But God...

Eleven days since Tropical Storm Helene made her unwelcome, dramatic entrance into Western North Carolina, causing catastrophic damage with rain, wind, and flooding not seen for over a thousand years, I remain overwhelmed with sadness by the sheer magnitude of it all. Whole towns gone, others barely touched; cadaver dogs amidst the mudslides, the seemingly random tragedies, bodies of pets, farm animals and people in the water, the mud and the wreckage; trees down, crushing homes and vehicles and people; power lines down everywhere, no WiFi, internet or cellular service; boil water advisories, schools closed, some indefinitely; a local Subaru dealership flooded with 5 feet of water; area substations under water, a million without power; horrors seen that can never be unseen;  communities sharing and visiting and giving instead of texting or facebooking; cash only, gas and food shortages, communities and people unreachable except by donkey; ironically, election signs still standing while houses float away

Thursday I dropped some supplies off at our church and met a young woman in the parking lot; she was carrying two large bags full of clothing to donate to disaster victims.  We chatted and I told her drop them off at the church taking clothing donations. We talked about loss, about being fortunate, about our love for WNC, and I thanked her for the clothes, mentioning they were for survivors of a town destroyed by a mudslide. That a friend of mine was working with cadaver dogs. She burst into tears and we held each other. But God…

Driving by a home with a tree crushing its roof I spied a young boy swinging in a wood swing, laughing, barefooted, blonde hair blowing, while two adults stood with their hands and arms limp at their sides, mouths open, staring at their ruined home.  But God…

While at our church aiding others pass out supplies and providing free hot meals to whoever showed up, I saw a man sitting alone at a table, eating his BBQ and fixins. I sat down across from him, asking if he minded if I joined him. He was kind and articulate but you could tell he’d had a hard life and was in a bad place.. But God…

People arriving for free hot meals, I greeted these strangers, these neighbors, hearing their stories. A grandma who drove an hour around roads blocked by power lines and trees, all to pick up supplies and a meal for her granddaughter, who lived downtown in a now flooded basement apartment. An 81-year old woman and her disabled husband just looking for some toilet paper and water.  A family with a little boy who had just been to urgent care for a burn and was screaming and inconsolable, overwhelmed with the strangeness of the past 10 days. Two older ladies holding hands and quietly eating their meals, thanking us profusely for a few basic supplies. All wanting to share their stories, all walking around with the same stunned, shell-shocked looks on their faces. But God…

 A young woman moved to Hickory to be near her fiancé; they bought their first home; planned their October wedding for months; wedding venue was underwater. Another couple, newlyweds who'd only a month earlier moved into the house of the bride's grandparents where she'd spent many happy years, the house she and her new husband fixed up and made their own, all of it gone in a flash. But God…

People lined up outside the grocery store waiting for their turn to go in and pick up a few essentials, cash only because the internet is down. Shelves nearly empty, ATMs not working, gas stations with yellow “out of order” plastic bags on the pump handles, an 8 o'clock curfew because roads are out and it’s dark. But God…

Neighbors using their own equipment and money to work 15-18 hour days with search and rescue operations, body recovery, debris removal, providing hot meals, clothing, basic supplies and compassion. Almost no help from our federal agencies. But God…

Schools closed, food ruined, water contaminated, and children’s worlds turned upside down. But God…

Pregnant women within 4 weeks of their due dates and families with newborns urged to leave WNC and go to South Carolina, hospitals crippled by lack of power, water, generators, and staffing. But God…

“But God…”. Those two words bring hope, and remind me that God is sovereign, that He controls the universe, and that He uses all circumstances to bring glory to His name. It is a powerful phrase assuring us God is sovereign, all powerful, just, and merciful. Look in the BIble and you will find this little two-word phrase any time the situation seems hopeless, from Noah (Gen 8:1), to Joseph (Gen 50:20), to King David (Ps 73:26), to Christ's crucifixion (Acts 13:30).

As we get through this tragedy, (through being the operative word, as opposed to being in, or being stuck) remember that God has done many things much harder. He is never surprised by what happens, or clueless about what to do, or ignorant of how we are hurting or feeling, or unaware of our needs. We will recover, rebuild, renew, and remember. We depend on God

“But God, being rich in mercy, because of the great love with which he loved us, even when we were dead in our trespasses, made us alive together with Christ—by grace you have been saved” (Ephesians 2:4-5)

Unraveling

Have you ever had a sweater or a dress with a loose thread? You notice it, pull on it, thinking it will just be a quick fix, and before you know it there is a quarter-sized hole in the sweater or the dress' hem has all come undone. That is how I feel right now...undone, unraveled, lost. Yes, I am a child of God, yes Jesus is my savior. But I am lost; the fabric of my life I took for granted is unraveling.  

A  month ago I had it all figured out (my life for the next decade). I would have this second surgery to fix a pesky hiatal hernia and to be able to eat without vomiting, then I would be home in two days, three max, and go on to tutor and be a nana and just, well, live my life. I wasn't even worried, and I am embarrassed to say I did not even pray before they put me to sleep. The last two things I remember? Alex crying as he was praying for me, something out of Jeremiah, and the anesthesiologist holding the mask way too firmly on my face; I became claustrophobic, panicked, and then finally prayed a quick prayer a split second before I went out. 

Hours, no, days, went by uncounted. Pain, trouble breathing, fear, and confusion were all accompanied by a never-ending parade of nurses, doctors, medical tests, hushed voices, and a hurried transfer to the ICU. What was happening? I was supposed to go home today. Where is Alex? Why can't I breathe? A doctor inserted a chest tube into my lungs. More CT scans. Suddenly I am in pre-op again, this time for emergency surgery. Again, hours, then days, then nights drift by unnoticed. At some point, I am transferred to another floor. I drift off, and wake up to my daughter, Mandy, putting lotion on my face. How did she get here from Malaysia? More days pass, hours of sameness broken only by the incessant beeps of the IV pump and the ongoing (and welcome) ministrations of nurses and doctors. Weeks go by until I am finally allowed to go home. Home. What a wonderful word. Everything will be ok, it will all be better, I will be home soon. The unraveling would stop--I would get my life back.

Oh, I am such a silly, silly human. Home for nearly four weeks already, the unraveling continues. The world continues to rotate on its axis without me--laundry, scheduling, cleaning, tutoring, taking care of chickens, paying the bills, and walking the dogs. I am no longer the nurturer, the caregiver; instead, I am dependent on others to take care of me. And the more I resist, the more miserable I feel; despite all my efforts, I could not rewind that yarn back into the ball that was my previous life (note the arrogance?). What I perceived as a disaster, as a loss of how things used to be, is in actuality a blessing, as God humbles me and lays out His plan for me.  Proverbs 16:9 says: “The heart of man plans his way, but the Lord establishes his steps."

Yes, the fabric of my life unraveled this year, as it has many times before. But God continues to weave a more perfect tapestry for my life with His plans, taking my imperfections and errant stitches and perfecting me.

Oh, Lord, teach me and show me your ways.

"Come now, you who say, ‘Today or tomorrow we will go into such and such a town and spend a year there and trade and make a profit’ — yet you do not know what tomorrow will bring. What is your life? For you are a mist that appears for a little time and then vanishes. Instead you ought to say”  (James 4:13-15 ESV)

 

On dreams and nightmares

Last night I had one of those dreams again, a dream involving my sisters and their families; the plot and the setting change, but the characters are always the same: my dad, my stepmom, my mother, and my sisters. It was a happy dream, and I woke feeling at peace, more content than I had felt in six years. The general storyline was a bit silly, as they are in most dreams, but the characters were so real I could see their faces and hear their voices. My sister Mary Beth was getting married and I was helping her get ready on the big day; everyone was dressed and ready to go, but in true Mary Beth-fashion, the bride was not: she arrived late, still in a set of blue scrubs and crocs, hair and makeup definitely not done. Fast forward to the reception, and the whole family is there--mine, hers, Nancy's--and everyone is having a great time, laughing, smiling, looking like one of those Hallmark movie endings. My nephew Joe's twins were playing hide and seek, my granddaughters were coloring and dancing, and I was so, well, happy, happier than I had been in years. Then I woke up. At first, the dream euphoria continued, as if everything had actually happened and I had just awakened from a pleasant reverie of past events. 

Suddenly though, without warning, I snapped out of it, and realized it was, after all, only a dream, and I simultaneously felt silly and angry and sad, because the reality is my sisters have not spoken to me (not kindly, anyway) in over six years; they have completely shut me and my family out of their lives and the lives of their children, as if I have never existed. If there was any wedding, I would not even know about it, let alone be invited; although Nancy's daughter and youngest son celebrated weddings this year, I was not welcome, nor was any of my family.  Joe's four boys, including the twins I have never met, will never know me or Alex or my daughters and their children. My stepmom was the glue that held our fragile family together, and when she died, so did the family; we splintered apart into our own separate worlds. And so we remain, with little left of what once existed other than a few memories, and all the worst for it. 

Theories abound as to why we dream and what these dreams mean. Some say dreams are how we process memories, they reflect life experiences, or work through difficult and unsettling emotions. Still others propose dreams have a biochemical component, or they provide a protection to prepare us to face threats and danger. I think they all have a valid basis, but regardless of why we dream what we dream, I just want someone to tell me how to stop the dreams. Unlike most of my dreams and nightmares, these recurring dreams peopled by those I used to call family are so vivid, so detailed, and so realistic I wake up believing the dream is real, and it takes me a good 30 minutes to realize it was, after all, just a dream.  

More like a nightmare. A nightmare that never ends.

Dealing with Social Anxiety

Last weekend my husband decided to have a social gathering for Labor Day; he went all out making slow-cooked pulled pork, his famous baked beans, and cole slaw; he then invited some neighbors and friends. When he initially told me about it the week before, I was on board, and let him take over the planning and inviting. But, when the day of the party arrived, I began to panic, feeling those all too familiar sensations: rapid heart rate, eyes welling up with tears, irritability, and an irresistible urge to run away, to escape, to avoid the event completely. It wasn't that I don't like company--I do--but in small, manageable numbers...like two. He had invited not one couple, not two, but three couples; not only did I not know one of the couples, all three couples also did not know each other, and there were some pretty strong outspoken personalities in the group, so of course I was concerned about everyone getting along and desperately wanted no one to say anything gauche. I was torn between being a helper, a wife, and a hostess, and giving in to my fear and anxiety. Needless to say, the closer the clock ticked to 4:00 pm, the more anxious I got, the more I simply wanted to do anything to avoid the impending social gathering. I could claim I had a  debilitating migraine, or perhaps I could just drive around for a few hours. Crying, irrational, and not sure what to do, I grabbed my gardening hat and tools and went to my one place of solace--my garden--where I weeded and watered and prayed and cried, all the while feeling ashamed for feeling so anxious. 

The couple I had never met arrived first...bearing trays of food and a vase of flowers, and wearing masks. They hailed me as I was bent over some particularly stubborn weeds...and I knew I had to suck it up and become the consummate host. I introduced myself, thanked them for the beautiful flowers, and ushered them into our home. I was stuck. The next three hours were a blur (yes, I realize that is an overused cliche, but they really were a blur). The food was wonderful, my husband worked his butt off (no pun intended), we ate outside, everyone got to know each other the way humans have gotten acquainted over the centuries: over good food. Everyone was talking to each other, folks laughed and listened, and believe it or not, yes I was talking as well; I just do not have a very good recollection of what the heck I talked about.  That is common for me in social situations--I panic ahead of time, and then during it I have some sort of out of body experience, like I am watching myself flounder. Next, the after effect of my social anxiety kicks in: I try to play back the videotape that is in my head, trying to recreate the afternoon, to ascertain if I did anything or said anything stupid or insensitive or hurtful. Did I laugh too hard or too long? Did I talk too much? Too little? Did I pay equal attention to all our guests? What about Alex? Shouldn't I have helped him more? Should I have put a tablecloth on the spare table we put on the back deck? In my effort to get to know the new couple, was I rude to my neighbors or my friends that I did know? Did anyone think it odd that my husband did all the food preparation and planning and all I did was move chairs around? Could anyone tell I was nervous? Or that I had cried less than ten minutes before they arrived? 

Are you exhausted yet? 

This is what I deal with for most social situations--not all, mind you, but most. Big gatherings where I can remain fairly anonymous are safe, as our small, intimate encounters with folks that I know, but going to my husband's work-related soirées was exhausting and beyond stressful. Speaking or teaching in front of groups, even extemporaneously, does not trigger any anxiety, but having to meet a new person at a coffee shop makes me want to run for the hills. Running a fundraiser attended by hundreds of people may exhaust me, but it doesn't scare me, yet cold-calling or visiting potential donors or participants and asking for donations is so frightening I would rather go buy all the raffle prizes myself and send emails and texts. Even more puzzling? I served in the military for 22 years, then as a military contractor for another decade, and for most of that was a subject matter expert, trainer, teacher, supervisor and mentor. Panic attacks and anxiety were always there; I just pushed them back or hid behind my characteristic defense mechanisms of sarcasm, humor, and wit (and, I am ashamed to say, sometimes with passive-aggressive comments). Since I've retired, though, I am far more aware (PAINFULLY aware!) of who I am as a highly sensitive person; I recognize that I do have social anxiety--as folks are apt to say in the vernacular of the day: it is what it is.

So while I may appear to be poised, in control, exuding confidence, and handling all matters of social nuances with ease, nothing could be farther from the truth. My self-assured exterior is a facade, masking my fear that others won't like me or believe me or listen to me. But I'm getting better...with the help of friends, counselors, my very understanding and patient husband, and the Holy Spirit; I know how I see myself, how I view my shortcomings and abilities. And I hold that view up to God's truth, and let His grace wash over me. 

And if you are also like me, do not lose hope. You are not alone.

Caught up in the madness

To mask or not to mask...that is the question. Well, one of the questions, anyway, and the way someone answers gets that person pegged as silly or thoughtless, fearful or realistic, overreacting or callous. Where someone stands right now on whether everything should open, or the genesis of the coronavirus, or the role of government during a crisis--these are all litmus tests for how we view each other right now. Conspiracy theories abound more now than ever before, primarily because the world is so connected, and information, especially MISinformation, goes viral (pardon the pun) in milliseconds. And, being human, folks latch onto any explanation whether it makes sense or not because, well, we need to blame someone or something for this, don't we? So we are divided into camps, the Stay At Homes pitted against the Reopen It Alls, with little to no respect, or even empathy, for why the other "side" thinks the way they do. And so we rant and vent on social media, splattering posts with emojis and ALL CAPS to make sure everyone knows where we stand. We judge people we see in public as on our side or not on our side simply based on whether they wear a mask, and we shake our heads or roll our eyes. The line has been drawn.

Three months ago, most media platforms (in the US, at least) were inundated with posts, memes, and shared news blasts concerning presidential politics and likely candidates for this November's election. Then, COVID-19 took over the world, and all media platforms with it. Sure, there is the occasional surge about media blips, but they are quickly drowned out by the uproar over the decisions being made at federal, state, and local levels to not only beat the virus, but to prevent economic collapse (while still preserving their elected positions, of course). Everyone, it seems, is caught up in the madness.  

Including me. 

And I have to stop and think and remind myself I am a Christian, (seriously, sometimes I have a response formed in my head, or even typed out, and I see that smack on the forehead "what was I thinking?" emoji in my mind). C'mon, I am to emulate Christ, not the world. My go to resource for encouragement and validation is the Bible, not FaceBook.  I should commit these two verses to memory, and tape copies of them to my laptop: “Let us not pass judgment on one another any longer, but rather decide never to put a stumbling block or hindrance in the way of a brother”? (Romans 14:13) and “Be careful, however, that your freedom does not become a stumbling block to the weak.”  (1 Corinthians 8:9)

Alas, humility and self-sacrifice does not come naturally to me, or human beings in general. So I get caught up in the madness of being tossed about, torn between selfish desires and love for my neighbor. I want to go to the gym, get back to church, make plans for vacations, hear that my daughter and family can get a flight out of India, get my brother back to his routine, and be able to find the good brand of toilet paper. Anger, fear, confusion, depression, sadness--being a Christian does not eliminate these emotions. But, being a Christian DOES mean we have an explanation for it all. God is sovereign, God is good, and God is using all things for His purposes for those that believe in him. 

Yes, I am in this world, but not of this world--but too often there is a dichotomy  between who I am and who I present. I am supposed to be salt, and light. Sometimes I may not reflect that, sometimes I am less than patient, less than humble, and less than accepting. And for that, I beg forgiveness. 

Lord help me live this every day:  

Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility count others more significant than yourselves. (Phil 2:2-3)

Undeserved crown

Over a year ago, we planned this trip--a trip to Spain, the birthplace of my mother-in-law and the home of her entire family. A trip intended to mourn her passing and celebrate her life, to relive memories and moments, to cry and laugh and hug and remember. Through no fault of our own, we had to keep delaying the trip, time after time after time, as family crises arose and more sweet souls went to that great beyond. Life happened, in other words. So, finally, over a year after sweet Conchita's death, we left our home in the North Carolina mountains and headed to the sweet, orange scented beauty of southern Spain, and excited to see family and later, to escape to beautiful places surrounding Seville where just the two of us could recapture that spark, rejuvenate our souls, and just enjoy being us--no deaths, no kids, no pets, no responsibilities, no caregiving duties. Hotel reservations made, splurged on business class for the long transatlantic flight, earmarked special must-see places on Trip Advisor--we were raring to go. Nothing was going to stand in our way. Nothing.  

Yeah, nothing but a tiny, submicroscopic infectious agent shaped, fittingly enough, like a crown. Coronavirus, COVID-19, has been crowned, at least currently, as the queen of the modern world, wreaking havoc in practically every area of life across the globe. What started as a mere footnote in central China rapidly became the bold print headline dominating all forms of media. First China, then Iran and Italy were affected, and world health organizations scrambled to contain it, understand it, limit it. Characteristically arrogant and nonplussed, we Americans (including us) went about life, creating and sharing memes on FaceBook, and acted as if our super-power status could insulate us from the panic abroad. Heck, thirty minutes before our flight departed from Miami we listened to the Presidential proclamation limiting travel in the EU, then just shrugged it off and boarded our plane for Spain. We arrived the next day, hugged family, checked into our hotel, recovered from jet lag, and made plans for a Spanish family reunion in the park.

That was Thursday. Less than 36 hours later, we are stuck in our hotel, incredulous as entire countries shut down. We pour over news reports on BBC, the Department of Homeland Security, the State Department, Google, and, of course, FaceBook. We hear rumors and try to validate them. We search for truth and verification and guidance as to what to do, where to go, should we stay or should we go. I am alternately irritated, angry, and cavalier about the whole situation--irritated that statistics are being manipulated, angry that our vacation has been ruined, but cavalier about the implications of how this happened. We contact our travel agent to arrange an early return, complain about the inconvenience and the unfairness to each other and to family and friends, and then, suddenly, I stop. Not only has this virion become the queen of the media--I have allowed it be queen of my thoughts, my decison-making, my mood. Not once have I prayed about it, asked God for guidance, thanked God for the blessing of even being able to embark on such a journey. No, I instead complained and whined and scoured human sources for an answer, for direction. I allowed this virus, a creation of the Creator, to supplant the Creator.  

I have so much to learn, so far to grow.

Freeing up Space

We all use computers--they are a fact of life now, and aren't going away anytime soon, if ever.  Love it or hate it, information technology is impossible to avoid--we are fully ensconced in the Information Age; an entire generation has grown up and gone on to have kids of their own knowing nothing but. Try as I might, I cannot find one aspect of my life that is not touched by computers, and I dare anyone to tell me otherwise.  It is a paradox of 21st century life that computers make things easier, or more complicated; faster, or more time-consuming; streamlined, or more complex.  Rare is the day that I do not have both my phone and my laptop within arm's reach (or on my lap), as I update my calendar(s), respond to instant messages within seconds, balance my checkbook, and research something or other while simultaneously adding items to my Amazon Prime shopping cart.  Sure, life today looks a lot different than it did 25 or 50 years ago, but, in reality, we are still living our lives and accomplishing things on our to-do lists just like our ancestors--but in a different way.  We sleep, we eat, we shop, and we have leisure time, reading and journaling and playing and being entertained.  The medium may have changed, but the objective is the same--to get stuff done so we can get more stuff and have more time to enjoy that stuff.  Blogging (diaries and journals); web browsing (reading the daily paper); sorting and uploading photos (building scrapbooks and picture albums), and reading research articles (encyclopedias); watching funny videos and listening to music (TV and radio and records); and sending messages and video chats (phone calls and writing letters).  But I digress...the title of this says I am supposed to be talking about freeing up some space.

A few days ago I was uploading some photos onto my laptop, and I got this warning that I did not have sufficient room on my drive--and I would have to free up some space. Dr. Apple Support advised me to change some settings and free up space by opting to store some items on my iCloud (or is it "in" the cloud? I am never sure about this). So, I followed those steps, selected the right utility, checked and unchecked boxes as suggested, and, voila!, the MacBook Air storage graphic now had over 2/3 of its potential storage space available.  Yeah me!  All of the sudden, though, I get warnings--three in a row actually--that my iCloud storage is (1) over 50% full, then (2) almost full, and finally, (3) completely full, and I am urged in ALL CAPS to hurry and purchase more storage space lest I lose everything, signed, "the iCloud Team."   What the heck?  How was that advice helpful if freeing up space on my computer by moving a lot of it to the "cloud" only resulted in not having enough space there either?  As my husband would say, it must be a conspiracy--it's all about the money.  "They" just want more money, to trick me into buying more stuff to keep my stuff.  Well, I was not having any of that nonsense--I was not going to buy any more storage in some cloud that no one sees or can explain to me in a way that makes sense, to store MY files and photos.  It's bad enough we already have to pay almost $100 a month to watch TV and talk on our phones and use our computers.  So I decide to take a good look at my files and photos and see if I really do have that much stuff taking up too much space, and to determine if I could possibly (ahem!) do without some of it.  Off I go on my quest...

At first, I am just half-heartedly scanning my files, looking for some junk to delete--old downloads, duplicate files, photos I already have uploaded on a photo sharing site, and expired documents. I figure out how to delete emails that kept mysteriously reappearing by solving the "archive vs trash" mystery in iOS mail.  I upload more photos to Shutterfly, and I delete temporary files I forgot to delete years ago.  After hours of painful purging, I check my available iCloud storage--it is STILL over 98% full! This is serious, and I am perplexed--I got rid of anything I do not need to keep, or use. Or did I? Hmmm. I change the sort filter--instead of by date, I sort by size, and then by subject, and I begin to find huge files, files with many megabytes, and attachments. Music, and photos, and documents--all being kept but not really used anymore.  Heck, I use Spotify and Amazon Music and other digital media services now, while my CDs and iTunes music library collect dust (well, iTunes doesn't get dusty, but I have forgotten I even have music loaded).  And photos?  Like I said, I already have uploaded nearly all my photos for the past 20 years onto Shutterfly, from which I routinely create photo books and prints for framing; then there are the 20 plus Groovebooks on the bookshelf, and the 10 vintage photo albums in my cedar chest. Ever so slowly, begrudgingly, I begin to delete images from my computer and the cloud--first only a few, then more, until finally I have dumped over 1500 photos and an unknown amount of audio gigabytes into my virtual trash bin.  Storage check:  better, but still over 70% full. Okay, now this is pissing me off--time to get serious.  I go back to my documents folder, and my mail folders, to find more space pirates.  I peruse the file folders and the email subjects, especially those with attachments, and I find the culprits.  Thousands upon thousands of bytes, images, PDFs, recordings, and zip files, all with the same subject:  the travails and drama and accusations and angst of the past four years.  Yep, the folder I jokingly renamed "crazy pants" because I could not bear to see the word "mom" blinking in my file finder window.  A folder full of documents and court hearings and lists and messages and screenshots and audio recordings, even court recordings, covering the most painful period of my life.  Taking up space.  On my computer, in the iCloud, in my mind, my heart, and my life.  Too much space.  I was in danger of losing critical functions, and not just computer functions, either.  

I clicked on the file folder, opened it, and quickly did a "select all" and pressed the delete key--a little window popped up asking me "are you sure you want to delete these 134 files?"  I hesitated briefly, and then clicked delete.  Next, I did the same to the huge email trail between me and attorneys and nurses and the court and my sisters--moved to trash.  And finally, to prove I was serious about freeing about space, and moving on, I clicked on the "trash" icon--first on my computer, and next on the mail server--and selected all files.  My finger hovered ever so briefly over the "delete all files" command, and then, click!  They were gone.  A quick check of my storage space validated my efforts--my iCloud now had over 85% free, and my MacBook was fully functional again.

Freed up space.  Space to breathe.  To live.  To make memories, good memories.  To forgive, and perhaps forget someday.  Now that they weren't taking up valuable space anymore, wasting space, out of sight, and hopefully, soon, out of mind.

Huge sigh of relief.  

Bitterness is gone.

Space freed.

Dying with Grace

Dear God:

Me again.  How do I do this?   This is not what I meant when I asked you to cut me some slack. It’s gone from bad to worse, and I’m going to have to make a very difficult decision soon.  People are offering suggestions and wanting me to give them some hope to cling to, some reassurance that we still have some time.  Others don’t trust me and I’m worried they will hate me for telling them the truth and for doing what Sheila wants.  Why is it so hard to do what someone else wants?  I want her to live!  I want to shirk this onerous duty.  But I also am glad to serve her and to be the one trusted to do what she wished, to let her pass into the next world with dignity and grace.  

How do you watch someone you love die?  What do you say to everyone?   What do you say to the person dying?   She’s not in pain. She’s at peace.  I feel such conflicting emotions. Part of me wants to hold onto her and keep her with us in this world.   And go on believing the doctors can fix her and that she’ll be with us for years to come, at holiday tables and great grandkids birthdays, reminiscing about past holidays with loved ones who’ve already gone on.  And then I won’t need to tell anyone she’s gone or break anyone’s heart.  And I won’t have to face her house or make phone  calls  or do all the planning that goes hand in hand with leaving this world.  

But part of me, most of me actually, knows the truth.  That I cannot keep her here with me because she’s already reaching for Christ’s loving arms, that she’s eager to go home, to be with her mom and her husband and her grandson and everyone else who has gone before her.  I see the peace in her face as she lies sleeping, the lines that only two days ago were creased into her face from the pain, now completely smooth, her breathing deep and slow and quiet, such a stark contrast to the rapid, loud gasps from last night.  I watch her bring her hands to her face and then gently down onto mine, and I look into her eyes, eyes that look right past me.  And when she speaks I strain to hear and understand what she says, to no avail.  She gets an exasperated look on her face,  shakes her head, and says never mind, dismissing me with a roll of her eyes, a slight smile, and a weak wave of her hand.  I hear her carry on conversations with people unseen, and she tells me in a brief, lucid moment she’s been thinking about Patrick.  And my heart breaks for her when, she asks about Dad, and then she suddenly realizes he is gone, and suffers the agonizing heartache of loss all over again; her face crumples and tears slide down her face as she remembers he’s no longer here.  

Watching someone you love begin to die is hard, inordinately hard, but also so very precious. To be here during this time, as all pretenses of being okay just fall away, is so humbling, so special.  To watch this woman, who has been more of a mother to me than my own mom, transition from fighting the cancer that is destroying her to accepting the inevitable, no, welcoming it, is something I will never forget and will always cherish.     

Sincerely and as always, with great thankfulness

Your child

The Reluctant Servant

Dear God,

We need to talk; things are not going too well down here right now.  In fact, things have not been going well at all for quite some time, and frankly, I am exhausted, worn out, and well, discombobulated.  I mean, don't get me wrong here, I know you are the Creator of the Universe, and that whatever you say, goes, that your plan is the ultimate plan, and that nothing, absolutely nothing, happens without your say so.  But seriously...can you cut me some slack here?  First, that debacle with my mom and sisters, then You take my father-in-law, mother-in-law, and my dad to be with You, all in the space of 18 months, AND ipso de facto, I become the caregiver for my special needs brother?  And just when we were getting used to that crazy turn of events, this?  Come ON already!

All that stuff about turn the other cheek, and not being anxious about anything, and all of those admonitions against being fearful or afraid or discouraged--it all sounds good when I'm in church, or sitting on the porch reading quietly, or listening to my music, but when I am being bombarded from all sides, and someone I love needs me to help her stop hurting, how do I manage to do this?  When everything else in my life comes to a screeching halt so I can subjugate my needs, and my family's needs, to take care of one of Your children, how do I know I am doing Your will?  It's not like I can open the Bible and have passages jump out at me, or magically turn to the exact right page with the chapter and verse I need at that very moment.  And the enemy is so darn good at making me doubt myself, and whispering (or even shouting) in my ear, that in almost no time at all, I wonder if I have made a mistake.  I begin to think that maybe those others are right, that maybe I only think I am doing the right thing, that really I should just back off and trust You to magically take care of it all through someone else.

And I know there will always be pain and suffering and sin and sickness, and that all of that will only end for us when we are taken up into heaven with you.  But where is this "peace that surpasses all understanding" when I really need it?    How do I pray without ceasing and not despair when I do not get the answer I want?  And if Your grace is so sufficient for me, why do I feel so sad and alone? I want to serve You, and I want to serve You through serving others, but I am weak and selfish and tired and I need Your help.  So I can "serve the Lord with gladness" like King David sang in Psalm 100, and so it can be said of me,  

"Whoever speaks, as one who speaks oracles of God; whoever serves, as one who serves by the strength that God supplies--in order that in everything God may be glorified through Jesus Christ.  To him belong glory and dominion forever and ever.  Amen" (1 Peter 4:11)

That's not too much to ask, is it?  

Sincerely and with great love and humility and appreciation,

Your daughter



P.S.  Cancer sucks.  

Excited for what comes next

I have become quite good at complaining about my life without seeming like I am complaining.  Things like, "I'll be glad when this year is over," and "well, it can't get any worse" and, my current, personal, favorite, "I want my life back."   I figured by not regurgitating the litany of all the ups and downs we've experienced over the past few years, and by just generalizing things in one tidy little statement, I wouldn't seem like I was, well, complaining.  The thing is, I have become so used to feeling beat up, put out, put upon, sad, and depressed that I think I am finding comfort in this cocoon of sadness. God knows I deserve to be pitied, right?  I have had it so tough...so many trials. So many things have been thrown at us.  Even some of my friends tell me that I have every right to feel victimized, because I have suffered so much in my life.

Really?  Have I?  Or have I just let life overwhelm me? (Again.)  Yeah, the past three years have been full of challenges--caregiving for elderly parents, enduring family bitterness and disputes, undergoing false accusations necessitating an expensive lawsuit, experiencing the deaths of all our parents,  suffering health scares, assuming guardianship of a mentally disabled brother, and the ensuing complete rearrangement of our home and schedule.   But that is life.  And let's look at our current situation: Happily married for nearly 30 years, three beautiful daughters who are still married to their husbands, and six awesome grandchildren.   We live in a beautiful home and have steady retirement income until we die, we eat at least three meals each day, have a closet full of clothes, and two reliable vehicles.  Our children and grandchildren still seem to enjoy our company--in fact, one daughter and one granddaughter are currently living here while that son-in-law is deployed.  I have friends, fairly good health, a cupboard full of food, and my dogs probably eat better than some people.  

So why the Eeyore attitude, the "oh woe is me?"  Was my life last week, last month, two years ago, or six years ago, really that much better?   Or was I just more comfortable in that life because I did not have to grow, or change, or be challenged?  Why have I let life and all its surprises and changes dictate how I feel?  Because I was looking backward, then forward, then backward yet again.   And very rarely was I looking upward.  Nope, definitely not looking upward.  Despite all my best intentions, despite all the previous posts I've written, prayers I've prayed, things I have read, and resolutions I have made.  I looked inward, wondering how I could change things.  I looked outward, searching for that perfect kernel of wisdom to make it it all make sense, to give me the key to adapt to my new situation, to cope with loss, and to enjoy life's precious moments.  And, for the umpteenth time, I find myself asking, "Why is this so freaking hard?!?"

Because I am making it hard.  Because I am forgetting the most important, essential, reassuring part of my life:  I am redeemed, justified, and saved.  And all this other "stuff" that happens along the way?  Happy, sad, mad, glad, indifferent, sickness, health?  It's called life, and it is how God is perfecting me, prepping me for eternity, for a life with no more tears and no more sorrows and no more sickness and no more dying.  Yes, I got back into His Word a lot over the past few days, and did a lot of reading, a lot of praying, and had some late nights trying to put all this into words.  I found some real treasures from Peter, John, and Paul, and the perfectionist in me strained to find one verse to sum it all up.  But what it all boils down to is all of THIS--this life, this sorrow, this joy, this family, this comfort, this sickness, this inconvenience, this wrongdoing, this beauty--all of this is God's plan, and results in HIM being glorified.  Not me or my circumstances or my life or even how I respond to His plan.  The glory belongs to HIM.

By the way, boy did I struggle with the title for this post.  There was "looking every which way but up," and "no more Eeyores," and "keeping focused on things that matter," but none of those spoke to me.  And, in reality, the lesson I am trying so hard to learn (but I keep running into that wall of me-ness) is to be excited for what comes next.  

Wake Up Call

It was a beautiful fall morning, and I was thoroughly enjoying the drive to an appointment in Asheville, NC; the leaves were changing, air was crisp and cool, and there was a slight drizzle that only added to the beauty of the fall colors.  I had my favorite radio station playing in the car, and, despite having a bit of a migraine, I felt okay.  It was just going to be a routine consult, a follow-up from a test I had done previously, and one more box to check before I could get a procedure done to fix some circulation issues in my leg.  Easy peezy.  I breezed into the cardiology clinic, signed in, got checked in by the nurse, and sat and waited for the doctor to call me.  I had no serious health issues--I was a fairly active, albeit overweight, healthy 63-year old woman with a zest for life, and quite a bit of life left to live.

Two hours later, I am driving back home.  The fall colors have completely faded into nondescript shades of brown and sickly yellow, and it is now a dreary, rainy, and depressing drive home.  My head is pounding, so much so I turn off the radio, and I am not feeling so great.  The "routine" consult quickly morphed into a pre-op counseling, and the leg procedure had to be put on indefinite hold.  The test results showed a possible obstruction of a coronary artery, and this, coupled with other factors, including the leg issue, put me in the "high risk" category for coronary artery disease. Suddenly, I felt scared, old, fat, and very unhealthy, and questioning whether I would even see my next birthday.  

I was wide awake.

I got home, talked to my husband, and then, before I could descend into the bottomless pit of self-pity and regret, I prayed.  And prayed.  And then prayed some more.  About rolling all our burdens onto God, the realization that there is a season for everything, that God's timing is perfect.  That my days are numbered, and only the Lord God knows where and when and how those days will end. I am the same person now that walked into the doctor's office (although I am a little more freaked out).  My blessings are many, and, while my life has challenges and trials as well as joys, God is still in control.  He knew this was coming.  He was not surprised.  He is still omnipotent and omniscient.  And, most importantly, He will be glorified by and through anything I experience.  

My reaction, though human and therefore understandable, was me stumbling over my ego, and indicative of my obsession to be in control.  And while I am still struggling to quash the fear and anxiety over next week's schedule, I am oh so thankful to be His child, and under His care.  And I wonder, like I have other times I hit speed bumps (and sometimes brick walls) along the way, how would I ever manage without the assurance of His mercy and grace?  

I am so happy I never have to find out.

Awake and grateful to be His.

Obsessing

‘Twas the week after Christmas and all through the cabin, not a child could be heard...after 45 days of family visits, we would have the house to ourselves.  Not that we don't love family visits.  We do.  But my introverted, OCD self was stretched to the max. Peace and quiet. Finally. Wait...What’s that?  My phone is ringing.  Dad’s going to the ER. I’m needed in Knoxville right away.  To pick up my handicapped brother. To come stay with us. For however long is needed.  Get dressed.  Hug remaining daughter and grandkids. Drive drive drive.  McDonald’s for lunch. Then the ER. Critical care unit. Spend time with parents. Pray. Run errands, calm down my brother.  Arby’s for dinner. Back to hospital, then the house for an overnight stay before I go back home, brother in tow.   

As I sit in the dark on my bed (couch) for the night, so many thoughts and feelings are jumbled up in my head and my heart. I feel like I’ll never relax. My shoulders are hunched up above my ears, my neck is a knotted up mess, and I haven’t unfurrowed my brow all day. I think, “wow God has a crazy sense of humor...this happens now?! Just when I’m already exhausted? Right before my daughter and family go back to India? Really Lord?” And when my stepmom tells me she’s spoken to my estranged sisters (see previous numerous posts if you are not sure about why we’re estranged), some very unpleasant and un-Christlike thoughts pop into my head. The conversation in my screwed up brain goes something like this:

“My sisters called? Really? Like they care?”

“Uh yeah, they’re his daughters too.” 
“Yikes but what if they come to Knoxville!  What if I see them!?”

“You’ll just have to deal with it”

“But they’re horrible!  It’ll be so awkward and painful”

“Suck it up”

“I don’t want to see them”

“You’ll be gone by then anyway”

“I’m so friggin tired.”

“Then go to sleep”

“I’m trying to trust God...”

“Are you now?  Really?”

“Yes, it’s just I’m worried about seeing my ...”

“Isn’t this about Dad?”

And that’s when it hits me. Stripped down to the bare bones, I see my selfishness in all its ugly, raw, hideousness. Here I am, focusing on MY tiredness, MY life, MY feelings, MY anxiety over seeing siblings, when I should be focusing on others and especially how God is going to be glorified in all this. Now, granted, that selfish rumination is not the only thought occupying my brain, nor is it the primary concern,   But it is there, pulsing and oozing like a big, gross alien blob.  Disgusting.  I pick it up and look at it in all its putridness. Hold it up to Christ’s standards.  Not only is it not even close—it blots out Christ’s image. I gasp and throw it down, and it just sits there. Waiting for me to pick it back up. To acknowledge it. Stroke it.  Feed it.  Give it sustenance and life. 

NO!!! Get away from me! You are NOT of Christ.  And I am His.  

The thing slithers away, and is gone. I breathe a huge sigh of relief. And consciously relax my shoulders and rotate my neck. Take a Motrin. And close my eyes and pray.  

Hinds Feet on High Places

I am continuously worried, even anxious, about the future, the outcome of things I cannot/do not control (pssst: I don't control anything).  Long ago I read Hannah Hurnaud's "Hinds Feet on High Places" and its message resonated deep within me.  So many times I have felt (and still do feel) lost, attacked, puzzled, overwhelmed.  I have even been physically and spiritually attacked by Satan's angels. But, no matter what I did, how I tried to hide in myself, how I tried to look the other way and run from God's truth, He found me, held me, and enveloped me in His arms.  

The Lord God is my strength, and he will make my feet like hinds' feet, and He will make me to walk upon my high places."  Habakkuk 3:19

I am reading Hannah's book again, for probably the fifth or sixth time in the past ten years. I bought a hardcover copy this time, having given away at least eight copies to friends and acquaintances over the years. And I am reading it slowly, deliberately, thoughtfully, prayerfully.  I want to savor every word, every lesson, and listen for the Shepherd to call to me as He does to Much Afraid. I, too, yearn to reach my high places, to be with my Lord, and to reach it as effortlessly as does He.  But, like Much Afraid, I too am crippled and attacked by my Fearing relatives. 

I feel the seed of God's Love planted within my heart...and although it is painful, that seed sharply urges me to press on, to follow the Shepherd.  

To become more like him, and reach my high places

Of Mustard Seeds, Mountains, and Molehills

First, I dealt with my old friend, Fear. God strengthened me, and we've dealt Fear a deadly blow. But now, several new enemies--Sadness, Blame and Regret--raise their ugly, pitiful heads. "Why did you take your mom in?," they slyly ask, and "You knew this would happen...it's all your fault," they hiss. I feel the storm hitting me, wind pushing me, rain and hail pelting my face, soaking me and chilling me to the bone, and just when I feel as if I am going to give up, exhausted, I remember I have someone behind me. To lean on. To hold me up. To keep me warm and dry. So I lean on Jesus, and I scream out against the storm, and I cry, sometimes sobbing, as I pray His name out loud. And when I am feeling very, very weak and cold, He holds me in His Hand, and comforts me with His breath, and soothes me to sleep. I am safe, in His fortress. No waves can topple me.

But then I wake up, startled, because there is a new twist, and the mountain suddenly looms larger. Maybe I need to "do" something.  I mean, someone has to "do" something, right? So I start to walk toward that mountain, I shake my fist at it, I start to run. But no matter how fast I run, it gets bigger, and bigger, and the air gets thinner, and harder to breathe, and my sides are hurting, and my feet hurt. I can't make it. The mountain is too big.  It is too far. And then I remember the mustard seed in my pocket. And I know that with just my tiny, teeny weenie little mustard seed of faith, I can make that mountain into a molehill. With Christ. For His glory. Not mine.  

Tonight my emotions are raw, bleeding, and throbbing. In my soul, and in my mind, and deep inside my heart, I know God has this latest tribulation, this manifestation of evil and sin and selfishness. But in my humanness, my heart, I ache. Oh how I ache. I am in shock, in disbelief, over what the woman who gave me life has done, the things she said in the summons we received. And I am hurt, and saddened by the betrayal of at least one, if not both sisters. I feel as if I have had a living, beating piece of me cruelly ripped out of body, and thrown in front of me, then torn to shreds as if it never mattered. That part of my life--all those memories, whether good or bad--mean nothing to them.The future memories we were to make together as old ladies?  Gone.  

Do I forgive them? Of  course. Will we ever reconcile? Only God knows. For now, I am dealing with one huge mountain of hurt. I cannot hide from, run from it, or cover it up.  It looms large and ugly and casts an ugly shadow, a jagged scar on my life. But God and I are going to whittle it down to a molehill, one spoonful at a time.  Regardless of the outcome, God will be glorified. What began as something evil, intended to hurt, will bring glory to the one true God. For I have a brilliant light, in the shape of a cross, behind me and over me, to cancel out any shadow and to heal any scar, regardless how big or dark or ugly they may be.  

Conquering Fear

fear:  an unpleasant emotion caused by the belief that someone or something is dangerous, likely to cause pain, or a threat.

Right...Merriam Webster puts fear succinctly into 19 words. Well, right now, I am trying NOT to be afraid.  And I feel so much more than 19 little words.  Afraid of the future.  Afraid of an outcome.  Afraid of what people will think.  Shame.  Disgust.  Embarrassment.  Hate.  Regret.  Sorrow.  Pity.  Sense of loss.  Why?  Because what I have dreaded (and secretly expected) for the past six months has finally happened...the proverbial shit has hit the fan.   My darling mother has filed a civil action against me, with some pretty stark, and shocking, (albeit false) allegations.  Abuse.  Neglect.  The action is peppered with lies and hate.  To make it worse, she lives with my sister , and she, of course, has to be complicit in the whole affair.  Previous criminal actions have been dismissed by our local county sheriff department, so now mommy dearest has decided to sue us for lots and lots of money.  

When will this nightmare end, I ask God? I have prayed, cried, asked for prayers, and I really am trying to "let go and let God." Easier said than done, my friends.  The sheriff taped the notice on our door on Friday at 2:50 pm. They close at 4 pm. We did not find it until 4:15 pm. Yep, you guessed it.  All weekend long, Alex and I had to wonder, guess, worry, try not to worry, pray, ask others to pray for peace for us, toss and turn, etc., etc., about why we were getting a summons for a civil action. I would love to say I was patient. That I slept great and trusted God and was happy and cheery all weekend. But I was a wreck. This morning, I read my daily reading by Oswald Chambers, an expansion of the "but Lord you have nothing to draw water with and the well is deep" in the Gospel of John. Chambers hit me straight between the eyes with his mini-sermon on how it is not that we don't trust that Jesus cannot do things for us. We know perfectly well He can, and we know perfectly well what we can and cannot do. Our misgivings lie in doubting HOW He can accomplish what He will accomplish, and so we have fears. And those fears can destroy us. If we don't lean on God.  

The King James version includes 29 instances of the phrase "be not afraid." The New American Standard Bible includes the phrases "do not fear" 57 times and "do not be afraid" 46 times. Some argue that "fear not" and similar phrases are present in the bible 365 times. Yes, I know a lot of the verses, they are many of my favorites.  I leaned on them a LOT during rough days over the years. Isaiah 41:10-12, Psalm 56:3-11, Matthew 6:34. And I still lean on them. But if I do not start LIVING them, absorbing them, breathing them in and out, fear will win.  

One of my favorite contemporary Christian singers is Jason Gray; he sings a song titled "No Thief Like Fear."  I've copied the first few lines of the lyrics below:

Fear will take the best of us

Then come back for the rest of us

Its raging hunger never satisfied

It's closer than a brother

And more jealous than a lover

Who holds you while it swallows you alive

Let down your guard

And it will steal your heart

And it ends:

I am free, I am free

Oh my God has set me free

From these chains I am released

For my God has set me free

I am free. I am redeemed. I must not forget that. Fear has already lost. No matter how this civil action turns out. Jesus has already won.