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.

The Tale of the Wooden Spoons

The Gospel of Mark 12:41-44

Jesus sat down near the collection box in the Temple and watched as the crowds dropped in their money. Many rich people put in large amounts. Then a poor widow came and dropped in two small coins.  Jesus called his disciples to him and said, “I tell you the truth, this poor widow has given more than all the others who are making contributions. For they gave a tiny part of their surplus, but she, poor as she is, has given everything she had to live on.”

This story has always moved me.  I've always imagined that this widow looked like my Grandma Jim, sporting a kind, open, softly wrinkled face, twinkling eyes and ready smile as she dropped the last of her money into the collection box, unconcerned for her own wants or needs.  She simply gave all she could, completely unaware that she was being observed by Jesus Christ himself.  But after Friday night she is no longer a widow in my mind.  She has become an 8-year-old girl named Sadie with long, blond hair, sparkling eyes and a radiance born of a deeply compassionate and sensitive heart, all wrapped in a pretty party dress with silky flowers and a bow.

Here is the story of how I met Sadie and why she gave me one of the best gifts I've ever received.  My dear friend Sandy decided to stop by my apartment the day we were cleaning up after the fire. Although she couldn't stay she dropped off snacks for all of the volunteers hauling out pieces of my soot-covered life. Driving off with her granddaughters in the back seat, she explained what had happened and why she was delivering snacks.  After a long silence, the eldest, Sadie, told her that she had some girl scout money that she would like to donate to my neighbor and me, to help us recover from the fire.  After a long discussion spent explaining the depth of the need and what else she could do with the money, Sandy realized that Sadie's pure and compassionate heart could not be denied.  She was DETERMINED to help.  She NEEDED to help.  She DID help.

Sadie became a girl on a mission.  She grew obsessed with helping me, a woman she had never met nor even known existed until that fateful Saturday.  She talked about me and the fire frequently.  She wanted to meet me.  She wanted to meet Zeus.  A few days later Sandy called me and told me about her.  She explained what had transpired in the car after leaving my apartment.  She told me how deeply concerned Sadie was for me.  I choked back tears when I learned that she had offered her own hard-earned money.  I was deeply moved by her merciful nature and realized the same thing her grandmother did.  She could NOT be denied the opportunity to give.  I told Sandy that I did not want her to spend much money but that there were lots of little things I needed like wooden spoons and pantry items and she could bring a small gift to my birthday party where she could meet Zeus and me.

A few days later, Sandy picked up Sadie from school.  Sadie immediately wanted to know if Sandy had called me so Sandy told her about our conversation.  Eventually Sadie went home and that is when Sandy found a note left behind in the back seat:

When Sandy emailed me the photo of that note I sobbed uncontrollably.  Where did this little girl come from?  I still had not met her and already she had pierced my heart with her innocent, sweet spirit.  Here was an 8-year-old child offering all she had and refusing to be denied, and just like the widow I'm sure she was completely unaware that she was being observed by Jesus Christ himself, or that she was mimicking his humility and ultimate sacrifice in the only way she could.  The purity of it was and still is one of the most beautiful things in the world to me now.

Friday night I was privileged to finally meet sweet Sadie at a birthday party in my honor.  She hugged me and listened to the story of my escape from the fire, repeating how bad she felt for me as I talked. She petted Zeus and praised him for being such a good dog.  We talked about how much she loved performing and reading American Girls books.  She played with another friend's 8-year-old daughter and generally floated around the party like a beautiful butterfly, delighting everyone who met her and heard her story.  

Before she left, she wanted to watch me open the gifts she brought. She gave joyfully, genuinely delighted to offer me something I needed.  There was as much joy on her face as there was on mine when I opened the gift and saw a brand new set of wooden spoons. She also gave Zeus a funny thank you card involving a chicken, I'm assuming because he saved my life, and a gift of chicken jerky.  It was all I could do not to break down into an "ugly" cry.  How could I not fall madly in love with this child?  

In this Holy Week, a season of sacrifice and redemption, I see clearly that Sadie loves like Jesus loves; beautifully, sacrificially, mercifully and purely.  I did nothing to earn her favor, and quite frankly I don't deserve it, but I'm certain that I will never be the same because of it. She was DETERMINED to help.  She NEEDED to help.  She DID help. Just. Like. Jesus.