Walking Away From A Miracle - Forgetting to Remember

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A few weeks ago, after a 2.5 year hiatus, I did something I had done routinely since my early twenties.  Something I was always nervous about, but did anyway.  I flew on an airplane.  Dramatic, right?

Flying has always been a little nerve-racking to me because, gravity, but I still did it.  The last time I flew I was miserable.  I had trouble catching my breath; my feet were terribly swollen; I fought a panic attack; I felt terrible.  What I did not yet know was that my health would drastically decline over the next few months and I would dive deep into the horrible symptoms of pulmonary hypertension and early, VERY early, heart failure at the young age of 46.  After numerous tests and consults with both a pulmonologist and a transplant cardiologist (gulp) I received a shocking diagnosis.  The pulmonary hypertension and heart failure were the result of a one-inch hole between the upper chambers of my heart.  A congenital heart defect that I knew nothing about until that moment.  I was numb and in shock as I tried to absorb the news.  What did it mean for my future?  Would I live?  End up disabled?  Would I ever travel again?  Or would I die young?

For years I had believed that my future was limited and had told a friend that I did not think I would live to old age.  How would my body last that long?  Doctors labeled me a depressed, anxious, lazy, asthmatic, overweight woman.  I took their labels to heart; I owned them; I believed them, but no matter the prescription for my ailments, I never improved.  I finally gave up and let myself go.  Then, my diagnosis brought sudden vindication and proved that I wasn't ANY of those ugly labels (except overweight), I was sick!  Of course, vindication also brought anger and bitterness at the failures of my parents, who knew about my heart defect but never told me, and countless medical professionals who were too tired, bored, or cynical to listen to my symptoms and figure out  my problem.  It was a lot for me to process.

I spent hours praying and shed more than a few tears.   I was very sick and getting worse by the minute, but had no choice but to keep putting one foot in front of the other.  Going to work was almost more than I could bear.  Walking from my bedroom to my bathroom was exhausting.  Taking a shower left me dizzy and breathless.  Blow-drying my hair sent my heart rate close to 200 bpm.  The thought of walking through the grocery store brought me to tears.  My friends rallied.  My church community stepped up in big ways.  I begged people to pray over me and they did.  And for the first time I was filled with that mysterious peace that passes all understanding, sans wrestling match with the Almighty!  If He had decided I could rock an oxygen tank and die younger than I thought I should, then I decided to accept that He knew best.  I wasn't even angry or upset, just a little sad and very, very tired. 

One night I collapsed into bed and sensed Him telling me to pray for healing.  I balked.  While I FIRMLY believed that He was completely sovereign and could heal me in an instant, I did not believe that he would.  Living in this world had taught me that even those who walk with him closely suffer and die without being physically healed.  Why would he heal me?  I had many one-sided conversations with the God of the universe.  I told Him I did not want to believe because if He did NOT heal me this side of heaven, I did not want to look like a fool.  He not so subtly reminded me that I was already a fool.  Ouch.

Point taken.  God: 1 - Robin: 0.  So, recognizing my own foolishness, I decided that it was better to be a fool for Christ than a fool for nothing and did something I had never done before.  I let myself believe.  And when I could not believe, I would cry out, God, I believe, help my unbelief!  And he always did.

Just a few weeks later I was the recipient of my very own medical miracle.  The kind that no one can explain with science or logic no matter how hard they try.  As with any miracle, it was prayed, hoped, and believed for and required the faith of all my friends because mine was simply too weak.  Miracles are powerful.  Being the recipient of one was humbling.  I was grateful and giddy with relief.  I was also full of guilt.  So many people had worse outcomes.  So many died and left children and spouses.  Why was I, a now 47-year-old, single woman with no children or real purpose saved?

Guilt was compounded by my struggle to heal the way the doctors thought I would.  They grew impatient with me.  I grew impatient with them.  I developed an autonomic nervous system disorder and wondered why God would heal one thing only to let me flounder with another.   Although still grateful and awed, still willing to tell anyone who would listen, I was also tired, sick, and.......disappointed that the healing was not exactly how I expected it to be.  A bit of depression set in, which surprised me.  People were so happy for me and what God had done, but I still felt terrible and felt like I would let them down if I was honest about my struggles.  It was an odd place to be and I felt like an ungrateful brat.  Thankfully, I was able to work through those emotions, but it took a lot of time.     

Eventually life moved on as it is prone to do. I kept putting one foot in front of the other, and before I knew it I had walked away from the miracle.  The details grew fuzzy.  

I forgot to remember.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When I booked my flight for my trip to Nashville this month, I was nervous.  I knew altitude could affect my condition and the thought of getting worse preoccupied me.  Would my heart rate jump?  Would I get dizzy?  Would I pass out in front of the other passengers?  How would my body handle it?  

And then I remembered.  I remembered that as many flights as I had flown with a GIANT hole in my heart, I had never had a blood clot, suffered a stroke or had a medical emergency.  Even on that really, really long 14-hour flight from Poland.  I remembered that He had protected me through the take-offs and landings.  He had prevented a stroke during a delicate neurosurgery, before I knew about my heart defect.  He was with me through the ups and downs of life.  Through flood and fire.  Through poverty and plenty.  Through faith and doubt.  Through happy and sad.  Through forgetting and remembering.  He was always there.  Miracles abound when we are willing to see them.

That is why I write; to record the details of what He has done.  My memory fails me, but He does not.  I never want to walk so far away from the miracles that I forget to remember.

Remember the wonders he has done, his miracles, and the judgments he pronounced.

I Chronicles 16:12

In Between

Today is the Saturday before Easter, the middle of three days that changed history forever.  The middle, hopeless part for the disciples.  After a night of feasting just two days earlier they slept in the garden while Jesus prayed in agony.  They were faithful until they felt personally threatened and feared for their own lives.  They were mere men, unaware of the future, and certainly unaware of what would be required of them moving forward.  When their beloved master was betrayed by the kiss of Judas they did what most of us would do.  They ran for their lives (although Peter gave it a good go!)

I thought about them a lot today, as I tried to put myself in their shoes.   After witnessing the traumatic end of Jesus, they were left with nothing.  Emotions of fear, doubt, and sadness undoubtedly swirled in their hearts.  They were left with NOTHING to show for their devotion to the man they called Messiah.  They had left their jobs, homes, and families to follow him.  They loved him.  They believed him.  And then they watched him die a brutal death. Saturday must have been a no-good, rotten, terrible day for them.  Faith was never so tested as when they had to watch their hope die.

Still I wonder, did they have a sliver of hope left?  Did they remember watching Lazarus walk out of the tomb?  Did they remember Jairus' daughter?  Did they remember all of the countless miracles they had witnessed and let it bubble into hope?  Or did they do what I often do and immediately assume they were stupid to have given up everything for a promise that seemed too good to be true?  I mean, how could THEY have been chosen as the Messiah's inner circle?  Why not the elite?  Why not the Pharisees?  Why them?  Did they let doubt and cynicism creep into their hearts?

They did not have the benefit of hindsight.  They did not get to read the end of the story, they were living it.   The truth is, we are living in the middle too, the middle of our story of redemption.  The middle of the world's groaning.  And probably the middle of a smaller story that makes up the beautiful tapestry to our individual lives. Thankfully, we know the ultimate end of the story, but we don't always know the end of our own, do we?

I have seen first hand that often when others think they know, or I think I know, God will throw me a curveball and completely amaze and awe me.  He did that a few thousand years ago with Jesus, he did it seven years ago during the fire, he did it two years ago with my heart, he did it last week for my mother.  He will do it for you too.  Hope may be fickle but it walks hand in hand with faith.  If you find yourself in the difficult middle of a terrible circumstance, ask for God to intervene and believe that he will.  It may not be how you expect, or in the way that you want it, but he will not fail to act on behalf of those he loves.  He loves ALL of us and is always waiting for us to grab his hand, find redemption, and live into his beautiful plan.

Hold on tight because Easter is coming!

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

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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. 

The Birth of Redemption

It's the seventh day of Christmas, aka New Year's Eve to the rest of the world and I can't stop thinking about the birth of redemption.  The mystery of the conception, the birth of Deity into humanity.  The incarnation of our salvation came to us in the most ordinary and extraordinary of ways.  Our desperately needed redemption cried as he entered our world as a wrinkled, screaming baby covered in goo.  He came in human form to redeem those humans who took the first bites of forbidden fruit and sealed our fate.  He came to redeem the rest of us born into a fallen world because of his great love for us.  Knowing our failures, knowing our imperfections, knowing our weaknesses, he humbled himself for us.  The beauty and glory of that is almost more than I can bear.  How quickly we can forget that only He is our hope and salvation!

After spending the advent season anticipating I'm finding myself fighting the urge to spend these last days of Christmas focusing on the new year.  Maybe like me, you are also feeling yourself pulled away from the mystery of Christmas and focusing instead on what 2019 will bring.  Maybe you're hoping things will be better, or at least not worse.  Looking forward to new adventures and leaving behind the struggles of 2018.  Perhaps striving for better health and hoping to finally conquer that pesky resolution to lose weight and get in shape.  Maybe setting a few goals and then spending a lot of energy trying to make everything fit the expectations of what you think they should be.  And just like that your focus has shifted to what you can do to make your life better.  It happens to all of us.  We misplace our hope in our own abilities and desires and discover that misplaced hope is fickle.  All of our striving becomes an exercise in futility.  Because even when our goals are good, focusing on them instead of the ONE who authors our story and redeems us leads us on a path to self-idolatry.

If my life were a movie, the past seven years would have been titled "Reality Bites".  It slapped me in the face more times than I can count and frankly, it left me a bit cold.  Yet, reality is exactly where I collided again and again with that little baby who was born in a stable so many years ago.  He was, is, and always will be the redemption my battered soul so desperately needed.  My faith has grown and stalled and faltered and deepened over the past thirty-five years.  I have tried to walk away, I have screamed and cried and bargained for my will to prevail, but ultimately I learned to rest in true hope, which has brought immense joy, peace, and strength to persevere when I thought I could not go on another day.

I wish you true hope and peace in 2019!

He Will Rise Up in the End

Our church produced an Advent journal this year and I was able to write two of the devotionals.  This is the devotional for December 6, 2018.

Scripture reading: Revelation 19:11-16; 21:1-4

He Will Rise Up In the End

Turn on the news and you immediately realize that creation is groaning. Looking inward, ever mindful of our own desires, even believers are lovers of self, forgetful of our first love. Seduced by darkness masquerading as light, we are easily lulled into apathy. Yet deep inside we still long for God to step in and rescue us, if only from ourselves.

We wonder why he is slow to act, why he doesn’t return to end our suffering and reveal his power and glory. Despite our impatience and demands that he act when and how we see fit, we must believe that he delays because he loves us and is patient, even in his righteous anger at the state of this world.

This season, look up to the sky in anticipation that all will be made right. Remember, the baby we celebrate, innocent and pure, will return on a white horse to save us. He will rise up and render justice with a flame of fire in his eyes. The baby was and is Faithful and True, The Word of God, the ultimate warrior coming to claim his own. He is the King of kings and Lord of lords.

The night may be long, but the day is coming when he will reveal his glory. He will wage the final, victorious battle of good over evil. And after the last tear falls, we will dwell with God in the new heaven and earth. Lord Jesus, may we be found faithful in the waiting!

He will wipe away every tear from their eyes,

and death shall be no more,

neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore,

for the former things have passed away.”

Revelation 21:4 ESV

Ben Shive. Rise Up. 2012
Andrew Peterson. After the Last Tear Falls. 2003

The Now and the Not Yet

Our church produced an Advent journal this year and I was able to write two of the devotionals.  This is the devotional for December 5, 2018.

Scripture Reading: Zephaniah 3:14-20

The Now and the Not Yet

“If I find in myself desires which

nothing in this world can satisfy,

the only logical explanation is that

I was made for another world.”

C.S. Lewis

Longing is a very real part of living shared by all of humanity. We try hard to quiet it, sometimes in unhealthy ways, but it eventually returns like an unwelcome intruder in the dead of night. We yearn to close the chapter on longing, to permanently wave goodbye to our unmet desires and the ensuing pain and suffering. We ache to be satisfied in the now while longing for completion in the not yet. Ultimately we long for another world. We long for Heaven.

The holidays can amplify the tension of living in the now and the not yet. As pilgrims on the road between the garden and glory, the Advent season, meant as a time of holy remembrance and anticipation, can easily be overrun by shopping, parties, and fun or tense family gatherings. Spiritual amnesia can set in leaving us overwhelmed, disappointed, and exhausted.

Today, let us choose to remember, to rest and reflect, to shift our focus to the baby, our Savior. Choose to celebrate the new covenant birthed when the Word was made flesh. Marvel that God became a newborn and fulfilled the ancient prophecies with his first cry in a stable.

But, let us also anticipate that Jesus, the baby, the Messiah, the only one to conquer death is coming again for us and then our longing will be complete!

The Lord has taken away the judgments against you;

he has cleared away your enemies.

The King of Israel, the Lord, is in your midst;

you shall never again fear evil.

Zephaniah 3:15 ESV

Amy Grant. The Now and the Not Yet. 1984

Unmolding

Do you ever feel like you just don't fit?  Like you are a square peg repeatedly failing, through no fault of your own, to fit into a tiny, round hole?  Welcome to the club, it's huge and full of countless secret members.  We all have stories to tell about our often sad and/or hilarious attempts to assimilate.

One time, not long after moving to San Antonio I joined a new Bible study.  After a few months I was asked to join the leadership team.  It was a big deal and I eagerly accepted the invitation. The group had been a godsend to me as a recent transplant from the Houston area and it finally felt like I belonged, or could at least fake it.  Turns out I should have read the fine print, or at least paid attention to the details, and rules.....but I was desperate so I dove in head first.

Very early one Saturday morning I woke up before my alarm sounded in anticipation of my first leader's meeting, which started promptly at 7:00 or 7:30 am. I have forgotten the actual time, probably because it was TOO EARLY and I blocked it from my memory.  I desperately wanted to look put together.  Thankfully, my idea of put together has changed over the years, but back then I was even more fashion backward than I am now.  I dressed in jeans and a cute (I thought), funny t-shirt about ewes going to heaven, which I had purchased with hard-earned money from my $6.00-an-hour job.  Cool.

I arrived and promptly got lost, but no worries I knew how to get "unlost".  The class secretary was outside and ready to help.  She took one look at me and asked if I had been informed of the dress code.   Dress code?  I'm sure my eyes popped out of my head.  I wanted to BLEND in, not stand out, but stand out I did, because women leaders were required to wear dresses/skirts, pantyhose, makeup, etc., even at the ungodly hour of 7 something on a Saturday morning.  (That amounts to cruel and unusual punishment for a young, single person, IMHO.)   So much for faking it.....  It would be obvious to all that I simply did not fit the cool mold.  I teased my leader for years for not telling me, even though it wasn't her job, it was just something that happened that makes me die laughing now because in my mind it was as bad as showing up naked!  One thing I CAN pin on her though was that she recommended me for leadership and it was one of the BEST things that ever happened to me.  But back to the story......

So, there I was, an insecure, awkward 20-year-old girl, trying to fit in with a new group of people.  My face was probably 50 shades of red, and I was nervous and clammy.  Everyone was gracious, but I was mortified.  You had better believe that I never made that mistake again.  I dressed exactly as required.  I learned how to fit the mold for awhile, until I didn't.

Eventually something happened: I grew.  Both spiritually and, um, physically.  I gained about 40 pounds, which was a no-no in this Bible study.  After about 5 years in leadership I was "counseled" about my weight.  I was asked to step on a scale and weigh in.  I was reminded about the sin of gluttony.  I was shamed by my new teaching leaders and the area director.  Appearances mattered in this crowd and I did not look the way I was supposed to look.

It was very hurtful, and although I DID need to lose weight, I could not understand how being overweight prevented me from serving God.  I quit and promptly gained more weight, probably because I was sad and depressed.  For awhile I was bitter and feared more judgment because it was obvious that whether it be my appearance, education, relationship status, career, finances, sense of humor, or just the quirky things that made me, me, I never really fit the mold.

I was different.  I was home schooled when it was illegal and never went to college.  I did not get married or have children.  I drove inexpensive cars and shopped at Wal-Mart, how very "un" PC of me.  I liked different music, art, high brow AND low brow literature.  I tried really, really hard to fit in, but I was never the right kind of beautiful.  The right kind of funny.  The right kind of smart.  The right kind of Christian.  I faked it for a long time because I never wanted to be exposed and feel the humiliation of sticking out like a sore thumb ever again.

I threw myself into work and other activities.  I led Bible studies in my home, volunteered more at church, and pursued my passion for travel.  Slowly I began shedding a lot of the girl others said I should be, who I had been trained to become to please everyone.  I began to "unmold" myself from their expectations and started to mold myself into who I thought I should be.   Uh-oh. 

Now, I don't know about you, but I am REALLY good at living in denial and lying to myself, so "living my truth" was a disaster.  I was difficult and bitchy a lot, I was critical and judgmental,  still uncomfortable in my own skin.  And sadly, sometimes I still can be the worst version of myself.  No matter how hard I tried, I was still unsatisfied and unsure of why God created me or bothered to love me.  Grace was a struggle for me.  Thankfully, despite my failures, God granted me deep faith.  I began to ask him to mold me into HIS image because my version and everyone else's version had failed me.

That change in mindset was the most liberating thing I had ever done and I became less and less concerned with what others thought.  As I embraced what made me unique and forgave those who had hurt me I found peace and freedom.  After all, they did not mean to hurt me anymore than I meant to hurt people.  

Almost 30 years later I am most definitely still in the process of letting God unmold me from myself and mold me into his image.  I am a big, fat work in progress, but I am surrounded by a wonderful group of friends, many from that Bible study group who welcomed a young misfit all those years ago.  Despite how much work I still have to do on myself, they love me, and I love them.

For my fellow misfits, ask yourselves how God made you uniquely you.  Is it your presence?  The way you love others?  The Jesus people see in you?  Things like your appearance, the way you talk, or the way you express yourself?  Your smile, your gifts, the way you see the world?  What sets YOU apart?  Whatever it is, lean into it.  (Not if it's sin though, that's a different topic entirely!)

I no longer stress out over not fitting in and don't try to pretend I'm normal.  My current church is full of people who have very different lives, finances, and social circles than I do, they may even have different politics (gasp!), but I love them and they love me, despite our differences.  If you struggle, please remember that no one is as normal as they would have you believe.  Be the person who stands out and makes a difference in this world.  Be kind, love well, and be free in Christ.  Conformity is boring anyway!

A Wedding, Some Water and a Whole Lotta Wine

When I think of a Jewish wedding, I can’t help but picture the wedding scene in Fiddler on the Roof.  It is easy for me to imagine myself attending such a sacred event full of symbolism and romance and then enjoying the fun after party, so different and yet so much the same as our modern-day weddings.  

Can you see it?  

Lots of music, amazing dances, food spilling onto the tables and cups running over with wine.  So much joy.  So much love.  So much hope.  Kind of makes me want to crash a wedding! 

A long time ago in a city far, far away there was another wedding feast I would love to have crashed; a glorious celebration in honor of a new bride and groom.  This one was also Jewish and set in Cana of Galilee.  Oh what I would give to have seen it with my own eyes. 

You may have heard the story, it is famous after all.  It’s even in the BIBLE.  Jesus was there and played a big, unexpected role that day. It became the scene of his first publicly recorded miracle, an interesting choice for the Messiah if you ask me.  There are so many things to unpack in this story, but I can’t help but wonder about the things that were left untold, especially as it relates to the bride.

I wonder if she ever even knew what happened?  We will likely never know because the text does not indicate if the bride, groom, or guests were aware of the situation.  But still, I wonder......maybe, just maybe she did catch wind of the situation.  If so, I really want to know what she felt.  Can you put yourself in her shoes?  A nervous young woman, excited, full of trepidation, celebrating her new union, anticipating her wedding night, envisioning her entire future.  And they go and run out of wine.  At the biggest party of her life!  Uh-oh.  Did the guests suspect there was a problem?  Did she look around and imagine whispers, disappointment, and judgment on the faces of her guests?  Did she worry that the gossip mongers would flay her in the court of village opinion?  Did she panic at the thought of HER wedding becoming infamous?  Did she cry?  Did she fear that it foretold a future empty of provision?  Perhaps these are questions for heaven, but I still like to contemplate them here on earth.

And what about the ones who most likely DID know what was happening.  The ever faithful servants.  Those in the trenches, laboring unnoticed to make the party go off without a hitch.  Isn't that the way it usually is?  I envision them eyeing each other and shaking their heads surreptitiously.  Maybe whispering about the impending doom when the wine jugs ran dry, nervously wondering if they would somehow be blamed for the gross miscalculation.  

Enter a compassionate mama who had been through the ringer of the gossip mill already, what with that virgin birth and all....    

• Mary asked Jesus to help.  
• Jesus told her it wasn't his time yet.    
• Mary knew better and knowingly instructed the servants to do whatever he asked.  
• Jesus considered his options.
• Mary waited and perhaps smiled in anticipation of what her son would do next.

And then Jesus.

He asked the servants to fill 6 stone jars with water.  Not just any old jars mind you, but those reserved for the Jewish rites of purification.  Those huge jugs, with a capacity to hold 20-30 gallons, were likely full of dirt, bacteria, and the last dregs of polluted water from who knows how many filthy hands.  Sounds delicious.

Once they were full he instructed a servant to take a cup of the “water” to the wedding master, and shockingly he did!  I may very well have run the other way, shaking my head and telling people that the guest named Jesus was a lunatic.  But that servant obeyed without pause and did what Jesus asked.  Just like that.  We all know what happened next.  That dirty water became the BEST wine anyone had ever tasted.

Whoa.   A miracle.  At a wedding.  Using wine.  If I had been a guest I would have spent the rest of the feast watching Jesus, completely ignoring the bride and groom, and possibly (doubtfully) even the food.  Maybe that’s why he kept it to himself, so the rest of the guests would not get distracted.  He wasn't ready to reveal himself just yet, but a few saw what he did and became very loyal followers.

I’ve read, studied, and listened to many sermons about this miracle.  Everyone has an opinion, and most are much smarter and have studied Biblical history more than I have.  I don’t pretend to know or understand all of the nuances, but I do believe it was significant that this was the scene of miracle numero uno.

So what gives?  Why now?  Why a wedding?  Why wine? 

To be honest, I have NO idea.  I just have some personal thoughts and observations that a theologian would probably trash.  But, the thing about Scripture is that every time I read it God teaches me something new, even when I have read the story a hundred times.  Or, sometimes He just uses it to remind me of something I already knew.  For this particular miracle, I have been pondering some of the following things:

The venue is curious.  Why a wedding?  And why wine?  Didn't he know that many Western Christians would be teetotalers, unwilling to admit it was REAL wine?  In all seriousness, I was taught to believe it was grape juice, or that the alcohol was minimal and only used to rid the water of dangerous bacteria.  Frankly I find that explanation ludicrous now and drink REAL WINE every Sunday during communion.  But I digress, perhaps the fact that Jesus chose a wedding for his first publicly recorded miracle has something to do with the church being the bride of Christ.  A foretelling of our own glorious wedding feast with Jesus.  One with no stress, no lack of provision, and no judgment.

Also fascinating is his odd response to his mother's petition.  It always makes me smile and shake my head.  Was he trying to put Mary in her place as a mere human?  Was he trying to increase her faith?  Was it simply normal, teasing banter between mother and son?  Did he want to make sure those around him knew what he was about to do?  This was probably the first miracle his disciples ever witnessed.  Not to mention the servants.  Did they think he was just a few cards short of a full deck?  Were they instant believers once the wedding master tasted the wine?  So many unanswered questions!    

Mary must have seen him perform miracles in the past.  She knew he would not let the bride, groom, or the hosts be humiliated.  She asked him to intervene and believed he would despite his initial response.  Her faith did not waiver.  She prepared for the unexpected.  She instructed the servants to obey.  She waited expectantly.  And he revealed his deep love for her by providing, likely above and beyond what she could have ever imagined.  He provided the wine.  He prevented the humiliation of the wedding hosts, bride, groom, family.  All because Mary asked,  believed and then waited.  He loves us that much too.  For a girl who fears lack, the thought flattens me; it is so powerful and humbling.  He is always ready to do the same for those who put their trust in him.  Sometimes with a miracle, and sometimes simply by using others to be his hands and feet, but make no mistake, he will always provide.  And he will almost never do it in the way we expect.

Above all things what I love the most about this miracle is how it mimics what he does for us.  He takes dirty, earthen vessels and fills them with the choicest wine.  He takes ordinary things and makes them spectacular.  We need only ask, believe, obey, and wait for him to act.

What stands out to you about this miracle?  

Welcome to Dizzy Land - Living Happily Ever After in the Land of POTS

Photo by Porapak Apichodilok from Pexels

Once upon a time......

Long ago in a land far.......

It's a small world after all,
It's a small world after all,
It's a small world after all,
it's a small, small, world.

Not only is it small, it is STA-RANGE.  The Land of POTS is the type of place people try to avoid, or at the very least leave as soon as humanly possible.  It has zero charm and offers more than its fair share of unpredictability, especially when the sun beats down mercilessly during the long, hot, summer months.  That is when you will find most POTSTONIANS shriveled up in despair, wondering how much longer they can hold on without losing their everloving minds.

If you ever meet a genuine POTSTONIAN in person, there are a few things you should know:

1. None of us chose to live in the Land of POTS.  Its almost like we were exiled for some unknown crime.
2. Most of us never even knew it existed.  It is not on your typical "map of the world."   
3. We are not happy to be stuck in The Land of POTS with no idea if we will ever get to leave.
4. We have been forced to learn a new language with big words like Dysautonomia.
5. We do not like the benefits offered, and the medical care is especially lacking.  Worse, most doctors speak an entirely different language.
6. We are bored with drinking a gallon of water every single day, and pray to God it does not contain lead.  We're looking at you Michigan.
7. We are tired of being forced to ride the merry-go-round all day, every day.  Being dizzy is no longer amusing....
8. We are exhausted by the variety of migraines we endure.  My personal "favorite" is the ocular migraine with its weird kaleidoscope vision, which could also be a TIA.  I feel like the carnival master is yelling, "Step right up and spin the wheel to learn your fate!  Is it a migraine or is it a stroke?  What will it be today lady?"  
9. We are tired of our hearts racing as if we're running a marathon when we are NOT MOVING AT ALL.
10. We would LOVE it if our extremities would quit swelling already and return to their normal size.  Elephant feet and Pillsbury Dough hands are not attractive.
11. We would prefer NOT to pass out due to heat, exercise, standing or sitting up for too long.
12. We are tired, and also, we are tired of being tired ALL.OF.THE.DANG.TIME.

Personally, I have been unimpressed with my new, small world.  It is certainly not the "happily ever after" I was hoping to find.  Everyone's vision of "happily ever after" is different, but a key component of mine is travel.  For many years I dreamed big and followed my traveling dreams by exploring many different countries.  Sometimes I traveled with friends and sometimes I had only my backpack and journal to keep me company.  The places I visited and the experiences I had are great memories that bring much joy now that I am stuck in the Land of POTS.  I am grateful to have experienced so much of this BIG, beautiful world before I was exiled.  My world view expanded and shifted, and I grew in confidence and grace as I explored this amazing creation.  My faith deepened as saw I God's creativity through a variety of cultures that make humanity so rich.  I learned to love our differences.

It was an amazing time for me, but as my health failed and hampered my footloose-and-fancy-free lifestyle, I began to lose heart.  Almost literally because my heart was working triple time to keep up with the defect that was silently killing me.  Thankfully it was repaired by way of a true miracle and I had a few weeks of feeling like a normal person.  And then - EXILE!  My world suddenly shrunk.  Sometimes I feel like I live in a minimum security prison, although I am sure that is far from the truth.  Yet, freedom and choices have been ripped away or limited, and worse, instead of dreaming big, I now dream much smaller dreams like standing up without passing out or simply leaving my house.  I dream of living without constant palpitations and a racing heart.  I dream of living a single day without an ocular migraine.  I dream of dainty hands and feet (okay, that will NEVER happen because I am built like my father, but still!)  And I dream of imbibing caffeine again.  Sigh.

Some days are better than others, although almost all mornings are difficult.  This past week has been rough.  Last Sunday was particularly difficult as I was singing with the worship team.  Unbeknownst  to anyone (I hope) was the fact that I was very close to passing out.  The hot Texas sun streaming through the windows, combined with the struggling air conditioner was a bit much for my body to take.  The dizziness returned with a vengeance.  I started seeing kaleidoscopes and grew lightheaded, while my heart decided to run a marathon.  Boomboomboomboomboomboomboom, boomboomboom, BOOMBOOM, BOOOOOOOM,..............boom.boom.  My feet were swelling out of my shoes and I was sweating profusely.  I really wanted to just lie down where I was and take a long nap.  But I also wanted to worship and push through my own temporary discomfort.  I did not want POTS to win.  By God's grace I survived without an embarrassing fall, but I still left discouraged. 

POTS is a big annoyance, and although not as serious as heart failure or pulmonary hypertension, there is no cure, which leaves very little room for hope.  As my doctor so "kindly" put it, "Well, it won't kill you."  (You can rest assured that he was still in one piece when I left his office....)  He then went on to say that there is nothing that will really help.  Diet doesn't make it go away.  Neither does weight loss or exercise.  Those things are important, but there is no cure, and there are equal numbers of skinny, fit people who also suffer in silence.  My choices are to get enough sleep, never drink caffeine, never drink alcohol, wear compression garments (in this heat??), use ONLY the recumbent bike to exercise, and whatever I do, NEVER, EVER get overheated.  Except I live in South Texas, so there's that......

As any citizen of the Land of POTS will tell you, trying to live happily ever after when nothing works right and is not fixable is daunting.  Learning to fight for ourselves when the doctors wash their hands of us is a rough road.  Trying to be kind when people tell us what they are SURE will work, as if we had not already tried it, or thought about it, or researched it to death.  Attempting to educate people who will never understand how difficult it is to live dizzy and swollen with kaleidoscope vision, as you run a daily marathon.  All while knowing it could be worse, which actually serves to make us feel guilty.  For me personally, I end up feeling like a whiner because I actually HAVE survived far worse.  It feels silly to be felled by something that "won't kill me".   

If you have read anything I have written, you know that I do not sugar-coat things.  I do not have ten Bible verses in my pocket that will make everything better if you just memorize them.  I have not found  five easy steps to living your best life.  I DO unabashedly call it like I see it and the truth is: we were not promised "happily ever after" in this life.  We are promised trials and tribulations, but we tend to overlook those verses in the Bible.  Everyone, even a lot of Christians, think if they just had "x,y,z" then their lives would be perfect and they could live out their fairy-tale dreams.  It feels true in the longing for it, but it is a lie.  The initial rush that comes from getting what you always wanted eventually gives way to the mundane.  The varnish always wears off and what remains is REALITY.   Fairy tales always end happily, but real life doesn't always end that way this side of heaven.  Real life gives way to the truth of the gospel because there is nothing quite like living in a fallen world to reveal our need for redemption.  Maybe the "happily ever after" we all seek is really found in eternity with our Creator.  

I have experienced the worst parts of a fairy tale.  Flood, fire, abuse, American-style poverty, neurosurgery, heart surgery, autoimmune disease, POTS, caring for two ailing parents, and probably more to come.  No Prince Charming has rescued me, kissed me awake, or pursued me with a glass slipper in hand.  But, I have a Savior who has never let me go; who has pursued me into the darkest nights of the soul; who has showered me with love, and rescued me from a burning building.  I have experienced the depth of love that my Savior lavishes on me.  New mercy each morning.  Grace that covers my multitude of sins.  Comfort that only God can bring to my soul.  Peace that cannot be explained in human terms.  Joy that is found in the strength of the Lord.  A rich faith that comes from sharing in the sufferings of Christ.  And lately, rest that only comes in casting my burdens on Him.  

My circumstances have not and may never change.  There will be days when I am not okay with that, but mostly I have learned to let go of control and let God work his will for me.  Do I wish I did not have to deal with C-PTSD?  ABSOLUTELY.  Do I want to spend time recovering from more suffering?  NO.  Do I want to have to survive one more terrible event?  NOPE.  I do not wish for those things, and, in fact, pray like Jesus did for the cup to be taken from me.  But if it is not God's plan for me, then I know I can live joyfully through the pain because I have the Trinity on my side.  Jesus is my joy when my story is messy.  He is my hope when the doctors fall short.  He is my peace when life is topsy-turvy.  He is the reason I am still kicking.   No matter how you suffer, remember that you can find joy in the journey, even if it doesn't look like you thought it would.