A Holy Ache

Hope is fickle.  There are days when it is so easy to embrace.  I feel all warm and fuzzy.  Peace envelopes me.  Sunshine and roses are abundant.  All is right in the world.  Maybe things will get a little easier.  Maybe things will fall into place and I won't have to try so hard.  Maybe, just maybe. 

 

Then I wake up in reality.  Try as I might I cannot divorce myself from it.  Reality is a cruel world often devoid of peace.  It's not pretty.  It's exhausting.  It's cloudy and dark.  All the flowers have long since withered and died.  There are a lot of tears.  Everything is ten times harder that it should be. Everything that is wrong with the world weighs on me. Everything that is wrong with my life crushes me.  Every failure haunts me.  And I sigh.

 

Reality is a fight to find my faith.  Reality is where I claw my way out of myself and into the embrace of my Savior.  It's the place of my deepest wounds and my deepest comfort.  It's the place where my life becomes less about me and more about Him.  Reality is where everything comes full circle.  Where wounds collide with faith into a beautiful explosion of HOPE.

 

I'm pretty sure I can't have hope without a healthy dose of reality.  Living in the tension between hope and reality causes a holy ache.  I am soothed as I dive deeper into the illogical, and frankly sometimes bizarre faith that sustains me.  It doesn't make sense.  It seems hokey.  Old-fashioned.  Weird.  Foolish.  And without those things it wouldn't be faith.

 

Sometimes I get answers I like.  Sometimes I get answers I hate.  Sometimes I don't get answers.  Sometimes all of those things cause me to ask more questions.  I'm okay with that.  I have faith that God knows more than I do.  God loves perfectly.  God's grace is endless.  God IS.  I am because of HIM and no other reason.  It doesn't make sense.  It just is. 

 

Living between hope and reality is challenging but it's good.  It's often painful.  It's often joyful.  It's a conundrum.  It takes faith but faith is life to me so I do it knowing that life is a holy ache.

"In him we live and move and have our being."

Acts 17:28

 

Exactly.

Withered Dreams

It happened again a few weeks ago.  I was enjoying a nice dinner and evening out with a friend when a young couple walked by our table with a newborn baby.  He was so tiny and precious, so very perfect and his parents were beaming despite the fresh lines of exhaustion etched into their faces.  Tears formed in my eyes and threatened to ruin the rest of the evening.  I breathed in sharply, shook my head and attempted to restart the conversation, but it was pointless.  By the time I unlocked my front door a few hours later I was raw and overwhelmed with sadness. 

For me the sorrow that comes from never marrying or mothering a child is often too much to bear.  Those two things were all I ever really wanted and it appears they're not to be mine, which hurts me more than I can ever seem to express to friends and family.  When I do talk about it many people try to point out all the "bad" things I'm escaping like not having to share the remote control or change dirty diapers or state the obvious like, "It's better to be single than married to the wrong person", which only succeeds in only minimizing the pain.  That in turn makes me feel like a an ungrateful whiner, silencing me from reminding them that I walk this journey alone.  There is no one to help share the burden of daily living in this ugly world.  Although I'm loved and have great friends, I'm simply not a priority  It's a hard truth to live with on those days when I simply need hug. 

But oh you should hear the sermons if I risk expressing any of those feelings!  Statements like God has a plan for your life and it's better than anything you can hope for or imagine; His timing is perfect; He is always with you so you don't have to walk alone offer little encouragement at this point in my life or faith.

As a devout Christian, it's hard to address these statements because I do believe that God walks with me, and frankly carries me more than anyone realizes.  He is LIFE to me and that will not change, even when my circumstances are lonely or nothing like what I dreamed of when I was younger.  But, to be honest God is not a husband to me; he's my Creator, Saviour and Friend, but NOT a husband.  Neither is he a child who needs to be nurtured and loved.  And to those who tell me I can have "spiritual babies" (whatever they are) let me remind you that they will never fill my achingly empty arms. 

So I wonder, are those types of statements always true or even helpful?  They may have been when I was younger, but now that it's unlikely I'll mother a child, and the possibility of marriage is dimming, they leave me cold.  Does God have a plan for my life that is BETTER than I can hope for or imagine?  REALLY?  Because from where I'm sitting right now it doesn't look that way, unless you assume that I imagined a life of singleness and empty arms, which I assure you would be incorrect.

What about God's timing being perfect?  I guess it is when you get what you want, even if you have to wait longer than you originally anticipated.  But what about when you DON'T get the desires of your heart, after 10, 20, 30 years or more?  Does it mean you didn't trust God enough?  Does it mean your dreams were selfish?  Does it mean you would be such a terrible spouse and/or parent that God is protecting the innocent from you?  Does it mean that you are called to something much bigger than a simple office job and you're a failure if you don't do more with your life?  I really hope not, but I'm not always sure when I consider how deeply the church idolizes family, or to be more specific, motherhood, as evidenced by the average Mother's Day celebration in many churches across America.

Let me be very clear, I'm relatively happy and try not to dwell on the unfulfilled dreams, but in unguarded moments like the one in the restaurant it's all I can do to maintain my composure because those dreams are on life support and therefore still breathing.  It would have been easier if they had been severed instead of watching them wither year after agonizing year.  And although there were valuable lessons learned, I'm not  so sure I wouldn't trade the wisdom gleaned for the chance to love and be loved in ways I can only dream of now.

Please don't misunderstand, I know that many people suffer greatly in this world, more than I'll ever understand.  Many wait and hope trying desperately to fend off despair, cognizantly aware that in a few short breaths they may suffer the death of their dreams instead of the fulfillment of them.  After nearly 25 years I have joined them.  I know that God does as he pleases and I don't always like it.  As my cousin recently said,  "When do the lemons become lemonade?  I'm tired of the lemons."  So.am.I.

OVEREXPOSED

                          Anxious
                                   Sad
                                      Terrified
                                              Vulnerable
                                                           

March 3, 2012 found those emotions waging an epic battle for dominance in my shattered heart.  The volunteer clean-up crew made up of family, close friends and church acquaintances were hard at work photographing, inventorying and hauling off pieces of my life. The menacing dumpster sitting downstairs on the front lawn seemed like an unquenchable beast eager to take more from me than I wanted to give.  I tried to answer questions from multiple people and make 5-second decisions about what should stay and what should go without letting the emotions spill over and render me useless.  But the reality was that the place I had called home for almost 5 years was being systematically emptied before my eyes and I was on the verge of a melt down.

The previous 3 months had already pushed me to my limit.  I was still recovering from neurosurgery, then a layoff, depleted finances from both AND I was trying to adjust to the new job I had just started one week earlier.  The fire was the final blow.  I was raw and tired with burns on my hands and a sooty cough to constantly remind me of my desperate escape.  And then there was the smell.  It permeated everything - my hair, my clothes, my jewelry, my car - I couldn't escape it.  It was a trigger that took me back to a traumatic and jarring experience, one that I continue to relive in nightmares or at odd moments when I hear a siren or smell the sickeningly sweet, sooty, plastic scent that I thought was gone for good.

Despite how hard the "Job Special" has been to endure (I hope I don't have to experience more similarities to his tragedy.) the absolute most excruciating part was the loss of privacy. Watching people sort through the things that defined me made me feel violated and on display as if all of my flaws, quirks and weirdness had been painted in neon colors across my naked body.  As a staunch never-nude you can imagine how horrifying it was to feel like I was running around naked for the world to see!  Thankfully I lead a VERY boring life so there was nothing all that embarrassing to be discovered.  I did have way too many cases of green tea that my friends still laugh about, but other than my nephews being forced to photograph AND TOUCH some of my unmentionables there wasn't too much that was cringe-worthy.  And my nephews' PTSD not withstanding, the looks on their faces as they touched my lingerie make me laugh to this day, one of only a few good memories I have from that week.

It takes me ages to process experiences and then open up about them, and even then I am very choosy about what I share and with whom.  I needed help after surgery, I needed help as I waded through the scary world of unemployment and then I needed even more help to recover from the fire - a place to live, financial assistance, help cleaning up the destruction and help simply getting through the long days and lonely nights.  Obviously I had to work, so I dutifully drove to the office, put in my 8+ hours and drove to my temporary home, but the aftermath of my overwhelming need and overexposure was brutal.  As difficult as it was to lose control, being in a place of such vulnerability and at the mercy of so many others was gut-wrenching.  I did not handle it well and responded by withdrawing.  I intentionally disconnected in an effort to protect myself and regain some control. Had I not been living with dear friends I would have likely stopped talking to anyone other than co-workers.  

I was terribly angry at God and what I considered to be his cruel sovereignty.  In a span of 3 months my health, my wealth, my possessions and my sense of security had all but disappeared.  I lived in constant fear that what actually mattered to me the most, my family, friends and dog would all be ripped away from me next.  I tried desperately to maintain a positive attitude, to focus on the good things in my life, but the truth was I was suffocating and the only air available was toxic.  If I wasn't careful it would kill my soul just as it had almost killed my body.

Summer found me content only when I was at home with Zeus, enjoying the stillness of my remodeled apartment.  I had no tolerance for noise, commotion or the frivolity of life and my temper was out of control.   I just wanted to rest and be alone.  I stopped attending church, and the fact that no one really seemed to notice made it easier to stay home each week.  I stopped meeting friends for lunch or dinner; I quit calling  as often as I used to and I took days to respond to emails.  A few friends were concerned that I was suffering from depression, and while there may be an element of truth to that, I still say it was a severe case of overexposure, in my "professional" opinion.

Now that the cool days of autumn have arrived I've dipped my toe back into the social waters.  I'm slowly emerging from my self-imposed exile. I've attended a few parties recently, and even though I was the biggest dork in the room at least I went.  It's still hard.  I still feel removed from the world around me, but I'm trying and that's the best I can do for now.

I am grateful for so much and fully cognizant of the fact that my life could be a million times worse, and I have learned more than I could have ever imagined, but I'll post about all of that later. First I felt that it was important to honor the difficulties of these experiences; to be honest about the agony of the fight.  I may have walked away with a limp from wrestling angels, but in the process I found peace and an intimacy with God that I hope will change me for the better.

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

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.

20 Seconds to Toast

A little less that three weeks ago my downstairs neighbor came home from work after midnight and decided to fry potatoes.  After getting them started he took his computer, sat down in his living room to surf the net and promptly fell asleep.  Due to a severe hearing problem he did not hear his smoke alarm go off and when he finally awakened to the smell of smoke, there was a small fire already spreading in the kitchen. He panicked and attempted to put out the grease fire by spraying it with water.  It was the worst mistake he could have made.  The fire erupted, catching the rest of the kitchen, dining room and hallway on fire.  Instead of dialing 911 he tried to find a fire extinguisher, wasting precious seconds. Finally he called for help and firefighters were dispatched.  He grabbed his laptop and went outside, leaving the front door open as he fled.  He proceeded to lean against the tree waiting for help, while his neighbors slept, unaware of what was happening.  

Meanwhile a neighbor living on the other side of the complex heard popping noises and thought that a car was being vandalized.  He went outside and saw the flames and immediately called 911 while his wife called my next door neighbor to tell him to get out.  She didn't have my number but screamed my name repeatedly to attempt to awaken me.  I never heard her.  My next door neighbor called me but my phone volume was off and I was blissfully asleep, completely unaware that a fire was now raging below me as he screamed into his phone for me to get out.

Just a few minutes later Zeus awakened me, acting like he had made a mess.  It was 2:00 am and I was groggy but got up to see if I needed to clean up after him.  He followed me with his tail down, obviously very upset. Then I noticed the smell of burning plastic and began to look around.  I could not find anything upstairs so I went down and continued looking.  Then I noticed that the apartment was hazy and just as I got to the back patio door and saw flames shooting up my smoke alarm began blaring.

I dialed 911 in a panic and was told that firefighters were on their way.  I heard their sirens as they pulled up and in near hysteria begged the operator for help.  He told me I had to leave the apartment immediately.  I told him there were flames shooting up my patio so he told me to go to the front door.  If it was cool I was to open it and escape down the front stairs.  I opened it and was overcome with thick, black smoke.  I quickly slammed it shut and told him there was too much smoke.  He told me I had no choice but to leave immediately, the fire was out of control and I had to get out.  I was terrified and forgot everything I had ever learned about fire safety.  A moist wash cloth to cover my face?  It never even occurred to me.  Crouch and stay low?  Are you kidding me?  I just wanted to run.  I couldn't fathom how I could stay low as I was going down a flight of stairs.  Unfortunately I had no alternative but to try to get out so I grabbed my dog and my purse, put on some flip flops and opened the door.  

A thick wall of billowing smoke greeted me as I opened the door again and being in a panic I was gasping instead of holding my breath.  I was immediately disoriented as I breathed the toxic fumes and could not figure out where I was in relation to my apartment, even though I had just stepped outside of my front door.  I was confused about whether I had gone down any stairs; I simply could not tell up from down or right from left.  As I tried to descend the first section of stairs I was losing consciousness and began to fall, quickly grabbing the railing which was fiery hot from the smoke, unaware that I burned my fingers.  I screamed at the 911 operator, asking why no one was helping me and then dropped the phone.  My last conscious thought was that I was going to die on the landing, and how I now knew why smoke inhalation killed so quickly.  I was just steps from clean air and safety but I couldn't see it or get to it and I could no longer breathe.  Had the firefighters not been rushing up the stairs to get me, it is likely that Zeus and I would have died.

It was a terrifying experience that left me in shock for several days.  I've had many nightmares from being trapped in the smoke, trying to get to safety only to crumble in a heap on the landing, poisoned by toxic smoke.  I've shed many tears and lost my lunch more than once at the thought of how close I came to dying a tragic death.   It was a sobering reminder that life is fragile and precious when I was told that firefighters said that I was "20 seconds to toast".   Yikes. 

There are many pieces to pick up in order for me to rebuild.  Everything I own was either damaged or destroyed.  My physical health has suffered and I still have a nagging cough and bronchitis triggered by breathing so much smoke.  For almost 2 weeks I coughed up black soot and nursed my charred fingers, trying to be thankful that I was not crispy, but only lightly toasted...

There are so many more things to share about the aftermath that I will post later.  Suffice it to say that the last 3 1/2 months of my life have been almost more than I can bear.  Neurosurgery, a layoff, unemployment, a new job and now a fire have left me wounded, raw and exhausted.  Yet I'm grateful for a God who walks with me, a community of people who love, serve, challenge and care for me despite my circumstances, and last but not least a little hero who made sure I was awake and saved both of us from certain death.  More than ever I am happy to be alive despite the circumstances of late, aware that at any given time I am no more than 20 seconds to toast.

Dream Analysis: Poisoned Popcorn

I love naps, especially my Sunday afternoon naps.  They are necessary to get me through my nap-free weeks.   I turn the fan on, cover up and snuggle with my sweet little Zeus while drifting off to either the TV or the iPod.  Maybe the background noise is a bad idea.  Yes, it keeps me from hearing various neighbors' drama, among other things I'd rather forget; however, it leads to the strangest dreams. 

Exhibit A: 

Zeus and I were walking in the ghetto, obviously MY favorite place to take a leisurely stroll.  As we were meandering along, a few of the riff-raff caught Zeus' eye.  He liked the hot little number with the golden fur and flirted with her shamelessly.  Maybe he felt sorry for her because she was homeless, but after a few days of pining for his new crush he ran away with her leaving me sad and alone.    

I was worried sick and spent several hours running through the ghetto and eventually found my way to the thick forest, which had magically appeared out of nowhere.  I ventured in, calling for Zeus the entire time.  Finally I heard his reply, a combination of squealing and barking that sounded rather like he was being tortured.  I ran to him and found him with his new lady love and another "friend" stuck on the top of a tall tree-bush, yes a tree-bush.  I'm guessing it was a hybrid.  ;-)  I was afraid to climb the odd looking tree-bush so I called for Zeus and he leaped into my arms, confident that I would catch him.  He had broken up with his lady friend after he realized he really loved me best and could not live without me.  I was so happy he chose me that I helped the riff-raff out of the tree-bush and flew them home to the ghetto.  But I had to hurry, because I had a work emergency and no time to scold Zeus for running away and almost eloping!  I was an undercover FBI agent who was working on a case and I needed my sidekick to help me solve the mystery.  

Once we landed we entered our secret laboratory, which looked suspiciously like the Bat Cave.  After turning on my ear piece I received an update from FBI headquarters, located in Sweden.  The North Koreans were planning to release a deadly toxin and we were running out of time to figure out when and where.  Jack Bauer needed me to figure it out and relay the information to him so he could stop the attack.  Hard at work intellectually I sat in a huge recliner and snuggled Zeus.  Finally Zeus impatiently jumped down and ate a piece of buttered popcorn and then pretended to get sick.  Suddenly I knew that the North Koreans were going to poison all of the popcorn at every movie theater in San Antonio!  Oh my!!!  I called Jack, he put a stop to it and Zeus was crowned a hero for keeping movie goers safe.  He got a treat of Persian chicken kabobs with rice and then we took a long walk, far, FAR away from the ghetto.

The end.

Interpretation:

• Walking in the ghetto is not smart
• Zeus loves me best even though he was tempted by the golden-furred floozy
• I will find him if he tries to run away
• Tree-bushes are weird
• Doggy break-ups hurt almost as much as human break-ups
• I can FLY!!!
• The Bat Cave is REALLY cool in person
• 24, The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo and The Orphan Master's Son are alive and well in my sub-conscious
• I will no longer take walks in the ghetto

Grandma Jim

I'm missing my Grandma Jim today.  No particular reason, other than we would have celebrated her (94th?) birthday this week.  Maybe that's why she has been on my mind more than usual lately.  She was my favorite person;  affectionate, kind, friendly, genuine, happy, loving and just plain adorable.  A registered nurse in her younger days and a hippie, Yoga instructor and massage therapist in her twilight years, she worked through her retirement for travel money. And travel she did through 6 continents and numerous countries. Whether she was exploring Asia, enjoying Australia and New Zealand, hiking Machu Picchu on her 80th birthday, backpacking in Europe, roaming around India or riding camels in the shadow of the Egyptian pyramids, she was optimistic about others and wanted to know as much as she could about the world she inhabited.  I proudly blame her for my travel addiction and love of adventure!

Now don't get me wrong, she wasn't perfect, but she somehow understood me and loved me better than anyone else ever has.  She encouraged me to grow into myself instead of worrying about being who others thought I should be.  She didn't judge me when I went through awkward phases, she just loved me in spite of myself.  I would always be a princess to her.  She actually believed that I was one of the most amazing creatures she had ever known.  She loved me uniquely and without pretense, and she loved me in ways I didn't realize I needed until much later in my life.  That is an amazing feat in this broken world and I only hope I can grow into someone who loves as well as she did.  

Grandma Jim didn't see color or status; she wasn't turned off by mental illness, addiction or blatant flaws.  She just loved people where they were. One of the best flesh and blood examples of how well Jesus loves; He was able to love so many people through her.  Personally she was able to reach a part of me that no one else could.  A very lonely, miserable little girl pretending that life was okay, I desperately needed to know that I could be loved despite the damage that had hammered my heart and soul for so many years.  Now I can look back and see God's footprints all over my life, when I could not see them before. I am overwhelmed with the love and grace extended to me and I want to be the kind of person who lets his love, mercy and grace flow through me instead of greedily withholding it when others disappoint me, speak ill of me or make unfair assumptions and judgments about me.

I am so grateful for the time I had with her, but oh do I wish she were still walking around in the flesh; free as a bird, happy, friendly, funny and more than a little crazy.  Instead her ashes are scattered at the family cabin built by my grandfather and great uncle shortly after they returned from fighting in WWII.  It has been over 10 years since we said goodbye and I'm missing her more now than ever.  I wish I could talk to her, travel the world with her, get a bear hug from her, laugh with her, play Boggle or Tripoley with her and simply let myself feel deeply known and loved again.

I miss you Grandma Jim.  You're always in my heart.

Living With An Invisible Illness: Behcet's Disease

I don't talk about this much, but maybe the following list will help you understand what I've been dealing with lately and why I'm too exhausted to write much or socialize.

 21 Things About Behcet's You May Not Know:

1. The illness I live with is: Behcet's Disease
2. I was diagnosed in the year: 2011
3. I've had symptoms since: 2007
4. The biggest adjustment I've had to make is: Working less, giving up social activities, spending my fun money on health care
5. Most people assume: I'm lazy or depressed, not sick
6. The hardest part about mornings are: Waking up.  It's almost impossible if I do not get at least 10 hours of sleep.  Also, joint pain is worse in the mornings and it takes awhile for the stiffness and swelling to decrease so I can stand up straight and walk without a limp
7. The hardest part about nights are: Finding a comfortable sleeping position and dealing with the constant itching which increases at night and often awakens me.  I frequently scratch so deeply that I bleed and end up with scabs all over my legs, arms, torso and shoulders
8. Each day I take ___ pills and vitamins (no comments please):  On an average day I take 4 prescription medications and 3 vitamins, but if I'm experiencing a flare I take an additional 2-3 prescription medications
9. Regarding alternative treatment: I am very open to alternative treatment options, traditional medication has not offered me much hope or relief.  I am also researching the role of diet and hope to determine if some of my symptoms can be controlled by eliminating certain foods
10. Regarding work/career:  This has been extremely challenging for me and my boss.  I used to be so dedicated to my job, worked whatever was necessary, poured my heart and soul into it, but now I simply cannot do it.  I often find it difficult to work 8 hours a day, let alone more.  I am afraid it will cost me my job, which is upsetting because I have no one to help me with my finances, etc.  It's just me trying to support myself, cook, clean, pay bills, and heal this broken body and soul - it's getting harder everyday
11. People would be surprised to know:  That although the fatigue and pain are constant, the scratching is by far the most difficult symptom to manage as are some of the more embarrassing symptoms
12. The hardest thing to accept about my new reality has been: Losing life as I knew it.  I can no longer travel, I socialize very little and my weekends are reserved for resting - If I don't sleep several additional hours on Saturday/Sunday I will not be able to work the next week and will likely end up fighting a virus/fever/cold.....
13. Something I never thought I could do with my illness that I did was:  It hasn't happened yet because this is still too new for me, but I hope to get healthy, active and fit and then travel to Europe again
14. The commercials about my illness:  There ARE no commercials for Bechet's, most doctors have not even heard of it, let alone the general public
15. Something I really miss doing since I was diagnosed is: Enjoying a social life, working and playing hard, traveling to exotic destinations and exploring different cultures
16. It was really hard to have to give up: My social life
17. A new hobby I've taken up since my diagnosis is: Does sleeping count as a hobby?  
18. If I could have one day of feeling normal again I would: Play golf, paint my upstairs rooms, deep clean my apartment, cook dinner and dessert for friends and play with my nieces and nephews
19. Want to know a secret? It really gets under my skin when people say: Call me if you need anything.  Ha!  You would be so annoyed if I actually took you up on that offer because the needs are endless right now
20. Something that has surprised me about people's response to my illness has been: How quickly they walk away, quit calling or judge me for my inability to function like I used to.  It makes me really sad
21. My illness has taught me: How very weak and vulnerable I am, but although my body is weaker my faith is surprisingly stronger.  Perhaps because I have no on else to lean one and no illusions of being taken care of by anyone else but my Creator!

Dancing in the Rain

Several years ago, long before my Texas nieces and nephews cared about their hair or clothes, or whether they were cool or uncool, before the angst of adolescence settled over them, we used to dance in the rain. 

As the first drop fell we would excitedly run outside to twirl and dance in the grass, arms lifted, mouths open, tongues catching raindrops, all the while giggling and splashing with total abandon. It was glorious to play in the cool, refreshing shower and always left us giddy and breathless.  We would smile for hours afterward as we sat snuggled on the sofa, covered in beach towels, watching cartoons and sipping cocoa.

For those brief moments, I allowed myself to indulge in carefree spontaneity.  I would spin, laugh and totally lose myself in sheer delight, blissfully unconcerned with what anyone else thought.  It was a simple joy shared with kids who meant the world to me.  Of all the things I've done with them over the past 17 years, dancing in the rain is one of my most cherished memories. 

There's something healing and beautiful about a child's ability to enjoy the simplest things in life. Dancing with my nieces and nephews was the closest I've ever been to finding that ability in myself, to finding that innocent little girl of whom I have no memory all these years later.   

Lately there has been something stirring inside my soul, something unidentified trying to burst through my practical, reserved demeanor. I find myself yearning to dance in the rain again, both physically and spiritually.  I have no idea what it will look like, but I know I don't want to do it alone.  So if you're a brave, carefree soul and have any ideas, let me know and we'll find ways to dance with abandon, even if it isn't raining!