The Birth of Redemption

It's the seventh day of Christmas, aka New Year's Eve to the rest of the world and I can't stop thinking about the birth of redemption.  The mystery of the conception, the birth of Deity into humanity.  The incarnation of our salvation came to us in the most ordinary and extraordinary of ways.  Our desperately needed redemption cried as he entered our world as a wrinkled, screaming baby covered in goo.  He came in human form to redeem those humans who took the first bites of forbidden fruit and sealed our fate.  He came to redeem the rest of us born into a fallen world because of his great love for us.  Knowing our failures, knowing our imperfections, knowing our weaknesses, he humbled himself for us.  The beauty and glory of that is almost more than I can bear.  How quickly we can forget that only He is our hope and salvation!

After spending the advent season anticipating I'm finding myself fighting the urge to spend these last days of Christmas focusing on the new year.  Maybe like me, you are also feeling yourself pulled away from the mystery of Christmas and focusing instead on what 2019 will bring.  Maybe you're hoping things will be better, or at least not worse.  Looking forward to new adventures and leaving behind the struggles of 2018.  Perhaps striving for better health and hoping to finally conquer that pesky resolution to lose weight and get in shape.  Maybe setting a few goals and then spending a lot of energy trying to make everything fit the expectations of what you think they should be.  And just like that your focus has shifted to what you can do to make your life better.  It happens to all of us.  We misplace our hope in our own abilities and desires and discover that misplaced hope is fickle.  All of our striving becomes an exercise in futility.  Because even when our goals are good, focusing on them instead of the ONE who authors our story and redeems us leads us on a path to self-idolatry.

If my life were a movie, the past seven years would have been titled "Reality Bites".  It slapped me in the face more times than I can count and frankly, it left me a bit cold.  Yet, reality is exactly where I collided again and again with that little baby who was born in a stable so many years ago.  He was, is, and always will be the redemption my battered soul so desperately needed.  My faith has grown and stalled and faltered and deepened over the past thirty-five years.  I have tried to walk away, I have screamed and cried and bargained for my will to prevail, but ultimately I learned to rest in true hope, which has brought immense joy, peace, and strength to persevere when I thought I could not go on another day.

I wish you true hope and peace in 2019!

He Will Rise Up in the End

Our church produced an Advent journal this year and I was able to write two of the devotionals.  This is the devotional for December 6, 2018.

Scripture reading: Revelation 19:11-16; 21:1-4

He Will Rise Up In the End

Turn on the news and you immediately realize that creation is groaning. Looking inward, ever mindful of our own desires, even believers are lovers of self, forgetful of our first love. Seduced by darkness masquerading as light, we are easily lulled into apathy. Yet deep inside we still long for God to step in and rescue us, if only from ourselves.

We wonder why he is slow to act, why he doesn’t return to end our suffering and reveal his power and glory. Despite our impatience and demands that he act when and how we see fit, we must believe that he delays because he loves us and is patient, even in his righteous anger at the state of this world.

This season, look up to the sky in anticipation that all will be made right. Remember, the baby we celebrate, innocent and pure, will return on a white horse to save us. He will rise up and render justice with a flame of fire in his eyes. The baby was and is Faithful and True, The Word of God, the ultimate warrior coming to claim his own. He is the King of kings and Lord of lords.

The night may be long, but the day is coming when he will reveal his glory. He will wage the final, victorious battle of good over evil. And after the last tear falls, we will dwell with God in the new heaven and earth. Lord Jesus, may we be found faithful in the waiting!

He will wipe away every tear from their eyes,

and death shall be no more,

neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore,

for the former things have passed away.”

Revelation 21:4 ESV

Ben Shive. Rise Up. 2012
Andrew Peterson. After the Last Tear Falls. 2003

The Now and the Not Yet

Our church produced an Advent journal this year and I was able to write two of the devotionals.  This is the devotional for December 5, 2018.

Scripture Reading: Zephaniah 3:14-20

The Now and the Not Yet

“If I find in myself desires which

nothing in this world can satisfy,

the only logical explanation is that

I was made for another world.”

C.S. Lewis

Longing is a very real part of living shared by all of humanity. We try hard to quiet it, sometimes in unhealthy ways, but it eventually returns like an unwelcome intruder in the dead of night. We yearn to close the chapter on longing, to permanently wave goodbye to our unmet desires and the ensuing pain and suffering. We ache to be satisfied in the now while longing for completion in the not yet. Ultimately we long for another world. We long for Heaven.

The holidays can amplify the tension of living in the now and the not yet. As pilgrims on the road between the garden and glory, the Advent season, meant as a time of holy remembrance and anticipation, can easily be overrun by shopping, parties, and fun or tense family gatherings. Spiritual amnesia can set in leaving us overwhelmed, disappointed, and exhausted.

Today, let us choose to remember, to rest and reflect, to shift our focus to the baby, our Savior. Choose to celebrate the new covenant birthed when the Word was made flesh. Marvel that God became a newborn and fulfilled the ancient prophecies with his first cry in a stable.

But, let us also anticipate that Jesus, the baby, the Messiah, the only one to conquer death is coming again for us and then our longing will be complete!

The Lord has taken away the judgments against you;

he has cleared away your enemies.

The King of Israel, the Lord, is in your midst;

you shall never again fear evil.

Zephaniah 3:15 ESV

Amy Grant. The Now and the Not Yet. 1984

Unmolding

Do you ever feel like you just don't fit?  Like you are a square peg repeatedly failing, through no fault of your own, to fit into a tiny, round hole?  Welcome to the club, it's huge and full of countless secret members.  We all have stories to tell about our often sad and/or hilarious attempts to assimilate.

One time, not long after moving to San Antonio I joined a new Bible study.  After a few months I was asked to join the leadership team.  It was a big deal and I eagerly accepted the invitation. The group had been a godsend to me as a recent transplant from the Houston area and it finally felt like I belonged, or could at least fake it.  Turns out I should have read the fine print, or at least paid attention to the details, and rules.....but I was desperate so I dove in head first.

Very early one Saturday morning I woke up before my alarm sounded in anticipation of my first leader's meeting, which started promptly at 7:00 or 7:30 am. I have forgotten the actual time, probably because it was TOO EARLY and I blocked it from my memory.  I desperately wanted to look put together.  Thankfully, my idea of put together has changed over the years, but back then I was even more fashion backward than I am now.  I dressed in jeans and a cute (I thought), funny t-shirt about ewes going to heaven, which I had purchased with hard-earned money from my $6.00-an-hour job.  Cool.

I arrived and promptly got lost, but no worries I knew how to get "unlost".  The class secretary was outside and ready to help.  She took one look at me and asked if I had been informed of the dress code.   Dress code?  I'm sure my eyes popped out of my head.  I wanted to BLEND in, not stand out, but stand out I did, because women leaders were required to wear dresses/skirts, pantyhose, makeup, etc., even at the ungodly hour of 7 something on a Saturday morning.  (That amounts to cruel and unusual punishment for a young, single person, IMHO.)   So much for faking it.....  It would be obvious to all that I simply did not fit the cool mold.  I teased my leader for years for not telling me, even though it wasn't her job, it was just something that happened that makes me die laughing now because in my mind it was as bad as showing up naked!  One thing I CAN pin on her though was that she recommended me for leadership and it was one of the BEST things that ever happened to me.  But back to the story......

So, there I was, an insecure, awkward 20-year-old girl, trying to fit in with a new group of people.  My face was probably 50 shades of red, and I was nervous and clammy.  Everyone was gracious, but I was mortified.  You had better believe that I never made that mistake again.  I dressed exactly as required.  I learned how to fit the mold for awhile, until I didn't.

Eventually something happened: I grew.  Both spiritually and, um, physically.  I gained about 40 pounds, which was a no-no in this Bible study.  After about 5 years in leadership I was "counseled" about my weight.  I was asked to step on a scale and weigh in.  I was reminded about the sin of gluttony.  I was shamed by my new teaching leaders and the area director.  Appearances mattered in this crowd and I did not look the way I was supposed to look.

It was very hurtful, and although I DID need to lose weight, I could not understand how being overweight prevented me from serving God.  I quit and promptly gained more weight, probably because I was sad and depressed.  For awhile I was bitter and feared more judgment because it was obvious that whether it be my appearance, education, relationship status, career, finances, sense of humor, or just the quirky things that made me, me, I never really fit the mold.

I was different.  I was home schooled when it was illegal and never went to college.  I did not get married or have children.  I drove inexpensive cars and shopped at Wal-Mart, how very "un" PC of me.  I liked different music, art, high brow AND low brow literature.  I tried really, really hard to fit in, but I was never the right kind of beautiful.  The right kind of funny.  The right kind of smart.  The right kind of Christian.  I faked it for a long time because I never wanted to be exposed and feel the humiliation of sticking out like a sore thumb ever again.

I threw myself into work and other activities.  I led Bible studies in my home, volunteered more at church, and pursued my passion for travel.  Slowly I began shedding a lot of the girl others said I should be, who I had been trained to become to please everyone.  I began to "unmold" myself from their expectations and started to mold myself into who I thought I should be.   Uh-oh. 

Now, I don't know about you, but I am REALLY good at living in denial and lying to myself, so "living my truth" was a disaster.  I was difficult and bitchy a lot, I was critical and judgmental,  still uncomfortable in my own skin.  And sadly, sometimes I still can be the worst version of myself.  No matter how hard I tried, I was still unsatisfied and unsure of why God created me or bothered to love me.  Grace was a struggle for me.  Thankfully, despite my failures, God granted me deep faith.  I began to ask him to mold me into HIS image because my version and everyone else's version had failed me.

That change in mindset was the most liberating thing I had ever done and I became less and less concerned with what others thought.  As I embraced what made me unique and forgave those who had hurt me I found peace and freedom.  After all, they did not mean to hurt me anymore than I meant to hurt people.  

Almost 30 years later I am most definitely still in the process of letting God unmold me from myself and mold me into his image.  I am a big, fat work in progress, but I am surrounded by a wonderful group of friends, many from that Bible study group who welcomed a young misfit all those years ago.  Despite how much work I still have to do on myself, they love me, and I love them.

For my fellow misfits, ask yourselves how God made you uniquely you.  Is it your presence?  The way you love others?  The Jesus people see in you?  Things like your appearance, the way you talk, or the way you express yourself?  Your smile, your gifts, the way you see the world?  What sets YOU apart?  Whatever it is, lean into it.  (Not if it's sin though, that's a different topic entirely!)

I no longer stress out over not fitting in and don't try to pretend I'm normal.  My current church is full of people who have very different lives, finances, and social circles than I do, they may even have different politics (gasp!), but I love them and they love me, despite our differences.  If you struggle, please remember that no one is as normal as they would have you believe.  Be the person who stands out and makes a difference in this world.  Be kind, love well, and be free in Christ.  Conformity is boring anyway!

A Wedding, Some Water and a Whole Lotta Wine

When I think of a Jewish wedding, I can’t help but picture the wedding scene in Fiddler on the Roof.  It is easy for me to imagine myself attending such a sacred event full of symbolism and romance and then enjoying the fun after party, so different and yet so much the same as our modern-day weddings.  

Can you see it?  

Lots of music, amazing dances, food spilling onto the tables and cups running over with wine.  So much joy.  So much love.  So much hope.  Kind of makes me want to crash a wedding! 

A long time ago in a city far, far away there was another wedding feast I would love to have crashed; a glorious celebration in honor of a new bride and groom.  This one was also Jewish and set in Cana of Galilee.  Oh what I would give to have seen it with my own eyes. 

You may have heard the story, it is famous after all.  It’s even in the BIBLE.  Jesus was there and played a big, unexpected role that day. It became the scene of his first publicly recorded miracle, an interesting choice for the Messiah if you ask me.  There are so many things to unpack in this story, but I can’t help but wonder about the things that were left untold, especially as it relates to the bride.

I wonder if she ever even knew what happened?  We will likely never know because the text does not indicate if the bride, groom, or guests were aware of the situation.  But still, I wonder......maybe, just maybe she did catch wind of the situation.  If so, I really want to know what she felt.  Can you put yourself in her shoes?  A nervous young woman, excited, full of trepidation, celebrating her new union, anticipating her wedding night, envisioning her entire future.  And they go and run out of wine.  At the biggest party of her life!  Uh-oh.  Did the guests suspect there was a problem?  Did she look around and imagine whispers, disappointment, and judgment on the faces of her guests?  Did she worry that the gossip mongers would flay her in the court of village opinion?  Did she panic at the thought of HER wedding becoming infamous?  Did she cry?  Did she fear that it foretold a future empty of provision?  Perhaps these are questions for heaven, but I still like to contemplate them here on earth.

And what about the ones who most likely DID know what was happening.  The ever faithful servants.  Those in the trenches, laboring unnoticed to make the party go off without a hitch.  Isn't that the way it usually is?  I envision them eyeing each other and shaking their heads surreptitiously.  Maybe whispering about the impending doom when the wine jugs ran dry, nervously wondering if they would somehow be blamed for the gross miscalculation.  

Enter a compassionate mama who had been through the ringer of the gossip mill already, what with that virgin birth and all....    

• Mary asked Jesus to help.  
• Jesus told her it wasn't his time yet.    
• Mary knew better and knowingly instructed the servants to do whatever he asked.  
• Jesus considered his options.
• Mary waited and perhaps smiled in anticipation of what her son would do next.

And then Jesus.

He asked the servants to fill 6 stone jars with water.  Not just any old jars mind you, but those reserved for the Jewish rites of purification.  Those huge jugs, with a capacity to hold 20-30 gallons, were likely full of dirt, bacteria, and the last dregs of polluted water from who knows how many filthy hands.  Sounds delicious.

Once they were full he instructed a servant to take a cup of the “water” to the wedding master, and shockingly he did!  I may very well have run the other way, shaking my head and telling people that the guest named Jesus was a lunatic.  But that servant obeyed without pause and did what Jesus asked.  Just like that.  We all know what happened next.  That dirty water became the BEST wine anyone had ever tasted.

Whoa.   A miracle.  At a wedding.  Using wine.  If I had been a guest I would have spent the rest of the feast watching Jesus, completely ignoring the bride and groom, and possibly (doubtfully) even the food.  Maybe that’s why he kept it to himself, so the rest of the guests would not get distracted.  He wasn't ready to reveal himself just yet, but a few saw what he did and became very loyal followers.

I’ve read, studied, and listened to many sermons about this miracle.  Everyone has an opinion, and most are much smarter and have studied Biblical history more than I have.  I don’t pretend to know or understand all of the nuances, but I do believe it was significant that this was the scene of miracle numero uno.

So what gives?  Why now?  Why a wedding?  Why wine? 

To be honest, I have NO idea.  I just have some personal thoughts and observations that a theologian would probably trash.  But, the thing about Scripture is that every time I read it God teaches me something new, even when I have read the story a hundred times.  Or, sometimes He just uses it to remind me of something I already knew.  For this particular miracle, I have been pondering some of the following things:

The venue is curious.  Why a wedding?  And why wine?  Didn't he know that many Western Christians would be teetotalers, unwilling to admit it was REAL wine?  In all seriousness, I was taught to believe it was grape juice, or that the alcohol was minimal and only used to rid the water of dangerous bacteria.  Frankly I find that explanation ludicrous now and drink REAL WINE every Sunday during communion.  But I digress, perhaps the fact that Jesus chose a wedding for his first publicly recorded miracle has something to do with the church being the bride of Christ.  A foretelling of our own glorious wedding feast with Jesus.  One with no stress, no lack of provision, and no judgment.

Also fascinating is his odd response to his mother's petition.  It always makes me smile and shake my head.  Was he trying to put Mary in her place as a mere human?  Was he trying to increase her faith?  Was it simply normal, teasing banter between mother and son?  Did he want to make sure those around him knew what he was about to do?  This was probably the first miracle his disciples ever witnessed.  Not to mention the servants.  Did they think he was just a few cards short of a full deck?  Were they instant believers once the wedding master tasted the wine?  So many unanswered questions!    

Mary must have seen him perform miracles in the past.  She knew he would not let the bride, groom, or the hosts be humiliated.  She asked him to intervene and believed he would despite his initial response.  Her faith did not waiver.  She prepared for the unexpected.  She instructed the servants to obey.  She waited expectantly.  And he revealed his deep love for her by providing, likely above and beyond what she could have ever imagined.  He provided the wine.  He prevented the humiliation of the wedding hosts, bride, groom, family.  All because Mary asked,  believed and then waited.  He loves us that much too.  For a girl who fears lack, the thought flattens me; it is so powerful and humbling.  He is always ready to do the same for those who put their trust in him.  Sometimes with a miracle, and sometimes simply by using others to be his hands and feet, but make no mistake, he will always provide.  And he will almost never do it in the way we expect.

Above all things what I love the most about this miracle is how it mimics what he does for us.  He takes dirty, earthen vessels and fills them with the choicest wine.  He takes ordinary things and makes them spectacular.  We need only ask, believe, obey, and wait for him to act.

What stands out to you about this miracle?  

Welcome to Dizzy Land - Living Happily Ever After in the Land of POTS

Photo by Porapak Apichodilok from Pexels

Once upon a time......

Long ago in a land far.......

It's a small world after all,
It's a small world after all,
It's a small world after all,
it's a small, small, world.

Not only is it small, it is STA-RANGE.  The Land of POTS is the type of place people try to avoid, or at the very least leave as soon as humanly possible.  It has zero charm and offers more than its fair share of unpredictability, especially when the sun beats down mercilessly during the long, hot, summer months.  That is when you will find most POTSTONIANS shriveled up in despair, wondering how much longer they can hold on without losing their everloving minds.

If you ever meet a genuine POTSTONIAN in person, there are a few things you should know:

1. None of us chose to live in the Land of POTS.  Its almost like we were exiled for some unknown crime.
2. Most of us never even knew it existed.  It is not on your typical "map of the world."   
3. We are not happy to be stuck in The Land of POTS with no idea if we will ever get to leave.
4. We have been forced to learn a new language with big words like Dysautonomia.
5. We do not like the benefits offered, and the medical care is especially lacking.  Worse, most doctors speak an entirely different language.
6. We are bored with drinking a gallon of water every single day, and pray to God it does not contain lead.  We're looking at you Michigan.
7. We are tired of being forced to ride the merry-go-round all day, every day.  Being dizzy is no longer amusing....
8. We are exhausted by the variety of migraines we endure.  My personal "favorite" is the ocular migraine with its weird kaleidoscope vision, which could also be a TIA.  I feel like the carnival master is yelling, "Step right up and spin the wheel to learn your fate!  Is it a migraine or is it a stroke?  What will it be today lady?"  
9. We are tired of our hearts racing as if we're running a marathon when we are NOT MOVING AT ALL.
10. We would LOVE it if our extremities would quit swelling already and return to their normal size.  Elephant feet and Pillsbury Dough hands are not attractive.
11. We would prefer NOT to pass out due to heat, exercise, standing or sitting up for too long.
12. We are tired, and also, we are tired of being tired ALL.OF.THE.DANG.TIME.

Personally, I have been unimpressed with my new, small world.  It is certainly not the "happily ever after" I was hoping to find.  Everyone's vision of "happily ever after" is different, but a key component of mine is travel.  For many years I dreamed big and followed my traveling dreams by exploring many different countries.  Sometimes I traveled with friends and sometimes I had only my backpack and journal to keep me company.  The places I visited and the experiences I had are great memories that bring much joy now that I am stuck in the Land of POTS.  I am grateful to have experienced so much of this BIG, beautiful world before I was exiled.  My world view expanded and shifted, and I grew in confidence and grace as I explored this amazing creation.  My faith deepened as saw I God's creativity through a variety of cultures that make humanity so rich.  I learned to love our differences.

It was an amazing time for me, but as my health failed and hampered my footloose-and-fancy-free lifestyle, I began to lose heart.  Almost literally because my heart was working triple time to keep up with the defect that was silently killing me.  Thankfully it was repaired by way of a true miracle and I had a few weeks of feeling like a normal person.  And then - EXILE!  My world suddenly shrunk.  Sometimes I feel like I live in a minimum security prison, although I am sure that is far from the truth.  Yet, freedom and choices have been ripped away or limited, and worse, instead of dreaming big, I now dream much smaller dreams like standing up without passing out or simply leaving my house.  I dream of living without constant palpitations and a racing heart.  I dream of living a single day without an ocular migraine.  I dream of dainty hands and feet (okay, that will NEVER happen because I am built like my father, but still!)  And I dream of imbibing caffeine again.  Sigh.

Some days are better than others, although almost all mornings are difficult.  This past week has been rough.  Last Sunday was particularly difficult as I was singing with the worship team.  Unbeknownst  to anyone (I hope) was the fact that I was very close to passing out.  The hot Texas sun streaming through the windows, combined with the struggling air conditioner was a bit much for my body to take.  The dizziness returned with a vengeance.  I started seeing kaleidoscopes and grew lightheaded, while my heart decided to run a marathon.  Boomboomboomboomboomboomboom, boomboomboom, BOOMBOOM, BOOOOOOOM,..............boom.boom.  My feet were swelling out of my shoes and I was sweating profusely.  I really wanted to just lie down where I was and take a long nap.  But I also wanted to worship and push through my own temporary discomfort.  I did not want POTS to win.  By God's grace I survived without an embarrassing fall, but I still left discouraged. 

POTS is a big annoyance, and although not as serious as heart failure or pulmonary hypertension, there is no cure, which leaves very little room for hope.  As my doctor so "kindly" put it, "Well, it won't kill you."  (You can rest assured that he was still in one piece when I left his office....)  He then went on to say that there is nothing that will really help.  Diet doesn't make it go away.  Neither does weight loss or exercise.  Those things are important, but there is no cure, and there are equal numbers of skinny, fit people who also suffer in silence.  My choices are to get enough sleep, never drink caffeine, never drink alcohol, wear compression garments (in this heat??), use ONLY the recumbent bike to exercise, and whatever I do, NEVER, EVER get overheated.  Except I live in South Texas, so there's that......

As any citizen of the Land of POTS will tell you, trying to live happily ever after when nothing works right and is not fixable is daunting.  Learning to fight for ourselves when the doctors wash their hands of us is a rough road.  Trying to be kind when people tell us what they are SURE will work, as if we had not already tried it, or thought about it, or researched it to death.  Attempting to educate people who will never understand how difficult it is to live dizzy and swollen with kaleidoscope vision, as you run a daily marathon.  All while knowing it could be worse, which actually serves to make us feel guilty.  For me personally, I end up feeling like a whiner because I actually HAVE survived far worse.  It feels silly to be felled by something that "won't kill me".   

If you have read anything I have written, you know that I do not sugar-coat things.  I do not have ten Bible verses in my pocket that will make everything better if you just memorize them.  I have not found  five easy steps to living your best life.  I DO unabashedly call it like I see it and the truth is: we were not promised "happily ever after" in this life.  We are promised trials and tribulations, but we tend to overlook those verses in the Bible.  Everyone, even a lot of Christians, think if they just had "x,y,z" then their lives would be perfect and they could live out their fairy-tale dreams.  It feels true in the longing for it, but it is a lie.  The initial rush that comes from getting what you always wanted eventually gives way to the mundane.  The varnish always wears off and what remains is REALITY.   Fairy tales always end happily, but real life doesn't always end that way this side of heaven.  Real life gives way to the truth of the gospel because there is nothing quite like living in a fallen world to reveal our need for redemption.  Maybe the "happily ever after" we all seek is really found in eternity with our Creator.  

I have experienced the worst parts of a fairy tale.  Flood, fire, abuse, American-style poverty, neurosurgery, heart surgery, autoimmune disease, POTS, caring for two ailing parents, and probably more to come.  No Prince Charming has rescued me, kissed me awake, or pursued me with a glass slipper in hand.  But, I have a Savior who has never let me go; who has pursued me into the darkest nights of the soul; who has showered me with love, and rescued me from a burning building.  I have experienced the depth of love that my Savior lavishes on me.  New mercy each morning.  Grace that covers my multitude of sins.  Comfort that only God can bring to my soul.  Peace that cannot be explained in human terms.  Joy that is found in the strength of the Lord.  A rich faith that comes from sharing in the sufferings of Christ.  And lately, rest that only comes in casting my burdens on Him.  

My circumstances have not and may never change.  There will be days when I am not okay with that, but mostly I have learned to let go of control and let God work his will for me.  Do I wish I did not have to deal with C-PTSD?  ABSOLUTELY.  Do I want to spend time recovering from more suffering?  NO.  Do I want to have to survive one more terrible event?  NOPE.  I do not wish for those things, and, in fact, pray like Jesus did for the cup to be taken from me.  But if it is not God's plan for me, then I know I can live joyfully through the pain because I have the Trinity on my side.  Jesus is my joy when my story is messy.  He is my hope when the doctors fall short.  He is my peace when life is topsy-turvy.  He is the reason I am still kicking.   No matter how you suffer, remember that you can find joy in the journey, even if it doesn't look like you thought it would.  

Caregiving: The Weary Journey

To start the new year off with a bang, my parents gave our family a crash course in Caregiving 101.  In late January my Dad had a heart attack, or two, and then three days later my Mom had a stroke.  Then Dad had open heart surgery and Mom spent six weeks in rehab, where she sustained a concussion, black eye and neglect while the rest of us ran ragged trying to keep up with everything.  We all pitched in to help manage this "gift".

My oldest brother came into town from the Houston area to be present for my dad's quadruple bypass and has returned multiple times to file taxes, take care of bills, call attorneys, assist with errands, and give us little breaks.  My dad's sister came into town for three weeks and camped out at his house, fed the dogs, and visited both of my parents while they were in the hospital and rehab.  My nephew house and dog sat once my aunt left until my brother arrived from Denver.  My Denver brother took two weeks of vacation and stayed with my dad once he was home and drove him to see my mom in rehab every day, fed him, took care of general house maintenance, and took him to MD appointments.  My youngest brother and I bore the brunt of this crisis simply because we live in the same city.  We all used a lot of precious vacation time and days off to care for them.  We all sacrificed.

Guess what?  We are all very tired now, especially those who live in town.  For the first few months, my standard response when people would ask how I was doing was always, "I am tired".  Yet, that did not really convey the full extent of how I was.  Tired implies physical exhaustion easily remedied by sleep.  While I was, and still am physically tired, I was and still am emotionally tired as well, something not cured by sleep alone.  Once both of my parents were home the shit hit the fan, almost literally, but I will refrain from giving details of that experience.  Having both of them out of rehab was and is intense and more exhausting.  There are no nurses to do all of the dirty work; everything falls on us.  I have begun using a different word to describe my current state: weary.

Dictionary.com defines weary as: physically or mentally exhausted by hard work, exertion, strain, etc.; fatigued; tired; weary eyes, a weary brain.  characterized by or causing fatigue: a weary journey.

Ah yes.  Weary journey, THAT captures the emotional AND physical exhaustion of caregiving and how quickly it can deplete your soul.  It leads to a weary brain and weary eyes.  

When I was still opening this unwanted new year's gift, I was in crisis mode.  Just putting one foot in front of the other, trying to stand up straight despite the heavy weight that was suddenly placed on my shoulders.  It felt like I had just inherited twin newborns, both with special needs.  My own fragile health sickened the plot.  The physical and emotional exhaustion combined with my heart defect and POTS diagnosis was quickly taking a toll.  I am pretty sure I quit speaking in complete sentences and grunted a lot of my responses.  I wore dirty clothes and didn't wash my hair enough.  I forgot to brush my teeth and went to bed in my work clothes.  I even showed up at work without makeup, which should NEVER happen!  I looked a mess and struggled to keep it all together without bursting into tears for no reason whatsoever.

I spent sleepless nights at my parents' house; took over their laundry; administered medications; learned to manage the catheter bag; wiped bums; helped with showers; clipped toenails and fingernails; scheduled appointments; ran errands; purchased clothing and medical supplies; grocery shopped; batch cooked a lot of food so they had a supply of nutritious meals; tried to keep things clean; paid the bills; argued with providers over incorrect charges; filed a complaint against the rehab center; cooked dog food (yes, they cook their own and it is a pain in the booty); and attended every MD appointment with them; all while working full time and trying to maintain my own home. And I did it all WITHOUT CAFFEINE.  My heart defect makes it a big no-no.  The impact of this cannot be overemphasized.  I.MISS.CAFFEINE.   😢

Worst of all, my mother's normal temper became more extreme after her stroke. I was usually unprepared for her physical and emotional outbursts; they made me want to runaway, but alas I could not.  So, I learned to duck again.  It's hard to unhear the ugly names I have been called, or the countless times I have been told to go to hell, or worse, but I try.  It's a good thing the joy of the Lord was my strength (and continues to be) because I was quickly losing my mind and felt like I was going to have my own heart attack at any minute.

I can assure you that after dealing with everything for a few months, once the end of March rolled around and both parents were home, and my older brothers had left town, it did not take long for me to hire my nephew and teach him how to take over their laundry, learn to make a few meals, pick up groceries, administer medications and take over various other tasks on a daily basis.  I simply could no longer do everything and maintain my sanity or health, and neither could my youngest brother.  Not to mention, my nephew is much better at dealing with my mom's emotional state and does not push her buttons as much as I do.  And he gets paid for it.

Five months later things have stabilized, but I still struggle.  I have a much shorter fuse.  Little things bother me instead of rolling off my back.  I am physically exhausted and get sleepy by 9:00 pm every night, but the very sleep I need eludes me when I crawl into bed.  I have not cleaned my house for months.  Often my mornings start with care coordination before work and end with phone calls and research before bed.  On weekends I spend all day or several hours at my parents' house either cooking, shopping, running errands, or refereeing my parents, because honestly, they act like children more often than not.  And then I get up the next day and do it all over again.  It's the worst version of Groundhog Day.   I rarely get a day OFF and when I do I spend a lot of it sleeping or binging on Netflix, blissfully ignoring all of the things I need to do for myself and my own home.  It is a lot like parenting I guess, but there are two households and two locations, which makes it tricky.

Caregiving is an important job, it is where the rubber meets the road and I get to live out my faith and learn to love better even when it is a sacrifice and I don't get a return on my investment.  Aging is part of living and I want to help my parents age well.  Yes, caregiving is hard, but it is also a privilege....most of the time.  😅  But that does not mean I do not grow weary.

Galatians 6:9 exhorts us to not grow weary of doing good.  Honoring my parents, choosing to love them and serve them is GOOD work, but boy howdy is it HARD.  Most of the time I really do want to be there for them, because I love them and it is the right thing to do.  But there are days.......

In all honesty I could use some down time right about now, to help with the weariness of doing good, but it will be another three months before I get a more than a weekend off from work, and my weekends are usually full of the work of caregiving.  All of my sick leave and most of my vacation time was spent already this year.  At this point I feel a bit like "The Little Engine that Could".  The constant refrain in my mind is "I think I can, I think I can" and I keep hoping it will turn into "I know I can, I know I can" before it is all said and done, just like the little engine in the cherished book of my childhood.

Admittedly, I am not an expert in caregiving.  Thankfully I do not have to do it alone.  I cannot even fathom doing more at this point but many, many people do SO much more than I do with so much less.  Knowing that makes me feel guilty.  I have to force myself to admit that there IS a lot on my plate and I should not minimize the impact it has on my life.  I am still trying to figure out how to make everything work; learning as I go is my motto.

Although I know very little, I have learned a few things:

1. Caregiving is HARD.  It has all of the responsibility of a job without the pay or benefits.
2. Caregiving for aging loved ones is a lot like parenting in reverse, except no one knows it is coming.  It is not a happy surprise, there are no parties to celebrate.  It is sad and sobering.  Caregivers are not training and launching someone into the world, they are helping someone they love very much live their best life until they leave the world.   
3. Caregivers need someone to commiserate with who has or is walking through the same thing. 
4. Caregiving is a mix of heartbreak, fear, joy, hope, tears, work, sentimentality and privilege all tangled and knotted together like the most delicate of necklaces.  Good luck untangling everything!
5. Caregivers need breaks.  Stress damages the body and caregiving, especially while working or caring for one's own family is a lot of added stress.  It saps your energy and can easily lead to illness.  And yet, caregivers will feel guilty for needing and taking breaks.
6. Caregivers will be pulled in too many directions and will face challenges at work or in their families as a consequence.  They may be sad and overwhelmed a lot. 
7. Caregivers often put their own lives on hold, which is problematic and leads to resentment and more guilt.  They should go to dinner with friends, go to movies, take time to do what they love, take time to do their own laundry and chores, go to parties, RELAX, and stay in close contact with their friends and support system.
8. Caregiving for aging loved ones is a long, often slow process of saying goodbye.  Caregivers know that their loved ones are not long for this world.  They carry the burden of knowing that each decision they make affects the lives of those in their care and will often sacrifice their own needs because time is running out.  It is a delicate balance between helping those they love live independently for as long possible, while knowing that they will need to step in and assist in ways they never imagined all while still maintaining their own lives and health.
9. Caregivers find it difficult to make plans because an emergency could strike at any moment.  Going out of town can lead to angst and fear of what might happen.  
10. Caregivers have to remember that it is hard for the person receiving care too.  Maybe they have lost their independence.  Maybe they cannot communicate.  Maybe they cannot move without assistance.  Caregivers have to love and serve in a way that allows the person receiving the care maintain his or her dignity.
11. Caregivers will make a lot of mistakes.  The learning curve is steep and lightning fast.  There will be things that they miss or simply do not know, and they will feel guilty for their lack of knowledge.
12. Caregiving is a sacrifice, but more importantly it is a privilege. 

So far, weariness has defined the first half of 2018.  I do not want it to define the second half.  I am learning to rest in the arms of Jesus and focus on the joy of the Lord instead of the sorrow of my circumstances.  Whatever brings you sorrow, and whatever makes you weary, I hope you can find you strength and rest in Jesus too.    

Unlost

Photo by Jamie Street on Unsplash

Have you ever been turned around?  Certain you were headed in the right direction, only to discover that you were on the wrong road the entire time?  Or taken a wrong turn thus ending up on the wrong road?  Or somehow missed the sign for your exit and stayed on the right road for too long and then........ it became the wrong road?  

Finding the wrong road is a frequent occurrence in my life because I was born directionally challenged.  All attempts to teach me how to find my way have been unsuccessful.  I failed Map Reading 101 in school and in the real world.  That is a nice way of saying that I get lost easily and ALL.OF.THE.TIME.  Although sometimes I actually just wander because I am the curious type, usually I really am lost.  

There is no way to quantify how many times I have been lost, er, 'turned around' in my lifetime.  There are countless stories of my inabilities to figure out what direction I should take.  And anyone who has been "blessed" to travel with me gets to experience the frustration of this disorder with me.  😊✈😃

Do you remember that scene from Friends where Joey and Chandler are lost in London?  Joey puts the map on the ground and stands on it convinced that it will tell them what direction to take.  Cue HUGE eye roll from Chandler.  Well........I actually did that while traveling in Krakow, Poland, but it wasn't to get laughs, it was to get "unlost"!  And do you know what?  I got a HUGE eye roll too, just like Joey because, shockingly (perhaps only to me), IT.DID.NOT.WORK!  My high hopes were dashed.  Instead it had the effect of confusing us MORE and guaranteeing that we were hopelessly lost and on the wrong road.  Sorry Lyndel!

Photo by Andrew Neel on Unsplash

It takes an abundance of talent to be so skilled at finding the wrong road, and I am so good at it that I can get lost before starting!  The first time I traveled to Europe I was a 24-year-old, brave, naive, VERY GREEN, international traveler, and completely alone; just a girl, her backpack, A LOT of traveler's checks, and NO place to stay.  I did not know one soul on the entire European continent.  Not.One.   And I could not just call home for help either because it was LONG before cell phones were common; before ATM cards were "safe" to use for travel; and before navigation systems were available to anyone other than airline pilots.  😉 

But, I was determined.........until I landed in Munich bleary-eyed from jet lag AND the unfiltered cigarettes that I was forced to inhale on the nine-hour flight. (Again, it was A LONG time ago when smoking was still allowed on airplanes!)  All of my courage was scared into submission as I looked around completely lost in the airport.  I had not even made it into the city yet and I was already so lost and frustrated that I sat on a bench and promptly fell asleep.  Denial is how I roll.

Do you know that creepy feeling you get when someone watches you sleep?  Me too.  I had it in spades when I awakened after my short nap to notice people observing me.  Icky.  To be fair, I must have been a sight to behold with a huge backpack, sweatpants, no makeup, messy hair, and probably snoring like a freight train.  Panic started to rise up as I attempted to figure out what to do.  The nap had helped me think a little more clearly, but the German language was beyond my ability to comprehend and was no help in getting me "unlost".  I desperately needed assistance.  Tears were leaking from my eyes when I eventually found someone to help me navigate the subway out of the airport.  Of course, 17 miles later I realized that I didn't get off at the right stop.  It was a classic case of staying on the right road for TOO LONG and thus ending up on the wrong road. 

And of course, once in the actual city center I could not find the youth hostel either.  I stumbled on it after being "turned around" for almost an hour only to be turned away.  Seems there was no room at the inn.  It took a few more hours before I finally found a place to stay.  By that point all I wanted to do was go back to the airport and fly home.  Because jet lag.  Yet, I persevered, eventually found the right roads in each city and ended up having the most amazing experiences in Germany, Austria and the Czech Republic.  I am so glad I stayed the course, even when it was hard and scary.

Photo by Dmitry Sovyak on Unsplash

Venice was another adventure in finding the wrong road.  Have you ever been?  Did you ever have the pleasure of getting lost on those beautiful, dead-end streets?  It's easy to do.  But my friend, Steph, and I took it to a whole new level.  We were so lost that we could not find the gondolas. Yes, embarrassingly you read that right. The gondolas.  The same ones almost every tourist pays way too much money to ride.  We saw them in the water, aware that lots of other people figured out how to board them at the ENTRANCE, but we never could because we were always on the wrong road.  Surprise, surprise.  No gondola rides for us!  But we did get gloriously lost in an amazing city, so there's that, and there are always lessons to found, even when you are on the wrong road.

You would think I'd have learned by now.  That the GPS systems, 24-hour cell phone access and good ole' experience would have helped me stay on the right road.  But guess what, I still get lost.  A lot.  One day, as a seasoned, thirty-something, I found myself turned around while driving my nephew somewhere new.  He was just a little munchkin at the time, but he knew I was frustrated, so in between giggles he tried to encourage me by saying, "Wobin, it's fun to get lost with you."  Guess what?   We have now had fun getting lost together in New York and New Jersey too!  Apparently he got the same defective gene as I did.

So, hear is the deal, when giving someone like me directions, it is best to use small words and, please, DO NOT expect me to use a compass or understand what way to go if you say "head west".  Um, is that left?  I need VERY obvious instructions.  Say things like: "Back out of your driveway and turn right onto your street.  Drive to the end of the street and turn right.  When you see the pink house with the yellow roof on the corner of the street, TURN LEFT.  Keep driving until, blah, blah, blah.  You get the idea.  Telling me to head east and take a right in 100 feet is like speaking to me in Greek.  Keep it simple and specific.  It's better for both of us that way. 

All of these experiences correlate very well to how I live my life.  Sometimes when I think I am on the right road I find out that, nope, I have always been on the wrong road.  Sometimes I am truckin' along on the right road when, bam, I take a wrong turn and, you guessed it, I suddenly find myself on the wrong road.  And sometimes, I start out on the right road, but get a little too comfy and fail to pay enough attention to the signs telling me it is time to exit, so what was once the right road turns into the wrong road.

I wish I could tell you that I have it all figured out, but to be honest walking by faith instead of sight is counterintuitive to me.  Figuring out which direction to go is where my faith intersects with actual living.  More often than not I think I know best and usually end up on the wrong road, but God has a way of redirecting me, kind of like GPS. 

Make no mistake, being lost is hard.  Walking the wrong road, although full of valuable lessons, is painful.  And even with God's help in the form of a road map, a guide to help me interpret it, and a companion for the journey, it is exhausting, WITH the Trinity on my side!  Today I am grateful that He never tires of turning me around, pointing me in the way I should go, forgiving my failures, and loving me without condition. 

I am learning to trust that He knows exactly what he is doing, regardless of whether the road takes me through a desert, up a steep hill, allows me to enjoy the view from the top, or leads me to sulk in the valley.  The only way to thrive and find joy in the journey is to listen and follow His directions.  I have to believe that His eyes will see for me and he will move my feet in the right direction so I can spend more time on the right road. 

Little Red Microwave

I am the proud owner of a little, red microwave, and although it is petite, it is just right for my tiny, red kitchen.  My cute microwave has all of the buttons I need and very few bells and whistles.  Every time I use my little, red microwave I remember why I have it and I shudder.

You see, six years ago I almost died in a fire (you can read about it here: 20 Seconds to Toast, The Tale of the Wooden Spoons, Overexposed.)  The aftermath left me burned, depressed, homeless and without much stuff to call my own.  But, I was relatively intact and I had my faith and my dog plus a lot of support, which helped me survive.  After three months of living with amazing friends while my place was gutted and renovated, it was time to move home.  As a welcome gift, a VERY kind neighbor, Ray, gave me a very nice, white microwave.  It was HUGE, had a lot of options and was an extravagant gift at a time when I had very little cash or material possessions to call my own.  It was so kind of him and I still get emotional when I think about it.

It was a very good microwave.  It even came with me when I purchased my very own home in 2014.  And although I am very happy and content with my life, sometimes a little bit of PTSD rears its ugly head and it takes me a second, or four hundred to come back to the present day.

One mild autumn day in 2016 something odd happened.  I was home cooking dinner (very odd) and noticed a weird smell.  I assumed it was my gas stove heating up so I wasn't too concerned at first, but as I finished cooking and sat down to eat, the hideous smell remained.  It was very strong and reminded me of the terrible chemical smell that haunted me from the fire.  Immediately my stomach churned.  Even Zeus was upset and begged to go outside where he proceeded to sit a safe distance from the kitchen.  He warily watched me through the window as I began to investigate the origin of the smell, google gas leaks and call a friend.   Before I knew it I had convinced myself that my house was going to blow up imminently, with me in it!  I joined my dog outside and called 911.  The operator told me to leave my home and wait for the fire department to respond.  Gulp, maybe I wasn't being paranoid.  Maybe there was something seriously wrong after all.  Well, the operator didn't have to tell me twice!  I frantically grabbed my purse, phone, and dog, got into my car and drove down the street, shaking uncontrollably while I waited for the fire department to arrive.

My mind was racing as I pleaded with God over and over again to please keep me safe and prevent another fire.  While I was certainly scared at the thought of an explosion, I was more terrified of being trapped in a burning building again.  Just the thought of it and having to recover again almost paralyzed me, because I was certain that would be my fate since I was on a first-name basis with Murphy and his stupid law.  As I sat frozen with fear, my next door neighbor noticed and walked down to see if everything was okay.  He looked at me strangely and obviously thought I was overreacting as I told him what was happening.

I.DID.NOT.CARE.  

I was NOT going to blow-up that night!  Instead I let myself be a shaking, crying, hyperventilating mess, because I knew there was no controlling my reaction at that point.  Adorably, my dog was equally upset, but also confused because, weren't we just going for a ride???  

Finally the fire department arrived with sirens blaring and flashing, cue the ugly/hysterical cry Oprah warned us against.  I was in full-blown panic mode by this point and nothing any of them said helped calm me down.  They thoroughly investigated my house and could not determine the source of the odor, but after testing everything with their fancy equipment they assured me that there was no gas leak and it was safe to return.  

I have to admit, I did not really believe them.  But I finally reentered my home and tried to calm down.  Dinner was left uneaten and I eventually went to bed, but even one wink of sleep was out of the question.  I obsessively made sure the windows in my master bedroom could be opened in case I needed to make a hasty escape and slept fully clothed with my purse nearby, an extra cell phone charger and anything else I might need if the house went up in smoke.   And I prayed.  A lot.

The next day the smell was still there but less intense.  I started scouring my kitchen trying to find out what had caused it.  Do you know what it was?

It was that damn white microwave!  

Somehow part of the plastic on the inside door had burned and it had created that awful, acrid smell.  Being completely rational I immediately hauled it to the outside trashcan because there was no way I could ever trust it to work properly.  I did not want to go through another fire......  And that is how I came to own my little, red microwave.  

Of course there are many more instances of this ugly reality, like the time I went to see a movie.  Just minding my own business, looking forward to relaxing and enjoying a matinee, no big deal..... Well, I had just settled in for the show when the fire alarm sounded.  My eyes were as wide as saucers as I furtively looked around in a growing panic.  I grabbed my purse and was about to leave when a theater employee came in and said there was no fire, it was just a false alarm.  Whew.  I settled back in but my heart was pounding and I was still feeling nervous.  The lights went out and then the fire alarm sounded again!  What??   An employee rushed in and said it was REAL and we all needed to exit the theater calmly.

Um..........................................................seriously lady?  

Calm was not exactly my response as I raced past individuals who were walking in super slow-mo.  What was wrong with them?  Didn't they know we could all die at any second?  And in my irrational state I think I even pushed past children.  Shudder.  PTSD brain was firmly in charge and I was laser-focused on surviving.  Ration gave way to panic and in my mind all I could see was the thick, black, billowing smoke that almost choked the life out of me in 2012.  I felt the suffocating feeling of not being able to breathe, the terror of being trapped, and the pain as my hand was seared from touching the metal staircase.  All of that panic and all of that terror because of what turned out to be a false alarm. It took a year before I would even step foot in a theater again.  

It has been over six years now, but there are still things that trigger panic.  Last week I attended an active shooter training.  You might be thinking, Robin, you were in a fire, not a shooting, how could an active shooter training trigger PTSD?  Well, I'm glad you asked.  The training was an intense three hours.  Our psychological response during a life-threatening event was covered in detail.  It was crucial to know how panic can cost you your life in that type of situation.  To demonstrate he played 911 calls and showed photos from active shooter events.  Then he played a video that had nothing to do with a shooting.

It was a video of people trying to escape the Station Nightclub in Rhode Island.  In 2003 one hundred people died and two hundred and thirty were injured when a fire broke out in that nightclub.  The video he showed was from a survivor's cell phone.  People were in a panic, pushing and shoving each other as they attempted to escape a raging fire and the thick, billowing smoke.  Thirty-one of them died in the hallway at the entrance of the building.   Others died steps from an open window, and still others were next to emergency exits when they died.  Panic had cost them their lives.  It was tragic.  Sitting in my chair as the video played I looked calm; however, my  heart rate rose to over 140 and I was near tears.  It was extremely upsetting and my physical reaction lasted the rest of the day.  I had been there.  Just outside of my own front door, with the thick, billowing smoke stealing my very breath I could not figure out what to do.  Panic almost killed me.

Six years later my dog and I both still live with it.  The slightest bit of smoke and we are both nervous, even when it's just my cooking!  I unplug every small appliance all the time whether at home or work.  PTSD is serious and scary.  I can joke about it only because it is not worse for me.  There are others who suffer much more than I do.  It does not just "go away" and is not something that can be easily controlled, although anyone can learn to cope if they have help and a lot of patience.  Thankfully, my faith is the biggest source of peace in my life.  It helps me control the panic, although it usually takes me a just a little bit to get my bearings and "let go and let God" as they say.  That is MUCH easier said than done.....  But, for whatever reason God has decided to keep me around for awhile, and even though I have battle scars from living this life, I am grateful to still be still living it.  Just beware that if you are around the next time I see smoke, smell smoke, or thing there is an imminent explosion, I may panic and push you out of my way as I try to escape.  Don't judge.  I'm a work in progress.  😊

The Big "E"

The eye doctor removed my glasses and instructed me to look at the wall in front of me.  "What do you see?" she asked.  I could sort of make out the largest letter, the big "E", but only because I already knew what it was.  We both chuckled because even though we KNEW there were a bunch of other letters projected onto the wall, we also knew that I could not make them out for a million dollars because she had my glasses in her hands.      The thing is, my unaided vision is severely limited.

After the doctor worked her magic by asking me over and over which lens helped me see the letters clearly, I was given a new prescription and whisked away to the display of eyeglasses so I could pick out a new pair.  It would not be long and I would have new glasses to help me work, read, drive, cook and even walk down the street better than I had been managing with the old ones.

The first time I was fitted for glasses and contacts was a really long time ago.  My mom never believed that I had difficulty seeing and declined to take me to the eye doctor.  She was convinced that I only wanted glasses because when I was in third grade my best friend had needed them.  Ha, I wish!  What third grader wants to be called four eyes?  Finally a test at school when I was thirteen convinced her that I really did need visual help.  Driving home from my first eye doctor appointment with a pair of contacts stuck in my eyes, I was delightedly reading road signs and pointing out all of the things I could now see.  It was like scales had fallen from my eyes!  I was so excited to have VISION restored and to see all that I had been missing.  Everything was brighter, everything was sharper and nothing was blurry.  It was amazing.

One of the weird things about wearing contacts is getting used to putting them in your eyes and then keeping them there.  Though it took more work, I simply saw things better when I was wearing contacts than when I was wearing glasses.  Plus vanity.....  

In the beginning I could not put in my contacts alone.  My older brother, himself a contact wearer, had to be enlisted to help me learn how to put the contacts in and how to take them out safely.  I had to learn to put eye drops in to keep my eyes moist.  I had to learn how to SEE differently than I was used to seeing and I needed help to do it.

Isn't that a lot like faith?  I don't know about you, but thirty-five years after I became a Jesus Freak (look it up if you don't get the reference.)  I still frequently need help to see things differently because now I see through a glass darkly (I Corinthians 13:12a).  I don't see well physically OR spiritually without help.  I need the clarity of the Holy Spirit teaching me the ways of God and a community of friends who can help give me a different perspective so I can grow in wisdom and grace.           

Whenever I finally grasp a new spiritual truth, I act like my thirteen year-old-self on the car ride home all those years ago.  I get excited!  I see things clearly!  I finally see what I have been missing and for a little while all seems right in the world.  My attitude improves, I have greater peace and I feel hugged by God.  It is always an amazing feeling.  

But as time progresses, just like in real life, my vision starts to fade again.  I start having trouble seeing things clearly and I know it is time for a check-up.  I wish I could always see things perfectly but as the end of the verse in I Corinthians states, "but then I will see face to face."  Perfect spiritual vision is one of the promises of Heaven, and it will be glorious, but in the meantime I must pray for spiritual eyes to see and know the things of God.  I must let the Holy Spirit guide me.  I must seek help from friends and do the extra work required to see things more clearly, because even if I see things perfectly in one area, there are many other areas where my vision is skewed.  I am so grateful that even if my physical vision fades to nothing, my spiritual eyes will always be able to focus on the big "G"  as long as I walk in faith.  

And now I need to go make my eye appointment because my vision is starting to get a little rusty.