Spiritual Hypochondria

Photo Credit: neadeau

"But to you who fear My name the Sun of Righteousness shall arise 
with healing in His wings. . ." Mal. 4:2 

The difference between spiritual health and spiritual hypochondria is all in how you view spiritual reality.

In my work on the alternative side of holistic medicine, I often see patients suffering from a series of vague symptoms they have put together into a major, if usually obscure, illness. They often have thick folders full of printouts from the Internet describing various diseases, with stars by the symptoms they perceive in themselves.  While such patients can have a health complaint that is simply not taken seriously by their doctors, sometimes the problem is actually hypochondria--an obsessive belief that they have an illness or illnesses.

Hypochondriacs can lead miserable lives.  They lay awake at night monitoring their body for new symptoms, scour web sites for information on their problem, and badger their health care providers with demands for test after test in an attempt to diagnose the illness (or illnesses) from which they are certain they suffer.  Some alienate family members, lose jobs, and end marriages because finding the source of their illness devours their life.  Often, their "symptoms" are not even terribly severe, which makes it all the more painful to watch them batter themselves with invasive tests, and waste money and precious days obsessing on their health. 

Unfortunately, hypocondriacs simply take to an extreme what we are all told to do by our doctors--get regular screenings for illnesses, and check out any chronic symptom, even if it seems mild. Since everyone knows or has heard of someone whose occasional acid reflux was actually a severe heart problem, or whose mild headaches end up as the first symptoms of a brain tumor, convincing a hypochondriac that they are not sick is difficult. In the end, logical arguments are not the way to help someone who cannot clearly perceive objective information--they must be convinced the problem is their view of reality, not the symptoms they so carefully chart.

When I treat a hypochondriac patient, I try to gently urge them to seek counseling, and encourage them to focus on what is working properly in their body rather than on the negative symptoms they perceive.  Sometimes this approach works, and they find a good therapist who can help them see how distorted their view of health has become, and work on seeing their life more clearly. Often they move on to another practitioner more likely to buy into their worldview.

These days, I sometimes wonder if I have spiritual hypochondria.  I will often agonize over perceived faults and sins, beating myself up over failings I believe should have been solved long ago.  I read self-help information, and torment myself analyzing my every thought for anything that wanders from perfection.  This constant vigilance leaves me discouraged and anxious over my own imperfections. Like Paul, I often feel like wailing "O wretched [woman] that I am! Who will deliver me from this body of death?" (Rom. 7:24)

Like the physical hypochondriac, on the surface I am only doing what I should.  Concern about sin, even supposed small sins, is not misplaced.  Few people reading this have committed murder, but all of us have despised someone, even if only for a few seconds.  Not many people rob banks, but who has not coveted the pretty things that belong to someone else? Any small sin can keep us from salvation. Paul tells us to examine ourselves, David and others tell us to search our heart, and Jesus Himself warns us our every attitude, thought, and word will be eligible for judgement.  I've never understood how a Christian can live in such a microscope, being ordered to be perfect, and experience  the "the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding" (Phil. 4:7). I just have anxiety attacks and shame. 

I finally see now that my problem is not primarily my sin, but my view of spiritual reality.  Once a person begins the process of repentance by renouncing their prerogative to make their own choices about right and wrong, and accepts Christ's sacrifice for their sin, their focus should be on their spiritual health.  We should do our spiritual screenings--we should analyze our thoughts, work on our faults, and watch our words (1 Cor.11:28).   But rather than work ourself into a frazzled mess, we should be asking God to search us and know us, as David says (Ps. 139:23). 

Rather than be ashamed of our sin, we should bring it to God, ask for His forgiveness, trusting Him to make us spiritually healthy (1 Jn.1:9). Once we pledge our lives to God, we are essentially healthy. Untreated, any sin can lead to death.  But God has granted us a way to have perfect spiritual health by growing with Him over our lifetime. As with physical hypochondria, the real problem is the belief that our condition is much worse than our Doctor believes, and our need to control the progress of our spiritual life.  God is the only source of spiritual clarity. He alone can heal us and "restore. . . the joy of [His] salvation" (Ps. 51:12). 

Honesty With God

Photo from sxc.hu

My pastor, Todd, has one of the most real and warm relationships with God that I have ever seen. For Him, God is not "just" the Creator of the Universe, the Maker of Mankind, the Giver of Law and Grace and Mercy--He's Dad.  Todd's language is full of references to Dad being happy when His kids are happy, proud when His kids do well, hurting when His kids suffer, and how eager Dad and our Big Brother Jesus are to see us in The Family Business, the Kingdom of God.

Being in Todd's congregation has been really good for me. I know in my mind that God is love, God is merciful, God loves us, and me specifically. But I still have a deep-seated view of God as someone to cower before rather than someone to protect me from the monster in the closet.

We learn about God through our own family experiences. My father loved me dearly, but we were never close in my memory. He died when I was a teen, so I never got to interact with him as an adult. My mother and I were as close to estranged as you can get and live under the same roof, and she died six years after my father. Missing out on close relationships with my family not only left me lonely, but severely affected my relationship with God. Family was rarely a place to have fun, so my prayers and thoughts about God were usually very serious. I never felt safe revealing weaknesses, so until recently I spent most of time in prayer explaining to God why I was doing the best I could and listing extenuating circumstances for the things in my life that were wrong. I rarely asked for help, and then did it without much hope I would be answered--not because I didn't believe in God, but because I assumed He was disappointed in me when I messed up.

Recently I have begun to rethink these positions. Todd's frequent references to God's longing to hug us and welcome us into His Kingdom have me testing the waters. Sometimes now I start my prayer with "Dad" in the place of the formal "Heavenly Father." I've begun to open up about my failings. "Dad, I yelled at someone in traffic today. By the time I thought about it being wrong, it was too late. I'm sorry. I don't know how to change it."

"Dad, I've got a big business decision to make. Here's what I want to do. What do you think?"

"Dad, I miss my family, and I really miss the closeness I wanted and long for that feeling of being safe and warm in a group. Please show me how to have that."

I've also tried to get better at praising and thanking. My thanks are sometimes more obsequious than humble. I wonder if God feels like some Eastern emperor whose subjects feel bound by protocol to say rote, overwrought, flowery praises. The words may be correct, but in the past my thanks and praise had a "thank you for this--you're amazing and great--please don't hurt me" quality. If you have ever had a child or animal cower in front of you because they have been hurt in the past, you know that this kind of communication does not make you feel warm and fuzzy--it just makes you sad. 

So I've tried to be better. "Father, what an neat color You made the sky today--I really like the purple around the edges." 

"Dad, thank You for letting my find that $5 bill when I cleaned out the closet. It made me enjoy the cleaning a lot more!"

"I'm so amazed that You came up with tomatoes. They're the perfect food!"

Once I started trying to be really honest and open and vulnerable with God, I found more things to talk about. And I learned to feel safe.

"Dad, You know Your children suffer with sickness. Please heal them. Please help me to understand if You do not heal them right away, and especially help them to understand. Please show me if there is anything I could be doing to help them."

"Father, I know that You are letting the world have free will, and that bad things happen when men take it on themselves to decide right from wrong. But they feel so lost. How do You stand knowing about every child that is hurting? Do You cry? Why don't you stop it now?"

One of my fundamental beliefs is God is in charge. He is in control, and has the right to make whatever decisions He wishes, because He wants the ultimate best for us. One day Jesus will bring His Kingdom to this earth, and pain and war and sin will be eradicated from the world, leaving only peace and joy and happiness. I never knew what to do with the emotion of doubt. How to handle the injustices  on earth and the desire to stop them, and feeling sometimes that God wasn't fair to allow them. Now I always try to take those concerns to God, just as I would take concerns with close friends to them instead of stewing in my discontent or talking about them behind their back. God knows my thoughts, and He loves me. Talking to Him about the things I don't understand is the best way to come to peace and understanding.

"Dad, I want children to stop being hungry. I want animals to stop being abused. I want people of all colors to get along. I want you to step in and make it happen. But I know you don't always--at least not right now. I believe you will someday. Please help me to be the example of your way, and when you give me the chance to act as your agent to do some of these good things. But please also give me the faith to trust that You see what I see, and more. Remind me that suffering makes you more upset than it does me, because you love human beings more than I ever could. Give me faith in your timing and your justice."

Since I began focusing on being honest with God, I have felt much of my anxiety about life melt away. I no longer feel I'm hiding my faults from God, but bringing them to Him. Like a trusted friend or mentor, I know He will see the sin, love me, and show me how to improve so that I can be more happy and can share His love more fully with others.

What Lunch Alone Taught Me

A Photo I Took on a Previous Trip to Thai Gourmet

Through no fault of my own, I had to eat out today. I say that because I had no plans to eat out. I planned to take my lunch, control the ingredients I ate, and save money. But, in a story too mundane to include, I ended up without lunch. So I went out.

It irritates me to have to eat out for necessity. I had wanted to eat here, today, with a friend. She had to cancel her plans. The meal feels like a consolation prize. Since I could not plan to have company, I have to go alone. Usually, if I have to lunch solo, I get takeout. If I eat in the restaurant, I am armed with technology so I never need to be bored. Today, I decided to eat at the restaurant, but when I got there realized I had left my phone at the office. The dreaded lone lunch, sitting like a spinster looking longingly at tables where people have friends. I almost ordered takeout. 

Instead, I remembered an article I shared on Facebook just minutes before leaving. It recommended lunch breaks, and as part of your lunch break, mindful eating. What if I turned my unexpected lone eating disappointment into a mindfulness exercise? 

I order hot tea. While I wait for it, I eavesdrop on the conversation in front of me. Two men, one older, one younger, discuss jewelry. The younger man is respectful of the older man, and seems to want to genuinely connect. The older man is less secure. He spends a lot of words describing the wildly expensive jewelry and gifts he has given his wife, being sure to make it clear spending such vast sums is nothing to him. I feel a kinship with this nervous man. I look out the window. The wind whips about, and the American flag at the daycare next door thrashes back and forth. People in the parking lot try to hold their hair as if that will save all the effort they took this morning with dryers and hair goo.

We spend a lot of time impressing others--with our words, our looks, the car we drive and the house we present to guests. I wondered if I still work as hard as the nervous man was working to prove I was worthy of the world's respect? How much time do I waste trying to be what I think others want instead of spending it being me? When we all rush from one activity to the next, we forget to consider. We accept the messages around us--money or looks or style or talent makes you worthwhile, and the look you present to the world is more important than the you that's actually inside. Taking a moment to look around with eyes and mind open, can bring you back to center, back to the value of a person because they exist.

My tea arrives. One thing I love about this restaurant is their decision to use limes instead of lemons in their tea. The lime slice is a vibrant, living green, perfectly blending tones of dark and light in the flesh and peel. The tea is its own green, a browner affair than the fruit, and lends a slight, grounding fragrance to the piquant lime. I begin to feel the calm of using all my senses to experience the cup in front of me. My neck and shoulders loosen, and my breathing deepens. I sip the liquid, and the just-too-warm temperature soothes the chill I see outside--a false chill, since the temperature is warm, but the gray sky and wind fool my mind.

So much of our modern life comes through our eyes. Computer lights, ticker windows on news stories, bright displays at stores. We don't use our other senses as often as we could. Even though I no longer have space for a garden, I try to buy real food. My fruit may sometimes be lumpy, but you can smell its freshness when you walk by the display at the organic market where I shop. I am fortunate to be able to drink raw milk, and you can smell the life in it when you open the jar. I make salves from coconut oil and rose essential oil. It is plain, with no color, but the scent is the exact smell of being pampered. Stopping to engage the other senses, especially the emotionally powerful sense of smell, is a  chance to slow down and let your body return to living in the natural world around it.

The two men leave (the older man insisting on paying the bill), and I sip my tea. Pots and pans bang around in the kitchen. Their sound is surprisingly soothing, since I also hear happy voices speaking what I assume is Thai back and forth. My food arrives, borne on a cart by a smiling young woman who recognizes me as a regular customer. She checks to be sure everything is as I wish, and I am alone with my food.

Even planning to be mindful, it is strange to just sit, me and my soup. I want to comment on how delicious it is--but my server is gone, and without my phone I can't proclaim deliciousness via Facebook. I must experience the meal, without the buffer of conversation.

I look at it. Panang curry with chicken. The soup is the most amazing color of orange--redder than the fruit of the same name, less red than curry. It warms me just looking at it. I study the vegetables, and am reminded of the versatility of green. The basil is dark green and wilted; the zucchini is a half-moon of lightening degrees of green from its center to peel. The green beans are almost the same shade as the zucchini flesh just beside the peel--but not quite. The greens sit together, and bring out the saffron of the soup as if chosen just for that purpose. I spoon some of the white, white, rice into the bowl. Red pepper slices lean against the rice mounds. They are just slipping from red to orange from their ordeal by heat, darker siblings to the lighter soup. And the chicken, in large, irregular slices, make the rice look darker, and warn me of impending spice with their flecks of red pepper. 

I have poor vision without contact lenses or glasses. I remember when I first got glasses. My parents were mortified. We drove down the road from the doctor's office, and I kept exclaiming "Mom, Dad--I can see the leaves on the trees! Each little leaf!" They had not taken two years' worth of notes from school about my vision seriously, believing my vision could not be too bad since I never complained of it. But I had not known the details that were out there to people who could see clearly. I love my contacts, but sometimes the simplicity of seeing in a blur of color is welcome. Instead of concrete items, seeing a swirl of colors, and studying them for clues to their meaning, is a mindful activity. My soup is a swirl of veggicolor, and observing it enhances my enjoyment.

I blow on the first sip, enjoying the scent. There is a muskiness to Thai food, whether from fish sauce or the nut butters sometimes used, or just the blend of spices, I don't know, but I love it. The basil adds a zing that reminds me of the lime in my tea. So I add a sip of tea. The restaurant is empty now, except for the woman who served me, moving from table to table, cleaning. I savor each bite, and the slight burning from my "mildly spicy" soup is invigorating but not unpleasant. The wind continues to whip about; my spoon clinks on the bowl. I slowly finish my lunch, savoring each bite.

The idea of mindfulness is best known as a Buddhist concept. In mindfulness you lose your worries about tomorrow as you concentrate on the present day. I am not a Buddhist, but I am a Christian, and gratitude is a foundational precept in my faith. I think about thanking often--since, like many, my prayers begin to rehash the same words over and over if I am not careful. Thank you, Father, for food. Thank you for shelter. Thank you that really bad things have not happened to me. Thank you for my husband (occasionally with the subtext "even though I don't much like him at the moment" when we fight). 

But I also read about etiquette. When you write a thank-you note, you don't write "thank you for the watch" if you want to write a note to really express your appreciation. Instead, you are specific: "Thank you for the watch. The large face makes it easy to read. And how did you ever remember I liked purple? The wristband is my favorite shade! Now I don't have to carry my phone around just to know what time it is. Thank you." Specific prayers are best to express heartfelt love to a loving Father. So today, I pray a prayer of thankfulness for my meal. For the greens of zucchini and beans and basil, for the orange of curry, for the tang of lime and the quiet tap of spoon to bowl. For the chance to walk in the misty rain to the restaurant, and the comforting feel that money has in my pocket, especially when I remember how hard its absence once was. As I reflect on the gifts my solo lunch has given me, I no longer resent my unexpected meal out. I treasure it with thanksgiving.

The Truth Shall Set You Free

Stock Photo from Stock Xchang

Psalm 15:1-2

Lord, who may abide in Your tabernacle? Who may dwell in Your holy hill?

He who walks uprightly, and works righteousness, and speaks the truth in his heart;

Zechariah 8:16  

These are the things you shall do: speak each man the truth to his neighbor;

Give judgment in your gates for truth, justice, and peace.

Ephesians 4:25 
Therefore, putting away lying, “Let each one of you speak truth with his neighbor,” 
for we are members of one another.

Exodus 20:16

You shall not bear false witness against your neighbor.

Most would agree that telling the truth is a basic tenet of Christianity and most major religions. A world where you cannot trust at least most of the words of those around you will soon descend into chaos. Agreements lose their value, contracts are ignored, and the general sense of distrust poisons every relationship. 

Telling the truth, then, is common sense. Does it also have health value?

In a study reported on WebMD  Anita Kelly, PhD, a professor of psychology at the University of Notre Dame, participants were told to keep track of their lies for ten weeks, and took polygraph tests. One group was also asked to focus their energy on not lying at all. At the end of the study, both groups reported improved health while not lying, but the group that specifically focused on telling the truth had fewer health complaints--including fewer headaches, fewer sore throats, and fewer feelings of depression. In an an article from US News covering the same study, researchers who have studied the affects of lying versus telling the truth attributed the improvement to lowered stress since the participants were not checking themselves constantly, trying to remember what lie they had told to which person.

We are made to live in a state of mental peace, not to make a precarious existence trying to avoid having our lies discovered. God's command to be truthful is His blessing to give us a calm and happy life.


Articles used in building this post:
http://www.webmd.com/mental-health/news/20120806/fewer-lies-better-health?page=2

http://health.usnews.com/health-news/articles/2012/08/20/how-lying-affects-your-health


Scripture taken from the New King James Version®. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved.