Post-Deconstruction Prayer

This used to be our dining room. Now it one of two “sanctuary rooms” – places in my home that I have carved out to be at peace, meditate, pray.
An “anti” War Room, if you will.

By: JANA GREENE

Sometimes when I pray, I’m not even sure what to pray for anymore. But when God brings someone to my mind, that’s the impetus to pray for them.

I don’t mean giving God “instructions” on how to help someone, which I used to call “praying with specificity.” I replaced elaborate prayers with simple trust in God, because the most eloquent prayers are “help help help” and “thank you thank you thank you” (as my favorite author Anne Lamott opines.)

I ask and then I try to listen. Because there is no wrong way to pray, and prayer is designed to be communication from one sentient being to a supreme being, no holds barred.

Once I saw a movie that recommended having a “War Room” – a physical place to go to pray where the reception is clearest to God and where mighty battles are fought in the heavenlies, waiting for our next words to change the outcome in supernatural realms.

So of course I decorated my closet with scripture and crosses aplenty. But all I managed to do was feel guilty that I wasn’t praying more (or right?) every damn time I had to grab a pair of shoes out of the closet.

Was I praying enough? What if I don’t and when I get to Heaven, God informs me that he really wanted to do this magnificent thing, but I
Was two beggings short of getting the outcome I desired.

See, that puts the onus on me. And the onus is not on me – it is on Love.

I don’t make a big show for myself now, prostrate in my literal prayer “closet,” striving, striving, striving to be the person “God created me to be.” Building a tower of Babylon with my puny, pleading words (which are beautiful to him, by the way, but his love is not dependent upon them.)

No. I mean that if you come to my mind during the course of my day, I am simply asking God to love on you in a way that’s tangible. God loves n us through one another, nature, laughter, and hugs from friends.

If you have a need or a heartbreak, I focus my intention on your hurt as best I can, and believe in advance that he is walking alongside you, no matter what event is anguishing you. Being a very visual person, I picture you in a cloud of love, total acceptance, resolution, and peace. I can’t describe it any better than that, but trust me, it’s better than that.

And I ask him to increase your awareness of him in and around us. Because he is always at work in and around us, even when we aren’t begging for his favor. I pray he uses me in any capacity he sees fit to convey his great love.

Even when words fail us.

Love always shows up, in the end.

August 28, 2025 0

Life’s not Fair (But it’s Still Pretty Good)

By: JANA GREENE

Being diagnosed with leukemia on top of managing a half dozen chronic medical conditions has made some folks state with a vague indignation:

“That’s not fair.”

And in response, I can only say “no shit.”

Bless them for recognizing it’s too much. Because it IS too much. But the truth – whether you are a believer in Jesus or not – is “too much” is a normal unit of measurement for the bullshittery we must endure in this life.

“It’s not fair” always takes me by surprise. It’s like, Huh. Whats that like…thinking fairness was a viable option in the first place?

I think of things should be fair, of course, and I will try to advocate against the mistreatment of others. But sometimes “others” are not the problem…standard issue humanity is. Our bodies get busted, our minds get screwy, our spirits falter.

Where one person fights health woes, another might struggle to put food on the table. When one is brokenhearted, another worries about her children constantly. Job troubles, anxiety problems, the list is endless.

If you’re really lucky, you won’t have to contend with all the above simultaneously, but perhaps you have. Or are. I have been all at once before, and I guess it lent me an anxiety-laced sense of a transcendent acceptance (whatever that is. I’ll have to ask my therapist.) Anxious some times, yes – but accepting.

I’m not angry with God, not anymore. , I’ve survived a bunch of really agonizing things, and somehow managed not to pick up a drink in 23 years. And that’s astounding. I never expected sobriety to “stick” for me, and I’m befuddled that it has to this day.

I pretended I had strength, until I did. God and I came to spiritual fisticuffs, and he won when I surrendered. White light meets white flag. Something shifted.

It was confirmed to me during the hard years what I’d known all along – life is not fair, but it’s really good. Even with cancer and alcoholism. There so many beautiful things in this world to appreciate, and beautiful people.

Yes, it’s “too much” sometimes – walking around in achy flesh, on a gravity-bound planet that doesn’t seem to get your vibe. But keep vibing, and so will I.

Occasional freak-outs will 100% happen again; I’m starting to think they have just as much right to be part of our vibe as does our holiest, Jesus-trustin’ selves. You know, for the sake of fairness.

Blessings.

July 19, 2024 1

An Open Letter to the Church Today

By: JANA GREENE

Dear Church,

You’re the one who got me in this pickle. You started it.

You said to love your neighbor. But it turns out there seems to be disclaimers to this most important of all commandments, and it’s very confusing to keep the rules straight.

Then you told me to witness to the world, make disciples of men, when what they really need is a template for what love looks like; not just what it sounds like.

So, I did that too.

You told me to pray God would break my heart for what breaks his heart, and that is the prayer that did me in. I hope you’re happy.

This was the knottiest kink in the whole chain. Because listen...

HE DID IT. I had a supernatural experience. The veil didn’t tear open but it did have a loose thread. And I did what people do, which is to pick at it until it unraveled.

And it was VERY upending and not entirely pleasant.

People were hungry. People were lonely. People had had scripture lobbed at them at every turn but were empty. I did a lot of that lobbing in the day. They were all hurting, because we are all hurting. Presence does what words can never do.

The whole, wide hurting world is looking at Christ-followers to see if they are made of the same stuff they preach. And woefully, too much of it perpetuates the separation between us and God (in reality, there is none.)

And you never told me to love myself, as one who could also benefit from that top-tier commandment. And I didn’t know how, as you taught me the human heart is deceitful above all things and not to trust it. Not to trust the voice of the God particle we all carry, that divine spark.

Church, God is within you, you told me. But he’s not the icky parts. No, he cannot be in the presence if ick. It’s too icky and you’re too human. As if Christ didn’t pick his nose or wipe his butt. As if he didn’t wail and cry, and ask the cup to be taken from him.

It’s my desire to see the Church repent for making love about doctrine and law.

Please don’t discount revival because it looks nothing like you thought it would. God is crafty that way. He isn’t bound to do it your way (or mine.)

As it turns out, I don’t mind being in this pickle anymore. Because it’s fundamentally changed me to consider the suffering of others. It should change all of us.

I fell in love with you a long time ago, Church. There is so much to love. Good news! Community! You reared our whole generation, and I’m so grateful for all the wonderful experiences I’ve had in your space. It felt like a safe space for a long time.

But perhaps it’s time for a shift?

I will always love you, but sanctuaries should not be proving grounds.

And as we all experience this great winding-up to sharing the mind of God in total, let’s remember people over policies. Politics have no place in religion, and frankly, we cannot afford the hatred that comes part and parcel with politics. Please keep it out of the pulpit. You alienate more people than you help.

So, actually, thank you for starting this, I think.

Warm Regards,

April 24, 2024 6

Cringey Vulnerability (a tale of betrayal)

Today’s writing prompt from The Writing Room Collective:

By: JANA GREENE

If you are going to trust with any degree of your tender, fleshy heart, you will get hurt. It isn’t a possibility. It isn’t a “might happen.” We all experience betrayal. Death has lost it’s eternal sting, but betrayal still really smarts.

Many years ago, a woman who was freshly out of rehab was being released into her natural habitat of Life on Life’s Terms. We had a mutual friend at the time, who asked me to reach out to her so I can hook her up with some meeting resources, and just generally be her friend. As a result of her past choices, she relied on others to get her around town – she lost her licence – and I was all too happy to be her recovery buddy and take her to meetings with me.

And become her friend, I did.

Not only did she confide in me, but I in her; and regularly. Looking back now, I cringe at the uber-vulnerability I felt comfortable engaging in with her. I wasn’t her sponsor, but I was her friend, and I have a propensity for letting it all hang out anyway.

She had close ties with people who used to be an intimate part of my life (ESTRANGED family, gee, that should have been a clue!) but I did a crazy thing, which is to trust her.

What I should have caught on to, but missed by a mile, was that her wildly elaborate and passionate stories about recovery were pockmarked with holes, hugs, and bullshit. My gut often doesn’t get consulted on these things, when it should be the FIRST consultation I make.

On our rides to meetings, she was super animated and would often even quote from my own blog to me. I would sometimes think, ‘okay…THAT was weird,’ but most of my friends – and certainly me – are weird. Some of the personal stories she told suspended belief!

Eventually, this friend needed witnesses who ‘knew’ her pretty well, and after taking her to meetings for damn near a year I felt confident about testifying on her behalf. “You’ve worked so hard on your recovery,” I said. “I would be honored to help!”

The Oscar for Best Actress goes to ….

My “friend.”

After I was a character witness for her, I never saw or heard from her again. She fell off the face of the Earth. It’s hard for me to imagine that degree of deception.

Turns out, this woman had been drinking all along – Vodka apparently, so I didn’t smell it. ALL ALONG.

I kind of pride myself on this mission statement: I don’t have relationships with people I don’t trust. That assumes I know untrustworthy people and can tell when they are lying. I thought I had decent discernment. Maybe that pride needs to go the way of ALL pridefulness. In the sh*tter, where it belongs.

The question I keep posing to myself is thus – HOW could I be so stupid and gullible? I honest to God just didn’t see it. I really hurt my own feelings about it. Then I realize, there is no betrayal that can’t teach us a thing or two.

There’s no way to wrap up this post up all clean and tidy-like, because life is just so messy. I don’t think I’ll hear from her again; she got what she had befriended me for.

What I experienced ain’t terribly original.

Active addicts lie. It’s kind of what they do. They deceive, minimize, maximize, lie, cheat, steal, and all to protect their best friend – the drug of choice. I myself used to strategically hide BOXES of wine all over the house (although I’m not sure why, as those in my life at the time didn’t seem to mind if I drank myself to death.)

But once I got into a program, I learned to call myself out on these behaviors and stop lying to myself. Because calling yourself out keeps you sober, frankly. “Rigorous honesty.”

Yeah, that old chestnut.

As with most things about recovery, I’ve learned tons about myself during this time. Had I to do it again, what would I change? Even if I knew she was using me and lying about her addiction?

I would still offer to take her to meetings with me. I would still give her a safe place to vent. I probably wouldn’t have shared as much of my personal life with her, and I surely wouldn’t have vouched for her. Like I said, it sometimes seems that no good deed goes unpunished.

Although the deception happened TO me, it is not ABOUT me. It’s not about me in the least. But it stings all the same – I’m just being honest about how this whole debacle made me feel.

Still, God calls me to be grace-full, and I’m trying. He never called me to be a sucker, though. I have forgiven this lady (although she never asked for it) after wasting precious hours and hours on trying to figure out what clues I missed.

But forgiving someone doesn’t mean you want to break bread with them. You can forgive, walk away, and be wiser for the trouble.

February 28, 2024 1

Ode to the Socials

By: JANA GREENE

I crave connection.

Standing in the gas station,

getting me a tank-full.

I never met a stranger,

and for that I am so thankful.

At the grocery check out,

waiting in a line,

please tell me your life story

and I will tell you mine!

I’m grateful for the “socials,”

because they tend to shrink

this planet that we live on,

and oftentimes I think

what an absolute marvel

technology has become!

Together we grow,

together we rise,

together we come undone.

I crave human connection

because there’s One Love,

you see.

Divinity is our DNA,

it’s for freedom we are set free.

February 17, 2024 0

Falling in Love for the First Time (an Anne Lamott writing prompt story)

WRITING PROMPT: “Write about the first time you fell in love.”

– Anne Lamott, (A Writing Room)

By: JANA GREENE

I have a tendency to fall in love instantly. I fell head over heels in love with my husband nearly 18 years ago, but I’ve made lifelong friends that I’ve loved since day one. Dogs, cats, people I mentor – doesn’t matter. If my soul recognizes you, I can love you genuinely right away. I’ve hated that about myself most of my life (it’s illogical, according to this cold, hard world,) but I’m at such peace with it now. If people can hate without even getting to know a person, I can certainly love right out of the gate.

The fist time it happened was in 1983.

His name was Trace, and I met him at the skating rink. I still cannot hear Loverboy’s “Take me to the Top” without recalling the scent of Giorgio for Men and the whisp-whisp-whisp of his parachute pants as he whooshed by me in an eternally moving loop on his “peanut butters.”

Peanut butters – for those not in the know – are what we called those iconic brown rental skates at the rink – the ones that you tried not to think about the foot that was there before yours. Only the very popular, rich kids brought their own skates.

I was born with a painful and injurious connective tissue condition. When I was a kid, my family called it “clumsiness,” but it was actually many of my joints subluxing and dislocating constantly. I remember my ankles were janky that day, so I skated in a slow, steady loop, acting casual. Each time he’d pass me, he would wink at me over his shoulder. I guess because it was the early-eighties and we flirted like we were in a John Hughes film (what other template could we have used? Mr. Hughes defined our generation!)

It turned out, Trace was in the grade about me at the middle school. I was in seventh, he in eighth, and going to high school the following year. An almost-high-school boy liked me! That’s better than having custom roller skates!

And so began my first foray into “love.” And it was love, to some degree. I thought of nothing else but him. That evening, he asked me if I wanted to skate to the couples only skate. Actually, I think I was sitting on a bench festooned with neon colored patterns that glowed in the dark. When they cut the lights down, Journey’s “Open Arms” called us to the floor. I skated backwards and he forwards, but I saw nothing but his eyes. They were yellow-green, like a cat’s – but maybe those of a friendly cat. His hair was long, curly, and very blonde, like Sebastian Bach of the band “Skid Row.” And I was there for it. We became girlfriend/boyfriend that day and would be together off-and-on for the next couple of years – which is an eternity when you’re a teenager.

“I want to marry you,” he’d say, “and have lots of babies.” And I believed that’s what he wanted because his home was so unstable. We both wanted an opportunity to do better. Looking back, it’s a gigantic red flag, but my passionate 14 year old heart would not hear of anything less that marriage and babies. Oh the naivety!

Trace was wounded, in a way. And I worried about him constantly, which is another good indicator that this was different. He was sadness masquerading as a cowboy, in his hat and a pair of shit-kickers. I was sad too, but his love made me warm, and warm sadness is better than the regular kind, because any teenage couple worth their salt is plodding through angst. Me and you against the WORLD, right?

So I fell in love for the first time, with a boy from a broken home who called me his “angel,” and broke up with me because I was so afraid that he was going to expect me to do things after Prom that I canceled it altogether. I was terrified of intimacy; I simply was not ready. And he – being 17 – had “needs” that my Bible-toting, scripture-quoting, uber “good girl” self was not willing to facilitate. (Ugh. Could she not loosen up just a little?)

We had all the wonderful “firsts.” First couple’s skate. First hickey (“I burned my neck with the curling iron, Mom!”) First cheap but thoughtful necklace that turned my skin green. First experience with obsessing over a boy. First concept that I was adored by someone, and I was happy to adore in return. Of course, Trace was my first break-up too. I think break-ups teach us just as much about ourselves as relationships do. Maybe more.

Eventually it fell apart because – like every good John Hughes movie – there was drama. He had a rough childhood, and things were bad at my home too. Trauma-bonding does not make for the best relationship foundation. I moved away from Texas, and I have no idea what became of him. But I hope he is okay, and thriving somewhere with some special lady who is his “angel.”

First loves are practice; an art, not a science. We had all the standard-issue problems that teen couples do. But we also had stolen kisses behind the bleachers, sweet, corny love letters, and phone calls that ended with, “No, YOU hang up first…” “NO, you hang up first.’ “No, YOU” ad-nauseum so we could hear each other fall asleep.

He was such a sweet, troubled soul, and in truth – so was I. But all first loves should be equal parts magic and tragic, I think. It’s our first foray into accepting another human being for who they are, parachute pants, Peanut Butters, and all.

Blessed be, lovely friends.

January 22, 2024 1