Sunday, October 26, 2008

The Zoloft is MIA and the DS is Right Where It Should Be

Ewps. I missed a dose of Zoloft last night. I am sure the effect this has had on me is more mental in nature than it is physical. Upon seeing my pile of medication on the counter, still waiting to be consumed, I had a nice panic. What a way to start a Sunday morning! My pharmacy tech training told me that I should skip this dose and go back to my regular schedule this evening. My heart was pounding and my head was telling me that I would never make it through the Divine Service like this. My only completely clear thought on this was to take an Adavan. That ought to settle me down enough to make it through the morning. Granted, that stuff makes me tired and a little out of it, but it won't knock me out and it will allow me to appear "there" for anyone who didn't know about my internal turmoil.

While the medication was taking effect, I told Tim that I wasn't sure exactly how this was going to affect me in service. I wasn't sure if I would be completely with it to participate fully. I can't remember I took an Adavan and then went to church. He sounded a little concerned and asked me how I thought I would do. I joked and told him that I wouldn't be shouting "Amen" in the middle of the sermon or anything, but I was afraid of getting lost or not knowing what to do next because this stuff does slow down my thinking a bit. Thank the Lord, that was not the case! In fact, I was *there* probably more than I was through many church services. I didn't care that I was a pastor's wife and someone might be judging me for something. The words, chanting, and even hymns I knew by heart (Reformation Sunday is great for that- A Mighty Fortress is also a great comfort in times of anxiety!) I didn't fall behind, get lost, or forget something. I was there. I could also just receive. I wasn't a zombie though the service, though I was tired. I didn't just stiffly and unawares go through the motions. I did hear the words coming out of me second nature, Scripture flowing from my lips in unison with the church here on earth getting a small taste of what it must be like in heaven. The validity of the Sacrament of the Altar was not on how pious I tried to make myself before receiving, there it was: Christ's Body and Blood in with and under the bread and wine, given and shed for me, in the midst of anxiety muffled by medication. My anxiety, a sin against the First Commandment, was forgiven by my pastor in the stead of Christ. I came to church in the midst of an anxiety attack with nothing to give. I could only receive. Receive I did. It was good.