“You’re A Meanie” Syndrome

Overwhelmed.

It’s an understatement for my emotional well-being recently.

On the one hand I’m overwhelmed by how well I have been feeling physically. Then I get overwhelmed by all that I want to do because I feel better physically. Then I get overwhelmed by all that’s on my plate because even though I feel better physically, I still tire twice as quickly as I once did. Then I can’t get all that’s on my plate done, and I feel overwhelmed by all that’s still on my plate.

All of this, though, is fixable. I can lessen the things on my plate. I can say “no” more often even if it might disappoint people. I can prioritize my “to-do” list in a way that doesn’t put too much for me to do on any given day. I can “redeem the time because the days are evil.” And I can stop. worrying. so. stinking. much. about what other people think of me if I can’t be all things to all men.

Overwhelmed.

It’s when I sit in the doctor’s office and he shakes his head in awe that I had yet another cancer 9 months ago and then strongly recommends two. more. surgeries. Yes, y’all, two more surgeries. (I still need to talk with my oncologist before we make that decision.)

Overwhelmed.

It’s when I get the phone call from my geneticist at UVA who says they have three different syndromes they want to test me for and one of them… one of them… one of them is very serious.

Wait a minute.

What did you say?

Oh that part about if I have it I will want to get. my. kids. tested. right. away, because if I have this syndrome, it’s very serious. Can you repeat that?

If… then… get.kids.tested.right.away.

It’s called Li-Fraumeni (pronounced lee-fro-meenie) syndrome, and it pre-disposes a person to “a wide range of malignancies, with particularly high occurrences of breast cancer, brain tumors, acute leukemia, soft tissue sarcomas, bone sarcomas, and adrenal cortical carcinoma.”

Y’all, I spent all of Friday crying. Folding laundry, sniffing the scent of my children on stuffed animals as I placed them on their beds, wandering aimlessly around the house crying.

Crying because I’m completely overwhelmed, and completely undone, and I. DON’T. WANT. ANY. MORE. OF. THIS. Crying because I’m scared. Crying because I feel utterly alone in all this.

*Deep breaths*

Did you hear what was missing from Friday?

I spent all day crying. But I didn’t spend any time crying out. I didn’t go to God with it because I didn’t want to go to God with it. I wanted to feel it all deeply and feel sorry for myself for a while.

And my kids listened to me snap at them mercilessly and stomp around trying to “get things done” and my sweet Bear finally sat down and said to me, “You’re mean voice is not fun, Mom.”

Yes. Feeling overwhelmed. It’s my “You’re A Meanie” Syndrome.

My Bear was the heart check I needed. The reminder that I was spending the entire day crying because I might have a syndrome that might lead to my children having this syndrome that might lead to cancer at an early age for them and I wasn’t spending any time WITH them, and I certainly wasn’t loving them.

And we found ourselves on the floor, the four or us, with me in the middle begging for forgiveness and telling them I had failed them, and Bella-girl stroked my hair and Ash-man said, “It’s okay, Mom. I get mean, too, sometimes.”

And then that weekend I sat with 150 or so of my brothers and sisters at church and worshipped.

And one of the songs we sang was “Beautiful One”.

Do y’all remember when we learned that my CAT scan was clear 4 1/2 years ago and that the cancer had not spread to my liver or bones or brain? Bri and I got in his Jeep and the song on his iPod that “just happened” to start up was “Beautiful One” and we turned it up and sang our hearts out?

Friday night I sang my heart out.

Overwhelmed with life, yes.

But even more overwhelmed.

By the Beautiful One I love. The Beautiful One I adore.

Christ has captured my heart, and no matter whether I have “You’re A Meanie” Syndrome or not, His Cross has spoken mercy over me. When my eyes are fixed on Him, then instead of crying all day, I am crying out for that mercy to cover me and give me strength.

And I look at the Cross.

And I am overwhelmed.

(Would you pray, my bloggy friends? For wisdom and peace and direction? We have a lot of decisions to make, and in case you didn’t figure it out, I’m a little overwhelmed. Thank you for your faithfulness to my family and me… I am loved.)

8 responses to ““You’re A Meanie” Syndrome”

  1. Thinking and praying for you and your family Angie! It was good seeing you on Sunday!

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  2. Ever praying for you! Praying that you do not have the “meanie” syndrome. Praying for peace until you know. Praying that the Lord would lift you up and sustain you as you go through yet another time of medical questions and uncertainty. I love you, Angie! {{HUG}}

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  3. Sending so many prayers and much love to you. You never cease to inspire me with your words and your faith, and your children are beautiful amazing glimpses of God – thank-you for sharing them with us.

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  4. Praying for you Angie! The God that we cry out to is able to handle it and is never overwhelmed!!

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  5. My precious Angie,

    Your constant reality of Him in your midst is glorious. How wonderful it is to hear you stop in the middle of your trial and acknowledge His presence is with you and that He has never left you nor forsaken you. This is food to my heart. I thank God for your desire for Him and to realize that He is your hope, your only hope.

    May He continually open the eyes of your understanding that you may know to this hope that you have been called.

    Love and blessings,
    Judie
    xoxox

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  6. we are sending prayers and love your way

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  7. I miss u friend. I just realized that is has been so so long since I’ve posted a comment here, not bc I don’t faithfully read- I do. But bc I just haven’t taken the time to do it. Will u forgive me? I miss u so much friend. There was once a time we didn’t go a day without talking to each other. I miss those days. Those were good days. Hard days but good days. I know these days r hard too. Im still praying for u. I love u friend

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  8. Words seem so inadequate. So how about I just tell you that we are challenged by your vulnerability…we are praying for you…we love you and are so thankful for your life. – DPL

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