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.

Beauty from Ashes

Earlier this week, after a long day at the office I stopped by my apartment to see how the renovation was progressing.  It was depressing.  The sub-floors were exposed, the appliances were all lined up in the dining area, the brick was hideously sooty and the walls were painted the wrong color.  The place I had called home for nearly five years resembled a shack and smelled of the fire that had displaced me and caused so much trauma and damage 5 weeks earlier.  

As I walked through my home a deep sadness settled over me.  I missed my space.  I missed my neighbors.  I missed my freedom.  Mostly, I missed my life. I exited through the broken patio door, frustrated and teary, wondering when my life would return to normal. The only things that remained from my former life were a few charred plants sitting forlornly on the bare, concrete slab outside. The pots were covered in soot, the once beautiful, flowering plants dead from the fire. Then I took a closer look and discovered a plant growing in one of those pots, blooming with bright red flowers despite the odds.  Even more shocking was the realization that it was NOT the same plant that was there the day of the fire.  It was a plant that had I had killed three years earlier.  

Maybe it's because I'm in a heightened emotional state, but I am more aware than ever of the valuable lessons to be learned from suffering. It's not lost on me that the very week I saw the blooms that I had killed burst through damaged soil with new life, is the same week that commemorates the death and resurrection of Jesus, the one who sacrificed his life for me only to burst through the tomb after three long days.  A beautiful symbol of Easter is blooming on my back porch. Beauty from ashes in a soot-covered pot.  I hope your Easter is full of peace and new life this year!     

The Year of the LORD’s Favor

The Spirit of the Sovereign LORD is on me, 

   because the LORD has anointed me 

   to proclaim good news to the poor. 

He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, 

   to proclaim freedom for the captives 

   and release from darkness for the prisoners, 

 to proclaim the year of the LORD’s favor 

   and the day of vengeance of our God, 

to comfort all who mourn, 

  and provide for those who grieve in Zion

to bestow on them a crown of beauty 

   instead of ashes, 

the oil of joy 

   instead of mourning, 

and a garment of praise 

   instead of a spirit of despair. 

They will be called oaks of righteousness, 

   a planting of the LORD 

   for the display of his splendor.

Isaiah 61: 1-3

Peace in the Absence of Answers

Why ask why?  

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yH9KRFlRFI0

Do you remember those silly commercials?  They used to be some of my favorites.  Not because I'm fond of beer ~ I'm not and my virgin lips had never even tasted alcohol at the time those spots first aired ~ but I am a girl who never ceases to ask why.  It's an annoying and exhausting trait; if I'm not asking out of curiosity then I'm asking out of anger. 

Here's a sample of the random, completely unrelated questions that zoom through my mind in any given 10-minute period:  

• Why does Dr. Pepper make me so happy?
• Why does love hurt?
• Why am I so complicated?
• Why do people stop at yield signs but yield at stop signs?
• Why do evil people steal the innocence from children?
• Why, why, why, why, WHY?

Perhaps the endless questions explain why I'm so exhausted all the time!  For some misguided reason part of me has always believed that knowing the answers to all of my questions would bring me peace. I was wrong.  Some answers did bring peace, but many times they brought additional turmoil, heartbreak and even more whys instead. 

Ironically it seems that knowing the answers is sometimes more painful than not knowing them.  Yet, I'm driven to seek them anyway.  However, I've been burned often enough that I've learned to mix the answers with an abundance of grace, peace and wisdom, otherwise the knowledge can overwhelm, confuse and destroy my fragile sense of peace.

If you had a choice between learning why or experiencing peace, which one would you choose?  This is one question that has an easy answer for me.  Instead of torturing myself with the unanswered whys, I'd rather have peace.  That doesn't mean I will ever stop searching for answers, it means I will find a way to live with the difficult ones.  It means I will put my trust in God's wisdom even when the answers don't satisfy my curiosity or sense of justice.  Ultimately that is when I find peace.

A Snail's Pace

Usually when I see a snail I  walk the other way, all the while shuddering as I think, "People eat those things?"  Well now that I have a very curious puppy, walking away is out of the question.  Zeus loves all kinds of creatures, but he is especially fascinated with snails.  

Recently we have seen many snails on our morning walks.  Just today we saw a large snail sporting an intricately designed, brown shell.  I was shocked at how beautiful it was; it looked like it had been hand decorated by an exotic henna artist!

For a few moments I stood distracted as I admired its outward beauty and tried to keep Zeus from tormenting it to death.  But it wasn't long before I grew bored because I knew that wasn't the real snail.  What I wanted to see was the slimy, messy, unattractive but infinitely more interesting snail with little antennas and funny eyes.  I wanted to see what was inside that fancy shell.

As we stood quietly our patience was rewarded as he slowly began to emerge.  He looked both ways several times, twitched his antennas and finally exposed his vulnerable body to the elements AND to my dog.  Of course, Zeus was eager to play with his new "friend" and scared him back into his shell almost immediately.

I always thought that everything about snails was slow, but boy howdy when that little fella felt threatened by the giant, eager puppy blocking his path he retreated faster than the speed of sound!  I stood giggling for several more minutes as he repeatedly emerged at a typical snail's pace and retreated like a speeding bullet at the first sign of Zeus.  Each time he was scared back into his shell he became slower to emerge and quicker to retreat.    

Finally I made Zeus wait off to the side so the snail could breathe.  Once he felt safe enough to begin traveling again I watched as he made slow but steady progress toward the giant shrub that he was intent on destroying.  My landlord may have preferred that I let Zeus scare him away but I just couldn't do it, because in observing that snail, I observed myself. 

I am a lot like that snail.  It takes a very long time for me to poke my head out and see if it's safe.  It's an agonizing process and requires much patience from those who are curious about what's on the inside.  If I feel safe once I'm "on the outside" I make slow and steady progress toward my humble goals.  Sadly I often destroy good things in a continued effort to protect myself when I feel vulnerable, but unlike the snail I specialize in self-destruction!  Once someone or something scares me I retreat more quickly than that snail, speeding bullets have nothing on me.  I am quick to protect the vulnerable, slimy, mess hidden inside.  I paint, pad, clothe and generally use my shell to distract people from the real me, and I fall into that pattern over and over again.

To be fair, the shell is necessary at times.  It doesn't do much good for me to always play the martyr or to live as a victim.  Yet exposing the truth of myself is risky because I can easily get hurt, even by people I trust, or especially by people I trust.  But it doesn't change the fact that I want to live without fear when I'm outside of my shell; to do my work, love my friends and reach out to those in need.  I want to expose the real, slimy mess of my life to people who will help protect me from the harsh elements so I don't suffocate or shrivel and die inside of myself.  The only way I find the courage to try again is when I remember that God loves the real me more than the shell.  In exposing myself to others I'm really exploring who I am and letting His love and redemption transform me into the woman He always hoped I would be instead of a shell of her.

So now you know, I'm a slimy mess, slow and awkward.  Maybe by admitting that it will give those around me freedom to expose the truth about themselves, because as I've discovered, living in a shell is kind of like living in my own little prison.  It might be pretty but it's still a gilded cage.

 

Pat Robertson Does Not Represent Me!

I saw the news alert yesterday afternoon. A 7.0 magnitude earthquake in Haiti, far, far away from my cozy office in Stone Oak. I was too busy at work to take the time to check into the story further, but once I did I was stunned. I'm always overwhelmed at the damage an earthquake can cause, especially in such a short amount of time. I understood President Obama's sentiment when he made the following comment in his statement earlier today:

"for a country and a people who are no strangers to hardship and suffering, this tragedy seems especially cruel and incomprehensible."

Many people who walk in much more conservative circles than I have voiced their disbelief that our President would categorize this disaster as cruel. Others, like Pat Robertson, immediately looked to blame the very people who have literally crumbled under the weight of this disaster. And it makes me angry and ashamed to be so horribly represented by those who share my faith.

This is a time for action, not semantics and theology lessons. I am fairly convinced that during his earthly ministry Jesus would have immediately responded with love AND action. He would not have stopped to consider if the words used to describe such incomprehensible devastation were appropriate, because ultimately there are no words that can describe the physical and emotional devastation that occurred. He would have understood that the suffering feels cruel to those in the middle of it. Neither do I believe that he would have tried to claim that a "pact with the devil" cursed millions of people and led to a natural disaster in the poorest nation in our hemisphere.

As a Christian, I am commanded to follow the example of Christ. Period. Politics and theology are better served in a different time and place. Although I cannot travel to the site of the disaster I can give money and supplies to the reputable charities tasked with providing aid. Please, if you have the means consider making a monetary donation. If you believe in the power of prayer, please offer your prayers, laments or groans to the one who can make something beautiful from the ashes.

Here are a few of my favorite charities:

http://www.compassion.com/

http://www.samaritanspurse.org/

Brainless Conversations with God

Earlier this week when I hopped on the scale to check my progress in this never ending battle with the bulge I was SHOCKED to see that I had gained 3 pounds. Excuse me??? I've been living on rabbit food. I've been avoiding "bad" carbs. I've erased the word sugar from my vocabulary. I've been walking 4+ miles faithfully almost every day. I've been paying an arm and a leg to workout with a trainer who causes me physical pain. I've been really good, and I haven't cheated!!! How in the world did I GAIN 3 pounds???

At this point a rational person would have stopped and calmly considered the situation, but I chose "crazy, psycho woman mode" and decided that the Almighty and I needed to have a chat about how unfair all of this was.

Really. BAD. Idea. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. And thus began another of my brainless conversations with God.

Me: I'm confused! I'm doing everything right. Why did I gain 3 pounds?
God: silence
Me: Do you think you could help me out here? I'm really trying!

God: silence

Me: You WANT me to be fat, don't you? You really don't care that I'm trying so hard, do you? Are you trying to teach me a lesson? Because this is a really cruel way to do it!!!
God: silence
Me: Why are you doing this to me???
God: silence
Me: Fine if you don't want to help me then I'm done. I'm tired of trying. If this is all I get then why don't I just go have a slice of pizza? If I'm destined to be fat anyway I'm going to eat what I want. So there.
God: silence
Me: Whatever. I knew this would happen anyway. Since I'm supposed to "give thanks in everything" let me just say thanks for all of your "help". Hmmffff.
God: silence
Me: Finally snapping out of "crazy, psycho woman mode" thinks, hmmmm, maybe I'm retaining water. When was my last cycle? Oh. Blush. That's it. I really hate PMS. God?? I'm really sorry please don't strike me dead. Thanks.

God: No problem, and you're welcome...

Yes, I know what you're thinking - "Watch out for lightning" and believe me I am! Sigh, maybe when PMS is no longer in my vocabulary I'll get it right. I sure hope so, I'm tired of being an idiot....