in the military he worked 15 more years in the post office before retiring. After retirement he bought, then refinished and sold antiques so he always had money to spend on others, and hooked huge "personal history" rugs as family heirlooms. 

People always came before things, and that's what I admired most about him. Tonight I’m thankful for this man who fought for our country and our freedom; the man who was my dad. He passed away four years ago, but my memories are as strong as ever. 

Dad (standing far right) in England just before a mission during WWII.

A PRECIOUS PORTRAIT

The mother on the other end of the line was clearly in distress.  Her teenage son was graduating from high school, but he hated having his photo taken.  He made it clear to his mother that he would agree to maybe a few photos, but that was it.  And he wasn’t taking his hat off.  Period.  And he wasn’t going to smile either, or dress up in some fancy outfit.  After explaining all this the mom asked if I would be willing to “take on” her son, and his senior photo session.

It was the late 90’s, and my portrait business was in full swing.  I kept busy with weddings and families, but my favorite clients were seniors.  They enjoyed trying new things, and breaking out of the traditional.  Seniors always challenged my skills and my creativity.  They kept me on my photographic toes so to speak! 

I felt honored she would ask me to take on this challenging task.  It meant so much to her, and yet so little to him.  She went on to say she had heard I was really good with teenagers, and had a reputation for making senior portraits a fun time for them.    She had two specific requests; could I try and get one photo without his baseball cap, and one shot of him smiling.  Assuring her I would do my best we picked out a day and time.  

The out of doors is always my preference for portraits.  Natural light can’t be surpassed, but nature also puts folks at ease.  It’s so much harder to get people to relax in a studio setting.  And the teens in our area almost always prefer the outdoors for their sessions, especially guys.  I knew immediately that Riverside Park would be the best choice for this young man.  Fall colors were in full swing, and it was a short drive from the studio.  

I encouraged teens to bring one or more friends to their sitting.  It helped relax them, and made it more fun for all of us.  They would help me with the reflector, and watching for stray hairs and other details I might miss.  I asked mom if he would like to bring a friend to the sitting, but quickly replied he was a loner and would be coming by himself.  So I decided to ask my husband to be my assistant on this challenging sitting.  He has a great sense of humor, and could lighten up the mood.  I knew that would be paramount for getting some really good photographs of this young man.

The afternoon arrived, and the senior met us at Riverside Park by himself in his beat up pickup truck.  He had on broken-in jeans, an old t-shirt with a hole in it, and a well worn baseball cap.  I asked him if he brought any other shirts and the curt answer was no.  He was all business, and had an “I want to get this over with” attitude.  As I got the equipment ready Jay went to work doing his magic.  My husband is a college geology professor who is loved for his down-to-earth, and fun loving approach to teaching.  He used his sense of humor to begin softening the mood.

I decided to not let the hole in his t-shirt ruin my determination to get a great portrait.  I hid the hole by poses with his arms crossed in front of him, or with a branch, or some other technic.  And when all else failed I could always have the distraction retouched out of the picture.  The important thing was to not let it frustrate me.  I moved quickly, not spending a lot of time fussing, or posing, or arranging.  “Keep it light”, I kept telling myself!  This is not a time for micro-managing.

Before long this fellow responded beautifully to our team approach of keeping it moving, and keeping it light!  Jay would crack a joke like, “That one’s a GQ shot.” or “All your girlfriends are going to want that photo”, or “I hear Hollywood calling”.   He coaxed the smiles, while I kept my finger on the trigger, ready to capture that moment each time it happened.  Pretty soon our senior was suggesting a pose he thought would look cool with his truck!  At one point he said, “My mom would probably like me to take my hat off for some photos.”  So for the remainder of the session he kept his baseball cap in the cab of the pickup.  I was on cloud nine with the way this session flowed that afternoon!  After about an hour and a half of taking photos we headed our separate ways.

Mom was thrilled with the results of the portrait session.  Her expectations had not only been met, but exceeded.  There was her son in numerous photos looking relaxed and completely himself, smiling and hatless.  “How did you do it?”, she asked.  I responded, “Trade secret!”, and winked.

A couple of years passed when I received another phone call from mom.  She apologized for such short notice, but she needed some 8x10’s from her son’s senior session.  “We would like to display them at his memorial service this Friday.  He took his life last week.  Those are the best photos we have of him.  We are so grateful we have those photographs.”

I attended his memorial service; half a dozen framed 8X10’s placed among the various floral arraignments at the front of the room.  Smiling.  Hatless.  And young.  So young.

I value photographs highly.  More then most perhaps.  Not a single negative has been tossed or destroyed out of the tens of thousands of negatives I’ve created with film cameras.  Numerous times I’ve been contacted for prints or negatives of loved ones I photographed who have passed.  It’s always a privilege to be able to provide those things.  It’s my way of  cherishing life.  If portraiture can be a “calling” I’d like to think this is mine.  It’s a privilege to record a person’s life, even if it’s only one hour of one afternoon during their last year of high school.

This photo is in memory of Sarah Evans (the little girl) 

who passed away much too soon in 2005.

THE DAY I CELEBRATE A MIRACLE!

Today, October 23rd, is a very special day for me!  Five years ago I overdosed on prescription medication, and should have died. God chose to extend my life in a miraculous way.  As I slipped away into unconsciousness I heard a heavenly voice say, "Call 911".  I recall starting to argue with the voice that I was feeling just fine.  But before I could get my thoughts out I heard the sentence repeated, and one word was added, "Call 911 NOW."   I have no memory of anything else from that moment until I awoke in the intensive care unit at our city hospital the next day.  I don't know how I made the call in my semi-conscious state.  According to the hospital emergency room records I was not even coherent when the call was made.  But I do know that if I had not made that early morning 911 call for myself I would not have been alive when my husband got home from work that night.  I do not take any single day since then for granted. "I'm living on borrowed time." Each day is a gift because of the gift of salvation which Jesus Christ died for. Have you received YOUR gift? Please watch this video!

 http://www.youtube.com/watch_popup?v=cLj4akmncsA&feature=channel_video_title

FAMILY CAN DRIVE YOU CRAZY

My childhood home came with a father who could be explosive.  We never knew what might set him off, and after the blow-up the offending party would get the silent treatment for hours, or days.  I picked up that behavior, but eventually broke myself of it.  But I have a family member who continues to behave in this way.  Last night, for the umteenth time, this person didn’t like something I said, and hung up the phone on me.  Well, the umteenth time was one time too many for me.  I sat down at my computer, and started typing exactly what I wanted to say to this individual.  Two pages later I clicked save, and went to bed fuming.  (Fortunately this person does not have e-mail, or Facebook, or anything else to do with the computer age.)

I asked the Lord to show me what to do.  I knew what I wanted to do!  I wanted to mail them a copy of those two pages.  But what did the Lord want me to do?  I fell asleep with that question on my brain.  Each time I awoke the same question popped into my head.  And each time I just prayed, “God help me!  Show me what to do.”  

In the morning the scripture reading for the day was about how Jesus was not accepted in his hometown.  It added Jesus left there because he could do very few miracles because of their lack of faith.  It also spoke of Jesus warning to the disciples that accepting him would sometimes mean family will turn against you.  Then I saw the words “left that place” as if it were highlighted.  God was clearly telling me to not engage in conversation with this family member.  Just walk away.  Let God deal with them.  God is more then capable of revealing to them anything they need to know about their bad behavior.

I gave this person to Jesus, and immediately felt at peace.  The anger was instantly gone!  I knew that just walking away was the right decision for me.  I had a birthday card I hadn’t mailed this person because of my anger.  I pulled out the card, signed it, addressed it, and put it in the mail.

I’ve gone about my day with joy knowing God is in charge.  I’m thankful I didn’t go more then one sleepless night dealing with anger and frustration.

THE PRETENDER

When a waitress in Ohio asked to see a customer's driver's license, she was shocked when she saw the photo on the ID. It was her own picture! The waitress had lost her driver's license a month earlier, and this young woman was using it so she'd have "proof" she was old enough to drink alcohol. The police were called, and the customer was arrested for identity theft. Trying to gain what she wanted, she pretended to be someone she wasn't.

I know what it’s like to pretend to be someone I’m not.  It’s no fun.  It’s lonely for one thing.  And it’s scary.  When my first child was born I didn’t bond with her.  In fact, I suspected she was going to take my husband’s affections away from me.  At one point I was going to kill her, but God protected both of us.  God brought me through a difficult case of postpartum psychosis without doing harm to myself or my baby.  But I was alone through all this because how do you tell someone that you want to kill your baby?  Well, you can tell me because I’ve decided to make my life an open book.  I don’t want to pretend anymore!    

Pretending goes on an awful lot in our churches today.  Many people put on a false front. They use the right “Christian” words, attend church almost every Sunday, and even pray before meals. They pretend they “have it all together” in order to gain the approval of others.  Inside they’re struggling with brokenness, guilt, doubt, or an addiction or other persistent sin.  

God placed us in a body of believers to support one another. What would happen if you admitted you aren’t perfect?  Have you considered seeking the counsel of a godly brother or sister in Christ who has earned your trust?  Take a chance!  Stop pretending!  Don’t hide your sin and cover up, pretending there is nothing wrong.  Instead, confess it and repent.  Be what God intends you to be ~ don’t pretend to be what you’re not.  God will bless your life in ways beyond anything you can imagine.

My two beautiful girls (back in the 80's) that God blessed me with!

MY LAST THEATER GIG?

During the last three theater productions I’ve been involved in since being completely healed  I asked myself at least once this question:  Will this be my last theater “gig”?  Tonight is opening night for my latest theater production; “Shrek the Musical”.  I’m sitting here asking myself that question.  “Will this be my last theater “gig”?  

I love everything about theater, especially musical productions!  When I say everything I mean the tryouts, the rehearsals (especially dress rehearsals), working with fellow actors, the costumes, and of course the experience of being on stage with an audience!  I love moving the audience to tears and laughter.  Musical theater is my absolute favorite kind of stage work, but it can be very “physical” because it usually includes dancing and bigger movements.  My last two shows, and the current one are musical productions; Phantom of the Opera, Fiddler On the Roof, and Shrek the Musical!

My very first show at Centennial High School was “Miracle Worker” about Helen Keller.  My best friend played Helen, and I played her mother.  That was in 1968.  Ten years later in 1978 I was cast in “Music Man” while pregnant with my third baby.  Enoch was born a month early, so I missed opening night.  Taking care of three young children kept me pretty busy the next ten years, but in 1988 I found myself a full-time college student, and once again on the stage.  I played a crazy psychotherapist in the comedy “Beyond Therapy”.  From that point on I auditioned, and was cast in a couple of shows per year in the college theater department.  Fifteen shows were notched on my belt when I became ill with an incurable lung disease, and Sjogren’s Auto-Immune Disorder.  These debilitating illnesses put me out of commission for over eight years.  I didn’t think I would ever experience the joy of stage performing again.  But in 2008 God healed me completely of both the lung disease and the auto-immune disorder!  

It took a couple of years, and a wonderful musical production to bring me out on the stage again.  With great trepidation I auditioned for, and was cast in the college’s 2011 production of “Phantom Of The Opera”.  It was demanding for a fifty nine year old, but what an incredible experience!  A year later a local community theater choose “Fiddler On The Roof” for their 100th anniversary show.  I was selected to play Grandma Tzietel, and had a wonderful time getting to know a new group of fellow thespians.  And now it’s 2013, and I’m the Fairy Godmother in “Shrek The Musical”.  At sixty one years of age the physicality of musical theater is proving again to be very demanding.           

That is why the evening before opening night of “Shrek” I find myself asking, “Will this be my last theater gig?”  I’ve experienced loosing my health rapidly so I know only too well how any number of physical problems could pop up that would hinder me from keeping up with fellow actors in another stage show.  That’s why I’m going to bask in every moment under the stage lights of "Shrek The Musical".  After all, this may be my last theater “gig”.

The musical "Phantom Of The Opera".

I played the "Confidant".

The musical "Fiddler On The Roof".

I played Grandma Tzietel.

"Shrek The Musical"

I'm playing the Fairy Godmother!

OVERCOMING PANIC ATTACKS!

I insisted on walking back to my room after delivering our healthy five pound boy my husband and I would name Enoch Elijah.  His birth consisted of a brief forty-five minutes of hard labor, followed by a very quick delivery.  This live birth, my third, was my fastest delivery yet!  Tabitha arrived in two hours and ten minutes; Melody in just one hour and forty minutes.  Admittedly all three were premature by several weeks, but aside from being low weight they were all healthy babies.  I strode the hospital hallway exhilarated.  Adrenaline, nature’s upper, flooded my post-birth brain, and I could hardly contain my excitement.  An older nurse brought the cleaned up baby to my room, and we began the bonding process.  An hour later that same nurse retrieved him so I could get some sleep.  

Still under the influence of adrenaline, sleep escaped me.  Then a very strange thing happened.  One minute I was joyous, and the next I was blinded by apprehension and dread.  I had a sudden, overwhelming feeling that something terrible was happening with my newborn.  I buzzed the nurses‘ station, and demanded to be told what was going on with the baby.  They reassured me everything was fine, but I didn’t believe it.  How could these feelings of imminent disaster be mistaken?  I paced the room, heart pounding, stomach clenched like a fist.  What weren’t the nurses telling me?  Again I buzzed the nurses‘ station, and they suggested I walk down to the nursery and look into the window.  I grabbed a robe and flew down the hallway only to see a peacefully sleeping baby.  What was wrong with me?  It was very difficult calming myself down even though I knew my son was safe.  My first panic attack roared down on me like an avalanche.   I never forgot those feelings of terrible dread or the physical effects it had on my body; pounding heart, sweating, shortness of breath, muscle tension and stomach upset.

Ten years later, after my first marriage ended in a nasty divorce, I met and became engaged to the man I would spend the rest of my life with.  That’s when panic attacks entered my life again.  During a winter storm my car slid down an icy hill.  A panic attack left me shaking, and unable to drive the car home.  My fiance rescued me, and calmed me down.  On another occasion I left my wallet at a bank, and the man who found it called to say he would bring it to my home.  This triggered a panic attack, and I hid in the closet, unable to answer the door.  Once again I called my fiance who came home to calm me down, and get my wallet from the stranger.  Then there was the day I panicked when I didn’t have time to complete a math test.  (I was a student at the college where my fiance taught at the time.)  This brought on a full blown panic attack, and I couldn’t stop crying.  A friend escorted me to the therapist’s office on campus where he assessed I was in the midst of a panic attack and talked me down.

After a year and a half engagement Jay Van Tassell and I were married, and the panic attacks slowly began increasing in frequency.  I began to notice circumstances which would likely trigger a panic attack; car trips away from home, traveling at night, being in a strange city, getting lost, heavy traffic, any kind of dental work, and nighttime in general.

My husband taught geology at the college.  Geology trips became problematic for me.  Having to sit next to a male student who made me uncomfortable triggered a panic attack.  Car problems on another trip brought on a panic attack.  Increased anxiety at night made sleeping in a tent potentially nightmarish.  Being away from home was the key element of stress in all these situations.

I began to anticipate the potential for panic attacks while traveling, and started using narcotics prescribed for pain to reduce anxiety.  At the advice of a friend who became aware of my increasing problem with panic attacks I went to a local psychiatrist for help.  This professional, instead of helping me find a cognitive solution or offering behavioral therapy, handed me a script for Valium.  I was to take 5 mg at bedtime when needed, and 5mg as needed for panic attacks while traveling or getting dental work.

It didn’t take long for me to develop an addiction to benzodiazepines.  Within a year I didn’t think I could sleep at night without them.  I also didn’t think I could travel, or go on geology trips without them.  And I never went to the dentist without them.  What started as occasional use within a couple of years became a dependency on 5 mg daily, then 10 mg daily, then 15 mg daily, and finally to 20 mg daily.  As I developed a tolerance to Valium I needed more and more to get the same result.  It took ten years to arrive at the point of needing 20 mg a day, but this addictive result was inevitable because I felt as though I could not control panic attacks, or anxiety any other way.  

Toward the end of my addiction I drugged myself the minute I got in the car for a trip, and kept myself drugged. (My husband always drove.)  To have enough Valium for trips I would stop taking my nightly dose of medication for a week.  I became accustomed  to feeling sick when I went without my nightly dose, but I didn’t associate it with the symptoms of withdrawal.  It never dawned on me that I was physically addicted to Valium.  I didn’t think that was even a possibility.  I did, however, recognize the emotional addiction I was cursed with.  

My psychiatrist began recommending I come off of Valium.  I was adamant when I insisted there would be no way I could manage my life without this medication.  I kept telling him I wasn’t addicted, at least not in the physical sense of the word.  He finally turned over my medication management to my primary care physician who was also handling my opiate medications for a chronic pain problem I’d suffered from for many years.  

In 2008 I almost lost my life when I accidentally overdosed on Valium.  (See “MY NEAR DEATH EXPERIENCE” on 2/21/13).  Now my physician insisted I discontinue all Valium use, and go through withdrawal.  I gladly agreed because I knew it was only by God’s grace that I survived the Valium overdose.  The first panic attack occurred a year later when I discovered two dear women very close to my heart were sexually abused as children by someone I knew well.  I felt like my insides were going to come out as I wept.  Overwhelmed with fear for them, I experienced the urge to anticipate the worst.  My body shook, and I had trouble breathing.  I felt like I was going to die.

At first all I could think of was the Valium I didn’t have!  How could I live with the crisis created by this panic attack?  I focused on surviving by my own wits.  I rode the wave of emotions, and counted down from ten to one as the severity of my panic diminished.  Although the symptoms of the panic attack were uncomfortable they did not kill me!  I marveled at my mind’s ability to create such a tornado of emotions, and how my body took up the cause and responded in kind with pounding heart, breathing problems, muscle tension, and exhaustion.  I decided next time to reign the mind in, and try to get control of thoughts of dread, danger and worry.  I asked God to show me how to do this.

The very next month I got my answer from God!  I had traveled to Arizona by myself to visit my oldest daughter and her husband.  One morning as I awoke in strange surroundings the beginnings of a panic attack surged through me.  Adrenaline pored into my system filling me with dread.  Oh NO!  Not here!  Not now!  

Then God spoke to me, “Be anxious for nothing, but in everything give thanks.”  

I thought about that verse which I recognized from Philippians, Chapter Four.  I repeated the words, “give thanks”.  God was guiding me.  Give thanks.  I thought about the nice bed I was in, the sunshine poring through the window, the coming day with my healthy and happy daughter, the nourishing food we would eat, and clean water we would drink.  Within seconds I was back in control of my thoughts and my body's response to the temporary adrenaline surge.  The fear dissolved and the panic dissipated!  That was easy! 

Giving thanks proved to be the key to victory over panic attacks.  I had a couple more opportunities that year to put Philippians, Chapter Four into practice, and it worked immediately each time.  I simply had to be aware enough to switch mental gears, and give thanks.

This technic is not always easy to put into practice.  The stronger the panic attack the more difficult the task of changing thought tracks.  One last example of this happened in July of 2012.  Some panic episodes are so strong you even remember the date!  All the triggers were there; traveling in a strange town far from home, in heavy traffic, my husband became lost.  Driving a rental car without GPS, Jay had no idea where our exit was.  By the time we finally found our exit, and our hotel I was a wreck.  Hyperventilating, shaking, heart pounding and feeling like I was going to pass out I jumped out of the car, and began pacing.  I couldn’t get a grip on this run-a-way train so I called my therapist back in Oregon.  

Of all the things she could have said she picked the perfect visual image for me.  “You are NOT in a concentration camp.”, she said firmly.  I gave that statement serious thought.  Here I am safely standing in a hotel parking lot in the United States of America.  I am NOT in a concentration camp!  What else can I be thankful for?  At the advise of my therapist I took a long, hot bath, and contemplated all the things I had to be grateful for, and at the top of the list; NOT being in a concentration camp.  

The panic “switch” flipped off, and I was able to get control of my racing emotions and thoughts with Philippians 4: 6-8:  “Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.  And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.”  In simple words, “Be anxious for nothing, but in everything give thanks.”

Getting victory over panic attacks was that simple for me!  This technic also helps me when sleep evades me.  I did NOT need medication to be victorious over this insidious problem, and most folks don’t.  It’s unfortunate I was sent the unspoken message by a psychiatrist that the only way to handle panic attacks was with a prescription pad.

Benzodiazepines are one of the most highly prescribed class of drug.  Other brand names for this drug are Xanax, Klonopin, Ativan, Ambien and Librium.   There are occasionally times when we need perhaps a few weeks of medicinal help for severe stress or anxiety, but it should NEVER turn into years of use and addiction!

How many years had I been driven mad by negative thinking?  Our minds have the ability to take us places we never want to go.  Run-a-way thoughts have the power to keep sleep away, make us loose our appetite or eat too much, impact our blood pressure, change our heart rate, increase our respirations, etc, etc, etc.  Philippians 4:8 adds, "Whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable - if anything is excellent or praiseworthy - think about such things."    

Are you overwhelmed with panic and worry?  You don't have to be a slave to negative thoughts!  Ask the Lord to remind you of Philippians 4:6-8 whenever your mind races with anxiety!  Carry this verse in your pocket or purse, tape it on your refrigerator, put it in your glove compartment box.  God wants us to live victorious lives!  If this has helped you share it with us.