Seven Years of Remembering

It's coming.  I can feel it in my bones.  I relive it in my nightmares.  The seventh anniversary of the fire is next week.  Seven years since I was trapped on the second floor of that burning building.  Seven years since my life was turned upside down. 

Seven.Long.Years.

My body tends to remember before my mind does.  It isn't just the nightmares that leave me restless.  All of my senses are on high alert.  My eyes water when I'm cooking.  My ears hear sirens that are miles away, but make my heart race nonetheless.  My nose smells smoke and chemicals almost as well as my dog's cute, little snout.  The memory of the toxic fumes that almost suffocated me is imprinted in my brain and I cannot shake it no matter how hard I try.  Even seven years later it feels like last night.  The details are crystal clear.  I can recall everything in an instant.  I remember the pajamas I was wearing, the very ones I finally threw away last week, because for some weird reason I could not let them go.  I know exactly what I was thinking when I first saw my patio engulfed in flames.  I remember my panicked phone call to 911 and the operator telling me I would have to make a run for it.  I know what purse I grabbed and I remember deliberately putting my passport, ID, checkbook, and contacts inside before I attempted to escape.  I remember a plethora of useless details that do not really matter because they are enmeshed with all of the the fear and emotions of that night.  Memory is like that.

When I talk about what happened, it affects me on a deep level and leaves me a bit "off" as I struggle to shift out of the past and back to the present day.  Although I cope better now than I did immediately after the fire, or even a few years ago, it still affects me.

I wish I could say that this was the worst thing that ever happened to me.  It wasn't.  Not even close.  Although, in a way only God can orchestrate, it became the catalyst that finally allowed me to see the light in the darkness of my often traumatic childhood.  A beautiful display of God exchanging beauty for ashes and giving me a tangible example of his presence in my life.  Turning something meant to harm me into something that literally saved me.  

In the darkness of the fire, trapped in that stairwell, when I could not see my own burned hand right in front of me, and could not figure out where I was because my brain was scrambled from the toxins; in that moment, when I could not escape the blackness and I desperately needed to be rescued, I was.  It mirrored my desperate need for rescue as a child, which never came in the way I wanted.  It came in less dramatic ways, ways that I can only identify now as an older, sometimes wiser woman, who, thanks to a foolish neighbor, inadvertently traveled back to the darkness before seeing the light that had been with me my entire life.  

It was a powerful moment when I was snatched out of the fire, suffocating and crying out for rescue.  My deep, lifelong need to know where God was in the darkness of my past was met when He, the light of the world, became the only thing I could "see" in the moment before I began to black out, certain I was about to meet him face to face.  When I was falling, giving in to the inevitable, with my beloved Yorkie in my arms, the firemen literally caught me.  And instantly I knew that He was the one who gave me comfort when evil was running rampant in my fragile, young life.  He was the one who was present when evil was crushing my soul, assaulting my little body in unimaginable ways.  He was the one who saw me frightened and scared, soothed me, and little by little brought me into a deep relationship with him, even as I was unable to fight my abusers.  Seeing him in the fire finally helped me see him in my childhood.  Only He knows why rescue did not come when I was three, or five, or eight, or twelve, or older.  But it does bring me peace to know that he walked with me through the darkness of my childhood, even if rescue was not part of the plan; however, I am extremely grateful that rescue WAS part of His plan seven years ago.

 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

Last year I wrote this post Walking Away from A Miracle: Forgetting to Remember about how easy it is to forget the good stuff.  I wonder about that a lot.  Why is the negative so much more impactful than the positive?  Research about memory shows that negative and positive experiences are processed in different parts of the brain.  Negative experiences are inextricably connected to our emotions, and emotions are easier to recall.  Even when we have emotions tied to positive experiences, a lot of the details are fuzzier than negative experiences because of how they are processed in our noggins.  Maybe that is why God tells us to write down what he has done for us.  He knows our tendency to forget the good, and we are going to need those memories, or at least a way to be reminded of them if we are to survive the darkness of this world.  Because remembering is painful, but remembering is necessary.  And remembering with fresh eyes and faith brings healing.

As I think about trauma and remember the painful things, I am trying to consistently write down the positive experiences so I can balance my memory with all the GOOD, instead of dwelling on the bad.  Now I'm going to excuse myself and go write some happy thoughts so I can refer to them during the next crisis.  Peace to you on your journey.

Astonished

Photo by Margerretta from Pexels

I squeezed my eyes closed as tightly as possibly in a feeble attempt to stop them from leaking.  Lying in the hospital bed, surrounded by nurses and technicians I was feeling a bit dazed and confused.  My cardiologist had just performed a procedure to get a good view of my heart.  It was early in the morning and the results were not great.  

The hole in my heart was much larger than originally thought, was sitting up against the aorta, did not have enough tissue for a device to attach onto, and the doctor did not think a cath procedure could fix it.  He was pretty sure I would need risky open heart surgery.  Gulp.  I was devastated.  I had already developed pulmonary hypertension and was in the earliest phase of heart failure.  Although nothing like some people experience, it was frightening to think of the risks and danger involved in either the procedure or open heart surgery.  I envisioned my life as a 47-year-old woman unable to walk to the bathroom without an oxygen tank, slowly withering from heart failure when I should be in my prime living life to the fullest.  As the doctor and I discussed my options, he offered to try to fix the hole by cath procedure, even though he thought it would fail.  I asked him what he would do if he were in my position and he thought for a long minute before saying that he would give it a try.  I told him to proceed and he said he would consult with another doctor and then he left.  The bad news hit me hard and as he walked away and I could barely hold myself together. The nurse tried to console me, but I just wanted my friend.

A few weeks prior I had felt strongly that God was prompting me to not only pray for healing, but to believe he would heal me.  Now, I do not type this lightly.  While I have absolutely no doubts that God heals, I am not the kind of person who touts "hearing from God" or anything like that.  And I am extremely cynical by nature, so although I do not doubt his capability to heal, I do doubt that he will choose to heal.  Because, honestly, we ALL know people who love Jesus and still lose their health battles and leave this world sooner than anyone would like.  How could I expect healing when so many others had prayed the same thing and lost their lives?

One night, after wrestling with this issue for about a week, I was sitting in bed thinking out loud, when I told God rather defensively, that the reason I could not let myself believe that he would really heal me was because if, or when, he did not do it, I did not want to be proved a fool.  Almost immediately God seemed to whisper the following, "You're already a fool dear."  Touche!  In that instant I was so humbled that I decided it would be better to be a fool for Christ than a slave to my humanity.  I committed to let myself believe the impossible.  I was terrified and afraid to talk about it, but I let myself tell close friends.  And I still struggled, even on the day of my surgery, frequently reminding God of my weakness.  Over and over I asked to touch the hem of his robe like the woman who was instantly healed when she did.  I clung to the scriptures and prayed repeatedly for God to help my unbelief.  And I was at peace.

As I was remembering these things and weeping my friend entered the room with tissues and a hug.  She reminded me that the bad news I had just received would just require a little more faith.  We prayed and cried and then began texting people who would begin praying for a miracle.  About the time the procedure ended I received an email from a lady who attends my church.  I did not and still do not know her personally, but she was on the prayer team and sent me an encouraging reading for the day.  Although I have since spoken to her, I am not sure she knows how much of an impact it made.  It was a moment of pure awe when I realized that God had used her to speak directly to my wavering heart. 

Here is an excerpt from the reading she forwarded from John Prince Ministries:

And God said to Moses, “I am who I am.”… Exodus 3:14

- APRIL 4 - ‘I AM WHO I AM’ Whatever your challenge is today, whether it is physical, emotional, financial or marital, the great I Am declares to you: “I am to you what you need Me to be.” Do you need healing? He says, “I am the Lord who heals you. (Exodus 15:26) And as you believe Me, you will see your healing manifest thirtyfold, sixtyfold and a hundredfold.” Are you fearful of what is ahead of you? He says, “I am the good shepherd (John 10:11), who leads you to pastures of tender, green grass and waters of rest. You will not suffer lack.” (Psalm 23:1–3) Are you confused by the opinions and reports of man? He says, “I am the Alpha and the Omega, the First and the Last. (Revelation 1:11) I have the final word in your life. The doctors do not have the final word. The experts do not have the final word. I have the first word and the last word in your situation.” My friend, do not be fearful of the problems you face. The great I Am declares to you, “Fear not! For I am to you what you need Me to be!”

I sat stunned as I read those words, but also deeply and tenderly loved by God.  He knew my deepest fears and he knew how my faith was wavering even though I desperately wanted to believe.  Those words were EXACTLY what I needed to read, and know deep in my heart. Although there was not much time to process everything, I felt so much peace.  Numerous texts and calls were coming in and I was managing calls from the rehab center where my dad was about to be released.  My hospital room began to fill with family and friends, one who even drove in from out of town.  I was loved and supported by so many people who mean the world to me, but God.  Oh he was present in a way that I do not experience often.  I cannot even begin to describe it, but His presence carried me through surgery and has continued to carry me through a very rough recovery and two more huge crises these past few years.  

As the hour of the procedure drew near, my visitors dwindled and there were about four who remained at my side and began to pray for me.  Now, let me tell you, any kind of focused attention makes me extremely uncomfortable.  It feels weird, and kind of like hocus-pocus.  I know many believe Christianity to be superstitious and useless, and although I would not agree with that theory, I do tend to want to separate myself from anything that seems too "weird" or inexplicable.  But weird and inexplicable is exactly what I got. 

As my friends prayed, one reached over and laid her hand directly on my heart (or boob, because I'm a girl) and as she prayed it felt like an electrical surge went through me.  A surge that everyone else said they felt too.  Um.....okay, THAT was weird!  Finally they wheeled me into the cath lab and began prepping me for the procedure. 

I'll spare you the gory details, but once the camera and device were inserted and the doctor got a look at my heart, he was stunned.  The tissue that was NOT there during the earlier procedure was suddenly present and accounted for!  Since I was awake I could hear everything the team said and they were all perplexed and amazed.  Where did that tissue come from?  As the team continued wondering out loud, the doctor used a new technique that he had come up with while discussing my case with another cardiologist; he spliced the device so that it would lay perfectly and seal the hole without rubbing against the aorta.  No one wanted my aorta to erode because of a device.  That would be bad news!  Then he began tugging and tugging at the device to make sure it wouldn't move, because, again that would be VERY bad and likely kill me.  The tugging was one of the strangest feelings I've ever felt.  As I moaned he asked if I was okay.  I was almost panting and dizzy but he told me it was just him "messing with my heart".  Me: "Um....yeah, you can stop now."  He laughed and everyone confirmed that the device was secure and miraculously no air was passing through the hole.  It was completely sealed.  No one could believe that the procedure had worked, even I was wide-eyed with wonder because as much as I tried not to I still doubted a little bit and had been mentally preparing for open heart surgery.  The doctor gave me a big thumbs up and I began to weep.  I was sternly instructed to stop because any movement could cause me to bleed out.  So, I swallowed hard and tried my best to view the monitor to see my heart from the inside out.  Finally he was done and I was prepped to return to the room. 

My friends were ecstatic and I was tired and hungry and required to lay flat on my back for several hours to prevent a hemorrhage.  As I lay there, drifting in and out of sleep, I kept waking up to a feeling of astonishment.  I wondered why I was spared a worse fate.  Why I had never had a stroke, or a heart attack, or had more severe damage?  Why was I chosen to receive a miracle when others, who I felt were more deserving were not?  I cannot really answer those questions, all that I know if God works in ways that reveal who he is to his creation, and only he knows what will accomplish that.  Not getting the outcome we want does not mean he hates us or is punishing us.  Getting the outcome we want does not mean we are being rewarded because of our goodness.  He is God and we are not.  Period.

God does as he pleases.  Now more than ever that reality astonishes me.  I hope he will use my story to show that he is still performing miracles even though we live in a dark, evil world.  He still needs me to accomplish something for him, and once I have done that I may be called home.  

When was the last time you were astonished by God?  Was it this year?  Last year?  Ever?  I would encourage you to ask him to astonish you.  Lean into the mystery of faith and relationship with Jesus and discover what it is to live a life of joy, despite pain; hope, despite evil; love, despite hate.