With Regrets

Do you ever wake up from a dream unsure if it was real?  The thought that just maybe it was makes you break out into a cold sweat and your eyes widen in a panic as you quickly think back over your night.  You spend 10-15 minutes trying to recall every detail and then another 10-15 minutes trying to calm down because you are pretty sure it was just a dream.  But all day you keep thinking about it at the most inopportune times, indicating that you may have suddenly acquired a severe case of OCD.  Nah, me neither.

Okay, not really... About a month ago I had a terrible dream.  I woke up in a panic with tears in my eyes and my heart shattered.  In the dream I was in a brightly lit, although strangely dim room standing in the middle of a circle of people.  There was a roaring fire in a huge stone fireplace, a velvet chaise lounge in the corner, and I stood on hard, cold, stone tiles.  Worse, I was naked.  Not one stitch of clothing on me.  The people around me were jeering at me, holding pokers with red-hot tips fresh from the fire.  They jabbed at me with the pokers as they screamed out my flaws, both physical and relational.  I was wide-eyed and scared as I stood there trying desperately to shield myself from the vicious attacks and cover my nakedness.  I had no hope of rescue, my heart was racing and I thought that the experience would surely be the death of me.  And then, when I could take no more, a beautiful woman came into my view.  The woman was someone whom I knew back in reality, and she REALLY disliked me in that space.  I bore no ill will toward her, but she hated me.  As the dream wore on she simply stood and looked at me with venom in her eyes, walked to the chaise lounge, disrobed and settled in completely naked.  All of my tormentors stopped in their tracks, turned and simply admired her physical beauty.  I cowered in shame at my overweight body, imperfect features, graying hair and a multitude of other flaws.  While everyone was distracted by the gorgeous woman lounging on the chaise, I slipped away from the room and eventually woke up in my bed.

As I thought about the meaning behind the dream I came up with the usual suspects. Fear of vulnerability-especially in public, believing that I don't measure up to anyone else, comparing my physical imperfections to what I see as physical perfection in others, oh heck, the list could go to infinity and beyond.

So why did I title this post "With Regrets"?  What in the world did this dream have to do with regret?  Well, I'm SO glad you asked.

You see, that dream affected me.  One month later I STILL have not been about to shake it.  Part of me has obsessively wondered if those people have judged me as harshly in real life, and the thought nauseates me.  How could they do that to me?  How could they so cruelly and eagerly condemn and threaten me?  How??  I found myself getting angry at them, feeling hurt at how cruel they were to me.  Even though it was just a dream it felt very unfair.

Then I remembered.  

I too am capable of the same cruelty.  I too judge people harshly.  I too love like I'm fallen instead of redeemed.  And I felt nauseated all over again. Gulp.  Crocodile tears formed in my eyes and I wondered how I could do that to others?  Why am I so quick to punish others for their faults?  Why do I feel the need to gloat when I notice the flaws of others?   Why???   Enter regret.

As I began to pray about why this dream was haunting me I had a huge 'aha' moment.  The faces of my tormentors were people who had been hurt by me at some point.  I had either been cruel and judgmental or they believed that I had been.  They were convinced that I did not like them, or that I enjoyed hurting them, or worse that I had done it on purpose.  Every.Single.Person.  My hurt and anger over their judgment as I stood in that circle was the same hurt and anger they held toward me. They were wounding me out of self-protection.  They were walking the bitter road of retaliation.

A fork in the road presented itself.  I could choose to walk down the same road as the tormentors in my dream (e.g. family, friends, frenemies, co-workers, acquaintances, anonymous critics from social media.)  I could wear the wrongs done to me like a comfy, old coat, refusing to shed it even when I was hot and miserable.  Or, I could shed the old outerwear and take the dusty road, the one that is usually uncrowded because it's harder, the road of forgiveness and mercy.  The road paved with grace and peace.  The road of unconditional love.

As I think about writing a book and revealing my story the thought of people telling on me, publicly criticizing me, defaming me is a bit hard to swallow.  Vulnerability is not my strong suit and I know that although sometimes I have been innocent of the charges against me, but more often than not I have been guilty.  I have not acting lovingly, I have let my own deep fears and insecurities lead me instead of letting Jesus love through me. And I regret it.  Deeply.

It is time.

Time to confess my own sin.  Time to take the medicine I have refused and let Jesus heal the festering wounds.  Time to grant my Creator access to those ugly and embarrassing insecurities so that I can learn to love others well instead of offering them cruelty and judgment.  It is time to say goodbye to fear and walk boldly into the calling God has placed on my life and that starts with righting the wrongs.

It is time.

I refuse to waste my time regretting unimportant things like bad haircuts, (in my defense it WAS the 1980s in Houston), wardrobe choices (satin aquamarine pants - hey it was the 1970s!), and some of my weaker moments, usually involving food (it tasted good!) or secrets from my backpacking trips to Europe (shhhh!) 

BUT, for the rest of my life I will regret the ways I have hurt people.  If you are one of the unlucky ones please know that I am sorry.  Truly sorry.  If opportunity presents itself I will apologize, ask for forgiveness and work to make it right.  But, if you are someone who has been hurt by me and I am unaware of it, PLEASE gently let me know and I will work to make it right.  It is important to find reconciliation and healing with each other and it is one of the most beautiful ways to show the love of Christ.

And for all the drivers on the road who remain anonymous to me, I really am sorry.  I'm repenting of my road rage too!

365 Days

31,536,000 seconds
525,600 minutes
8,760 hours
365 days
52 weeks
12 months

ONE YEAR.  Countless heartbeats.  Fast, slow, erratic.  Emotions brimming.  Fear, anger, hope, joy.  Sometimes calm.  Sometimes hysterical.  Sometimes happy.  Sometimes sad.  Sometimes angry.  Mostly grateful.

I wish I could say I've handled everything gracefully, but that would be a big, fat LIE.  Felled frequently by exhaustion, my most faithful companion, I look and feel tired.  Stopped in my tracks by arrhythmias and dizziness that consistently remind me that things are not quite right with the old ticker. Ocular migraines alter my vision almost weekly and sometimes I get so short of breath I wonder if I'm going back into heart failure. In those moments I find myself clinging to Jesus for my next breath.  To combat all of these symptoms I need a lot of sleep and a lot of downtime, but I rarely get either.  There are nights when my heart rate drops so low that I fear it will simply stop beating.  Those are the nights I  plead with God for one more day, ever mindful that only HE knows the length of my time on this earth.

Now that I have a 36 mm piece of Nitinol (Titanium/Nickel) in the middle of my heart I notice every flutter, squeeze or arrhythmia.  For many months it felt like my heart was trying to squeeze the device out of me.  Laying on my left side brought an uncomfortable sensation that would startle me awake every night.  Needless to say, I learned very quickly not to sleep on my left side!  One thing I've learned about my particular heart defect is that the outcomes are much better for the younger crowd and/or those with smaller holes.  I don't fit into either category and I'm not gonna lie, that is a bit disconcerting.  And knowing that I was diagnosed with this defect as a baby, but was never treated and never told about it can sometimes paralyze me as I struggle with the permanent damage to my body.  It's hard not to wonder what might have been "if only"........ 

Fast forward to the start of 2018.  It looked promising.  Although POTS was still rearing its very ugly head and heart issues still plagued me, I was hopeful that things would improve.  Until January 27.  That is the day we discovered that my dad had experienced a few heart attacks sometime in the recent past.  Three days later my mother had a stroke.  Then my dad had open heart surgery.  And then my mom spent six weeks in rehab, angrily I might add.  And then I almost had my own heart attack because of all of the stress.  

As I write this, one year after my own heart surgery, trudging through the thick mud of my parents' recoveries, figuring out how to love and honor them instead of living in bitterness over their failures with my own health, I instead find myself living a new normal. Learning how to lovingly take care of them and my own fragile health.  Learning how lean hard into forgiveness.  Learning to put this Humpty-Dumpty life back together again.  God is so patient, merciful and gracious as I clumsily try to fit each piece back into place.  It's like a really tedious puzzle with a million pieces that would challenge even the best puzzler.  Some of the pieces changed and simply do not fit right anymore.  Some pieces grew, making for a tight fit (kind of like my jeans lately), but it stretches me in good ways (better ways than I stretch my jeans.)  Some pieces shrunk exposing gaps, but it's okay because those pieces were taking up too much space, besides, the pieces that grew will fill in the blank spaces.  Some pieces shattered into tiny shards, making it hard to find them, those buggers take a lot of time and effort to repair and place in the proper spot.  Other pieces stayed exactly as they were, which could be good and could be bad, only time will tell.  Then there is the problem with the picture that no longer matches the front of the puzzle box.  It looks nothing like it. Not even close.  It  is frustrating to put the puzzle together when the picture doesn't match but it is turning out to be okay.  I'm learning to focus on the most important pieces and not worry about the rest of them.

Through it all God has blessed me with amazing friends who show up for crisis after crisis, stick around in the hard times, forgive my failures, love me even when I'm a brat, AND offer wise counsel and heartfelt prayers.  Who could hope for more?  They are the hands and feet of Jesus when I can't figure out what to do next.  They are part of the reason I am not (yet) insane.

Looking back I think I should be depressed or something, but I'm actually really happy and at peace because through it all my faith has deepened and I have seen God show up in the most beautiful ways.  He keeps reminding me that  HE is THERE in the middle of the mess.  Picking up the broken pieces.  Lovingly putting me back together to reveal a more beautiful picture than what I could ever hope to create.  He is proving that even when life is hard, circumstances are impossible and people disappoint me, HE WILL NOT FAIL ME.  His reasons for affliction may not make sense to me, but he never lets me go.  He never stops proving his deep love for me.  He never stops revealing new things about his character.  He never stops offering me mercy and grace despite my sin.  Despite my failures.  Despite my anger.  He goes into the depths of despair with me AND to the top of the mountain.  He is worthy of worship in both places and as I know from experience, the richness of our relationship is directly related to the affliction.  Suffering, pain, wounding, those all reveal my need for a savior and lead me to the only safe place where my heart is free.  Looking back, I can see every scar from the last 365 days, but they have never looked so beautiful to me.