The Big "E"

The eye doctor removed my glasses and instructed me to look at the wall in front of me.  "What do you see?" she asked.  I could sort of make out the largest letter, the big "E", but only because I already knew what it was.  We both chuckled because even though we KNEW there were a bunch of other letters projected onto the wall, we also knew that I could not make them out for a million dollars because she had my glasses in her hands.      The thing is, my unaided vision is severely limited.

After the doctor worked her magic by asking me over and over which lens helped me see the letters clearly, I was given a new prescription and whisked away to the display of eyeglasses so I could pick out a new pair.  It would not be long and I would have new glasses to help me work, read, drive, cook and even walk down the street better than I had been managing with the old ones.

The first time I was fitted for glasses and contacts was a really long time ago.  My mom never believed that I had difficulty seeing and declined to take me to the eye doctor.  She was convinced that I only wanted glasses because when I was in third grade my best friend had needed them.  Ha, I wish!  What third grader wants to be called four eyes?  Finally a test at school when I was thirteen convinced her that I really did need visual help.  Driving home from my first eye doctor appointment with a pair of contacts stuck in my eyes, I was delightedly reading road signs and pointing out all of the things I could now see.  It was like scales had fallen from my eyes!  I was so excited to have VISION restored and to see all that I had been missing.  Everything was brighter, everything was sharper and nothing was blurry.  It was amazing.

One of the weird things about wearing contacts is getting used to putting them in your eyes and then keeping them there.  Though it took more work, I simply saw things better when I was wearing contacts than when I was wearing glasses.  Plus vanity.....  

In the beginning I could not put in my contacts alone.  My older brother, himself a contact wearer, had to be enlisted to help me learn how to put the contacts in and how to take them out safely.  I had to learn to put eye drops in to keep my eyes moist.  I had to learn how to SEE differently than I was used to seeing and I needed help to do it.

Isn't that a lot like faith?  I don't know about you, but thirty-five years after I became a Jesus Freak (look it up if you don't get the reference.)  I still frequently need help to see things differently because now I see through a glass darkly (I Corinthians 13:12a).  I don't see well physically OR spiritually without help.  I need the clarity of the Holy Spirit teaching me the ways of God and a community of friends who can help give me a different perspective so I can grow in wisdom and grace.           

Whenever I finally grasp a new spiritual truth, I act like my thirteen year-old-self on the car ride home all those years ago.  I get excited!  I see things clearly!  I finally see what I have been missing and for a little while all seems right in the world.  My attitude improves, I have greater peace and I feel hugged by God.  It is always an amazing feeling.  

But as time progresses, just like in real life, my vision starts to fade again.  I start having trouble seeing things clearly and I know it is time for a check-up.  I wish I could always see things perfectly but as the end of the verse in I Corinthians states, "but then I will see face to face."  Perfect spiritual vision is one of the promises of Heaven, and it will be glorious, but in the meantime I must pray for spiritual eyes to see and know the things of God.  I must let the Holy Spirit guide me.  I must seek help from friends and do the extra work required to see things more clearly, because even if I see things perfectly in one area, there are many other areas where my vision is skewed.  I am so grateful that even if my physical vision fades to nothing, my spiritual eyes will always be able to focus on the big "G"  as long as I walk in faith.  

And now I need to go make my eye appointment because my vision is starting to get a little rusty. 

You Can Find Every Race in the Face of Jesus

"You can find every race in the face of Jesus."

Would it surprise you to learn that Jim Carey originated that gem?  Yes, the very same Jim Carey who starred in such sophisticated movies as Dumb and Dumber, The Mask, and Ace Ventura: Pet Detective.

A man who is not sure if Jesus even existed understands something very important:

Jesus represents ALL humans.  Every.Single.One.

He did not come for the people of just one continent.

He did not come for the people of just one class.  

He did not come for the people of just one race.  

He came for everyone.

Jim Carey painting his portrait of Jesus

Our world is in trouble.  We could use a good dose of Jesus right about now, not religion, certainly not politics, but Jesus and his love, mercy, and grace.

Have you noticed that a lot of people are angry almost all of the time?  Just catch me when I'm driving and you will see what I mean.  I speak "sailor" expertly, especially when that person just cut me off, or is driving too slow, or appears to be putting on makeup, or is definitely texting.  I take it personally.  I am certain it was done on purpose.

Have you noticed that so many people are hyper-offended all the time? Sniffing out offenses like obsessive, rabid dogs.  Lifting their chins in what they are certain is "righteous anger".  And then shouting their opinion and reasons why they have a RIGHT to be offended, and by the way you should be offended too.  Take a quick look  at comments on Internet posts, letters to the editor, or listen to callers on talk radio, or even supposedly "unbiased" news media or radio commentators.  Sometimes we are RIGHT in our anger, but somewhere along the way we have lost the ability to have a constructive conversation about anything, let alone things that really matter.

Have you noticed that if you want to talk about race, and the very real problems we still have with it in our own backyard, you had better be prepared to duck because someone, somewhere is likely to be offended?  And Rodney King's plea falls on deaf ears.

Can't we all just get along?

Can't we all just take a deep breath and at least agree that the last few years have been tough for race relations in our country?  All of the death, all of the heartbreak, all of the pain.  Will it ever end?  Is there hope that we can resolve these issues and heal the deep, festering wounds?  Because even if you deny them, it will never change the fact that they are still there.

I used to believe that the state of our union was better than it has proven to be.  Surely the issues were more related to class than race.  But, I had never looked into the issue of racism in depth, probably because it did not really affect me or those closest to me.  That is sinful and ugly, but it is true.

When the Southern Baptist Convention fumbled last year something in me snapped.  I was so grieved.  Why?  I am a white, VERY white, woman.  I have not been personally affected by racism.  It has simply not been part of my experience.  And it certainly has not affected my immediate family, although it has affected some of my extended family.  But that did not relieve my grief.

And then my friend decided to start a Be the Bridge Racial Reconciliation Group.
And she asked me to join.
And I did not want to do it.
And then I did it because I knew God was moving in my cynical heart.
And then I started looking at the history of our country.
Not just the cleaned up version I was taught, but the uglier realities.
And then I started looking at the policies leading to systemic abuse, policies that were created by the powerful and elite on BOTH sides of the political aisle. 
And worse, I started looking at the history of the American church in the South.
And I was disheartened. Sometimes the truth can do that to you before it sets you free.

But this group. This group is good, and hard, and educational, and sometimes uncomfortable, and deeply spiritual.  We all recognize the need to dive deeply into this conversation because we are Christians of all races, classes, and cultures.  What a beautiful way to show the transforming work of Jesus.  Not only do we want to be transformed personally, we want to be change agents just like Jesus was and still is.

But this group.  This group is demanding.  It requires that all of us, no matter our race, look at the reality of our own prejudices.  How our own upbringings and experiences have shaped our attitudes.  People of every race, every culture and every class are guilty of holding prejudiced views against those who are different from them.  No one is let off the hook when it comes to examining dearly held, but flawed beliefs.  A quick review of history proves it.  So let's just say that we are all pulling big ole' planks out of our eyes.  And somehow our vision is clearer.  Funny how that works.

But this group.  This group is safe.  It has created an environment that allows a white woman like me to ask questions that I would fear voicing in a more public space.  We have our very own safe space even though we're not in college.  😊  This group allows each of us the freedom to say things that might offend.  Because we took the time to know each other's hearts early on, we reap the benefits when we discuss the really hard and ugly stuff.

But this group.  This group is personal.  We know, love and ENJOY each other.  We laugh, cry and argue almost every time we meet, but we always end with laughter and hugs.  It's how we roll.

But this group.  This group is special.  I have learned so much.  I am honored to call each member a friend and I love them all to pieces!  It is always beneficial to listen and understand how others experience the world.  I was surprised at how unaware I was of the deep hurt a lot of them carry.  Awareness is a good thing.


I have learned a lot of things I wish were not true about myself and my own prejudices
I have learned a lot of things I wish were not true about this country..

It is hard to see the ugly truth when I am safely ensconced in my bubble.  It's a good bubble, usually clean, mostly safe, and pretty comfortable. And you know what?  There is nothing wrong with my bubble, but I have to remember that it makes for a cloudier view than I would have otherwise.

One thing I have faced is my own defensiveness as a white woman.  It took me some time to recognize that, in general, our system has been set up to favor those of Western European descent.  I made a lot of excuses in defense of this country before I finally began to see things differently.  I know there are many of my friends, family and probably my two readers 😜 who disagree, and I understand why.  Terms like micro-aggression and white privilege are used aggressively now and any disagreement from a white person can get you labeled as a racist faster than you can spell Mississippi.

So even though it's risky, I will be honest outside of my safe space and tell you that the term white privilege makes me bristle.  Please hear me, I know that I am privileged.  I cannot speak for anyone else, but my problem with the term is that when it is applied, in effect it discounts all of the hard work that many white people have done to get where they are.  I personally do not believe that I have benefited from white privilege to the extent others may assume.  I have sacrificed a lot over the years; health, creature comforts, expensive homes, etc.  I also started working full time at 16 and spent years working 70 hour weeks to save money and ensure I could take care of myself.  Now, nearing 50 I am finally seeing some of the fruit of those years of hard work, but I still work a lot, live very frugally and save like a crazy person.  American-style poverty was a reality in my youth and I am not interested in returning to it.  So when you tell me my fruit is because of white privilege it offends me.

BUT, and this is a BIG, FAT BUT, it still doesn't mean that our system is set up to dole out equality to everyone.  Gulp.  If you disagree that's okay, but I would encourage you to do your own research.  Look at ALL points of view, not just the one you identify with and then look at studies and old newspaper articles and actual encyclopedias and real books.  Then go LISTEN and TALK to people from other races AND classes.  Get to know them and really try to put yourself in their shoes when they tell you of their experiences.  Then form your opinion.  And for the record, I am not just talking to white people.  This has to apply to everyone if we want to see permanent change.

As I write this I wonder if anyone cares.  I have no platform.  I am just a boring, kind of frumpy, overweight, white woman. Who cares what I have to say?  And you can probably rightly fault me for not saying enough even after reading all of these words.  Perhaps I'm sugar-coating things because I am afraid of judgment.  I don't know, but even though I am tempted to delete this blog or never publish it, I am compelled to say a few more things, specifically to my fellow Caucasians.

It is time to STOP calling the police because someone of a different race is sitting in a coffee shop.  

It is time to STOP calling the police because there are people of color renting the Air BNB across the street.  

It is time to STOP calling the police because you don't like the person of color falling asleep in the study hall.  

It is time to STOP denying that there are serious racial problems in our country.  

Just.STOP.It.Already.


beabridgebuilder.com

Caution: Remedial Adulting in Progress

It recently dawned on me that all of my latest posts have been fairly serious.  Since laughter is the best medicine and no one likes a Debbie Downer apart from SNL, I thought it was time for a little bit of humor, albeit at my expense.  So now I'm going to tell on myself.

The first thing you need to know about me is that  I am a remedial adult.  Seriously, "Adulting" is a term reserved for Millennials and I am squarely in the middle of Generation X, but I guess if the shoe fits.....  You would think that after 48 years on this earth I would be better at this whole "Adulting" thing.  But, whether we're talking about cooking, car maintenance, power tools, cleaning, finding love, or even just putting myself together I fail A LOT.  It is most embarrassing when I fail at dressing myself.  I rarely look in a full-length mirror or pay very much attention to my clothes.  Sometimes I try, but then I get distracted and before you know it I'm late and don't have time to finish the basics.  Believe me when I tell you that many friends have tried desperately to help me to no avail.  To top it off, fashion bores me and I am extremely frugal (read:cheap.) 

Well, way back in 1994 I started working at Genesis Treatment Center, a Christian-based mental health clinic.  To this day it is still my favorite job and there are many times when I wish I could go back to the good ole' days.  Dr. Tunnell was the best boss I have ever known and I still love him with all of my heart.  He employed an amazing staff of psychiatrists, psychologists, clinical social workers, licensed professional counselors and administrative staff.  We usually got along, and loved each other like a mildly-dysfunctional family. Those dear co-workers taught me more about unconditional love, grace and mercy than I ever learned at church.  There were still many failures on my part usually because of my immaturity and insecurities, and I deeply regret how I hurt people I genuinely loved.  But I also deeply regret something I did to myself one day.  It was such an embarrassing personal failure that it still causes me to blush when I think about it.   You see, one day I simply went downstairs to the bank.

Okay, there is a little more to the story than that.  Part of my job consisted of depositing the daily receipts.  I counted cash and checks, posted payments, reconciled statements, and wrote deposit tickets.  One day the deposit was rather large and I knew it would take the bank teller a bit of time to count everything.  This was 21 years ago and long before there were fancy money counters and check sorters.  The tellers hand counted all of it in the "olden" days.  Well, I had a terrible addiction to Dr. Pepper at the time, the kind that would find me drinking a 6-pack almost every day or two (another thing I regret because it did a number on my health.)  That meant a lot of desperate bathroom trips because I usually waited too long.  Since I knew I would be at the bank for awhile I made a fateful pit stop in the lady's room.

When I was finished ridding my body of DP, I gathered the deposit (oh, you thought I forgot it like the uncle in Life is Beautiful?  I WISH!) and headed downstairs to the bank.  Now, I am the kind of person who likes to go unnoticed, so when a few people looked at me curiously as I entered the bank it made me uncomfortable.  I fidgeted and focused on the decor and people watching, and wondered if security staff were viewing the feed from the security cameras like they show in the movies.  The bank was the focal point of the first floor with huge floor to ceiling windows and everyone who entered the building had to walk by that bank to get to the elevators. Watching those people took my mind off of why the people in the bank were looking at me strangely.  After waiting in line for 20 minutes it was finally my turn so I dutifully handed over the deposit to the teller.  She counted and recounted the money and after another 10 minutes the deposit was made.  She averted her eyes as thanked me for my business and I turned around and left with yet more people staring at me oddly.

I took the EMPTY (thank God!) elevator back to my office and entered the waiting room full of patients.  Most of them were regulars so I knew them well enough to greet them and joke around.  They were all friendly, but still looking at me with curiosity.  Then I entered the receptionists' office to talk to them for a few minutes.  As I was standing there one of them asked where I had been.  I told her I had been at the bank and she smiled, said, "And the bathroom?" and when I said yes she reached out and pulled my skirt from OUT of my UNDERWEAR!  

Y'all, I was 27 when that happened!  WAY TO OLD to make a mistake like that!  Oh my heavens my face still heats up when I even think about it, because I was also wearing a GIRDLE - that is what we called them BEFORE SPANX for all of you Millennials.  My unmentionables were on display in the waiting room full of patients I had to see EVERY WEEK!  They were on display in a bank full of customer and staff, AND recorded on the security feed.  AND NO ONE TOLD ME!  Not one person said, maybe you should pull your skirt out of your undies you ding dong!  Why, oh why did they just look at me?  Did they think it was a new fashion statement, because it wasn't.  We've already established that I do not care about fashion!   

I sulked and everyone on staff had a good laugh.  You can be certain that I was teased about that for a long time.  But I was SO embarrassed that I refused to go to the bank for almost six months!  I took the stairs so I didn't have to stand in front of the bank while waiting for the elevator.  I refused to  interact with patients for awhile either, because many of them SAW MY UNDIES!  

And then 10 years later when I was 37, I made another mistake while trying to dress myself.  I lived in a beautiful, historic section of San Antonio.  My town home was just a few blocks from the church I attended.  This was a church full of wealthy, proper people who dressed expensively and showed up with every hair in place, matching clothes, perfect accessories, etc.  I never fit in because: Remedial (and poor) Adult.  

One day I was running late for church so I quickly dressed and left so I could show up fashionably late.  Uh-oh.  You should be worrying by now.  Although I made it without being too late the church was full so I had to walk up the ailse and pass most of the congregation to sit on the left side of the church.  I can't remember what it is called, but the church was shaped like a cross, so the left front was where I was seated.  The people next to me were very polite although a few looked at me strangely, but that was nothing new because again: Remedial (and poor) Adult.  After church I greeted a  few people and then made my way to the bathroom, because I was still addicted to Dr. Pepper.  As I entered I chanced a quick look in the mirror and realized that although my skirt was NOT in my underwear, whew, my blouse was on INSIDE OUT!  I quickly put my blouse on properly and snuck out ducking my bright red face and practically ran home to hide.   Boy, those people would certainly remember me now!  How would I ever show my face again?  WHY could I not figure out how to get dressed?

Sigh, all I know is I still need some training, or maybe a life coach, or maybe A LOT of therapy so I can figure this stuff out before I do it again, otherwise I'm going to become an old lady streaker or something!   At least I've learned a few lessons from these experiences.

LESSONS:

1. Girl, CHECK YOURSELF before exiting a bathroom stall or your home!   
2. BUY a full-length mirror.  Target or Wal-mart each sell them for $10.  Well worth the cost of your DIGNITY!
3. USE said full-length mirror EVERY DAY!
4. Consider wearing PANTS because they are harder to tuck into your UNDERWEAR!

PROGRESS REPORT:

1. I bought the mirror.  
2. I forget to use it every day.
3. I'm still trying to figure out how not to put my blouses on right-side out.    
4. I wear pants almost every day now.  :-) 

Suggestions for improvement are welcome!  

With Regrets

Do you ever wake up from a dream unsure if it was real?  The thought that just maybe it was makes you break out into a cold sweat and your eyes widen in a panic as you quickly think back over your night.  You spend 10-15 minutes trying to recall every detail and then another 10-15 minutes trying to calm down because you are pretty sure it was just a dream.  But all day you keep thinking about it at the most inopportune times, indicating that you may have suddenly acquired a severe case of OCD.  Nah, me neither.

Okay, not really... About a month ago I had a terrible dream.  I woke up in a panic with tears in my eyes and my heart shattered.  In the dream I was in a brightly lit, although strangely dim room standing in the middle of a circle of people.  There was a roaring fire in a huge stone fireplace, a velvet chaise lounge in the corner, and I stood on hard, cold, stone tiles.  Worse, I was naked.  Not one stitch of clothing on me.  The people around me were jeering at me, holding pokers with red-hot tips fresh from the fire.  They jabbed at me with the pokers as they screamed out my flaws, both physical and relational.  I was wide-eyed and scared as I stood there trying desperately to shield myself from the vicious attacks and cover my nakedness.  I had no hope of rescue, my heart was racing and I thought that the experience would surely be the death of me.  And then, when I could take no more, a beautiful woman came into my view.  The woman was someone whom I knew back in reality, and she REALLY disliked me in that space.  I bore no ill will toward her, but she hated me.  As the dream wore on she simply stood and looked at me with venom in her eyes, walked to the chaise lounge, disrobed and settled in completely naked.  All of my tormentors stopped in their tracks, turned and simply admired her physical beauty.  I cowered in shame at my overweight body, imperfect features, graying hair and a multitude of other flaws.  While everyone was distracted by the gorgeous woman lounging on the chaise, I slipped away from the room and eventually woke up in my bed.

As I thought about the meaning behind the dream I came up with the usual suspects. Fear of vulnerability-especially in public, believing that I don't measure up to anyone else, comparing my physical imperfections to what I see as physical perfection in others, oh heck, the list could go to infinity and beyond.

So why did I title this post "With Regrets"?  What in the world did this dream have to do with regret?  Well, I'm SO glad you asked.

You see, that dream affected me.  One month later I STILL have not been about to shake it.  Part of me has obsessively wondered if those people have judged me as harshly in real life, and the thought nauseates me.  How could they do that to me?  How could they so cruelly and eagerly condemn and threaten me?  How??  I found myself getting angry at them, feeling hurt at how cruel they were to me.  Even though it was just a dream it felt very unfair.

Then I remembered.  

I too am capable of the same cruelty.  I too judge people harshly.  I too love like I'm fallen instead of redeemed.  And I felt nauseated all over again. Gulp.  Crocodile tears formed in my eyes and I wondered how I could do that to others?  Why am I so quick to punish others for their faults?  Why do I feel the need to gloat when I notice the flaws of others?   Why???   Enter regret.

As I began to pray about why this dream was haunting me I had a huge 'aha' moment.  The faces of my tormentors were people who had been hurt by me at some point.  I had either been cruel and judgmental or they believed that I had been.  They were convinced that I did not like them, or that I enjoyed hurting them, or worse that I had done it on purpose.  Every.Single.Person.  My hurt and anger over their judgment as I stood in that circle was the same hurt and anger they held toward me. They were wounding me out of self-protection.  They were walking the bitter road of retaliation.

A fork in the road presented itself.  I could choose to walk down the same road as the tormentors in my dream (e.g. family, friends, frenemies, co-workers, acquaintances, anonymous critics from social media.)  I could wear the wrongs done to me like a comfy, old coat, refusing to shed it even when I was hot and miserable.  Or, I could shed the old outerwear and take the dusty road, the one that is usually uncrowded because it's harder, the road of forgiveness and mercy.  The road paved with grace and peace.  The road of unconditional love.

As I think about writing a book and revealing my story the thought of people telling on me, publicly criticizing me, defaming me is a bit hard to swallow.  Vulnerability is not my strong suit and I know that although sometimes I have been innocent of the charges against me, but more often than not I have been guilty.  I have not acting lovingly, I have let my own deep fears and insecurities lead me instead of letting Jesus love through me. And I regret it.  Deeply.

It is time.

Time to confess my own sin.  Time to take the medicine I have refused and let Jesus heal the festering wounds.  Time to grant my Creator access to those ugly and embarrassing insecurities so that I can learn to love others well instead of offering them cruelty and judgment.  It is time to say goodbye to fear and walk boldly into the calling God has placed on my life and that starts with righting the wrongs.

It is time.

I refuse to waste my time regretting unimportant things like bad haircuts, (in my defense it WAS the 1980s in Houston), wardrobe choices (satin aquamarine pants - hey it was the 1970s!), and some of my weaker moments, usually involving food (it tasted good!) or secrets from my backpacking trips to Europe (shhhh!) 

BUT, for the rest of my life I will regret the ways I have hurt people.  If you are one of the unlucky ones please know that I am sorry.  Truly sorry.  If opportunity presents itself I will apologize, ask for forgiveness and work to make it right.  But, if you are someone who has been hurt by me and I am unaware of it, PLEASE gently let me know and I will work to make it right.  It is important to find reconciliation and healing with each other and it is one of the most beautiful ways to show the love of Christ.

And for all the drivers on the road who remain anonymous to me, I really am sorry.  I'm repenting of my road rage too!

365 Days

31,536,000 seconds
525,600 minutes
8,760 hours
365 days
52 weeks
12 months

ONE YEAR.  Countless heartbeats.  Fast, slow, erratic.  Emotions brimming.  Fear, anger, hope, joy.  Sometimes calm.  Sometimes hysterical.  Sometimes happy.  Sometimes sad.  Sometimes angry.  Mostly grateful.

I wish I could say I've handled everything gracefully, but that would be a big, fat LIE.  Felled frequently by exhaustion, my most faithful companion, I look and feel tired.  Stopped in my tracks by arrhythmias and dizziness that consistently remind me that things are not quite right with the old ticker. Ocular migraines alter my vision almost weekly and sometimes I get so short of breath I wonder if I'm going back into heart failure. In those moments I find myself clinging to Jesus for my next breath.  To combat all of these symptoms I need a lot of sleep and a lot of downtime, but I rarely get either.  There are nights when my heart rate drops so low that I fear it will simply stop beating.  Those are the nights I  plead with God for one more day, ever mindful that only HE knows the length of my time on this earth.

Now that I have a 36 mm piece of Nitinol (Titanium/Nickel) in the middle of my heart I notice every flutter, squeeze or arrhythmia.  For many months it felt like my heart was trying to squeeze the device out of me.  Laying on my left side brought an uncomfortable sensation that would startle me awake every night.  Needless to say, I learned very quickly not to sleep on my left side!  One thing I've learned about my particular heart defect is that the outcomes are much better for the younger crowd and/or those with smaller holes.  I don't fit into either category and I'm not gonna lie, that is a bit disconcerting.  And knowing that I was diagnosed with this defect as a baby, but was never treated and never told about it can sometimes paralyze me as I struggle with the permanent damage to my body.  It's hard not to wonder what might have been "if only"........ 

Fast forward to the start of 2018.  It looked promising.  Although POTS was still rearing its very ugly head and heart issues still plagued me, I was hopeful that things would improve.  Until January 27.  That is the day we discovered that my dad had experienced a few heart attacks sometime in the recent past.  Three days later my mother had a stroke.  Then my dad had open heart surgery.  And then my mom spent six weeks in rehab, angrily I might add.  And then I almost had my own heart attack because of all of the stress.  

As I write this, one year after my own heart surgery, trudging through the thick mud of my parents' recoveries, figuring out how to love and honor them instead of living in bitterness over their failures with my own health, I instead find myself living a new normal. Learning how to lovingly take care of them and my own fragile health.  Learning how lean hard into forgiveness.  Learning to put this Humpty-Dumpty life back together again.  God is so patient, merciful and gracious as I clumsily try to fit each piece back into place.  It's like a really tedious puzzle with a million pieces that would challenge even the best puzzler.  Some of the pieces changed and simply do not fit right anymore.  Some pieces grew, making for a tight fit (kind of like my jeans lately), but it stretches me in good ways (better ways than I stretch my jeans.)  Some pieces shrunk exposing gaps, but it's okay because those pieces were taking up too much space, besides, the pieces that grew will fill in the blank spaces.  Some pieces shattered into tiny shards, making it hard to find them, those buggers take a lot of time and effort to repair and place in the proper spot.  Other pieces stayed exactly as they were, which could be good and could be bad, only time will tell.  Then there is the problem with the picture that no longer matches the front of the puzzle box.  It looks nothing like it. Not even close.  It  is frustrating to put the puzzle together when the picture doesn't match but it is turning out to be okay.  I'm learning to focus on the most important pieces and not worry about the rest of them.

Through it all God has blessed me with amazing friends who show up for crisis after crisis, stick around in the hard times, forgive my failures, love me even when I'm a brat, AND offer wise counsel and heartfelt prayers.  Who could hope for more?  They are the hands and feet of Jesus when I can't figure out what to do next.  They are part of the reason I am not (yet) insane.

Looking back I think I should be depressed or something, but I'm actually really happy and at peace because through it all my faith has deepened and I have seen God show up in the most beautiful ways.  He keeps reminding me that  HE is THERE in the middle of the mess.  Picking up the broken pieces.  Lovingly putting me back together to reveal a more beautiful picture than what I could ever hope to create.  He is proving that even when life is hard, circumstances are impossible and people disappoint me, HE WILL NOT FAIL ME.  His reasons for affliction may not make sense to me, but he never lets me go.  He never stops proving his deep love for me.  He never stops revealing new things about his character.  He never stops offering me mercy and grace despite my sin.  Despite my failures.  Despite my anger.  He goes into the depths of despair with me AND to the top of the mountain.  He is worthy of worship in both places and as I know from experience, the richness of our relationship is directly related to the affliction.  Suffering, pain, wounding, those all reveal my need for a savior and lead me to the only safe place where my heart is free.  Looking back, I can see every scar from the last 365 days, but they have never looked so beautiful to me.

4 Months

4 months today. It's surreal. Recovery is taking a long time. I still have scary episodes, as recently as today in fact. But, I do feel better most of the time. I'm still impatient and easily frustrated by my limitations and the heat, especially the heat. It really messes with my heart rate, which is always unexpected, even though it's hot every.dang.day. Really, really hot. I know, I live in South Texas and it's August so the heat is not news. I just have to be more careful than I had to be a few years ago. It's not a big deal when I remember how ill I was before April 4. :-)

I'm still amazed that I was spared the worst outcome. To benefit from a true miracle is a humbling experience. It almost flattened me more than the struggles ever did. I'm grateful and awed. God was obvious as I walked, crawled and cried my way along a very difficult road. He carried me and lavished his grace and mercy on me without reservation even though I deserved none of it. And he hasn't stopped. But that's what he does. It's his nature. I'd sure like to grow into that kind of woman. Someone who lavishes that same grace and mercy on others. Even when they don't deserve it. I'm working on that. It isn't easy to tame my temper and respond graciously when I'm hurt or angry. But life is too short to not love well, because I am loved well. I hope you are too.

Weebles Wobble but They Don't Fall Down

Today not only marks our country's independence, it marks three months since my heart was patched. My independence from heart failure if you will. :-) We're getting used to each other this patch and I. It hasn't been an easy relationship, but I'm committed to making it work. I hope Nite is too. (That's my nickname for the little booger.)

I wish I could say things are perfect. They're not. But I can say they are better. I have more good days than bad ones. I'm still impatient to be completely well, whatever that means, but I have a VERY long way to go in that regard.

I've had many medical appointments of late, lots of routine tests. And last week I got a phone call. Something suspicious was on the mammogram. Awesome. Many women get call backs, but this was new for me since my last one and I will admit that I was a bit nervous. I had a choice to make when I received that call. There were a few tears and then I remembered that God knows what he is doing even if circumstances indicate otherwise to my human eyes. Lord help my unbelief!

So I did something very mature. I started singing the Weebles song from my childhood.  Yes, I could have chosen something more spiritual, but nope, it was the Weebles song (google it if you are too young to know what I'm referring to.) It's a really good thing His strength is made perfect in my weakness. And it's a good thing I'm kind of shaped like a Weeble..... 

You see, I've done a lot of wobbling these past three months, heck these past five and a half years to be honest. The neurosurgery, the layoff, the fire, my dad's stroke, my heart defect. It has been a lot for me to absorb. But like those childhood toys that fascinated me, I keep getting back up, and even if I'm a little more wobbly of late, at least I'm not down for the count!

Thankfully the follow-up ultrasound yesterday indicated that I do not have breast cancer! There will still be more tests for whatever is going on, and to be honest I'm tired of my lab-rat status. But once again God spared me what he has not spared so many others. It's humbling.

My faith is like the Weebles song. It can get wobbly, but it is the reason I can get back up over and over again. Faith is part of every fiber of my being. It isn't going away just because life gets hard. I've benefited from a few miracles of late and I'm grateful I'm still standing. Happy Independence Day!

12 Weeks

12 weeks since I went to the doctor because I knew something was drastically wrong with my heart.

10 weeks since I found out I had a birth defect in my heart.

8 weeks since that giant hole was patched with a device made of nitinol, a nickel/titanium alloy. I have no idea what that really is but I've attached a photo for your viewing pleasure.

In my humble opinion that device is THE most beautiful thing. It's in the middle of my heart, which sometimes gives me pause, as in skipped beats, but guess what? It's working!

My right heart is no longer enlarged. It has returned to normal. I can get my teeth cleaned now. I can exercise (I'm trying to be excited about that.) Heck, I can run a marathon. Well, maybe not that last thing, but I could TRAIN for one and not have a stroke now, but no one hold your breath. Seriously.

Speaking of breath, I still find myself amazed and extremely satisfied every time I take a deep one. I NEVER knew how much I struggled to breathe normally until my heart was patched and I started, well, breathing normally. Hindsight.

There were dark days, especially with the first diagnosis. It felt like a death sentence. Based on my symptoms and weird left-to-right shunting I should have had it. I'm glad that I didn't. Yet, I am GRATEFUL everyone thought I had it, because without it I would never have been referred to the clinic where one VERY persistent echocardiogram technician found what every other tech and doctor had missed for so many years. She's the unsung hero in this story.

I read the most profound quote last night that rings so true for me. "God meets us where we are, not where we pretend to be." (I have no idea who should get credit for that quote....) Yes, in the depths of despair, he was present. Through heartbreak (literally in my case) he was present. At medical appointments when I was in deep shock, he was present. When I pretended to have it together I missed him. But when I let myself be a mess I heard him speaking in the most enticing whisper. Filling me with inexplicable peace as I prayed and lamented. Recognizing his great love when friends and family demonstrated their love for me. He.was.always.there.

Faith is a beautiful and complex thing. Jesus has saved me over and over from many traumatic and life-threatening (can someone please tell me if this should be hyphenated???) things in my 47 years. You'll have to read the novel for all the gory details.

Now, to be fair you should know that things still aren't perfect. My heart is a bit rebellious. I'm still wearing a heart monitor (that weird beeping is probably just me.) I'm struggling with skipped beats, a racing heart rate, sudden drops and ridiculous fatigue, but even with all of that I feel SO MUCH better. I've been waiting to say that for 3 months and it feels so good when I do!

Now comes the hard work of rehabbing and regulating that rebellious, old ticker. Learning to live with those pesky PACs and PVCs. The ocular migraines. The rushing feeling in my chest. Who knew recovery could be so exhausting?? (My tongue is firmly in my cheek.)

Life is never dull is it? But it is still beautiful, meaningful and full of hope. And mine is FULL of so many wonderful friends and family. Friends who sacrificed for me. Prayed for me. Cried with me. Fed me. Listened to me. Nephews who stayed with me. Changed my sheets. Watched movies with me. Let me be grumpy. Big brothers who drove from out of town to help my parents when I couldn't. A baby brother and sister-in-law who took over when I couldn't manage. And lots of flowers, cards, phone calls, emails and texts. I'm still overwhelmed by all of the TLC, and I don't mean the cable channel.

Brushes with mortality are always sobering. After more than one I've learned to cherish the personal growth and deeper faith that grow out of those experiences. There will no doubt be more, but I know that I will not walk through them alone.

Now excuse me, I just heard Titanium on the streaming app (remember when we used to say radio?) So I'm going to turn it up and dance. Because I can. And because, well I'm full of titanium now. Guess you could say I'm bionic. ;-)

5 Weeks

It has been a long five weeks.  I really thought I'd be fully recovered and back to a normal life by now.  The best laid plans I guess.  The good news is that I can breathe deeply and normally like I assume most of you do.  I cannot even begin to describe how it feels to fully expand my lungs without wheezing, coughing or getting dizzy.  I've never done that before in all of my 47 years.  It's kind of amazing.  Apparently I look better, at least that's what I'm told.  Maybe because I no longer look like I'm about to have a stroke.  Woohoo!  I don't know why God spared me the fate of others who have this defect, but I'm grateful and don't want to waste it.

I have learned that I am TERRIBLE at resting.  REALLY bad at it, but my body has required it and I've had no choice.  It has been kind of boring, although I have learned a whole lot about English Royalty.  Maybe I'll finally learn how to take care of myself now and listen to my body, even when others dismiss me.  I'm confident that I know myself well enough to fight for my health.  I am the only one who knows how I feel.  I'm trying not to be so hard on myself, which is fairly new.  It feels weird, but not necessarily bad.

My heart is a creature of habit.  I don't think it likes having a metal device in the middle of it.  It keeps trying to function like it used to, even thought it was damaging itself.  So not it's acting like a crazy, rebellious teen. It can't drive 55.  Instead it revs its engine and takes like at speeds of well over 100 only to scare itself, freak out, slam on the breaks and turn into that annoying Sunday driver going 45 in a 65 mph zone.  It is a wild, unpredictable and sometimes scary ride.  Hopefully the new medication will help.  It not then more tests.  Honestly, I'm tired of tests and would rather not continue to be a case study.  

Yet I still feel better today than I have in months.  Still not where I want to be, but maybe getting there.  Zeus even got a 15-minute walk tonight.  Of course I needed a nap after, but I did it!  I never knew I would be so excited to take a 15-minute stroll, but I'm thrilled!  Baby steps are hard when you're impatient, but at least I can take them.  So, I'm praying that my heart stops freaking out and I can live as a healthy, active, happy woman again instead of a sick, recluse who can't walk from the sofa to the bed!

Savor every moment friends because life if precious.

P.S. Those Tudors were CRAZY!

Broken Hearts Can Be Mended

Broken hearts can be mended, literally. Although I don't normally post about health issues and I don't like to "preach" at people, I feel compelled to thank God publicly for his grace and mercy in my life. 

After a very tough few weeks beginning February 23, 2017 and many, MANY tests the doctors discovered a large Atrial Septal Defect in my heart. It's a condition I was born with and it was causing heart failure. I was stunned, scared and nervous. It explained SO many of my weird health issues throughout my lifetime, although not the autoimmune stuff, darn! I wasn't lazy at sports, I really couldn't do them because I was not getting enough oxygen. I wasn't depressed or a recluse because I needed so much extra rest, I was very, VERY sick. 

On April 4, 2017 I went in to have my heart repaired. The ASD was 40% larger than originally thought, close to the aortic valve and lacking enough tissue for the device to seal properly. That meant open heart surgery. Many, many people prayed over me on that Tuesday and I asked the doctor to try to patch it through a catheterization. And he agreed and consulted with an expert and miraculously there was enough tissue, he spliced the patch so the valve would not be damaged and my heart was mended. NO OPEN HEART SURGERY WAS REQUIRED! 

Today was the first day I felt human. I have a lot of healing to do and a lot of things to process but my heart is functioning properly for the first time in 47 years. And despite a 1-inch hole in my ticker I never had a stroke, which is amazing. I'm praying that the heart damage will heal completely and that I will live a healthy life until God calls me home. My faith has been strengthened and I have been humbled. 

Five years ago I was recovering from a devastating fire after neurosurgery and a layoff. Today I am recovering from heart surgery to repair my poor heart that never functioned properly and I could not be happier or more blessed. New life just as we celebrate Easter. Thank you Jesus for your mercy, grace and peace