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Flatlining
“I didn’t know why I was going to cry, but I knew that if anybody spoke to me or looked at me too closely the tears would fly out of my eyes and the sobs would fly out of my throat and I’d cry for a week. I could feel the tears brimming and sloshing in me like water in a glass that is unsteady and too full.”
― Sylvia PlathMany of you have asked where I’ve been on this blog of mine, and the above quote describes my struggle so well. I’ve been holding many things close these past months knowing that even my words cannot explain them or do them justice. There is much that has happened emotionally that has wrecked me in the past months. And there is much that is wrecking me physically, too. It wears on the spirit and the mind, and I am weary.
Over the past three months I’ve seen several doctors, and had to have a CT and MRI and every time it is because they are concerned about some pain I’ve been having. Every time I must wrestle with what this could mean.
This is what life is like for me… and I realize this is how it will be. If there’s pain, the first place the doctors will go is cancer. The first place my mind goes is cancer. And it is exhausting to live every day wondering if it’s back because the physical pain is so bad.
This time the pain is because somewhere along the way I tore my rotator cuff. I’m so thankful it’s only this. And thankfully, they think it can be strengthened with physical therapy and won’t require surgery, but we won’t know that for sure until mid-June. So I spend 4 1/2 hours a week at PT (plus all the driving time to and from), plus all my other doctor visits, and I am exhausted.
In every way.
And I realized along the way with this last scare… that joy is gone. I have flatlined.
The problem is that in flatlining, I’m not the only one that suffers. My husband suffers. My children suffer. My parents suffer. My friendships suffer.
And in the flatlining I find myself asking, “How do I do this?”
How do I live and love? And how do I laugh?
And then the asking turns to God and I say, “Where are You in this? What are You doing?”
The last few weeks I’ve spent a lot of time awake at night because of my shoulder and side pain. I’ve numbed the pain with medicine and movies, but I’ve also read good books and listened to great sermons online, because I know that even if I feel like I’ve flatlined, I can’t stop looking for life.
I look at Thomas, the doubting disciple. He gets a bad rap being remembered as The Doubter, if you ask me. Because, yes, while he doubted, his doubts led him to ask questions, questions that led him back to God. Questions that led him to make one of (if not the) the strongest affirmations of faith in the New Testament. He SAW Jesus for Who He is, and He cried, “My Lord and My God!” Thomas the Doubter is Thomas the Believer.
And it was this weekend that God pulled out the paddles and jump started my heart, because I was struck with how I’m not really seeing or hearing. I’m not taking steps. I’m looking and asking, but I am blind to His works and my ears are deaf to His whispers. I’m asking, but I’m not reaching out and putting my hands into the scars and touching and seeing and hearing His voice.
And I realized:
If I’m so busy asking what God is doing, I tend to forget all God has done.
Today there was the warmth of my sweet boy snuggling in my chair while I read with them before school. There were the kisses of my children as they bounded out the door for school and the fingers signing “I love you” from car windows. There were the arms of my husband circling me before he grabbed his computer and readied for work. There were piles of laundry that I folded and memories as I traced the drawings on artwork I filed. There were words I read, blurred by my tears, Words about Who God is mingled with my cries to see Him today.
I stopped asking what He was doing and only asked for Him.
He is working, friends.
The tears still slosh. My heart still skips beats. But He is working.
And in the working, there is life. There is hope.
Your hope is not that you understand your past, present, and future, but that the Lord of all three holds you in the hollow of his hand. (~Paul David Tripp)
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Driving Lessons
It was a sunny day last week when I had a 20-25 minute drive to an appointment, so I picked a song on my iPhone at the traffic light right before I hit the interstate. I started iPod genius because, well, iPod genius is just genius. Then something went crazy with the iPod, and it started playing a different song, and it got stuck and wouldn’t change. So I wound up with a random mix of the several thousand songs of my iPod.
As I drove and listened, I thought about how so much of music defines me.
A song came on and it was Mayberry by Rascal Flatts, and it’s all about longing for a slower pace of life…how technology has overtaken our lives and there’s this desire to sit on the front porch and know your neighbors and just take time to rest. I love the line about Sunday–how Sundays used to be a day of rest and now they’re just a day for progress, and I found myself nodding and saying, “Yes” and “Amen” to a country song. What has happened to us? What have we done in our Christian culture and in our world with rest?
Then next thing I knew, I heard Chris Tomlin singing All the Way My Savior Leads Me, and while I drove and I wiped tears from my face, because it’s my favorite hymn (although he sings it to a different tune). And I found myself praying, “Yes, Lord, You are sovereign. You are sovereign over the songs that come on my iPod. You knew for some reason these are the songs that I needed to hear this morning.” And then I asked the Lord to be with me and continue to lead and to break my heart and help me long for Him and live for Him.
Then the next thing I knew the Beatles came on and I heard a love song, and they were singing about life and love and relationship. I thought about Brian. So much of my life with him is me just being selfish and placing expectations on him that are not good or real or healthy. And I thanked God for my husband and for love. And I wept over his faithfulness to me when I am so difficult to live with.
And then the music changed to a salsa. Instrumental. I found my feet tapping and my fingers snapping and halfway through I just laughed because I was snapping on the 2/4 beat. I thought about my friend, Sandy, who has taught us how the Spanish culture snaps on 1/3 and keeps the 1/3 beat. So I tried to switch over and I couldn’t because the 2/4 beat is so natural to me. Then I laughed because it made me think of Sandy’s beautiful laugh and I could hear it ringing it my ears. I thanked God for the way she brings laughter and encouragement into my life.
Then it moved from a Spanish salsa to a Rachmaninoff piece that was contemplative and smooth and peaceful, and I thought about how that’s what I long for in my life. It’s been hectic lately. I’m going to doctor appointments six or more times a week and spending 6 hours a week at Physical Therapy for a torn rotator cuff… and I’m working and Brian’s traveling and the kids are running track, and it just doesn’t feel peaceful.
And yet it the midst of it all God brought rest.
He gave me 25 minutes in the car, and He gave me music, and He gave me peace.
How good of God that something so small like an iPod jamming can turn into a beautiful reminder of what my life is all about.
And what a beautiful life God has given me!
Thank you, Lord, for Mayberry reminders and jammed iPods and for quiet times of rest and for friends whose laughter rings in my ears. For my husband and children. For life. For LIFE. Thank you.
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A Mother’s Prayer
Before you close your eyes to sleep
I have a promise still to keep
As I hold you in my arms.
I pray your little frame grows strong
And that faith takes hold while you are young;
This is my prayer for you.
Hold my hand;
I’ll teach you the Way to go.
Through the joys, through the tears,
The journey of these years,
May you trust Him ’til the end.
May you trust Him in the end.
This world is not as it should be,
But the Savior opens eyes to see
All that’s beautiful and true.
Oh, may His light fill all you are
And the jewel of wisdom crown your heart;
This is my prayer for you…
Hold my hand;
I’ll teach you the Way to go.
Through the joys, through the tears,
The journey of these years,
He is with us ’til the end.
He is faithful’til the end.
You’ll travel where my arms won’t reach
As the road will rise to meet your feet
On a journey of your own.
May my mistakes not hinder you
But His grace remain and guide you through
This is my prayer for you…
Take His hand,
And go where He calls You to
And whatever comes, seek Him
With all your heart.
This will be my prayer for you.
Father hear my ceaseless prayer;
Oh, keep [them] in Your care.(~Keith and Kristyn Getty, and Fionan de Barra)
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Of Sparkle and Heaven and Swimming Pools
Just a brief update and a truly heart-felt thank you to those of you who prayed for my Bella-Girl.
She had only one other episode on Thursday night, but it was short-lived and much less terrifying. Her fever has stayed high until today and she is happy and skipping and bouncing through her days.
I have been in bed the past three days with the same fever and mine has moved into my chest so I cough incessantly… Good grief, y’all, the coughing! I am going to have six-pack abs by the time this coughing stops! *grin*
Because of her fever, she’s remained house-bound with me, but she stays busy with her dolls and books and a movie or two. She chatters away to me constantly, and it is wonderful to have her sparkle brightening our days again.
“Mommy,” she calls from her bedroom, then skips to my bedroom door, “I wonder what heaven will be like?” I smile at her and hold out my hand, she moves to take it and says, “I think it will be like swimming in a swimming pool.” She lets go of my hand and skips back out of the room turning at the doorway to smile and add, “You know? Surrounded by joy!”
Thank you, my friends, for praying for my girl.
Her sparkle is an amazing gift for this momma’s heart.
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Let No Evil Come Into My Dreams…
“Mommy,” her voice trembles as she says quietly, “I just don’t feel very well.”
I try not to react when the thermometer reads 104.3. Just don’t feel very well? That’s gotta be an understatement!
She came home from school yesterday and fell asleep immediately on the couch. When she woke her temp was high and she was lethargic. Ibuprofen helps, but it’s hard to watch her when the sparkle is gone.
Then last night, while curled asleep next to me in my bed, she started awake. She covered her ears and screamed. Loud. Piercing. Screams. Terrible screams. Terrified screams. Desperate screams. For at least 10 minutes.
“Someone’s yelling at me! It’s happening again! Mommy, please make it stop!”
Brian ran upstairs when he heard her and we held her and prayed for her and she finally fell asleep in his arms.
In February she had the flu and I thought the tamiflu she was on had caused similar hallucinations; however, it seems it’s not tamiflu that’s the problem, but high fevers.
Poor little bit.
She has followed me from room to room today as I’ve done laundry and baked. She carries a blanket and book with her, afraid to be alone. Afraid of the voices.
“Mommy, please make it stop,” echoes in my head and heart like a nightmare.
I’m afraid for her, too.
This mommy’s heart can’t bear to watch her terror. I know this is probably a short-lived virus, but she doesn’t understand that. She just wants it to stop.
I can’t make it stop, but I know the One Who can.
Would you pray, my bloggy friends? Would you ask God to protect her little mind and body especially from these hallucinations?
Let no evil come into my dreams
Light of heaven keep me in Your peace
(~Fernando Ortega) -
Sparkle
Mommy? she came to me, brown eyes huge, the hint of a smile around her lips. Do you know what I like about my eyes?
I hid my own smile. What, baby love?
When I open my eyes really wide, like this, her huge brown eyes became even huger. She paused and she brought up her hand to her cheek with her finger and thumb pinching a smidgeon apart, I see juuuuuuuust a little bit of sparkle in them.
You dear girl.
You bring a whole lot of sparkle to this life.
Please don’t ever stop.
Sigh. Is she really seven already?
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Impossible Standard
Tears began to fall as I dropped my hands in a mixture of sadness and frustration and blurted, “What is it I’m not teaching him?”
My mother was in the room and smiled and gently. “Baby,” she said softly, “Don’t make this about you.”
Her tender words pierced through my self-focus and convicted my heart–a heart that so often makes parenting about me and not about my children.
The truth is I spend so many of my days expecting my children to not be sinners but at the same time expecting others to show me grace for my own sin.
In his book, Loving Obedience, William Richardson spends the first half of his book focusing on how we satisfy the love-hunger our children. Then he turns in the second half to how they learn to respond to our love with obedience and how we lovingly train them to obey. And he points to Ephesians where Paul talks about how God will reward us for every good thing we will do. He asks us what it would look like it if we live like this?
So often I focus on what my children do wrong. What if I focus on what they do right?
You cleared the table when I asked you. Thank you. Good job.
Hey look, you made your bed. It’s great! (Who cares if the covers are crooked and the pillow is upside down? They still made their bed.)
I saw you give that boy a hand and help him up off the ground when he fell even though he was mean to you. That is loving your neighbor. I’m proud of you.
You didn’t speak badly about your coach when he wouldn’t play you in the game. I really admire you for that.
When I focus instead on all they are not doing, more often that not they hear me use a tone that belittles and dimininshes their worth. What if God did that to me? What if all I heard from God was everything I’m doing wrong?
Honestly, y’all, those are the lies I hear all day long every day–baggage from a church I grew up in that wrecked my life. Baggage from a pastor that demanded perfection and expected us to measure up to some impossible standard.
What he didn’t teach us was that Jesus has already met that standard.
Then I turn and do the same to my children–expect them to meet some impossible standard. How discouraged they must feel!
Impossible standards.
There is no freedom there.
It is a few days later when I sit with my son and ask him about another incident that morning, “What were you thinking? What were you thinking when you spoke to me that way? When you disprespected me?”
He shrugs and says quietly, “I don’t know, Mom. I wasn’t thinking. I was just angry.”
And I see again…This is my job.
To teach him how to respond and not react in situations.
But how can I teach him when I do the same thing? I get upset because they haven’t met my standard. He gets upset because he can’t meet that standard.
I reach over and place my hand on his shoulder. He looks up, and I ask him what he can do. How can he change?
He smiles because he knows exactly what I’m asking. “I can’t change, Mom. Not on my own.”
This is the gospel…
This is the GOSPEL!
For all of us.
It’s not about us and what we do! It’s about Christ and what HE did.
We talk about spending time asking God to help him. I kiss the top of his head and I leave the room looking back to see him kneel by his bed.
It is ten minutes later when I’m sorting through clothes and filling the washer that I hear footsteps behind me. An arm wraps around my waist and a quiet voice says, “I’m sorry, Mom, for treating you that way.”
And the tears in my eyes and the joy in my heart aren’t because of his apoology or his love (although admittedly that makes me very happy).
It’s because he gets the gospel!
THIS is why we train our children. Not for perfect behavior. We train them for an understanding of the gospel that will shape their lives and help them to live in freedom knowing that the impossible standard has been met.
This.
THIS…
…is what we do.
Impossible standard.
MET.
My heart sings this morning.
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I Didn’t Need to Laugh
I didn’t need to laugh. I didn’t even necessarily feel like laughing. After all, I had a headache. I could have just smiled or told her she was creative.
She showed up downstairs, hiding something under a blanket.
“Mommy,” her eye sparkled, “I am going to show you,” she paused, “Something for piggy when it rains.”
She put the bundle on the floor and tried to untangle her blanket. I waited patiently, or semi-patiently. After all, I was in the middle of writing a blog post about her brother for his birthday. I was working on important stuff.
She finally got it all untangled.
“First, I’ll pull off the blanket,” and she whipped it off to show me the Lego house she had built. Red, blue and yellow (because there was no white). “Theeeeeeen, I turn it around…” She spun the house to show me a window with her stuffed piggy peeking out.
“See?” she clapped her hands with delight and laughed loudly.
She had already shown me the house. I had praised her earlier on her construction skills. But now she was showing me it’s usefulness.
I didn’t need to laugh. I didn’t necessarily want to laugh.
But when I looked into those eyes and saw her sparkle…
I saw that this was important stuff, too, and I realized:
I didn’t need to laugh.
But she needed me to.
And that makes all the difference in the world.
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Living Well
First all, may I say how overwhelmed I am?
I was inundated with texts and messages and emails and love yesterday, and at first I wanted to kind of cringe thinking that was not my intent in writing… I wasn’t trying to solicit support. But the truth of the matter is this: I know my heart’s motive, and you read my words and acted on them. And you overwhelmed me with love.
My appointment went very well yesterday. My doctor is amazing, and I am grateful. She found nothing of concern, and I am grateful. In the next few days I will schedule one of my routine procedures, and I also need to schedule outpatient surgery to have my port-a-cath replaced. Neither one is fun. Both are necessary. Both will set my mind and heart at ease, and I am grateful.
She did find that my white blood cell counts are low, or rather lower than my normal low, so I must be extra careful about exposure to sickness. My immune system just hasn’t recovered from all I have been through the past years. I am also waiting on blood work results to see if I need another iron infusion. I should know today. The truth of the matter though is I am feeling better physically than I have felt in years, and I am grateful.
All in all, it was a two thumbs up appointment, and my oncologist patiently tended to my weepiness and reassured me that all looks good, and I am grateful.
And almost every time I turned around yesterday, my phone was chirping or ringing or buzzing… full of love from you.
And I am grateful.
John Bunyan said, “You have not lived today until you have done something for someone who can never repay you.”
Well, y’all lived well yesterday.
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For Today…
Today I have an oncology appointment. It’s routine. They’ll do blood work, ask lots of questions, check for anything out of the ordinary, and plan scans. January and February are always full of routine scans and procedures just to make sure nothing’s returned… or new.
Some days I think I’ve gotten used to this. It’s become our way of life. Oncology and cancer and blood work and CT’s and -oscopies have become part of our vocabulary. We’ve accepted it–well, mostly. This is part of our story, part of our journey, and we are being made better because of it.
But days like today, there is dread and fear and pain and ache. I don’t want to set foot in the cancer center. I don’t want to see dying people. I don’t want to be reminded of what this all means. I don’t want to taste the bile in the back of my throat while the doctor checks over me, fearful of what she might say.
But most of all… I don’t want to go to my appointment and come home and check my phone for the umpteenth time forgetting that there will be no text or call or email from Kim. Because that’s what we did. We touched base somehow after everything to see how it went. To see how each other was doing. I dread walking through these next few months without her, because she was a support for me in a way that few can be, because she walked a very similar road. And we walked together. But now I am walking this part of the journey alone. And it is a heavy burden on my heart.
On the way home from taking the children to school this morning, one of my favorite songs came on my iPhone, and I sat at the traffic light, and I cried those great big heaving sobs.
Because I am not walking alone… He is with me. He brings perfect peace.
It may take me a while, but truth always encourages.
I hope this encourages you this morning… wherever you are, whatever struggle you might be facing, whatever pain is hidden deep in your heart.
Because encouragement was meant to be shared.
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A Spring of Joy 