The Embrace of Pain

I had my body stolen when I was twelve. 

No, it wasn't alien abduction. Although that would be pretty cool if it meant I could ride in a Tardis. Never mind if you don't get that, just shake your head at me and move on. :) What I mean is, since I was about twelve years old, I've suffered from a chronic pain condition that is difficult to treat and poorly understood by most doctors.  In the past, I've likened it to having my Ferrari stolen and being given a rusty jalopy in which to hobble to life's finish line.  The idea of waking up each morning refreshed and energetic completely mystifies me. I'm usually reaching for pain pills and adding up time fragments to figure out how many hours of sleep I actually got. By the end of the day, it's easier to name body parts that don't hurt. And though I'm exhausted, I find it difficult to fall asleep in less than two hours. 

Maybe you can relate.

Realistically speaking, this condition isn't really curable for most people. I've prayed for healing. Years ago, a well-meaning friend encouraged me to "claim" verses like Psalm 103:3 (The Lord is the one who forgives all your iniquity and heals all your diseases.) I was so convinced for a while that God would heal my body completely if I just believed he would and asked with a pure heart. The truth is, God can do whatever he wants with his pots of clay. I have no right to "claim" the fulfillment of his promises in my own way and time. I have to wait for his best for me. But that's another blog post. For now, the bottom line seems to remain the same: 

Pain is going to be a big part of my life. Here's part of the reason I think that:

"So to keep me from becoming conceited because of the surpassing greatness 

of the revelations, a thorn was given me in the flesh, a messenger of Satan 

to harass me, to keep me from becoming conceited. Three times I pleaded with the Lord 

about this, that it should leave me. But he said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, 

for my power is made perfect in weakness.' Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of 

my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me. 

For the sake of Christ, then, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities. For when I am weak, then I am strong." --2 Corinthians 12:7-10

Please understand, I am in NO way comparing myself to the great apostle Paul. I haven't been dealing with the "surpassing greatness" of any major revelations lately, except that butternut squash purée can go into just about any recipe. But I still need to be humbled.  And like Paul, physical pain is one way my heavenly Father chooses to accomplish that. Another reason I know I'm supposed to be in pain is that I didn't choose it, yet it's still here.

If you've read my blog for any length of time, you might have discovered I'm a mom. For Approximately half that time, I'm a single mom because my hubby The Captain is off flying planes. Don't get me wrong. I love our lifestyle because when he's home, he's usually home for days. But that means I have to find a way to function when I'm alone with three Short People.    

I have asked God, if he won't heal me, to at least show me how to get better... 

Juicing? Nutritional therapy? Supplements? Drugs? See a chiropractor? Get a massage? (The answer to that last one is always a yes, by the way.) But this is an area where the Lord has been pretty quiet and is asking me to trust him. I've tried all sorts of lifestyle modifications and therapies, with some limited improvements. If you have a theory, I've probably already heard it. And, I have been taking pain meds on and off for about seven years, just to function. And ya know what, they help. They help a LOT. 

And that is now my big, fat dilemma.

If you know anything about prescription pain meds, you know they start to lose their effectiveness unless you keep switching up or increasing your dose. That seemed fine to me, because it was working for the moment. I wasn't really looking beyond the next year or two. But I just got a big wake up call over the weekend. There was a bunch of complication and drama that arose and my refill didn't come when I was expecting it to. I was forced into full-on cold turkey mode. And then I realized…

This is only going to get harder. 

If I think this sucks now, just wait till I've been on these drugs another ten years and my body doesn't know what to do without them. What if I live till I'm 90? Do I really expect another 55+ years of playing this game to work out well? Sounds like a winding, crooked path to me. I think that, without realizing it, I had begun to allow myself to see those pain meds as life-giving. They made me feel and act like a normal person. But I'm not a normal person. I'm a person whom God has chosen for pain in order to bring glory to himself. And those drugs aren't life-giving, they're actually pretty hard on my body. They're great for short-term situations and I'd use them in a heartbeat for that, but this is different. It is not God's will for me that I destroy my body for a few hours' respite each day. And it's definitely not his will that I look to another savior. Because my life's purpose is not to run from the weight of pain in search of temporary fixes, as if I'm convinced that God won't really be enough to sustain what he has created to enable me to do what he's asked.

I don't know what the answer is right now. 

I don't know what life is like any more without pain drugs to help me cope. Quite honestly, I'm a bit freaked out at the idea. It won't be a Sunday afternoon picnic, but I'm more concerned about missing what God has for me, just because I wanted my life to be easy. I know what he's asking, and I know he's calling me to stop fearing pain, but instead embrace it so that he can meet me there. 

"Therefore lift your drooping hands and strengthen your weak knees, 

and make straight paths for your feet, so that what is lame may not be put out of joint 

but rather be healed." —Hebrews 12:12-13

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The Loving Touch

I'm on my third go-around with a toddler.

Kid 3.0 is a budding almost-two-year-old (my very firstest Mr. Boy) who is the human equivalent of Jell-O. I love that kid. The process of getting each child to elementary age in one piece teaches me something new every time.  With my first child, I learned that car seats work best when buckled down with a seatbelt. One day in the car, she was making a weird little squeaky noise I'd never heard before. When I looked behind me, I realized it was because she was getting to experience her very first time being upside down since the womb. Let me just say though, those car seat handles make awesome roll bars. Do not try this at home.

With my second child, I learned that the outcome is precisely the same whether you sterilize the dropped pacifier before giving it back, or whether you just lick it off and rub it on your pant leg… actually nothing happens. She never exploded!

Another thing I keep noticing is that toddlers mimic what their parents do. 

This can be good, bad, or hilarious. Like when I'm going all Jackie Chan with a fly swatter and yelling, "Die, bugs! Die!!" and I hear a little voice behind me holler, "DIE!!! DIE!!" while the child maniacally smacks the floor. Or when we're in traffic and someone honks a horn somewhere, and a child in my back seat yells, "What is WITH you people??"

But lately I've also been getting to experience again how sweet it can be.

I went to the doctor for a checkup today, and Mr. Boy came with me. While the nurse took my vitals, he watched her like a hawk. When the blood pressure cuff went on, he laid his baby soft hand protectively on my other arm and looked at me with concerned question in his eyes. "It's okay, Buddy," I reassured him. After the nurse left the room, he toddled over to the counter, climbed up on the padded bench next to it, and snagged a tissue from the box. He proceeded to dab my forehead, the corners of my mouth, my eyes, and my cheeks with it, all while whispering sweet little babbles of loving care three inches from my face. I relished the sweet scent of his graham cracker breath and baby shampooed hair. Then he sat in my lap and patted my shoulder for a while. After we got home, we played in his room for a few minutes before his nap. He covered me with his blankie, and mimicking the exact process by which I always put him to bed, he spoke his babyish blessing over me and stroked my hair with his little hand. 

When Jesus said that the kingdom of God belongs to such as these, he wasn't kidding!

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The Grand Event

Years ago, a good friend asked me to be the music teacher at a little K-8 Christian school where he was the principal. I must have blacked out, or had a small fit of insanity that temporarily dispossessed me of my ability to think logically. Because when the meeting was over, I was nodding my head and shaking his hand while he explained my salary by muttering something about "Christian service." I was now a music teacher. 

How hard could it be, though?

I figured I'd teach the kindergarteners some music theory by drawing funny faces on a staff and handing out percussion instruments, hoping they didn't use each other's heads as cymbals. When that quit working, I'd remove my ear plugs and teach them hand motions to a song. They could later perform this dressed like sheep. How adorable would that be? I'd teach the 1st and 2nd graders how to play recorders so that by the end we could subject their parents to a chorus of semi-recognizable tunes played on what sounds like constipated teapots at full boil. I would teach the 3rd and 4th graders how to play hand bells, and just keep highlighting notes on the score and tapping my baton on the music stand until that feeling that I'm driving a truck through a wind chime factory started to dissipate. I'd teach the 5th graders to be dramatic… wait, no instruction needed there. Then I would teach the 6th, 7th, and 8th graders to be a choir, assuring them that it's okay to risk looking like an idiot in front of everybody. Thankfully, I lead by example really well in that area.

Every day, I went home mentally exhausted.

I remember my name being on the program as having directed 150-odd kids in TWO unified productions of full-costumed dramatic and musical splendor. Heck, there were even kids at the back doing sound and lights. To this day I don't think it should have said "Director" next to my name on that program. "Befuddled Ringleader" would have suited better.  I don't know how all those kids managed to get organized into that gorgeous, cohesive unit that made the parents cheer. What I saw during class didn't give me much reason to predict that outcome. What I didn't see was that God had a plan for those kids that year, and he had a plan for me that not even I could screw up. He went before me and cleared a path. He gave me just enough mayhem to bring me to my knees, but never push me over the edge. He sent parents and teachers and generous donors into my life who brought fullness and sparkle to my meager efforts. He shaped me into what was necessary for that time by lavishly supplying everything I needed, and even beyond. I went into almost every situation a clueless impostor and came out smelling like a rose. I was the cracked pot (or crackpot) that held water anyway. I was the crooked stick that drew straight lines. What I did at that school was impossible for me. That's why God was glorified. Only he could do all that. But that's biblical. 

"Whoever speaks [should do so] 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

Am I saying that volunteering to do jobs for which you are uniquely unqualified is always the way to go? Hehe. NO. I'm saying that you should do everything by the strength that God supplies so he gets the glory. It's just more obvious that's happening when you're out of your depth. 

Want to see something freakishly fantastic about this verse? 

That word "supplies" up there? The Greek word used is "chorēgei." It means "funds and leads a chorus of performers, bearing all the expenses necessary to stage a grand event."  Are you freaking kidding me right now?! Amazing! Obviously, nobody knows better than God how much effort and expense goes into a theatrical production. When he "supplies," that's the level of supply we're talking about. God is so serious that his son Jesus be glorified in our lives, that he supplies us with everything we need to make our lives into a grand event that makes people say, "Wow, God did that?" He's not about spray glitter and cheap illusions. He sends in real tigers and lights the batons on fire! 

Well, I only lasted a year being a music teacher, but I'm still out of my depth. I'm a mom now.

And being a mom is a lot like directing a theatrical production. I am so encouraged that even though I'm still the Befuddled Ringleader, I have a heavenly Dad who not only leads my little chorus of performers, he completely funds my efforts with strength and creativity when I have none of my own. He makes this grand event I call my life a success. He even does special effects! The applause at the final curtain will be his.

                                                          Leave me a comment! :D

Worry Worry Worry Worry Worry

This Complete Breakfast - Day 7

Do you worry?

It seems like there's never a shortage of things to worry about. Health. People. Money. A zombie apocalypse. Heck, I'm married to an airline pilot. I could worry every day he's up there flying that he's going to become a headline. Here's another thing to worry about: The Bible says HERE that worrying is a sin. Bam. Now we can worry about worrying! Even the word "worry" looks worried to me. And it sounds worried. Say the word "worry" out loud several times and you realize it's a great onomatopoeia… doesn't it sound like something spinning out of control with pieces flying off in every direction?

That's about how the ancient Greeks defined it.

For reals. To them, the idea of worry or anxiety meant being drawn in different directions, shattering a person's soul into pieces. Conversely, their idea of peace was wholeness—that all the necessary pieces of life were joined together to form a whole. Picture your soul like a big jigsaw puzzle. Peace means you're put together and have a complete picture. Worry means there are pieces of you in the couch cushions, under the fridge, in the back of the closet, mixed with Cheerios in the cup holder of a minivan, and a few pieces might even be on their way to Goodwill in a bag of used toys. You're all over the place and you can't get yourself together! Your loving heavenly Father doesn't want that for you.

Maybe that's why he told us to do something rather unusual… He wants us to throw stuff on him.  You heard me. Throw stuff. On him. Here you go:

"Cast all your anxiety on him because He cares for you." —1 Peter 5:7

Ever heard that song from the 1970s that was written about this verse? 

"I cast all my cares upon you; I lay all of my burdens down at your feet. 

And any time I don't know what to do, I will cast all my cares upon you." 

That is a fantastic song, and I sang it incessantly as a kid. Mostly because it was pretty to harmonize on. If you haven't heard it, it's a slow, calm lullabyish kind of song. (If you're super curious, you can listen to it HERE.) And that's great for after you've calmed down. But what about when you're still full of that anxiety and you haven't cast it yet? What does it even mean to cast something, anyway? It means to hurl it forcefully away from you! Give it the old fling-boogie action! Heave-ho it like a desperate shot from half court at the final buzzer! Hard to capture that sentiment in a lullaby. I think we need sound effects, personally. Let me know if you come across a good one for this.

Why does God want us to hurl all our crap on him?

Because he's our great big Daddy and he cares for us. He takes a special interest in each of his kids and is concerned by what concerns us. Not to mention, he can handle it so much better than we ever could. We aren't meant to carry worry and anxiety in our hearts. It eats away at us like a cancer, literally making us sick, fracturing us into splinters in proper Greek fashion. We are weak. God is strong. He wants us to experience the wholeness of peace, and protect us from stomach ulcers and panic attacks. His command requires our complete trust and belief, because worry is an act of unbelief. But who better to trust than the One who cares for us most?

Okay Lord, get out your catcher's mitt…

Leave me a comment! :D

"Sometimes I Feel Ugly..."

My little Winkerbean just said that to me today.

"Sometimes I feel ugly, and I want to hide." My heart broke when I heard those words come out of that pretty little mouth. Those beautiful, perfect, cupid's bow lips that I used to steal kisses from when she was a sleeping infant were now speaking of ugliness. Her own ugliness? I realized two earth-shattering things at the same time.

First, my little girl isn't so little any more.

Little kids think about life inside their little universe. They delight in the tickle of ladybug feet across their palms. They chase bubbles. They are just beginning to understand that there are other people in the world besides themselves and their immediate family. I have yet to see a little kid who is self-conscious. Winkerbean isn't little. She's starting to consider how other people see her. She's going to be nine years old before I blink.

The second thing I realized was my ghastly mistake...

I'm horrified when I think about it. I have tried on clothes with a disgusted look on my face, muttering under my breath that I should just wear a potato sack instead, to hide my ugly body. I have yanked out gray hairs and bemoaned the fact that I'm getting old too soon and don't want to lose my pretty brunette locks. I have compared myself to others whom I find more attractive than myself and given in to discouragement... all while my daughter looks on and absorbs everything. And now, with tears streaming down my face, I realize what I've done. I've taught her that what she wears is for other people to see and appreciate. That getting older is not an honor, but a dreadful curse. That the way to tell if you're beautiful is to look around you and see how you compare.

I would never say those things to her. But I have... just not with words.

This is one more example of how the student becomes like the teacher. But this teacher has just repented. I know my loving heavenly Father is heartbroken to hear me utter words of ugliness... when I believe the lie that my beauty comes from the outside. Just as heartbroken as I am when my little girl says those things about herself. It sounds preposterous to me that my little girl feels ugly, but it is no less preposterous when I feel it. The truth is, God made us both, and he's the one who gets to decide what ugly is.

"I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. 

Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it very well." —Psalm 139:4

I'm not on the ugly list. Maybe I am to some people, but not to my Creator.

"For the LORD sees not as man sees: man looks on the outward appearance, 

but the LORD looks on the heart.” —1 Samuel 16:7b

I'm so sorry, little Winkerbean. I made a mistake, and I was so wrong. I AM beautiful... because God made me that way. I forgot that. God help me, I need to be a better example of that from now on. You are a breathtaking, lovely girl, inside and out, because God made you that way. You have a beautiful smile, a beautiful mind, and a beautiful heart. Don't ever hide that.

Ten Motherhood Confessions

Motherhood is an adventure, not a science. The evidence...

1. My children regularly eat their siblings' leftovers as a snack.

2. I find a great deal of cleaning motivation from watching Hoarders.

3. That little first grader with bits of oatmeal in her hair, running to catch the bus, wearing one sock and carrying her shoes? Yeah, that was my kid.

4. I often eat chocolate first, then pray when I feel a little better.

5. I've had this happen more times than I can count: Having just imparted a particularly profound nugget of grown-up wisdom to my eager young children, I realize they ran off about five minutes ago and I've been talking to myself.

6. I sometimes stay up later than I should to get some "me time." The next day, I frown more than I smile.

7. I have a dog primarily to clean up food and beverage disasters. She stays busy.

8. I fell asleep in a pile of laundry earlier today.

9.  I've had to look up my own phone number before.

10. During my sleepy days with my third newborn, I came within three seconds of walking out to get the mail with one boob hanging out. 

And there are so many more, but we'll leave those for another post. ;) Things like this are the reason I know God can draw a straight line with a crooked stick. It's only logical that He get the glory for how awesome my kids are turning out.  Can you relate to any of these?

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