tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26874233293145645372024-02-20T05:48:50.393-08:00Unashamed to ShineStrongInHimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09642451472290489136noreply@blogger.comBlogger28125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2687423329314564537.post-53249616556580354552022-09-28T00:28:00.001-07:002022-09-28T00:49:05.904-07:00Reflect<p><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother's womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well. </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">secret place. When I was woven together in the depths of the earth, your eyes saw my unformed body. All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be. - Psalm 139:13-16</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I cannot begin to fathom the depths of that. My mind has been pondering and rolling this subject around for quite some time now. Incredible really. How can we begin to grasp that kind of incomprehensible care? It's beautiful. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Awesome in a speechless sort of reverence. The Author of Life not only made us intricately, thoughtfully but planned our steps. I can't walk through your life and point out what He is doing, but I surely can with my life. Come on. Let's take a walk… shall we? </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Rewind the footage. Hold on. Fasten your seat belt…</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Hold fast. A sailor's tattoo across his knuckles to remind him in a storm of what he must do to survive the terror of storms at sea. We've got this too, Christian. That rope we cling to? God's Word. Life happens? Always be in Scripture. Storms and sunshine both. Read the Bible. Hold Fast. I painted that on my nails in the thick of a life storm once. Visual reminder, that one. Let's go forward…</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">"Two weeks to live, if you make it through each night." I was told that. As a follower of Jesus, we are to not fret about the future. Death's sting is gone. Proclaim the gospel. Live for Jesus with every breath you've got. Dying is only gain. Remember that. You may be the only light someone sees through the darkness. Let's speed up to the cool part-</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I opened my eyes on the morning that doctors said I'd not live to see. I'd said my I love you that meant goodbye for now. I looked toward heaven. I thought I was in God's waiting room. My name about to be called. Elated, I listened, waited with baited breath. It was highly uncomfortable, akin to drowning, but with blood not water. My mind knew it would be temporary. Recall Pilgrims Progress? Christian at the river? That's how I saw it. Fulfillment of promise was on the other side, glorious and grand. I wanted. Endured. Longed. I thought to my loved ones and I had asked if it was His will, that I stay for them. However! If it were time -for there is no such thing as before one's time, we all have an appointment here- then Jesus take me Home! I wanted eagerly to finally see His face. I was ready. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I was given a miracle (Thank you Jesus!). And it exposed a lie in my life- "Just another day." Let me be perfectly frank with you folks, that doesn't exist. Every day you wake up? That's a brand </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">new</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> day. One you did not have yesterday, and you won't have today again. It's precious. Wrapped up for us to discover when we rise up from sleep. We take it for granted, don't we? I know I did. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Trials? Struggles? How could that be a gift? I've touched on this before. Let's go to Scripture. That's what we cling to.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything. -James 1:2-4</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Do you see the gift? Don't be like the world, Christian. You don't belong. And you won't. You're a light in the darkness. Lights stand out. A beacon shining into the night, for the lost. Scripture says we're a city on a hill. Shine. Be fearless. Hope.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Fast forward. Zip!</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The hurried steps of a visiting pastor. His voice called out to me, "Hope! Wait, Hope. I want to talk to you." Wow, that's a bit fast, isn't it? We went years forward here. Here, where I was in the center of a storm. I was calm while my life spun in idiopathic medical difficulties. I had given my poem, There Is A Battle Line, to my pastor to read. He had asked my permission to read it in front of the congregation, leading into the sermon. He called it "a timely reminder." I was then asked up to present my testimony. I sat on a chair, and trembling like a leaf, shared my walk with my precious Jesus from my being born again up to that present moment in front of them. There wasn't a dry eye, and a visiting pastor in the back mistakenly thought my name was Hope. So I gained a knickname. I like it. Hope isn't like dandelion blown wishes, you know. True hope? It's solid. It's built firmly on the knowledge of what's to come, the promise of all our tears wiped away; the place where pain and suffering cannot cross into (thank you, Jesus!). Looking at the face of God and hearing "Well done, my good and faithful servant." Hope. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">OK, let's hold down the button for the sake of time. Lots of years. We'll just fly by. Isn't that just like time? It always seems like yesterday until it's pondered about. So many details that get forgotten somehow, yet how important they are in refining us as we walk with Jesus! Whoa now lets not pass this event. It really hurt but… God brought good out of it. He is amazing like that. I didn't see the good at the moment, but it was there from the beginning. His perfect will in motion, just as always and always will be.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The date? February 14, 2022. Present year. Yes, you're right, that's Valentine's day. I worked that day. It was a busy, hustle and bustle sort of day. Made more hectic by people getting special dinners for loved ones on the snowy winter's day. Accident reports were buzzing my phone infrequently throughout my shift. I keep it on vibrate so I can hear the buzz as the report comes in and pray. A coworker called out sick, so I told my boss I would pull a double. Just, let me attend to my pets at home first. It was agreed. I left to do so. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The weather condition of the day prior had been sunny and hot for winter, the snow had partially melted. Added to it, this day was cold and powder snow covered over the frozen sheets of ice. I merged over to begin my turn toward home. Caution, I reminded myself, flicked on my turn indicator, and I slowly worked the break pedal. I'd done this thousands of times. I watched the speed decrease. I began to make my turn, and realized that my car was still going forward. It wasn't stopping! My foot pressed down on the break. Nothing, I was sliding.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I looked ahead and I had one thought- This is it. And then I went limp, thinking it might help in my recovery. Ahead of me was the equivalent of a concrete wall. A snow berm that had been there all winter. I saw the gas line and I recall hearing myself scream. The semi truck whizzed by and unknown to me, a car slowed behind me. I had no life flash before my eyes moment. It was too fast an event for that. Pain shattered like stars through my vision as the airbag deployed, punching me in the face. I remained alert. I didn't go unconscious. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I put my car in park (habit I guess), hit my emergency lights, and planned to stay in the car but quickly changed my mind as I saw smoke rolling into the cabin. I turned off the car, detached my seat belt, snapped up my phone, opened the door (how I got the door open, they aren't sure- they had trouble with it) and for the life of me, I can't remember jumping… but I had to have jumped due to the angle of the vehicle on the berm. I stood there, looking at my car for a second, my thumb had hovered over the 9 but I heard from behind me a voice and dropped my hand to my side. "Ma'am! Are you alright? Are you ok?" A young guy hurried up to ask. "I'm not sure." I managed. I looked down at myself. "I'm alive. I'm alive." I was hugging him and repeating that. He held me and assured me I was and asked what he could do for me.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I heard an ambulance and a police car pulled in, the officer exited and ran to me, "No, not you! Are you alright?" I still wasn't sure. The young man guided me over to the other side of my car away from the busy traffic. I gave the officer all the details of the crash and was sat down in the officer's car. I called my insurance company. Then my boss. "Uh, hi, I won't be able to come back in. I… I crashed. My car's going to be totaled… I don't know if I'm ok? I hurt all over so I can't assess it properly? Yah. I know I got a concussion for sure." I've researched car crashes for a story I did. I know enough to know stuff hides when adrenaline is pumping too. I planned to be very careful until I knew more information.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I watched the officer talk to the witness. Then he came and sat beside me, "How are you? Sore? Yeah I bet after that. His story matches what you told me. This isn't your fault, the ice took you and you hung on. I don't know what to say to you. I'm shocked. You should be hurt much worse but… but this is the perfect crash. Wow. It couldn't be more perfect. It's as if angels guided your car straight forward. There's no other explanation why you are here. Its that perfect. Had your car knifed to the left? The semi would have got you. To the right? You would have hit the gas line. And had you turned like you thought? You wouldn't be here. There's not any barrier between your car door and you. But here you are. I'm so glad you're alive. And bonus- No one else involved. Just you, and the ice. This is good, if a crash could ever be considered perfect- this is the one. This is it." He looked at me in sympathy and concern. "I'm sorry you got hurt. Ah, here they come. We just came from an accident. Very slippery conditions. It's going to be a busy day."</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The ambulance got in there and I stared down at the clipboard, unsure why I couldn't fill out my information. Why were the lines moving? Why was the print blurred? Why couldn't I figure out what to write? The waving lines made me some what sick. "It's ok, just do what you can." He noticed my frown. "I can't," I shook my head. "You can't? Don't stress, it's ok. Here. Its more than likely that you're in shock." He took it from my hands. "There are people coming up behind us." I saw the car. "Those are my parents. It's ok. Just tell my mom to stay in the car- she had back surgery. It's not safe for her out on that ice." They were panicked, worried about me. It took assuring to calm mom, who wouldn't stay in the car. The officer helped her. The ambulance personnel came up and checked my vitals. They said oxygen saturation was good. I was relieved because that meant no popped lungs. I opted not to do the ambulance ride. The steak and wine were removed from the car along with personal items. The long stem red rose a customer gave me was an explosion of petals all over the front of the cabin floor. (Later when I would go to gather my personal items from my car and see it for the first time since the crash and touch it for the last time, I would be told by the yard guy, "You're the driver's family? How are they? I mean I saw this wreck come in and my heart sank- I just knew this is a bad one, they're definitely in the hospital. Man… that owner is in bad shape." I smiled over at him, "Sir, I am the owner." His jaw dropped. He said some words and said "What, were angels there or something?? This is too big for lucky, ok? Way too big." I turned, "You're right. I'm standing here not by luck but by God. He did this." He got food for thought I'm sure. And so did I as I looked at what used to be the front of my car for the first time: I shouldn't have walked away from this, and He made it so I did. Thank you, God.)</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I was taken to the er. Saturation and heart rate were taken. Then they talked to me about the coming days. They asked what on earth gave me the idea to go limp seconds before impact? I replied that drunks do that and they walk away from crashes typically- their bodies don't fight the momentum, they go with it. The er dr said it was a very clever move as I would have been hurt far worse (I later learned it saved me from breaking my ribs, collarbone, and spine. On the trade off? It made my concussion and whiplash stronger). They prescribed pain medication and sent me home. I laid down at home, after getting comfy and noticing my sore driving foot was missing the top layer of skin. It hit the bottom of the dash, I presumed. I thanked God I kept my foot. I knew of crashes like mine- they lost their foot or broke it badly.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I laid, staring at the ceiling. Lidocaine patch over my ribs (later, we'd discover the cartilage was torn). "Thank you, God. For protecting me today, for the angels that were certainly there. I know You did that. Help me recover, I hurt so much. Wherever You're taking me, it's for good. I know that. I'm ready. I'm ready." </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Fast forward! I looked up into the mri tunnel, the sound muted by earplugs, tube of contrast wrapped around my thumb and held loose in my hand. …Oops. Don't want to give you all whiplash too. I should have warned you that was coming. I'd been falling. I fell down the stairs, fell in my field, fell in stinging nettle (ouch). And as they'd gotten the wheelchair to come get me in the parking lot, I fell then too and smacked my head on the car. I'd been dropping things more. At a prior appointment, my Dr had pushed and pulled at my arms and legs, my fingers, feet. I had atrophy. "I'm surprised you haven't fallen more than you have." He said. "I want a brain mri with contrast done." I swallowed. "This isn't from the crash, is it?" He shook his head. "No, the atrophy is not related." I pulled in a breath, "Okay, let's do this."</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">So there I was, list of prayer requests pressed in my right hand as I prayed for people. I'd figured that was a good use of my time. "Well, God?" I thought. "Here I am. Crossing an unknown. We've been there before with the itp. Remember that? It was hard but You got me through. Gave me that miracle too. Anything I go through, I'm going through with You so I'm cool with it. Whatever they find? We'll walk through that together too. I'm not worried, I'm trusting You. You lead, I'll follow. Wherever You go, I'm following. For Your glory. And if what comes of this saves someone lost with Your light in my life, so be it. I'm glad to bear whatever it is. Help me be a good example to my friends. If I'm to fight something, I want them to see You in me."</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Time elapsed, it finished, and I was sent home. I would later receive a phone call. "Hi? We got the results… White masses were found on your brain. Hmm? Yes, lesions. Do you have a piece of paper handy? I'll spell this word for you-" I grabbed my cellphone and opened a search bar, "Fire away. I'm ready." The receptionist began to spell "D-e-m-y-l-e-n-a-t-i-n-g." I didn't hit search. I already knew that word. I looked up at the ceiling and placed my hand over my mouth. No kidding? Well, didn't that make so much sense! They went on to talk about multiple sclerosis and said they wanted me to see a specialist.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">So here I am, waiting to see a specialist. I've since seen the mri for myself and saw the tiny white dots. Lesions sound like such a lackluster name, such a downer. I decided to call them stars. My own little constellation. That sounds far more fancy and sparkly, don't you think so too? Stars in my brain. Yep. Much nicer.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I've been asked if this is going to change everything. No, folks, no it's not. I am going to continue to walk this walk. Anything I face? I know it's temporal. It doesn't go with me when I go Home one day. Yes, so working out at the gym is new. Honestly that's a good thing anyway. Having a goal of being fit, I believe, is taking care of the body God gave me. I might even have been excited when I showed my physical therapist something I have never had before. I told him, "I call it… definition." We celebrated that with jokes and puns, laughing. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I told one of my church family on Sunday- "I don't want pity. This is not a burden, it's my staff. I'm going to have to walk with this, I have been already, but! in that, it is a tool God has given me and I'm going to go places with it. It's inconvenient when I want to do something because my hand is full. Yet again, with my eyes focused on God, it's a convenient way to open a conversation- to say yes I'm familiar with struggles, and look, come this way- I will show you Who can make you strong when all you have left is weakness. Let me show you Who can give you hope when all you feel is hopeless. Perspective is important. I want to shine. I want people when they see me, they see Jesus and know that in their lives, they too can stand victorious come what may here on Earth."</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Currently as of today, I wait, working on healing and getting stronger. I'm teaching myself to speed read once more, it's a work in progress due to the optic nerve damage. Every step is exciting… I've got a stack of delicious to be read books waiting for me! I struggle with researching and studying, but, I will not quit. I'm resolved to be a student of the Word. Just because something is harder, doesn't mean stop trying. I'm surrounded by the love of my family and my friends. I'm ever thankful for the encouragement of the good friends who listened and were and are there for me. I praise God for those brothers and sisters in Christ, I know full well that He placed all of these into my life. I cherish their words in my heart. I can't stress how important having this support is. </span></p><br /><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Until next time,</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Shine forth in the darkness (be fearless and unashamed of the gospel). Armor on, with the Sword in your hand (be in the Word!). Eyes on Jesus (focus on glorifying God in your walk). Let's run the race (persevere)! </span></p><br /><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">God bless :)</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><a href="https://youtu.be/ihJAJA4ibEs" style="text-decoration-line: none;"><span style="color: #1155cc; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; text-decoration-line: underline; text-decoration-skip-ink: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">https://youtu.be/ihJAJA4ibEs</span></a></p><br /><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Oh! Ps- There Is A Battle Line, that poem was published as of this month in Clean Fiction Magazine. I've seen a dream become reality, seeing it in print. I am praying it inspires Christian readers to actively wear their spiritual armor and reminds them that we are engaged in a battle between Truth and lies. </span></p><br />StrongInHimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09642451472290489136noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2687423329314564537.post-6988682170561442002021-06-21T18:21:00.000-07:002021-06-21T18:21:08.127-07:00Standing back up and Walking<p> Howdy all! </p><p>Its been a good while, hasn't it? I've got catching up to do. This blog was hard on my mind for weeks, no months now. lol. So! Today is the day! </p><p>Where did I leave off? Oh yes, Covid. It took until mid April but guess what? I was able to kick out the last two symptoms. No more sunburn rash weirdness, no more hair loss. I didn't know if I would lose some of it or loose it all, but just in case it started looking crummy, I decided to have it cut off as short as I could go (while still being able to slip it back into a ponytail for work). I didn't want to see it go to the trash can so I donated it before it possibly came to that point. I also made up my mind to have it highlighted for summer. I told the lady to have fun and no unicorn colors! She had a good laugh about that. I got to thinking, what's the worst that would come out of it? Not liking it? With my hair falling out, that was laughable. My hair would grow back. Caramel highlights is what I got and I do like it. My sense of taste came back about the end of March and the ability to smell came back a week after that. It was odd as I thought they would come back together, but I'm glad to have both again. I'm one of those that cooks with their senses, not by measurements. </p><p>I decided to see a nutritionist as the stress caused my body to start emptying... which isn't a fun digestion issue. I lost ten pounds. Surprisingly, not only were we able to restart my digestion on the right track, my energy came back, and I haven't had one issue with Gerd since I started week 2 of the plan we made (very nice). While the weight gain is much slower than I would like, my nutritionist is right- Eating right and establishing a good digestive health is the key to feeling good, weight gain will follow that. I followed the plan strictly (until recently, when coffee was taken off the menu - I'm fighting with that one, its not easy). Its been 3 months now. The difference is outstanding. I have more energy than I've had in several years. Everyone around me says I'm much more alert than before I began this plan. I am glad I chose to do it. I'm still following it although my last appointment was last week. I intend to keep going because I have my sights on good health. I have a goal too: 2 weeks without 1 nap. I believe more than ever that I'm approaching that goal. I've been missing naps, which is amazing! (Having a choice to fall asleep is one thing, I'm ok with that. Not having a choice and losing the daily fight with napping is not. It gets old, quickly.) When I do meet the goal, I can go hiking again. I can go swimming. I can go mountain biking. In moderation. Not all at once. :P To get there, coffee has to go. It is making my already taxed adrenals work too hard. I keep reminding myself that its worth it. I've just got to put my foot down and say no. I want to be as healthy and strong as I can be. I found a few alternatives to coffee and I'll start doing those. I'm sure I'll fumble around, make mistakes, but guess what the best part about slipping is? I can stand right back up and keep going. And I intend to. The bible doesn't say I can do some things through Christ that makes me strong, it says all things. And all means all. </p><p>I decided among all this, that I would get the ball rolling on fixing my teeth. An important step that I have wanted to make for about 5 years now. I am excited to be out from underneath the weight of debt that quite frankly, I was told would swallow me alive and I'd never get rid of. I paid off every last penny of it this year. Its done. And it feels... every bit as amazing as I thought it would be. I've been saving up since then to pay for the down payment on the dental surgery (the rest will go through a loan that I have already been approved for). The surgery is out of pocket, being labeled as cosmetic, so its going to cost some pretty nice shiny pennies, that's for sure. And its going to feel quite similar to a hot burn. I won't be able to talk for 2 weeks. But, it will be worth it in the end. Silly, but my favorite goal out of this will be- I'll be able to sink my teeth into an uncut apple without breaking my teeth. No more slicing up apples in order to eat them. I'll be able to eat confidently. God gave me this body, I'm going to take care of it the best I can. :)</p><p>I finished my last physical therapy for my twisted leg. I now walk straight. Where at first, it felt terribly uncomfortable and strange, now I'm adjusting to my new way of walking. Time and practice. Lots of it. And exercises. It reminds me near daily of what a friend told me once- that it was just like when God gets a hold of our lives, and its uncomfortable at first, so very different, but we trust in Him and we follow Him. There is a plan for us, for good. And it begins to happen, what was crooked and twisted begins to straighten. We don't walk that old painful path we once walked (I had so many twisted ankles), we walk a new Path, a far better one. Where once there was weakness and susceptibility, now there is strength and it is secure. Its a continuous effort for both of these things- It takes Walking. :)</p><p> </p><p>The next part of my story is called Stretching the comfort zones and defeating the villain of fear. </p><p>Really. </p><p>I found out while I'm expanding my horizons and slowly chipping away at my list of things I've never done before, without thinking, I've also added limitations. Limitations that I enforce because I'm scared to do them for some reason or another. Write and publish a novel? I'm scared. I want to, I really want it and have always dreamed of it. There are ways to make it happen. Yet I think about how scared I am, instead of the excitement that yes, I can make it happen. Since when did fear start trying to rule this life? Do you know what people say they regret at the end of their lives? It isn't what they did wrong, its this: What they didn't do. Hearing that said, I couldn't help but think about what I've yet to do: my books. I was also asked to teach something I knew a little bit about and my instant response was to shy away from it and point to someone who knew far more. I missed something that I noticed later, but the moment was gone. Hey now! God didn't give me a spirit of fear! Aren't I to be victorious? So I may not know as much as the person over there does, the fact is- I do know some things. So teaching in public isn't my gift, coming along side people is... and what if the one leads to the other? How many times in the Bible does it say not to fear? Not to be afraid? If I don't step out, what opportunities are being missed? Even the ones that look insignificant can lead to something that is a treasure in Heaven, a good thing that God wanted us to do. While I get my health in order, I'm trying to get my mind in order too. I think its harder than ignoring the call of coffee, but it can be done! I know I'll slip up time and again... but know what? I'll get back up. I'll start again. Keep striving continually. God is the strength of my heart (Psalms 73:26). In all things, its the focus that matters. In the Bible, Peter walked out to Jesus on the water. Looking at the waves in fear made Peter sink in the water, but if you notice - they walked back to the boat. Its a process of continual reminders- don't focus on the things of this world. Focus on Jesus. </p><p>Fear? It has come to this day. It's time to meet The Sword.</p><p>"I can do all things through Christ who gives me strength." - Philippians 4:13</p><p><br /></p><p>2 Timothy 1:7 For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind.</p><p><br /></p><p>Until next time, </p><p>May you rest securely in His Words, take up the full armor and let your eyes be fixed on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith (Hebrews 12:2). </p><p>~UnashamedtoShine</p>StrongInHimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09642451472290489136noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2687423329314564537.post-1979411658970378592021-01-04T14:41:00.000-08:002021-01-04T14:41:50.192-08:00Happy New Year! Howdy everyone! <div><br /></div><div><span> </span>I'm back! It's been a goodly while hasn't it? I hope you've all kept well and that your Christmas and New Years were peaceful and nice. :) </div><div><br /></div><div><span> </span>There is so much that has happened in my journey since the start of my medical avalanche. Good times and hard times both. In it all, I can see God's provision throughout. Not one thing that I truly needed went unprovided. Several things that I thought I needed (they were wants really), I discovered I didn't need after all. I can’t thank those who dropped off groceries on my porch enough as of recently. I’m well supplied and I can’t think of anything that I need currently (other than I need to get better lol!). I’m thankful for all who offered to help. </div><div><br /></div><div><span> </span>Yes, I have Covid. And yes, I know where I got it. Dad brought it home and then Mom got it. I was outnumbered. I woke up with it on the 3rd of December. I never got a fever, nor did either of them. I was the only one to get a rash in my mouth (that’s what cued me in that it was not my typical sore throat cold). They are better, officially cleared from quarantine and back at work. I’m still in quarantine, a list of symptoms still present and accounted for. My doctor asked me if I knew what a Covid long hauler is. When I said I did, they said good because I am one. Day 32 currently. I’ve been off work using my vacation hours (which is not a problem, I have more than I can use). Crummy vacation though. Can I get a refund? lol. </div><div><br /></div><div><span> </span>I thought that while I was down, I would work on writing and learning ASL via Youtube videos. I could also catch up on a stack of books that were just waiting for me. What I didn’t count on was the surprisingly thick brain fog that would dash all those great ideas to a fine powder and blow them away. The brain fog was as mean as being winded and heavily fatigued. Simple things like getting dressed, making a bed, getting a shower in- became huge tasks that left me drained for the remainder of the day. I’ve been spending my time chatting with friends via the internet (talking on the phone leaves me feeling out of breath and fatigued quickly), looking up and sharing memes, and playing a video game that’s live courtesy of the internet. I’ve shared the gospel 4 times through chats, which God knows what He will do with that, I just planted seeds. I may not be able to do much but I can still do something. :)
</div><div><br /></div><div><span> </span>I’m hopeful to return to work next week, but I know it won’t be easy. I’m easily out of breath and still have other symptoms, like covid toes (hard to walk and painful). Its far beyond 14 days, which is the CDC requirement for quarantining. I’ll be calling the doctor to see it would be a good idea to return to work in this current state. Time will tell all. I miss my coworkers and from what I hear, they have been missing my being there too. I mean, who is going to count down to Christmas (there are 355 days to go), bring up songs to fit the conversations, and lighten the day, not to mention being such a hard worker? That made me smile to hear. As did the flowers and card that my boss had everyone sign. That was brought by with soup. Butternut Squash soup is so far the easiest thing for me to eat. I can’t smell at all and the only tastes I have is tasting salt and this phantom flavor of sweet clover honey (which is incredibly strange when I drink coffee and my brain is telling me via my tastes that its salted clover honey). The level of weirdness goes up when I am eating steak and potatoes. Why does that taste like salted honey? O.o Eating has become a game of textures instead of flavors. I have no idea when I will regain my ability to taste or smell, or if it will be the same as it used to be. </div><div><br /></div><div><span> </span>I decided to try to battle the brain fog by putting together a puzzle. Admittedly, for one who is very good at puzzles, I am struggling to assemble this one. I’m unwilling to give up and piece by piece, effort upon effort, its coming together. The last piece isn’t going to slide into place though… the dog chewed it up. Yep, she’s left her mark on this Christmas puzzle. I’m hopeful to complete the remainder of puzzle before next week. I’ll also attempt to pick up a book from my stack of things to read. I’m hopeful to be able to remember beyond a paragraph of context. I’m not one to give up. Slowly pulling myself up to my feet. I’ll get there too. It’s just a matter of when. </div><div><br /></div><div><span> </span>I ordered seeds for this year’s garden. I heard of the race to buy up seeds (much like the toilet paper craze), and slipped in my order just as things began to go out of stock. Made it with a few modifications to my list – some things I really wanted went out of stock. Life marches on! I’ll keep a watch for restocking and if I can’t get them, then there is always next year. I know seed companies are working hard right now. I’m sure they are doing all they can to meet the high demands. Lots of talk about Victory Gardens. I’m not worried about what the future will bring, I’m simply growing a garden as I do every year. It brings me joy. Funny- when I began that journey, I was presented gardening by my doctor as a replacement to hiking. My energy couldn’t support hiking, and with gardening, I could take breaks or stop for the day at any point. I remember laughing in humor at the thought of me being a gardener. Me? Garden? I killed everything I touch! I’ll never forget his words, “What will you gain if you don’t try?” Yeah, nothing. So I tried. And yes, everything died, but I was desperate so I tried again. And wouldn’t you know it, something grew. I felt this satisfied smile light on my face and I realized something – gardening wasn’t about having a green thumb at all, it was all based on what I knew and what I didn’t. My garden grew leaps and bounds. While I do miss hiking, gardening fills that void and gives me a very similar quiet satisfaction. When people ask what my favorite room in the house is, I don’t even hesitate- it’s the garden. </div><div><br /></div><div><span> </span>Oh! I forgot to say: A lot of people have been asking me if I am afraid of Covid. No, I’m not. I’ll tell you why- God is in complete control and my trust is in Him. He planned my path and I know that no matter what I go through, He’s with me and His plans for me are for good. I’ve been through many sicknesses and conditions. The two things I learned are these- Keep your focus on God, everything else will go into place according to His will. And you don’t have to be strong- God loves to use the weakest of people to show His strength. He supplies the strength that we need to do all that He asks us to do. </div><div><br /></div><div><span> </span>As much as I would love to stay and chat, I should do some more breathing exercises and rest a bit. Until next time, God bless! </div><div><br /></div><div>Matthew 14:25-33, 2 Corinthians 12:9, Romans 5:1-21, Ephesians 2:8-10.
</div>StrongInHimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09642451472290489136noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2687423329314564537.post-31487580655602484762014-01-22T11:02:00.002-08:002014-01-22T11:04:43.781-08:00Hello! :)Sitting in a coffee shop this time. How's that for a change up? :) It seemed to me like a lovely idea...the smell alone is delicious enough a backdrop for writing. And the music is favorable- Christian radio, not too loud nor too soft.Eating a Paleo style fruit and nut bar and oh, marvelous, my Irish Dream Coco just arrived. I think I'm going to savor it as though I have forever to indulge in this moment. Will write more soon, promise! Just wanted to say I'm doing alright and I'm still adventuring onward, hand in hand with my Saviour. (Yep, my struggles are still ongoing but that's ok- He upholds me in His mighty strength. When I am weak, He is strong. Amen.) God bless. :)StrongInHimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09642451472290489136noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2687423329314564537.post-50048671572007558102013-11-18T11:36:00.000-08:002013-11-18T11:41:25.542-08:00Understanding<span style="font-size: medium;">Nov. 18th:<br />
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Lately I'd been wondering what the purpose is for me in this constant struggle, as in: where will it take me and what am I supposed to do with it. I heard everywhere that situations in a person's life are for a purpose and so a person aught to figure out what the purpose is and use it to glorify God with. So I'd been going through all sorts of books, but it all just lands me right back to step one: What is this supposed to be for? What is its long term purpose? All the books I've read say I need to discover the purpose as its just as important as discovering who you are (context was given by examples of devorces and adoptions and etc, littered the pages as examples of how a person thought they were one way and then went on a journey as they didn't know who they really were and needed to find themselves). Finding out what purpose this trial is for, its nearly hopeless to figure out. I felt so lost. It's all ended up in one big muddling frustration...Like a ball of yarn that once bumped and jostled all over the place, becomes a knotted up mess of tangles. The more it is worked over by someone who doesn't know what they are doing, the worse the knots get. I set down researching. I just don't believe that getting frazzled over a puzzle is worth it, so I'd calm down and then go back to it...well, that was my plan. I set to read fictional Christian books in the mean time. <br />
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I was referred a book by a friend, so I set around to reading that. It was the story of a young girl who's mother dropped her off as an infant with an amish family to raise. It was heartwarming and I loved it from the start. Then it happened, she discovers her amish family isn't really blood family and she tells her amish grandmother (who she places complete trust in and tells her heart to) in a big frustrated sigh that she doesn't know who she really is anymore and she needs to find herself, but that would mean leaving the family she loves. The grandmother shakes her head and says to stop right there, for that was wrongful thinking. She did not need to find herself, she was never lost to begin with. The girl says of course she does need to find herself! She's not who she thought she was! The grandmother just chuckled and said that was nonsense to speak that way, that she knew who her granddaughter was. The girl disagreed because she really wasn't her granddaughter, she was adopted! She was told to stop right that instant, for her thinking was wrong. It wasn't right for her to say she was lost and needed to find herself, that was foolishness. It was that she wanted to know what more was out there for her- opportunities to discover a world she was born into. The grandmother elaborated on how she knew the girl was never lost and needing to be found: the girl was still the same girl who loved to gather wildflowers with her grandmother, ran with her little brothers in a game of chase, to willingly help with chores, a young lady who had a heart to give and expected nothing in return, who loved the color blue and would watch the stars late at night, just to witness one shoot across the sky...and that is who the girl was. Finding herself, nonsense, that had been found already. Opportunities, now those were things to be searched out. <br />
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It was so clear as crystal that I had been doing the same thing, only in a round about way...lol, and so twisted around that I didn't know which way was up. I very well know who I am, and its not all that different from the description the grandmother gave to her granddaughter. It occurred to me that I already know that in the end, all that I do should bring God the glory. Who in Scripture who went through their trials knew precisely where it would lead them so they could properly glorify God? <br />
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Did Esther? What about Ruth? Samuel? David? Solomon? Jacob? Moses? Elijah? Noah? Ooo, or what about Job as he went through unfathomable trials? No? Who knew then? The disciples? Shadrack, Meshack, and Abendigo? Did they know where their trials and persicutions would bring them so they could plan and properly glorify God? No to that too, huh? What a pretty pickle this is! Not a single one of the people in Scripture that I could find knew, in fact, they walked in complete blindness (not knowing) to what the future held in connection to their present trial - but they walked by faith that God would provide (which glorified God because of their actions). What then were these books telling me to do? Wasn't that contrary to Scripture then? Surely there must be someone in Scripture who knew! Well, I found just one, and only one: Jesus. He knew what was to come because He is all-knowing, He knew how to respond to it, He is holy; and He glorified God. It showed me all the same, it is actions and heart that matter...it was the same theme that all the rest in Scripture resonated with in their trials. The only difference was this: Jesus is God who is omnipotent, and the rest were mortal men who placed their trust and hope upon the Lord for the unknown in their tomorrows. <br />
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You know what I realized from this? I know who I am, I know I am being used through this, more opportunities and challanges will rise up in the future, and so long as I am walking in the Spirit, He is glorified by it. I am walking by faith, which is an action He inables me to do, and that pleases Him very much. I also realize that I am not God either but a mortal, so I do not know what is coming, I do not know what is in tomorrow, or even an hour from now, but I know that in this present moment, I can be walking with Him and giving Him praise and thanks, and definitely, trusting Him with my future. <br />
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The more I thought about it and mused over all of this, the more it made sense, like the knots were loosening from the mess. Doesn't Scripture say not to trouble ourselves about tomorrow for today has enough troubles of its own? And also not to be anxious about anything, but with prayer and supplication, present it before the Lord? And the knots were gone, just like that. I don't indeed NEED to know how this all comes together in my life so that I can glorify Him. What a giant of a destraction that really is as it makes it nearly impossible for me to truly focus on Him! Not to mention its next to impossible to trust Him to lead me as through that means I end up inevitably leading myself. And guess what? Leading myself is not trusting God to lead me, so that leads in the opposite way of glorifying God as well. How can a person give Him glory when he does not trust Him with the whole of the future and with His gentle leading? <br />
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I've already placed my faith and trust in God, who will lead me through all that is coming in my future. Because I have done that, all that is required of me is that I am walking willingly in the Spirit (actions and heart), that will in turn, glorify God. It truly is that simple, and it is liberating. Today, I say goodbye dizzying endless round-and-round, and hello understanding and peace. :)<br />
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God bless!<br />
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ps- Inclosed is a video that I found quite excellent and beautiful. Its called The Potter: Reflections of a Master Artisan, by David Blakeslee and Day of Discovery.<br />
<a href="https://dod.org/dod2332.html">https://dod.org/dod2332.html</a></span>StrongInHimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09642451472290489136noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2687423329314564537.post-17017587702420646762013-11-18T08:38:00.001-08:002013-11-18T08:38:33.665-08:00Perspective<span style="font-size: x-small;">November 4th:</span><br />
I've been re-reading everything on my blog as of lately. Trying to recall everything that's happened within the whirling-swirling speed of this storm. My mind had somehow blurred everything into one giant event without pause and I know that's not how it happened in reality; it was very slow, building up, like soft snowfall at night when everyone sleeps, and then becoming so big, it avalanched - and that's what we saw. Good to have a refresher as to what happened, clear up my mind a bit. And be reminded of all the many blessings hidden within the waves that I was sure would wash over me and drown me at times, they seemed so massive and overpowering. But even so, I knew God was bigger than all of that...and so much more powerful than anything that I saw coming my way, so I was heavily leaning on Him for my next steps forward with Him. No not every step was made with Him, there was a time, like that time where Peter looked away from Jesus and focused on the storm instead- and consiquently began sinking into it. <br />
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Even though I wasn't experiencing the physical pain, because of the emotional pain that I'd never encountered before, I broke my sight away from the only one who kept me from drowning in my storm. When I began to feel like I was sinking, that's when I realized what I'd done. Of course He was still there, just as He's always been. Just like Peter focusing on those wind-swept waves, Jesus was still standing right there waiting for Peter to focus on Him. I think Peter learned fear in the storm was nothing compared to confidence in Jesus to save him (after all Jesus was the only one who could). It doesn't say it in Scripture, but you know they had to walk back to the boat together on the water in the storm. It was only once they were back in the boat did he silence the storm. Isn't that interesting? I sure think so. Likewise, I can walk in my storm too, but only as long as my eyes are focused on Him. You know why? I have strength in this weakness: Jesus is far above the surging of the storm, the waves and wind cannot compete with His greatness, and His power more awesome than any fear I can possibly face in this life. "I can do all things through Christ who gives me strength." What strength do I have apart from Him? The answer, my friends, is none. <br />
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I watched Soul Surfer while I was sick with a virus a little less than a month ago (a customer of mine was sick, sneezed on me and I caught her buggy...no hard feelings, besides she looked like she felt so crummy :/). I related to the movie when she said she had to find a new perspective because she was so close to her trial that she couldn't see around it. I figured, being a true story, if she could find a new perspective and live in her trial (if you saw the movie, she never does re-grow that arm after the shark attack). I couldn't think of how this would be a useful tool. How does a corrupt immune system that thinks my platelets are delicious, and a tummy that doesn't digest properly, end up helping me look at this differently? I happened to be flipping channels, bored after the movie was over, and I happened upon Joni-&-friends and she was talking about circumstances. I don't remember all of what she said, but it was about finding perspective in life's trials. <br />
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She said to try to think about things that others don't get to think about or know about. For her, it was being a quadrapeligic and having gone through cancer. She listed examples of amazing things she got to experience that no one else did because she was in her shoes...so it was special. She asked her viewers to think of something uniquely special that no one else got to think about. What about the first thing that came to mind? Platelets did, for me. No one thought a single thing about platelets when they got a papercut or bumped their elbow, or if they did, it was short lived. They take it for granted and quite honestly, back when I was oblivious, I didn't give it any thought. It was truly invisible. I knew they existed, nature's amazing natural bandaid within our bodies and the mandatory starting piece in any healing process, science taught me that. <br />
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Once I got deep into the danger zone, that's when my eyes were opened to that microscopic world. ITP is painless (can you feel your platelets? yeah, I can't either) and so I have to watch for visible clues that my platelets are there and my immune hasn't splurged on them. How long do I bleed over a papercut, a nose bleed? How big does a bruise get over carrying something heavy, bumping my elbow, sleeping (blood pooling to one side), getting a firm handshake, pat on the back, or strong hug? Do I spot little red dots that look like freckles on my skin? So I'm seeing what most people never get to notice. <br />
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I got to be awed while I was on immune-suppressing medication, watching how on the exterior how capable I was to do things. A high five, I could do that without a single thought, no matter the strength of the high five. A bear hug. A strong handshake. A hearty pat on the back. Rough housing with my neices and tickle wars. Playing volleyball. Riding a rollercoaster. Sleeping and waking without blood pooling on the side I slept on. Kneeling on the floor. Propping my elbows on my knees, palms on my chin. At the strongest point (once I was off the medication), being able to bring a sick friend some homemade chicken noodle soup and tidy their kitchen - something I NEVER would have been able to do without getting incredibly sick for weeks. Aren't those all freedoms that are taken for granted? I could go on to list several more. What an amazing taste of what normal really is like! I commented jokingly that I felt like Super Mario when he catches the invincibility star and nothing can touch him. Now that I've had that experience, I can't believe that I thought that this was normal. How, now that I've had that soaring taste of reality, was that normal at all? It dramatically changed how I thought of myself and the world around me. I believed myself weak and sickly as a child, teen, and adult, and that's just how I was. Others were strong because that's just how they were. Everyone is different and that is just who I am. Now my perspective has changed - I am weak and sickly because of a disorder and when my level is up, I am able to be that strong and healthy person I thought I would never be because that just wasn't me. I've learned that healthy-and-strong and weak-and-sickly are not traits of a person, its not who they are at all, but it is what they are dealing with. A big difference. And a huge difference in perspective.<br />
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I got to experience how that healthy and strong life feels for a season, maybe I will experience that again in the future? We shall see. I'm looking forward to the comforting deep bear-hug. Do you know that people get scared to hug me when my numbers drop? They don't want to bruise me so they don't hug me at all and look at me with this "I want to, but I'm scared to so no way am I going to" look. Here's a not so secret secret- I'd rather carry the shadowy hug-mark than go without a hug. (All I ask at this point is that your hug and handshake be more gentle than hardy.) If it was dangerously low again, I'd put up my hands in the stop signal as I did in the past and give warning to please hug me very gently or postpone the hug for a time in the future.<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">I have found new perspective on my diet as well. I found what I call "a hidden world" when I went gluten, dairy, and acid-free. There are so many in the community around me who are facing one or all or more of these diet shifts. The first place after their diet shifts, they enevitably end up at the store next. Most times I can pick them out of the rest of the shoppers. Their eyes and frozen stance point them out to me as I've been there. I remember researching all things gluten, dairy, and acid and holding that list in my hand and going in the grocery store thinking, "I can do this." ...and the doors open and I see all the shelves of food I can no longer eat....and I was lost in overwhelming thoughts of realizing how different this was and no ordinary shopping trip. So because of my own experience, I've been able to assist them. That makes a world of difference in their shopping experience. I point them out to products, scribble recipes and websites and cookbooks, ask what their favorite meal or a no item from their list that they love and if I can't find it on the shelves, I find it at home and next time I place it into their hands. For this experience, I am glad to be on my diet, just to help others. Or even if they don't need or ask for help, to be able to understand -partially- what they are going through. I say partially as I don't know at all what its like to have celiac or chrones or lupis or colitis. I do understand what stomach issues feel like, what dealing with others who don't understand but think they do is like, speaking to resturant managers about ingredients hidden within ingredients, knowing where restrooms are when I go places, and ultimately the misery of being glutened, or dairied. <br />
<br />
During the Fall, I had been approached by my boss and given the assignment to create a gf df menu for our guests. We've had so many requests, but because we don't have the products to serve them, we've had to turn them all away...like everywhere else has turned them away. The only way to go is to pay a lot of money at a fancy restuarant (12 dollars for a small half-wrap sandwich, for instance...yes, the same wrap in its gluten form costs 2.99.) or to make it at home (which can be quite a process...especially when just starting out). So I accepted the task with volunatary eagerness. We would be the only place with ready-to-go affordable gf df food. I was entirely excited about how helpful this would be to everyone in the community. I began collecting and bookmarking recipes that I could re-work or simplify (after all, this would be our first time handling gf df items), then finding definitions and explanations of gf df eating (for our knowledge and reference). Then my laptop crashed and the dream to have the menu prepared and completed by Thanksgiving week went up in smoke. I cannot deny how bummed I am. None of our guests know about it yet, but I can imagine how glad and pleasantly surprised they would be to see gf df foods they could eat right in our department, made with love and ready for them to serve on their supper table. Mind you, we've purchased "May contain" labels that state that we can't be sure if it contains gluten or dairy...just like we attatch the "may contain nuts" to chocolate chip cookies. Its not made with nuts, but if you are allergic, its best to be questioning. Likewise, in the gluten-dairy world. Anyway, making this cookbook-guide was so strong a pleasureable idea that I could just taste it! Well, on the bright side, I have a year to assemble it now. And it will be ready for Thanksgiving week 2014, or so I am hoping. <br />
<br />
Today I am watching it snow, with a kitty pinning my arm down (he's on top of my right arm, sleeping) and sipping chai-ginger tea. They did say it'd snow on the 7th...I guess they were right, lol. :P I think I am coming down with a sinus sort of cold. My stomach is especially not thrilled about it, thus the tea. Hopefully it goes away as quickly as it got here. A coworker had hugged me and then answering my question (how are you?) said she was coming down with a cold. I reminded her: my immune system... When she realized what she did, she covered her mouth and felt horrible realizing she most likely just gave me her cold. I tried to tell her it was ok and I forgave her. By the time I got home, I crashed on my bed, slept off 2 hours, my first nap since a few months ago when I needed the everyday nap. I woke up foggy-headed, heavy and aching. I started sneezing and my nose was drippy. I think I'm in for another battle. I'm thinking for now, I may need to start telling others when they approach me that if they have a cold, please tell me and as much as I love them, don't hug me. I am hoping not to lose weight like I did from the last cold, I don't have any cushion left on me, so anything lost will place me one step closer to 90lbs and the hospital. I'm going to fight this battle as fiercely as I can (again with the running in place and upon tiring, going backwards).<br />
<br />
I don't have any physical pain as of right now, which is good news. Emotional pain is beginning the scaring process of healing. During the Summer to Fall, I encountered a situation I never thought I'd experience...and it ripped at me more than once. <br />
<br />
~First with a day I thought I'd go into town and enjoy a sunny warm day. It was so beautiful, how could I stay indoors anyway? So I did. I'd dressed up all nice although I wasn't going anywhere and did up my face and hair just to do so. Window shopped, people watched, bought almond icecream in a bowl. Sat at a bench in the sun, enjoyed the warmth on my head and back, enjoyed my icecream. Then I watched a group of girls step out of a shop. I thought it would be amazing fun to get my friends together and have an outing too, what a good idea. Looked at a gentleman open a car door for his wife and close the door as he laughed at whatever she must have said. A mom pushed her daughter in her stroller past a stuffed teddy bear in the window, her cries and points that she wanted it. "Look at that!" I heard. The tone was so repulsed that I was made very curious to know, I turned toward the sound, focusing on the group of girls across the street. One of the girls was pointing, her face crinkled into this gross expresion, "That's hideous! Her bones are sticking out." I snuck a slow glance behind me, to be descrete. I saw the brick wall behind me, and felt a sinking feeling as the knowledge bit into me: No one was behind me. I swallowed, looking at nothing through blurry eyes. I knew they were pointing directly at me. "Some people don't care about themselves and just let themselves go. Don't look at that thing anymore. Lets go." "Yeah, that's so discusting. Lets get out of here. I can't look at it anymore." I snuck an upward glance, noticing others now glancing between them and me. The girl looked over her shoulder, giving her hair a toss, "Get out of here. No one wants to look at you, don't you get it, ugly?" "Lets just go. Leave it." One of her pals urged. They left, quickly. I could see the onlookers turn their gaze away from me and hurry away or look anywhere but at me. I placed my half-uneaten icecream into the trash and wrapped my arms around myself, feeling chilled and trying to hold in my tears. I'd never been called hideous in my life. I didn't know how to handle this. From elementary school to Highschool, I'd always been invisible. Apparently, not anymore. So I went into a little shop with pretty nails on the front glass. 45 dollars. I backed out and decided against it. I didn't need pretty fingers in order to be beautiful, not like that. In fact, that wouldn't make me pretty...it'd only stay an accent piece and accent pieces don't make the person, its just a highlight. I drove to the beach and sat in the sun, letting the warmth penetrate me and the sound of waves lapping against the sand to drown out the hurt...and I cried alone but not really. <br />
<br />
~I was at the store, shopping when a child pointed at me and said, "Her bones are sticking out, Mommy." She pushed his hand down and told him not to point at others, and continued to whisper, looking at me, "Some people don't care about their appearance and they choose to let themselves go. Because she did that, it strips her of looking pretty, doesn't it? Its very sad." She eyed me up and down, then shook her head with a sigh and left. I was left feeling helpless from the conversation. Let myself go? I couldn't help my situation! I was honestly fighting hard to be healthy. And fighting incredibly hard to gain weight.<br />
<br />
~I decided it was a nice day to be out and about, although nippy, and Fall leaves were swirling around. A good day for a hot coco, and taking pictures around town. So I stood in line anticipating a nice treat, camera bag slung over my shoulder. Started talking to the lady behind me in line, just having conversation. I'd noticed her daughter was dressed in a tiger outfit, so I was complementing her daughter (the daughter had asked me if I looked scary and clawed her hands with a tigery look on her face, lol what else was I to say?). I put my hands to my heart and feining surprised fear, told her she had a wonderful costume and definitely looked very scary. The little girl was very pleased. When I was done, the mother grabbed her daughter's hand and looked at me, "Well as a skelleton, you don't need a costume, now do you? You are all set for Halloween- bones and all!" And then she walked away, pulling her little girl with her who was protesting "but my hot chocolate!" Apparently she didn't like the looks of me so much that she was willing to deny wanting whatever drink she'd planned on getting, and denying the little girl a probably promised hot chocolate. If only she would have asked me to leave, I would have gone somewhere else, then the little girl could have had her coco. Why punish the little girl for it? And why be so revulsed about me? Why are people so disgusted? I can't help it and they assume its my fault. I blinked. Third time. Is this something I was going to encounter a lot now? "Hey, move toothpick, its your turn." A gruff voice behind me said. I ordered my coco and left for home. <br />
<br />
Outside of these experiences, I only had a few good ones. And I fought to focus on those instead. One I'll leave you with as I've got to go to work now:<br />
<br />
~A few years ago, dressed in my renaissance outfit (light blue with dark blue velvet, gold trim and silver and pearl crown), ordering drinks for me and my pals on our way to the faire, I hear a little boy shout to his mom (who stood right next to him) "I knew princesses were real! Mom look! Look!" and he was pointing to my friend and I. She was trying to turn him away and move on, but he was adimantly shouting in excitement, pointing at me even more, "Its Cinderella, Mom! Its Cinderella and I HAVE to talk to her! Mom please, please!" She gave in and brought her young son up to me and appologized. She was so sorry but her son was so eager and was being silly. I didn't think it was silly at all. I gave a little dip of my head, for the little boy. "You had something to say, young man?" I said, looking at him expectantly. He released his hand from his mom and reached for my hand, held it and said, "I had to tell you Cinderella, you are my favorite, and I think you are much more beautiful than you are in cartoon." His mom covered a laugh with her hands and whispered appologies to me. I shook my head, refusing her appology. He'd done nothing wrong. "Why thank you, that was very kind of you to tell me. I will treasure your words." He smiled real broadly, pleased then he looked at my wrist watch with a gasp, "Thats a good idea! You never wore a watch in the movie, now you won't be late for the ball! Go, hurry Cinderella! You don't want to be late to see the Prince!" Then he lowered his voice, "Or your ride will turn into a pumpkin again!" I couldn't help but laugh, "You are right. I better go. It was a pleasure to meet you and your mom." Her mom asked in a hushed whisper where we were going, and I told her. I could see it all make sense in her eyes and she whispered that she was sorry about her little boy and how embarising. I told her it was not at all embarising, little boys don't stay little and what he did made me smile. She nudged her son with a whisper to bow. He asked how and she bent to whisper into his ear: remember how the prince bowed to Cinderella? Like that. So he gave it his best effort in a sweeping bow. Not quite right, but very charming. I told his mom she had quite a gentleman in training, and she smiled, hoped so. I waved to them and we went on our way. What a remarkable little boy. <br />
<br />
I'll write later! God bless! :)</span><br />StrongInHimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09642451472290489136noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2687423329314564537.post-53173239880791811132013-10-29T18:10:00.000-07:002013-10-29T18:11:25.786-07:00A compilation of songs I enjoyed today...<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yofE9mWrVcc">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yofE9mWrVcc</a> - Hold On by TobyMac.<br />
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<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-RRZgr7wNDs">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-RRZgr7wNDs</a> - My Hope is in You by Aaron Shust. <br />
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<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=211y1hH8EnI">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=211y1hH8EnI</a> - Everything I Need by Kutless.<br />
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<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AXRUapakK7U">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AXRUapakK7U</a> - Day After Day by Kristian Stanfill.<br />
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<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A8JsRxVczmQ">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A8JsRxVczmQ</a> - Strong Enough by Matthew West. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zlA5IDnpGhc&list=RD02A8JsRxVczmQ">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zlA5IDnpGhc&list=RD02A8JsRxVczmQ</a> - Our God is Greater by Chris Tomlin. <br />
<br />
Perhaps you will enjoy them as well. :)StrongInHimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09642451472290489136noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2687423329314564537.post-32560526285648651352013-10-21T18:58:00.000-07:002013-10-21T18:58:02.953-07:00Hello again! :)Hello everyone! Been thinking about posting a new blog for some time. I did actually write one and was going to post it a few days ago, but my computer's hard drive crashed, and then while in the fix-it shop, they told me the motherboard just went kaploey! as well. A rather large bummer, if you ask me. So it's going to be a quite some time before I'm back on a computer that I can call my own. I'm thinking I'll have enough money saved up to get one by February if I pinch my pennies strategically. Or perhaps my poor computer can be fixed up somehow? Time will tell. <br />
<br />
Oh! And to those of you who prayed that my unretrievable lost books on the harddrive could be recovered (praying for the impossible to be possible)....the tech called me last week and said in an unbelievable voice, "Would you mind paying 60 bucks for a flashdrive? We recovered your information and we need a big place to store them. ...Do you know you are the only case we have ever had where we recovered information off a destroyed disk? And all your information got recovered. Do you know how impossible that is? (in the background of this marvelous news, I was holding my heart and sighing a breath of "Praise God!") You are so lucky! We should not have been able to get any of that information back for you. When I say impossible, I mean it. So, uh, your books alone are too big for the flashdrives we have. Do you want to spend the 60 to get your recovered info?" That snapped me out of grieving the loss of my writings (I write with my heart, so its a part of me...to lose it so snap-of-a-second quick was devistating). I jumped on paying the 60, telling him how I'd prayed and had friends and family praying, so it had nothing to do with luck- God answered prayer. Now I have all my information back, and most importantly, my books were reclaimed from the ashes. The impossible has become not only possible, it happened. Thank you for praying, and I thank God for answered prayer over even such simple things. <br />
<br />
This morning, I'm using my parents' computer. Unfamiliar to my fingertips as the large keyboard is, it works. Figured being I had a few hours before my appointment, I'd write. My writer's itch is really getting to me this morning, so I figured I'd satisfy it by posting to my blog. So does that sound good? Good.<br />
<br />
Its a foggy morning, like yesterday. The ground is frosted over and the standing water has zigzags of ice across the top. Winter is slowly overtaking the Fall. Yesterday at work, I made quite a game of it. Yeah, I got a bit -well, very- michievious. The shrouded vail of fog was intensifying my yearning to write. Ooo it made my writer's itch just that much more itchier. Being I couldn't scratch the itch, I chose to be impish about the weather. To passers by, customers and coworkers alike, I would randomly 'happen to look' at the window, widen my eyes, pointing and exclaiming, "Its snowing!!" and then take satisfaction in how predictable their shocked wide-eyed expressions were. Every single one that I did this to, did precisely what I assumed they'd do. It pleasured me greatly, and I laughed. To which they gave me "evil eyes," squenching their faces at me knowing they'd been had, making me laugh all the more. lol, it was great fun. <br />
<br />
Looking out my window as I write, visibility has lifted to see to the edge of our field, but no further. Our garden is bare, and the only thing growing in there is the persistant collard greens. Surprising being that was one of the plants that my family and I were sure would never make it. It endured being tossed onto the ground and crushed in the windstorm that tore our greenhouse up, smashing the garden chairs into it. It survived the birds feasting on it while we tried to shoo them off and scoop up what Ma and I could save. Then it endured our chickens hopping the fence and scratching up the garden to get at the seedlings. Then the water ran out a few times this summer during the hottest days and so I thought for sure we'd lose them...but they stuck through it. The first frost hit and they stood tall, unwilted, and grew more! I know I've asked more than once: "God, can I be like that collard green patch? It's survived all of its tough days and for it, the leaves are huge and the plant is hardy!" We have about 10 of those plants left (I uprooted some and took it to church). Its past the 5th frost and yes, they are still growing. Everytime I pick some of it for supper, I shake my head and smile. The most hardiest green plant I've seen so far. I almost wonder if they will survive being burried in snow and pick up where they left off come Spring! (And no, I haven't watered them since first frost.) <br />
<br />
The rest of the garden is quickly being pulled up. The last surviving sunflower is drying out, waiting till the last of the wilted petals fall before I chop it down, I guess. We had four of those, but the bear found three of them and snapped those down to his height, ate what he wanted and left the rest for the deer. We have enough of those left to hang-dry for the Spring birds, but nothing edible for us. Strawberries are covered under the straw. Sweet potatoes (yes they grew!) and potatoes are harvested. Golf tees are poked in the ground near all our bulbs (thanks for the idea, Pinterest!), so we know where all of them are and accidentally don't uproot them or spear them with the shovel, having forgotten where we planted them. <br />
<br />
My Dad, Mom, Aunt and Uncle, and I gathered together, armed with pickers and boxes, and went out to our apple trees. It was great and memorable, especially when Dad accused Mom of throwing an apple at him (an apple fell off the tree and brained him in the head). "Duck under the ladder next time, silly!" I laughed. "I couldn't, its seven years bad luck!" Dad said shouted back to me. I laughed harder, "Dad, that's if you break a mirror!" and forgot I had my picker on a branch and brained myself in the head with an apple. "Throwing apples at yourself?" Mom laughed, "You're trying to be like Dad!" "That's not true, I have no ladder to duck under!" I rubbed my head. Our pupper-dog stood nearby, tail wagging and waiting with all eagerness for the next apple to drop (even though she had her mouth full with the one that bonked me on the head, and had five more at her paws). I'm convinced that our pup is as infatuated with apples as Marley was with mangos. lol. <br />
<br />
So yep, I've got my work cut out for me. Today I'll search for the dehydrator and tomorrow I'll make apple chips, apple butter and apple sauce (I've been told the last two are very easy to do....I hope so! This'll be my first attempt at it!) Green beans were canned already and stored in the pantry. I braided garlic and hung it in the garage. Purple carrots are in a dark cool place, awaiting use. Kombucha will be brewed tomorrow, just sewing up the seeping bag. Can't wait for winter, then I can relax from all the tasks...and plan for Spring and Summer's crops. :P<br />
<br />
Pulling out the wintertime clothes and searching for clothes, like I did during the summertime. Loving the comforting feeling of my warm sweaters and coats. Ooo, and hot chocolates with almond milk, or soy if I want it richly creamy. Speaking of good treats, I'm on the hunt for warm thanksgiving foods and deserts that I can eat. Some things I've found, but still searching for a pie crust recipe. Pretty determined that there's got to be a gf df recipe for one out there that doesn't contain potatoes in the ingrediets list. If I can't find it, I'll attempt making up a dough for it. Nervous, but hey, experimenting is part of the adventure, right? <.<.......>.> I hope its a pleasant adventure. My last experiment of homemade fluffy buscuits was for lack of better words: grittily intreguing. So back to looking for more...umm, edible....fluffy buscuits as well. <br />
<br />
Well, as you can see, I've been keeping busy between home and work. Its been going pretty well. I'm slowly learning my can and can't do's, and my can do's are growing as I learn how to rotate meals and things to do. Hiking is still not in the picture, but perhaps next summer? It is one of my many goals to accomplish. The biggest goal is to take my mountain bike and pedal it all day on a trail that I love. That one will take working up to, training too, but I think I can reach that goal. lol, I won't be as eager as to just wing it and go. I remember a time when I decided against the doctor, pt, and nutritionist's wishes (as I didn't have enough strength or energy) and went bushwack-hiking with friends on their property. I laugh at it now. I mean, I was so determined that I heard they were going and when asked, lept at it so far that I did all that climbing over large dead trees, through poky brush, slurping through the marsh, all in a shaffon ankle length dress (it was on Sunday, after church) and borrowed mud boots. Shockingly no, there wasn't a speck of mud or tear on the dress when I was done. It was such a feeling, I was so jazzed to have done it that I felt I conquered the world! The next day, I felt miserable by a sickening feeling of the world spinning, a high pitch drilling into my brain with its squeal, and ultimately squished to the bed by gravity alone. It hit me: my team knew what they were talking about when they warned me. I'd realized I'd have to tell them why my energy and strength that I was building up was out the window. When I brought up the shaffon dress, they laughed goodnaturedly till they were in stitches. Told me I was a silly crazy girl, and shook their heads, laughing more about the shaffon dress and mudboots. Now they were convinced, they said, that I had the determined stubborn willpower that it would take to work up to the goal of hiking..with their permission (when my body was ready for such a feat)....and hopefully in jeans, not shaffon. <br />
<br />
Well, its time for me to go. I'll write more later, promise. God bless. :)StrongInHimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09642451472290489136noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2687423329314564537.post-89237115872588313062013-06-06T22:54:00.000-07:002013-06-10T12:24:23.295-07:00A New Adventure: The Diving Board.<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Hello! It’s
been a long time, hasn’t it? The only reason I can think of for not writing
sooner is that I felt I was at a standstill and didn’t know what to say…or if I
should say the same things (but I felt that would get old really quick-like).
Know what I mean? Well, *shrugs* there you have it. :)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I had my
golden birthday recently. I’d been waiting all year in anticipation. To some,
it’s really a silly thing, but to be my age on my day of birth…that was neat to
me so I wanted it to be special.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just
didn’t know how to make it into a workable plan. I knew I wanted Italian food.
Italian food to me is “special” food. I chose Italian when I first became a
teenager, and my first taste of wine was paired with Italian food…so I wanted
to have that sort of meal to signify it too was special. And I wanted nothing
else than to make memories, sharing in laughter and good times. That was my
ultimate goal and longing, more than getting Italian for supper. Piece by piece
this plan came together. The biggest piece was when a pal stated sadly to me
one day that there was nowhere to wear beautiful dress from the back of the
closet, but she wanted to. It made her feel beautiful. I informed her she’s
already a very pretty young lady. She laughed and asked if I had such a dress.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Haha, well, I have more than one. Yep, I understood
what she was saying and I related. I wanted to wear what was beautiful but
there is nowhere to wear it. Then it hit me: my special day! We could all pull
out our pretty gowns and wear them then. But where would we go? KFC, Taco Bell,
or McDonalds in formal attire?? Nah. Why? It would look out of place and completely
silly. Besides, it wasn’t Italian food and my mind was locked on it. (Yeah,
this is the part where I get picky. :P) My friend’s reply was instant: We could
go to the little Italian restaurant. They have excellent food. My pal next to
her nodded rapidly- we could scrimp our money enough to splurge on food for
such an occasion. We’d pay our own ways, cause I had those medical bills. So,
we had a solid plan. I set the date for Saturday and sent texted invitations to
my friends and made calls to family. It was going to be grand. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I decided to
wear my red velvet dress, so I put it up to air out and get the wrinkles out. I
got a text, “Are you going to wear the red dress we found?” Yep…with a black
velvet shawl of course to cover my shoulders, make it modest. I had rose
jewelry that mimicked the roses sparkling in the dark red velvet fabric. And my
black-strap high heels. Yep yep, it would be perfect. At first I did wonder if
it would fit me like a potato sack (like my sky blue renaissance dress with the
billowy sleeves did) due to losing weight since purchasing the dress. I put
myself at ease. Of course it would fit. And it did, perfectly. :D </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Helped two of
my friends that week find dresses that would fit them. Both looked breathtaking
and amazing, btw! It was such a neat experience to encourage, chitchat, and
point out tips that would help in selecting an outfit complimentary to them. The
night of the party came and it was such a beautiful event. Exactly what I hoped
for. I could hear the laughter and stories around the long table. I’m sure I
bore a satisfied smile because it was what I hoped for. And so was the food.
(Yes if you must know: my food did have mushrooms in it. ;) To me, it was a
minute hint next to the prosciutto, parmesan, and noodles in its creamy garlic
sauce. Mmm, it was delicious!) Supper was followed by gifts (which I’d told my
guests they weren’t obligated to bring anything, as it was an expensive supper.
I just wanted time with all of them, to be surrounded by the blessings in my
life. That’s what mattered to me). There were gifts also heartfelt cards (of
which I still have displayed on my dresser although my b-day date has long
passed by. I can’t bring myself to take them down yet. Seeing them displayed
reminds me of them and I smile and think about that lovely night). They
serenaded me with the classic birthday song of course, and I was given a
chocolate and vanilla mousse in a desert glass, a single candle bright at its
center. “Make a wish!” I was told from around the table. “Blow it out…” “It’s
going to melt into the chocolate before she decides what she wants to wish
for.” I heard someone chuckle. But I knew what I wanted to wish for, so I
leaned forward and blew out the flame. (Such a big wish for such a little puff
of breath, but hey, no one imposes wishing limitations after all.) What was my
wish? lol, you know the rules- If I tell you what I wished for, it won’t come
true. ;)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Now we all get a taste!” Mom interjected
jokingly. Grandma said, “Nah, let her have it. By the time that little desert
gets around the table and back to her, she’ll just have the empty cup and
spoon!” They ordered their own deserts and we passed around samples of ours to
each other. We were sung to by a young group of ladies. They were good. We
applauded and fished into our wallets for spare cash to tip them. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I thanked God
that the night was absent of pain, it was like a dream. Like Cinderella, who
gets her magical ball until the stroke of midnight….only, we didn’t stay out
that late. :P <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mom organized us into a
group photo and flashes snapped all about. (Now, thank you my dear
photographers, I have photos to remember the occasion by as well.) :) I slept
like a rock when I got home, satisfied and so very happy. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Currently, I
am on vacation for 9 days, thus the laptop comes out and I start writing like a
wildwoman. Who knows when I’ll get the chance to get caught up on everything!
Writing and sorting out emails (200 arrive in my box every 2-3 days, O_o, yeah
it’s a nuttyhouse in the inbox with over 990 emails to sort through. I think Facebook
comprises 3/4 ths of the traffic in there. I’m pretty sure of it. :P Deleting
and clearing out my phone of old messages so I can receive new ones. :) Trying
as well to crank my imagination up so it’ll get chugging again. I would love to
pour over my old writing projects and pick them up again. Perhaps finish two
posts so I can receive the replies, cause I am sure giddy to see what they’ll
write in response. (It’s kind of like a game of tag, only in writing stories.)
:) Been going through three books at the present: The Search for Significance
(-a thank you to the pal that referred this book to me), Jesus Calling (-got
that for my b-day, love it), and in the Bible, the book of Job (-being my
pastor is teaching a series from it). In Biblestudy, we’re going through the
book of Ephesians…it’s been very deep. Our small group has barely entered the
book, because it’s so rich, we go right into the meat of it and it’s been so
good for us. We get all excited over how truly amazing God is, and we should,
because He is incredibly amazing. :) Been a bit late in getting my life-list written
out for this year. It was supposed to be jumped on in January, as usual (and nope,
it’s not a New Year’s resolution that dissolves over the course of a few months).
So, I’m slowly attending to that. I like to learn new things and grow. Learning
just makes me all the more hungry to learn. Each year I plan out new things to
strive for that year. If I don’t get it, it rolls into the next year until I
have it. One year it was a language, another year was jewelry making, another
year was photo classes, another was crocheting, another sewing...mending…cooking…and
so forth and so on. This year I didn’t have anything in that creativity slot-
so I spent the first day of my vacation going around town asking questions and
seeking a craft I hadn’t done. No, I’m not planning on doing it on my vacation,
but I’ll certainly save up for it. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">At the ladies
retreat that I went to over the weekend, I’d noticed one of the ladies knitting
on the couch across the way. She was surrounded by a group of girls. They were
talking about making hats. It intrigued me, so made my way across the room and I
asked questions, one of which was: How is knitting different than crocheting?
They said it was much harder than crocheting. Instantly, I was very interested.
I love a good challenge. Chatted with them for a while, and that night, I
stopped wondering what craft should go in this year’s slot. Knitting. So, back
to where I was, I stopped by one store and saw all the scarves, gloves, socks,
shawls, and sweaters. It did look very daunting of a task, especially those
sweaters and socks. I love a good challenge. I stepped into the store and was
instantly met with a question, “Are you looking to take a class on knitting? We
have classes Monday through Thursday.” And I was handed a form. I asked all the
questions I could think up. What supplies were needed? How much would they
cost? How much were the classes? How long were the classes? Where was the class
located? What was considered a good beginner’s project? What was a good yarn
for a beginner? (When I learned to crochet, I used one of those fluffy wools
that was very difficult to see the loops in the chains with.) So, anyhow, being
I have to save up for my big adventurous trip in March, I figure that I’ll take
the class on knitting in April or May. It’ll be so neat, I can’t wait.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Ert! (-car
skidding to halt) Big adventurous trip, you say? Yep. I was called by a clinic
who would love to meet with me and try their hands at solving my mystery. Great!
I am excited! :) I had received some no’s from clinics and doctors that I’d
tried to go to, in attempts to get answers. They’d all said the same thing: There
is no evidence to prove that there is an existing issue that needs treating, so
we will not be meeting with you. …And you know what? They are right -all my
tests have come out healthy and good, after all. Looking at my charts and info,
everything is doing just as it was created to do. That’s what makes this such a
perplexing mystery. The clinic is far away, so thus the big adventurous trip.
It will take 6 hours one way. Dad will be driving, so that makes me copilot (The
gas money for the trip is being provided for by my grandparents (I hadn’t
asked, but I am sure grateful). So they deserve a big thank you from me, for
sure. I received the paper packet in the mail and I’ve been filling it out.
Some of the questions are maddening because I find fill-in-the-dots to be
frustrating as I can’t explain things further than the question. “How many
times per week do you cry?” For instance. I can’t write: About 4 times per week
as I am in pain, but I usually don’t cry when I hurt, I talk. So they might
think it’s due to trouble at home or Depression (which has happened before thanks
to the fill-in-the-dots). Craziness. :P</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">On that note,
I’m sure you are curious on how am I doing?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I’ve been
having more good days and not so often as how it used to be, which is good in
that regard. 4 out of 7 days are “bad days”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>and in those times, I still struggle and fight it. Although I try to
relax through it, I find myself consistently attempting to muscle up and “bull
through it,” before inevitably crashing on the couch. I still need my naps in
the middle of the day, even on the good days, because I get so fatigued that I
can barely keep my eyes open. I’ve learned tricks to keep myself from drifting
when I cannot sleep, or I don’t want to. I can also avoid the naps, but it
costs me in energy to fight it and my focus is shot when it comes to group
conversations. I’ve learned it’s not a good idea to fight the naps, but to give
in to them. I usually nap 2-4 hours and then I’m able to do some chores and
make supper before fatigue sets back in. I’d been told fatigue is caused by too
much sleep, so I tried less sleep (only 8hrs and no napping) for a time…it was
awful and I felt I failed multiple times because I would get dizzy and off-balance,
so I’d sit down for a breather and blink sleepily. Next thing I knew it was hours
later. It would frustrate me. That’s when I figured out naps could be delayed
but not avoided. Then I was told my fatigue was caused by too little sleep, so
I enjoyed frequent naps (3-4) like a child would enjoy being handed a whole
bowl of M&Ms and told to have as many as they’d like. I did well with it
during the day, but when night came I stared at the ceiling, wide awake. So
that didn’t work either. I returned to the nap as needed (1 or 2), and I slept
like a rock at night. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">They said my
fatigue was caused by the Depression that I was refusing to admit I had. I admit:
the Depression box that some kept trying to suggest I was in, made me want to
get very frustrated as nothing I said could convince them I didn’t have it, I
knew that wasn’t the issue. I had to keep praying that I wouldn’t fight back in
self-defense because it wasn’t necessary. Plus I knew it would put a tally in
their favor due to the stress I would exert explaining why I wasn’t stressed.
The best thing to do was the hardest thing to do: Don’t defend myself, and let
them say how Depressed I am and tell me what I needed to do to rid myself of
that stress. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I worked on diminishing the
look of panic, stress, and desperation over the situation to accept things of
far better value: Being collected, calm, and at peace in the situation. And in
the middle of the storm, to have a quietness and trust. It’s not my place to
stop the storm, I can’t stop the storm. It’s impossible. I am not in control of
the storm, or the waves pounding the rocks, no. I am a lighthouse on the Rock.
The Light is His and the window of my heart is what I have, and I am to keep it
open, so the Light goes far-reaching into the stormy darkness. (Just like the
city on the hill in Scripture.)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The
accusations of how I was refusing to offer my situation to God, to let Him have
the control over it all and how I wasn’t trusting Him so that is why I am being
afflicted, that is the most hurtful thing for me. I’ve called these comforters
“Job’s friends” ever since they said this would go away once I was in right standing
with God as He would take it away and I would be healed. I know what they are
saying is out of genuine concern for my well-being. I see their thoughtfulness
very clearly, because in all honesty, they see me hurting and want to help me,
and I love that. They are concerned that I should have a healthy relationship
with God, I cherish that in them. It is a wonderful thing to have friends who
are concerned about my heart-relationship with God. It is highly valued to me. It
still takes more strength than I have, it takes His strength to remain quiet
and at peace when the sin-Depression subject comes up. Each time, I am all stirred
up inside. I want to correct them gently by telling them how much God has been
working on me, the great things He is doing, how each time I hurt, I cry out to
Him because He is Comfort. But could they hear what I would say? Last time I
had attempted it, it had ended poorly; them on one side and me at the other with
no bridge of agreement to bring us together in the middle. So I am quiet and
prayerful when they speak about these things. And then I tell them how much I
am thankful for them and care about them. I am convinced that time will speak
for me. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">I had many people pray over me. Beautiful moments, I tell you. Simply beautiful. Hard not to cry, it showed me the love of my Brothers and Sisters in the Lord for me, and when they lifted me up in prayer to Him, I was mightily encouraged. I can't number how many times hands were laid on me, heads bowed and we came before His throne together. A-mazing. Yep. I thank God for my prayer warriors. Definitely a blessing to me, having them talk to God about me and asking for His will in my life. Its a very grand thing I don't take for granted. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">I have had a few circumstances where we prayed that God would just remove it from my life and heal me. that would be ideal, so I thought. ...So we all thought. (But God didn't answer that prayer in that way. He had something different planned for me when He answered our prayers about my health...something none of us saw, but He saw it all. And as I knew, He knew and held all the answers.) I encountered a group of aquantances who heard about my situation and they offered to pray for me. Of course! They all got around me and put hands on me. I understood it to be encouraging. Then they began to pray that the demons would be cast out of my body in His name, as they were the cause of the evil that hurt me so much. Right in the middle of them saying, "We cast you, demon, out of our friend, in the name of Him who is holy: Jesus Christ...." I couldn't, in all honesty, take being silent anymore and interrupted with the first sentence to exit my thoughts, "Dude, the Strongman is in the house!" I was released as though I had shocked them, then they left. I stood in the parking lot looking at their tail-lights with this little squint on my face. Why did they think that I had demons inside me? The Holy Spirit dwells within me. Both cannot live in the same heart. The Scriptures talked about the Strongman in the house and evil not being able to enter, unless the strongman were first tied up (but who then, could tie up GOD? The binds on Him were tried at the cross and Death could not even hold Him!). But where on earth did the word "Dude" come from? Just my shock at them actually trying to do that to me? I guessed so.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I was told by some doctors and acquaintances
in January (various times, separate places), that I need to “get happy” as
though it were something I could reach out through my pain and snatch it up for
myself, or a sunshine-pill that could be swallowed, thus putting a grin on my
face and a merry skip in my step. I had already learned from August and again
in December that happy is an elusive emotion. It comes when I feel good, and it
bubbles up inside of me and I can’t help it, it spreads to my lips in one big
giant grin and I am full of laughter and it’s just fantastic. I do like feeling
happy, but happy isn’t always available. In fact, there are times of deep
sadness, and happy is not there. It doesn’t mean that’s awful and shouldn’t be.
There is a time for happiness, and a time to be sad. A time to dance, a time to
mourn. A time to laugh, a time to cry. This is the way of life. And this situation
has the times for me to cry and be sad when I don’t feel good. It’s not
Depression that makes me cry and sad, although yes, Depression can cause those
things. It can also cause a person to feel crummy. But here’s the thing: The
flu can cause throwing up, which causes a person to feel crummy, and weighted
with sadness because they can’t do what they planned to do, and if it’s a party
they wanted to attend, they are bummed to cancel. And the sickness makes them
restlessly hot in the night, aching, and they cry because it is truly
miserable. Once they are better, they are happy again. I’ve never heard of a
sane person with the flu hop to their feet after throwing-up, and stomach still
churning, grin and whistle about their day, roses-and-rainbows-happy. It
doesn’t happen like that. Likewise, when I really get to hurting I can only
muscle-up enough strength to not cry for so long before the dam bursts. Pain is
not meant to make you smile, if that happened to me, I would naturally be
assumed as nuts, crazy, and out of my mind. Why? Simply because pain is
unpleasant. Like the saying goes: “I like pain…until it hurts.” Pain is great
to notify us of trouble we were prior to, unaware of, but that’s the extent of
liking of it I’m sure. “I hurt” equals “I cry.” Now, being sad has its
limitations. Why? Because I have Joy and Hope (capital letters on purpose as my
joy and hope are in Him because God is my Joy and Hope). I’ve discovered in
this storm, joy is different than happy. Happy you have when the weather is
fair and life feels great, but joy is in the center of both happy and the center
of the deepest, darkest raging storm for the Christian. Happy doesn’t enter
that storm. Joy remains always, always present. I have joy because I have the Joy.
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">My invisible
knife (or spear) symptom is infrequent, random. It comes when it wants and leaves
when it wants. It didn’t look to have a reason or pattern that we could see. It
seems to go away and I’m skip-a-de-do-dah happy and energetic (until nap time,
which I still take), and then there are other days where I’m skipping along and
I might as well of eaten rotten food because suddenly I don’t feel so great,
then I realize I really don’t feel so great, so I sit, then lay down, and there
is the white hot knife, so I cry; or worse, the spear…and I start screaming and
sobbing. And that’s when I realize, it’s tricked me, like it has a life of its
own and wants me to think the world is right and happy, only to drag me
downward and laugh in my face as I curl in a fetal ball and cry. And there’s
nothing I can do about it. Medication doesn’t affect it, save for whatever
medication they gave me at the E.R. That one, whatever it is, works. But I’d
decided to stop going to the E.R. when I hurt (this is just my decision, not
recommended). I realized money only stretches so far, and my symptoms will
either go away in a few minutes, an hour, a day, or two, or three…And it’s 100
bucks to visit the E.R. 50 bucks to visit the doctor. This money will only go
so far. If I spend it relieving my pain, I feel better short term, but it will
return later because we haven’t figured out what the reason for the pain is. If
I stay home and ride it out, I feel miserable, but I save the money for the
doctor visits, which means working towards finding the explanation why I hurt.
It has taken lots of tears and strength to fight through the really bad nights.
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When it’s woken me from my sleep with a
sharp twisting stab, I cry into my pillow and ask God to please take it away. It
doesn’t go away, but that doesn’t mean that He hasn’t heard me. I know He most
certainly has; every single tear-jerked word and every gasp. And I know that
when someone loves you so deeply, when you hurt, it hurts them. I know that in
His eyes, that was there. It was in those nights that I was most aware of the
calm within the storm, the presence of my Comfort. So that you know, it’s not
common for it to wake me up in the night. I am usually so tired, I sleep
through the night. Mostly, I don’t get it during my sleep, which is great, and
it can stay that way! :P I say mostly as I did have it one night and it was hot
enough of a pain that it snapped me out of my sleep and I couldn’t think around
it, I just cried and eventually dozed off. That was a few nights ago.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Found myself
shaking one evening when I woke up, as though I were chilled by a frigid wind.
My hands were trembling in my lap. I looked at the time and realized it was
time to make supper. My family would be home soon, and I wanted it to be ready.
I’d got to my feet and my world swirled off-balance, so I sat down as the
motion weighted me in that direction. I waited, only to hear the squealing in my
ears. I stood back up and tottered over to the kitchen like a sleepy child,
fingers trembling on their own accord. I didn’t know what was going on with
them, but I was going to fix supper. I pulled out the cheese grater, fumbling
to hold onto it and the cheese both, pushing my arms to do the work. Still, the
grater was clattering on the counter as I sliced. Mom came in at that moment
and stood silent for a moment before saying it wasn’t natural and I needed to
sit down. I said I was fine. She didn’t believe that. I sat down as asked and
drifted off to sleep. When I was woken up, dinner was ready, and the symptoms
that had irritated me had gone. I later asked the doctor about it and it was
explained to me how anxiety builds up and causes these symptoms. I took the
words to heart. I was anxious! God said not to be anxious for anything! I
promised myself from that point on to give my anxiety to Him, although, I was pretty
sure I was doing that. Apparently not- the symptoms showed otherwise. I went home
and put myself alone in my room to pray, to ask Him for forgiveness and face to
the floor, ask Him to humble me enough for His good use. I didn’t want to be
anxious, that meant I was trying to take control. I didn’t want control. To
take control when I told Him from the start that He was to lead me, was to me,
to be proud and think I could handle this on my own. Impossible! Pah!
Unthinkable! I need Him like I need water or air! I love Him over and above
anything I could possibly name. I cannot possibly step forward in this life
without Him. I want Him in control at all times. He loves me on such an
enormous scale that anything He chooses for my life is wonderful, a gift, a
blessing, even if it is in disguise. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I still struggle with digesting my foods. I
eat as much as I can and at the end of the day, I’m glad I don’t have to eat
another bite until morning. Still, with eating all that I can, I’ve lost the 3
lbs I’d been fighting to hang onto. It perplexed everyone that I could “eat
like a horse” and drop weight like it was nothing. I began thinking of it like
a running treadmill. As soon as I stopped jogging forward (eating lots), I
started going backwards (losing weight), and when I struggled hard to jog in
place (eat enough that I kept the weight) it resulted in me being tired out
from the struggling. My Grandparents referred to it as being “accidentally
bulimic” although I didn’t suffer from bulimia. Knowing my food wasn’t
digesting like it should only upset me, so I kept doing a “hand it over” and
“taking it back” battle where I’d entrust God with my situation like I should
and not get frustrated (it’s not a fruit of the Spirit, so I don’t want
anything to do with it. Besides, frustration doesn’t get me anywhere but
upset). Then it’d happen all over again because I’d realize I’d taken what I’d
given to him and a whole new frustration would erupt in my head: why do I keep
trying to take this confounded situation when I know I don’t have the strength
to handle it? …Have you ever have this happen? …Yeah, I dislike it too. I wish
I would just leave it in His care, and I mean permanently leave it there. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Been through
several different diet programs. Diets to gain weight (although the online
program would send a pop up message “Good job, keep it up” every time I lost a pound.
Silly, but still useful. :) ), diets to raise protein and fiber (recommended by
dietitian, insured that I would gain some weight….but we were both befuddled: I
lost a few pounds more and I was still getting sick to my stomach. That’s when
I was told there was certainly something wrong and that was evidence), fruit
and veggie diet (to cleanse out toxins that could be making my body corrupted,
then I could digest. That was the plan….I hardly digested any of it, plus it
was so painful and my stomach would swell up pregnant-like, but minus the baby.
By the midweek, I completely lost interest in food. After all, who is
interested in hurting themselves on purpose?), meat diets (supposed to gain
weight, and I did, 1 lb, which dropped off the next week. This was a
super-painful diet to me), dairy free, gluten free, both dairy and gluten free
(I actually felt amazing at first. It tricked all of us, even my doctors. We
thought we had it by the tail. Then, strangely, it got worse, and I went
downhill, painfully so. Although I did gain 6 beautiful pounds…before going to
E.R. to surprisingly discover that my blood sugar was at 50), then I created my
own (very unbalanced) diet called desperation: snatching anything that was high
in weight gaining properties and….I lost 4 pounds and pain tortured me. To boot,
acne speckled my arms and face (lovely….). I had a panic attack during this
time and laid on the bed, going through my breathe-in-&-breathe-out with no
deep breaths routine that lasted for a good while (it feels like I am being
suffocated). I was upset with me for the attack happening. I had nothing to
panic about as I wasn’t in the danger zone yet. It eventually passed and I was
able to get up to my feet, lightheaded, and continue with my evening. Then, one
day a friend asked me to try an MSG free diet for a month. No other food but
what was on the okayed list. I was for it and I was desperate. Anything to get
the pain to go away because nothing seemed to be working for me. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I stayed at
the same weight all month, which was very exciting for me, like a mini victory.
I also wasn’t getting headaches, and that random onset of tight, hard to
breathe sensations in my lungs disappeared (medically, my lungs are fine btw).
I’d had what doctors called “panic attacks” for about eight years. I thought it
would never go away. The first time I had it, I thought I was having a heart
attack, and so did everyone around me and I was zipped off to the E.R. Had
tests done and everything checked out, I was fine. But I was really having a
tough time getting air, I couldn’t breathe it in, it would get stuck and then I
would panic within my brain because I NEEDED that air! I’d gasp for it and
that’s when it would really go south cause then I didn’t get any of it and
began gasping wildly, and not collecting it. I was informed that I was only
holding my breath and needed to calm down so I could breathe. Once it got to
that point, they would say I wasn’t listening and too panicked to even hear
them. I’d get jabbed with a needle and as I fell asleep, I’d feel my chest
relax and the clenched feeling in my lungs lifted, sweet air filling them. Finally!
That’s what I wanted! Air! </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I can’t count
how many times I did those E.R. races. Eventually, I got to the point of
teaching myself to lay still in those moments and focus on one breath and then
letting it out, and repeating that. It made my mind go wildly in circles
screaming for air, but I would keep calm and still. As soon as I gasped as my
mind begged for me to do, all was lost and I was taken to E.R. for the
sleepy-time shot in the rump (because I wasn’t listening) that would relax me
entirely and I’d breathe again. So on this MSG free diet, I felt like I had won
something, it felt great, so I celebrated February 1<sup>st</sup> with a cup of
decadent brownie whip. I got sick to my stomach and I was sore all day. For the
rest of that week, I stared at the whip every time I passed it and shook my
head when I would think of how much I had once wanted it. Now, I wanted nothing
to do with it, I was repulsed. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I ate all
sorts of other foods that week and again felt pretty sick. I retreated back to
the diet, where it felt safe. I ate lots of raw foods after that, thinking of
health benefits attached to them. There was a sharp ringing in my ears at times
(painless but annoying). I continued getting dizzy and off-balanced so when
people would rush by me, my center of gravity would bend towards them (I always
caught myself by walking the other way, focused on something else). I was
digesting less. I wanted to give up, but I couldn’t do that. (That’s what
happens when there are no answers and only questions, and pain, and frustration
when nothing that is done is helping. It’s normal to want to throw in the towel
and just forget about the whole dang thing and move on with life. Stop seeing
the doctors and just learn to live life around whatever the mystery is. That
was what I planned to do. And so, I ate bacon with my breakfast (what I know
could hurt me, but I wanted the issue to go away, so much so that I was trying
to will it in my brain to just get up and leave and I’d give it a stiff boot in
the rump when it got to the door. I was sick of fighting and sick of pain. And
I wanted pork). That night was spent reliving reality as I hugged the toilet,
and reminded me why I couldn’t live around my pain – I was living in it. I was
revolted by my rebel thought to just live, and despised how careless I was to
eat something I knew I should not eat. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">So, the next
day, I increased my stupidity and went straight for the potato bread. By noon,
I was grocery shopping with a loose sweater to disguise the evidence of my
being dumb – swollen stomach. There I am, carrying my basket in front of me
with both hands and a lady approaches excitedly, saying “Oh!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yay!” and places her hand on my stomach. “Can
I?” She says, a little too late. I realize what she is waiting for, and I
squint, trying to figure out how to kindly say, “You’re not going to feel a
baby kick, if that’s what you are expecting.” But that’s all that comes to
mind, so I say it and go on to explain I’m not pregnant, I am dealing with some
sort of medical mystery, and ate potato bread and it swells me up every time, I
knew better. Her smile slacked off and I wished instead that I was pregnant so
that we would talk about happier things. Like baby bottles, blues and pinks,
soft blankets, little toes and fingers. I would laugh and talk about decorating
a room, and picking names, and possible birth dates. And would the little one
have his eyes or hers? It would have been beautiful, but then, back to reality,
I was dealing with a mystery that was hurting me. I chewed myself out when I
got home for eating the bread. My subject with the lady, although turned out a
lovely conversation and catching up, never would have included what I was
considering a murky subject that I wanted to be far away from. My mystery was
wearing me out. I don’t know what had gotten into me that I would rebel against
the only facts I knew: I can’t eat potatoes, or beef, or pork, or beans, or
oily foods, or caffeine, or acidic things, or dairy, or gluten without a
reaction that I know I won’t like. I felt like I was all massed up in chains. I
found myself pondering how people can live like this. What do they do when they
can’t find the way out? What do they do when they mess up like I did, being all
rebel-like against their mysteries? Or do they just accept it and move on? How
do they just move on? I attributed moving on to be getting better, or progress
even in the littlest measurement, and that wasn’t happening. I thought about
how one of my good pals was going through kind of similar but different and
more painful situations than I was, but she was stronger than I was. In fact,
she was out doing things and living. How could I mimic that? Then, of course,
it hits me: Who’s strength do you think makes her so strong, hers or His? No
brainer on that one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I started
going to a physical therapist, getting my stomach worked out…that’s when we
found out together that the pain can be triggered. Like a push button. Only,
once it’s triggered, it stays on; we couldn’t seem to find the “off
switch.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was an embarrassing moment
for me because I almost threw up on my pt lady. She said not to worry about it
as the stomach is a sensitive place and mine was very upset when I got to my
appointment (a bad day), so she had thought what she was doing may have that
effect on me. Yep, it did. I still felt bad for what happened (like I could
stop it…nope, not so). Continued seeing her. Each time, although painful, got
better. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I started to
notice a difference: I was having less “white hot spears” and although still
was getting the “knife” feeling, it too wasn’t twisting in me as much. I became
eager. This was progress. I felt on top of the world. I celebrated….doing all
the laundry, tidying up the house. Boy *sigh of happiness* that was a long time
coming. Then, as I surveyed my work, I frowned. I didn’t feel so good anymore.
There was that squeal in my ears that I knew no one else was hearing although
it drowned out the music I was listening to. My world felt tipsy. And then
there was a blinding stab in my stomach. I was going down… but where was that
victory I just had? I was muddled with confusion. I had felt great. Didn’t we
fix it? I’d felt like I was better. Midway through the laundry, I’d considered
calling my future appointments and saying I was better. Something in me was in
disapproval at that very optimistic thought, kept saying wait, wait. So I
hadn’t canceled any of the appointments. Now I was so glad I hadn’t. Clearly,
this mystery hadn’t fixed. It had tricked me….no, I had overstretched my
boundaries. That’s what I had done. So I had boundaries. The thought gave me
hope. Boundaries meant I could do things, within limits. I just had to find
what the limits were. Hurrah. :) </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">A long while
came and went of not being able to do much at all, save for my job, cooking
meals, and sleep. A few weeks of this and I wanted to cry. I thought I’d passed
this point already.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, I considered
it, being I went through it before, I could go through it again. I’d get up to
where I felt good again, and this time, I wouldn’t sweep through the house like
a mini cleaning tornado (if there ever was such a thing as that). I’d go about
tidying slowly, so as to not pass that boundary line. I’d be careful about it.
That day came. I passed the boundary line without my knowing it, and the pain
erupted not like before, but in the middle of the night. I didn’t sleep well,
and when I did catch snippits of sleep, there were nightmares that made me
sweat and jolt into a sitting position, huffing to catch my breath. I would sit
there in the dark, grasping my matted up head with both hands. This was going
to drive me into insanity. There was no way out. It hit me. Of course there was
a way out, and I was going to get there. I’d been promised so, though it wasn’t
guaranteed for this life. I’d just be at the mercy of this mystery, but more
than that, knowing with all certainty that I was held up by not my strength,
but His, in this Walk. If that was how the rest of my life would be, like this,
I could do it, because He said He is with me. I couldn’t imagine going through
this, day in, day out, for the rest of my life, but it was happening. And I was
learning to soar spiritually in this turbulent physical journey. I did love
that, although, quite honestly, I held a strong distaste for the physical war
with my mystery. I can’t count how many times nor express how deeply I asked, emplored,
begged on my knees, for just the name to the mystery. Just naming it truthfully
for what it was. I didn’t ask for fixing, just the name alone. Oh how I knew
that would still my spinning mind! It would pull the fogginess of the fight
into clear focus. At least my ‘enemy’ would have a name!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Weeks passed.
I was learning a lot from my pt lady every time I went. I learned what muscles
and nerves made the spear and knife symptoms happen. She was working on them. I
had no name, but at least I had the muscles and nerves that were assisting the
mystery in paining me. The next time I was asked by friends what I thought was
hurting me, I told them what I’d learned. They looked uncomfortable. Then they
told me that wasn’t a table-talk subject, in fact, I really shouldn’t talk
about such stuff, it was disgusting. I didn’t know anything about these muscles
or nerves as they had super long names, what I would call “doctor speak.” I
thought about it for the rest of the evening. Surely, someone would ask me and
I couldn’t say the same thing, although I would be telling the truth. I figured
out an explanation that would say: I knew what was causing the hurt, but it was
graphic. That would give them time to back out. If they wanted more, I’d warn
them again that it wasn’t like a broken arm and explaining the muscles and
nerves and bones involved there, it was the stomach, and graphic. If they
insisted, I told them. And those were ok with it, surprising to me. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">6-6-13: Today: </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Hello. It’s
been a while since I last updated this blog. I had hopes to keep it updated so
all of you who wanted to know how I was doing, would know. However, I didn’t
calculate how much my journey would tire me out, neither did I factor in that
my brain would become foggy and unfocused. I did make an attempt to write a
post (see above portion, made months prior to this addition). I wish I could
pick up where I left off in that draft, but I don’t remember what I was going
to say. Oh well. I’ll start over…. Just kidding! Just kidding! :P </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Alright, so I
had MSG again a few months back, after my MSG free diet and I noticed some things I
didn’t like. It does affect me. For one, I had a panic attack…which I got
curious to figure out if its linked with MSG and you’ll never guess what I
discovered….I never panicked until I couldn’t handle my suffocatingly-restricted
body and had to have that air! In which, I would do what I knew I shouldn’t
(gasp in a mouthful of air), and then I’d panic. Why did I panic afterward?
Because my lungs wouldn’t collect the normal amount of air, so by gasping, that
was basically like being thirsty and turning on a firehose and trying to drink
that. Guess what? You don’t get your thirst quenched that way. Once they would
give me the sleepy-shot, I’d fall asleep and my muscles would relax making it
so my lungs were collecting the oxygen again. What tensed up the muscles? MSG.
Behind all of my ‘panic attacks’ was a prior meal that contained MSG. I’ve
since weeded it out of my home and have never since had an episode of it. Oh –happy-day.
Praise God. :)</span><br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">My mystery
isn’t a mystery any more. It doesn’t have a specific name, nor do we know where
it came from or when it first started. It goes back to my early childhood, is about as far as we can track the symptoms. All we know with certainty is that what my doctors and
I are doing, is working. It’s been months since I’ve felt the spear-symptom.
The knife-symptom still comes and goes, but randomly, as it’s basically a Charlie-horse
for the stomach. Yes, a Charlie-horse. The same sort that people commonly get
in their legs at night. Yeah, ok, so its stronger than your average leg Charlie
horse, but that’s because when it clenches near my hip, it happens to clench
the central nervous system inside of it, which perfectly explains the
tingling-numbish pain that is in a different spot/moves around. It happens anywhere
in my body where the central nervous system feeds to…which is all over. That
also explains why it hurt so bad. Surprisingly, I was told that I coped
amazingly well with the pain, and was incredibly strong. This statement baffled
me. Strong? I thought I was incredibly weak! But no, they assured me that with
the sort of pain that causes, I should have been screaming and twisting about
in efforts to escape it. And not quiet with silent tears tracing trails down my
cheeks, curled in a fetal ball. When I inquired what causes these Charlie-horses
for my stomach, the answer for that was easy – malnutrition is the leading
cause. When muscles don’t have the right nutrition to function properly, they
spasm and clench up. The weakest muscless are the first to be attacked. The doctors think that early in my life, being so much emphasis was put on training my right leg to walk a certain way, that side became strongest and the left side, weakest. Interesting eh? Here I thought my twisty-leg was the weakest part of me.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">So, the next
answer that came is: I’m not digesting my food. (No, that’s not the answer,
although it was at one point…when the CT scan showed why I wasn’t hungry – I was
full, physically full, of undigested food…Is that gross or what? Igh!!) My
system isn’t digesting because it is off-balance in alkalinity. My system is
highly acidic (explaining the frequent burping, acid reflux, and throwing up).
My system being acidic, made it so that foods which in an alkaline environment
would digest, didn’t digest and just piled up. So, my body would do all that it
could to move the food out. If it couldn’t move out, then it went up and out.
The gluten and dairy acted as inflammation agents, explaining why I did so well
in the beginning of the Gluten-free, Dairy-free diet. With those inflammatory agents
out, there was nothing to get my system inflamed, at first. Then, I unknowingly
filled in those gaps where dairy and gluten used to be in my diet and put in….you
guessed it: Inflamatory foods that were also acidic based. Guess what happens when
you add fire to gasoline? Just saying. It wasn’t pretty. Now I’m on a
gluten-free, dairy-free, acid-free, sugar-free diet. Sugar-free? Sugar is an
acid based substance. Not to mention it was the cause of my 2-3 nap-crashes per
day. Yes sugar gives a jolt, but it also gives quite a drop. Now I just take
one 2-3 hour nap in the afternoon after work. Much better! Yay! :)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I have low
blood sugar, which is the reason for my ‘anxiety’ where my fingers would be
trembling, I’d get dizzy and lightheaded/off balance, see sparkly spots or
clouding up of vision with black spots, and the ringing in the ears. All
warning signals that I was told were anxiety was my body’s way of
informing me: Hey lady! You are low on blood sugar, if you don’t eat something,
you’re going to pass out! So, working with my acupuncture lady, pt lady, and
councilor lady, I began to eat a diet that my body would digest, and learn to
listen to the signals my body was warning me with. The first part was
difficult, until I realized that I couldn’t do it perfectly because I am human
and I’m going to have times where I fail. But then, I’m to stand back up and
get right back on that diet. To stray from my diet, I’m discovering, isn’t
worth the cost AT ALL. I still stray from it. But then after it affects me, I
get back up, shake it off (no self-talk of “that was stupid, what were you
thinking??”, and return to my diet. Simple as that. Is this diet easy? No. But
I can honestly tell you, it feels a whole lot better than being down on that
couch, or cuddling with that porcelain bowl. When friends call and ask if I
want to do something, I can do so…so long as I pack up goodies that I can eat
to take with me. If I miss out on the packing lunches and snacks and water,
then I pay for it. First I pay with the low blood sugar warnings, then I hurry
to do what I’ve termed “picking my poison.” That means, I look at what fast
food is available and I pick the one I think will hurt the least. It’s still
going to hurt. Watching people eat, in the beginning, was torture for me. I’d
find myself salivating over their food as they closed their eyes and munched
into it and chewed. Oh yessss, that looked sooooo good. Watching the juice drip
out the back of that burger or off the corner of a piece of steak as it was
hanging on the fork. Or the crisp sound of bacon. Oooo my yes: the gooeyness of
icecream and sweets! Then, as I relayed all this back to my team of three, mad
that I was so envious of them that they got to eat that and I couldn’t eat it,
I was given new insight: The next time that happens, because it would, I’m to
stop in my thoughts and pray this: “Dear God, thank you so much that I do not
get to eat (name of food, drink, desert, snack, etc), and for protecting me
from getting sick from it. I am very grateful for your protection over me in
what I eat. Thank you for what you have supplied for me to eat. Amen.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The first few
weeks of this, I was doing this whole inside battle thing as I was saying one
thing and saying another, all in my mind. It kind of went like this: “Dear God,
could I please eat that (on top of: Thank you so much that I don’t get to…”), I
really want it (and for protecting me from getting sick from it)! Comeon Lord,
I really want it, look! It looks so good (Thank you for what you have supplied for
me…)! Please?? (Amen.) …Yeah, I felt like a complete hypocrite. But, spurred by
their encouragements to keep this practice up and not become discouraged; that
I was creating a new habit to replace the old one. So I did as instructed. I
had lots of practice, lol, I’ll tell you that much! One day, Mom was drinking a
soda and I saw the fizzy bubbles and that it was a Pepsi (my favorite soda). I
prayed over my hot tea that prayer of thanks and gratefulness for protection,
to Him. And then Mom did the unthinkable and so did I. She put it in front of
me, “I don’t want to tease you. Here, do you want a sip? Just one. It won’t
hurt if you just do a little slurp.” I felt the words from my core and it just came
right out, no thinking-decision time required, “Nope, but thanks.” “Are you
sure?” Mom questioned. I was unfazed, “Yep, I’m fine with my tea.” And
honestly, from that time forward, other people eating food in front of me that
wasn’t on my diet, didn’t faze me. No envy, no bitterness. Just….gratefulness
and thanks. That was a huge victory for me. Turning down a soda? Nah, that wasn’t
the real problem. The problem was envy instead of gratitude; that was the
battle. Gratefulness was the victory. :) Do I still struggle with seeing foods I can't eat? Yes, I'm still human. But I'm not bitterly envious about it.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Still issues
with weight. This week, I’ve gotten down to 110, which, for the record, a
healthy weight for me would be 135. I found myself in a new situation this
spring: I couldn’t fit into last year’s summer wear. Yes, I had my winter wear
and that was the same size as last year’s summer wear, but it was baggy, and I
stuffed my multiple layers into my pants to keep them up…until March when a
little kid spoke up: “Mommy, she has to change her poopy diaper soon huh?” The
mother gently shushed her little boy, glanced at me with an apologetic smile, and
they went on their way. I asked a nearby coworker in a hushed whisper if my clothes sagged too much and there was hesitation, and then a softly given nod. And it flipped inside: I could not wear these pants
again. In fact, being all my pants were this loose, I’d need to do something….pronto.
Why hadn’t anyone pulled me aside and told me it looked so bad? I cast that thought out of my mind.
No reason to think about that. After my shift, I went all over town,
thrift store shopping. I came home with a sizable wad of ‘new clothes’ that fit
my size. Getting the shirts was easy, same with the two dresses. But the pants, the shorts?
I had to overcome an uncomfortable position I’d never been in: None of the
adult sizes were fitting….and when I glanced over to the children’s section, it
put this knot in my stomach as my mind said, “I wonder if….” And some people
gave me weird glances as I put the pants up to my waist, but I kept my head
down to my task. Crush the stupid pride. I still felt heat in my cheeks, embarrassed. But what was I to do? It was important for me to just focus
on getting what I needed. I tried to make it fun by trying on an outfit I was
certain I’d never wear – laughably so. I worked hard to make the very
uncomfortable moment into something fun. It worked, although I was still
getting looks. “Obstacles are meant to overcome,” some of my work training
randomly fired off in my thoughts. “Do not be anxious….do not be afraid….” Verses
from Scripture fired off as well. The pants fit. 2 pants, 4 shorts (due to
summertime), came home with me from that section of the store. Difficult? Yeah,
it was, but conquered now. :) Were I in need to do that again, I’m sure the
discomfort would resurface being I know what size I am now and where that size
is located in the store, but I’m sure that being I did it once before, I can do
it again. And plus, I won’t be this size forever. Just for a time. It’s all
going to be ok, and I know it.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Still issues with burping. It comes unexpectedly and I am just as surprised as the person I'm talking to when it happens. I've tried "excuse me!" but it gets the same response as when I say nothing. I'm considered rude for it. I did a lot of thinking about it and tweaking of how I said it (sometimes I burp right in their face, especially when backing out of a hug). I finally learned that if I look surprised (cause I am) and say, "Oops, where'd that come from?" it helps them to understand I didn't mean it. Which, I didn't. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Was given a
beautiful ring on my birthday this year. It was a small diamond inset amongst a
pair of leaves and grapes hanging off to one side, the golden vine swirling
around and looping to the other side, creating the band. It was given with
these touching words from my friend, “For you, on your birthday. Let it mark
the start of a brand new adventure for you.” Onto my left pinky finger it went.
Neither of us realized how potent of a statement that was: It did mark the
start of a new adventure for me. I’ve relearned, learned, and unlearned many
things. Most of it was unlearning old things and relearning new. I’ve lived my
whole life with the understanding that I was a weak individual, unable to do
what most kids did at my age. And to boot, very sickly- catching any cold that
was nearby…and so frightened of catching a sore throat which would lead to
strep and from there to Scarlet Fever (which I caught 3 times). </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">My
understanding of how my body worked was based off of how I saw my body
functioning. Even as a child, I wasn’t properly digesting food…only, it didn’t
show all the signs that it shows now. I’d go through the latter part of my
childhood and young adult life wondering why people went to the restroom so
much, and why they said they had hunger-pangs. I figured hunger-pangs to be a
figure of expression just as a person would say, “Today I am soaring!” They
weren’t actually soaring, they just were having a good day. So being it was
time for lunch, they were signifying it was that time by saying they had
hunger-pangs. I’d always gone off of 7am- time for breakfast, 12 – time for
lunch, 6 –time for supper. And somewhere along the way, a snack or two. That’s
why it never bothered me if I just ate 1 meal, no meal, or 2 meals. I didn’t
feel comfortable with 3 meals, but I always thought that was because there was
a lot of food on my plate and it was too close to bedtime to be comfortable. I
always had a love for food. I would experiment in the kitchen, so I had no
aversions to food at all. I was in fact, a human garbage disposal- I could eat
anything and wasn’t scared to try new things (yes, I love Liver and Onions in
Mushroom Cream Sauce, and Pate on crackers). My only aversion was towards mint,
still is that way (YUCK!). </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Well,
anyways, so about a month ago, I was at work and it was nearing my lunchtime,
about an hour from it, and this dull pain struck my stomach. I freaked out
mentally, trying to analyze it. It wasn’t my knife symptom and it was far too
dull to be the spear. It wasn’t anything that I could put my finger on…and it
wasn’t going away. It wasn’t painful, perse, but it was just simply there. I
couldn’t figure it out at all. And it wasn’t going away, which was really
beginning to rub on me, being my day had begun well. I ate lunch, which was
delicious leftovers from a successful attempt at zucchini and pine nut ricotta.
I worked for about 2 hours before it hit me: where was that dull pain? I
shrugged it off. It was gone, so I was happy. Well, the following day, the same
thing happened. Then the following day, only this time, it happened right
before each meal. So, I brought up my ‘crisis’ with my team. No kidding…I never
had hunger-pangs. I thought it was a joke when they told me that’s what it was!
If I remember correctly, I laughed. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">It was suggested to me that I have snacks
handy and eat those between meals. Bingo. No hunger-pangs, although I was
registering that my body was hungry. It felt weird and new…and truthfully, kind
of scary to me because it was unknown and foreign to me. Now I feel
hunger-pangs or get hungry and smile, and then go eat. I eat about 6-7 meals
per day (not including side-snacks). I feel good doing this. It’s great. :D ps-
my low blood sugar symptoms happen almost not at all when I eat this way. I am
very excited about my diet. I know I can’t eat like I used to. And for now, no
cold food. All of it is room temperature, warm, or hot (so my system doesn’t
have to expend energy to heat up cold food). Meats I can only do turkey,
chicken, and fish (beef and pork are still incredibly hurtful to me)…and only
twice per week (as all meats are acidic). I’ve been told by various people who
ask about my diet, “My goodness! What CAN you eat??” or “That sounds like a
VERY restrictive and chaining diet! You must not be able to go out to eat,
right?” In response, it’s liberating! I’m not curled up on the couch hurting. I’m
up doing things (well, in moderation). I can eat as many vegetables as I want,
they are unlimited. There’s quinoa, among other gluten-free grains and oats.
And there’s eggs (protein) that I hardboiled and have after work. Water is
unlimited. There are many ways around not having sugar. Originally with this
diet, I wasn’t doing fruits either. All fruit has sugar, so we wanted my system
to rest. Now, apples are reintroduced, but I have to slice them up and warm
them on a cookie sheet in the oven or dehydrate them. I can’t have them cold,
yet. Eventually, I’ll have the fruits all back in my diet. The meats will stay
in moderation. And “picking my poison” will happen rarely on occasion, we’re in
hopes I’ll be able to do that without it hurting. Until then, I’m learning to
ask questions (better not stand in line behind me when I do…I’m still slow at
remembering what questions I need to ask). Recently, for instance, I learned
that I need to ask deeper questions than usual “Does it have potatoes or dairy
in this enchilada?...Can you leave off the cheese?” Sometimes that doesn’t
always work. Mothers’ Day, Dad and I took Mom out for dinner and I asked those
questions and the answer to both was no. So I ordered it and the cheese was on
the enchilada, but not in it. It was such a light sprinkle that I just ate it.
There were no potatoes that I saw. We had such a lovely time, it was a good meal
and we enjoyed each others company. When we stood up, Mom pointed to my dress,
which when I looked down, there was my swollen stomach and I had popped two
buttons on my new dress. *facepalm* It’s painless, but uncomfortable. Plus, my
clothes aren’t meant for expanding like that. My swelling up after 15 minutes
of eating could only mean there were potatoes definitely in there somewhere,
somehow. When I got home, I researched it and discovered that the waitress
wouldn’t have known this (I didn’t either!) but shredded cheese is packaged
using a dusting of potato starch to keep the cheese from sticking together. So
now I know to ask, “Does this meal contain potato starch, flour, or flakes?” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">And as for my
unhealing sores on my foot pads? Its location is on the portion of pressure spot that
coordinates to the stomach and being it appeared last year on the right foot in
the same location as the left foot. It looks like those are symptoms and may go
away as my body heals. I have also been shown my fingernails which have always
had white spots dotted on the nail and little black splinter-sized streaks,
things I considered normal for me. Ha, there were a lot of things I thought
were normal, that come to find out, they weren’t normal. The white spots on my
nails was my body’s visible way of telling me I was low on zinc. Went on that
and poof, those white spots went away. I was amazed! </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I have been
promised by my team that I will one day be strong, physically strong. God has
been working on me emotionally, but now I am rising in health and this is my
new adventure. I’ve never been physically strong, so when I was told this, I
was very quiet and didn’t know what to say. My mind was only saying one thing,
which I eventually said after there was silence in the room, “Me?” I was
assured with the promise. It will happen and is happening. Over the course of
four months, I’ve shown amazing improvements. Yes, there are still struggles
and battles, but I’m learning to listen to my body. I say learning because I’d
spent my whole life ignoring it, so I started out not knowing why it was doing
what it was doing, nor what it wanted. I’m working on new forming habits and
asking daily that God would help me listen and do what whatever is needed. This
way, I am taking care of the temple God has given to me. I am excited. I am
learning. And I am glad for answers. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">There are
still times where I talk to God and tell Him I obviously cannot deal with this
and I trust that He will work it out. And then I sleep on that. You know what?
He does. Every time, these needs are met, and situations that are beyond my
control, are worked out. I am grateful for all of your prayers. Its often that
I reflect on this journey from where it avalanched until now and I am amazed at
all that has been worked out. God answers prayers. Yes, no, and wait. And boy
have I learned that waiting is an active sort of wait – filled to the brim with
trust and faith and more prayer. But, not waiting on my own, but through His
strength. Praise God!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I have a ways
to go before I emerge from this cocoon and on wings of beauty, fly. Until then,
I take each day as it comes and I look forward to the day of breaking free of
the weakness and with strength, living this new life. I know this will be all unknown
to me, but then, who knows the future? God does, and He is leading me by the
hand through all of this. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is as
though I walk purposefully along the side of the pool and climb up the tall
ladder. There is excitement and drawing. Forward. I walk slowly on the high
rise board, the pool down far beneath my slow steps. Forward, and the board
begins to shake. I leave the rungs of the ladder behind me, and I walk ever
forward. The leap is coming. I am excited, I am scared with the thrill. I can’t
wait, I walk…I stand at the edge of the board and take a deep breath. I have
never been this high up before, my heart thumps, it is quiet. I raise my arms
up in position and stand tall. The air is laden with expectation. Soon. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
StrongInHimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09642451472290489136noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2687423329314564537.post-16356215142168527422012-12-06T12:22:00.001-08:002012-12-06T12:53:37.238-08:00Up-to-date<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">6-8-12</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Today was an
early day, so I got off work and did a little grocery shopping. I’d heard
there’s a cream cheese out that’s vegan and a sour cream as well. I’d made
cinnamon rolls and later in the week, mashed potatoes. I longed to apply cream
cheese to my cinnamon roll…but I refuse to cheat. In making the mashed
potatoes, it was in need of sour cream, but that’s dairy…so I bravely attempted
a leap of hope for creaminess and added mashed avacados (which did work! But
the white color changed to a greenish color – to which I’m fairly certain most
children would refuse to eat. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I was able to
help Mom plant in the garden. Fun.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">6-7-12</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I don’t know
how my platelet level is, I didn’t wait the hour to collect the results after
the test – I didn’t want to be late for work. But! Next Monday, I go in for
bloodwork again and we’ll see where I’m at regarding my level. I received a
call today from the cancer center reminding me of my appointment time and told
that the nurse would be seeing me instead of the doctor this time; he called it
unnecessary. I mean, that has to be a good sign, right? :) I’m hoping to be
pleasantly surprised. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">My car has
been experiencing some troubles of its own – a cracked headgasket and cracking
timing belt. So it’s in the shop and I was informed that it will be pretty
pricy to fix, but worth it. I took a deep breath, considering my medical
situation and said, “Do it.” I’ve tightened up my belt and am prepared of mind
to undergo a long season of payments. I was initially stunned at the cost to
fix Smokey (Mom named my car cause it smells like cigarette smoke), so I’d
flopped back on my bed and spread my arms out, palms up in an “I give” posture.
I prayed, “Okay God, I can’t afford this situation right now, but it’s here and
its happening. If I don’t deal with it, it will turn into a bigger monster with
a higher price. I know I must trust You above all else. If I can’t do this…if I
lose my car, cause I can’t pay for everything, then *swallows* I lose something
material. In the end, it won’t matter – it’s material. I just…I wanted to be a
good example…*tear quietly slips down my cheek, didn’t wipe it off*…I really
did. Have I failed to be a good steward of this money You gave me? I mean, I
can’t seem to keep it, although I save and save. My medical trials just suck it
dry as soon as the paycheck comes…*more tears*…and now this. I’m just not going
to be anxious! I won’t. I have You, so what is a material possession and what
is mere money in comparison. You see the small sparrow, You clothe the lilies
in the valley, and You are watching over me. I know that more than anything.
This is going to hurt, but so long as You’re going with me, I’m glad. I’ll walk
right with You too, I don’t care if it’s through this stormy valley, anywhere
with You. Anywhere. Just…help me. I’m weak, You’re strong. Remind me where my
strength is so I don’t forget. The lightning of this storm is bothering to this
small child, and I could forget You are Emmanuel, God with us. I don’t want to.
I don’t want to. No, never.” I closed my fingers n sat up, sniffing as quiet as
I could. I texted for a while about my situation and was told I am a good
example.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The next day,
I opened the envelope that I was handed mid-week. Life Insurance. I qualified,
meaning… I booted up my computer and looked at my paycheck. It hit the next pay
scale! I would barely scrape along, but because of that small extra, I’d make
it. Everything is going to be okay, I thought to myself. Just keep trusting.
You’ll go through this valley and it’s going to be okay. He cares. He’s right
here, right now, right with you. Don’t you be forgetting Who’s in control,
okay? I huddled up inside my sweater, staring at the new paycheck. No mochas
for a while, I smirked, shaking my head. A very small loss. I told my parents
of my situation and what was happening with Smokey, and how it had to go to the
mechanic. They were understanding and encouraging.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">6-4-12</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I had a morning
shift, so the whole noon to evening was free…so I snatched up my garden gloves
and straw hat for sun protection, and went outside with a hand shovel. The
weeds were gonna get a big surprise: Relocation slash pile project. Bwahahaha!
I slipped into my rubber boots and hopped off the last of the porch steps,
dawned my gloves like a surgeon, snapping it for effect. “Goodbye weeds,” I
grinned and then dug in. “No no, don’t pull me! Ahhhh!” I said in a high pitch
as I uprooted a dandelion, speaking for it, I guess. It went into the bucket
and I went for the others… Four hours later, I was beneath the front porch,
booted foot pressed against the foundation of the house, tugging sharply on a tree
that was trying to grow there. “Come. Out. Of. The. Ground!” I demanded, giving
insistant yanks. Twenty minutes later, in a spray of sand and clay, it flew out
of the ground toward my face; causing me to tumble and roll down the soft sand
and stopping just inches from the irises that Mom and I planted. Not one was broken.
I wiped my sandy forehead, “Fewww. Close one.” I noticed a small red dot on my
skin and sighed. Pupura? I checked over my arms to see if there was more. Only
three spots, the others very tiny in comparison with the first spot. I shrugged
and dusted myself off, coughing as the cloud of dust surrounded me. I raised
the small tree-start in my fist to the sky and let out a triumphant shout,
“Woooooooooo!!!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Spent the
rest of the evening pulling much smaller weeds. Saw a gigantic butterfly.
Bright yellow and black with a body as big as my pinky finger is wide and long.
The wings easily could have matched the size of each of my palms. Just seeing
it brought a huge smile to my face. I’d never, ever seen a butterfly so big in
my life!! I fumbled with muddy hands for my cellphone. I snapped a picture of
it and sighed, “Ahh the wonders of modern cellphones…” I took more pix of it of
course, but wished quietly that I’d had my Cannon Rebel TXI in my hands. I
could have shot up close and captured every speck of detail on it. I was very
glad I’d helped plant butterfly-attracting flowers. I hope more will visit my
home. </span><span style="font-family: Wingdings; font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">J</span></span><span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">6-5-12</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Woke up the
next day, went to work, and was having a good time. My energy level ever since
removing dairy from my diet has skyrocketed. Everyone has noticed I have color
in my face, that I’m lively and joking again, and I’m talking more. I figured
that not many had noticed, I thought I had it pretty hidden that I was hurting
– but they said that I no longer had that pained look in my eyes. So much for
keeping pain a secret. :P I went about my tasks humming and doing my work. Went
to lunch and couldn’t help but scratch my forearm. It was uncomfortable and
hurting in a burning sort of itch. I felt a bump as my fingers drew across it
and I stopped and looked. A bump…it was red and had a small splotch around it.
The center was slowly pulsing a whitish color to a light red. The very center
was a little dark spot. What was THAT? So I shrugged, ate lunch, and continued
working. By the end of the day, it was beginning to bother me some. Just in the
background of my mind, but bothersome, just letting me know it was there and it
hurt. Did I get a bee sting? I didn’t know. Went home and texted Paul, “I am ok
physically. About 9am, I was really wanting to tear my forearm away from me,
just so I wouldn’t go nuts with the aggravating itchiness of it…but then that
would make me mad in the mind. Plus, I’m rather attached to that arm. Otherwise
feel ok.” I texted one of my pals, “Goes about the house singing and conducting
with my fingers, “I need some music, diddlydee. I need some music for me. Must
be the rainy day, oh heck I’d sing anyway….I need some music *hands to heart
for big pitch* for meeeeeeeeee!” *snatches laptop n skips down the stairs for
to listen to good musics.* :P” I did some chores while listening to a
collection of my favorite songs. By then, my arm was really burning bad. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Hannah
arrived a short while later and we spent a gob of time snacking over chili-cream-cheese
dip and gluten & milk free crackers (that were deeeelicious btw). Laughing
and giggling and chatting. It was good. I withheld the thoughts about the
burning in my arm and didn’t let it enter the conversation a second time. She
said she had to be going home, so we said goodbye and hugged and waved,
promising to get together soon. My mouth opened after that and I rocked on my
toes, laughing nervously, “It’s just burning, burning, burning. I’m going to go
nuts!” I closed that thought off with a giggle, trying to make it light. “Oops
sorry. I’m okay, really. It’s cool. Just some sort of bee sting I guess. It’ll
go away.” She looked at me kind of unsure, and then the conversation shifted
back to before I’d blurted my thoughts about the splotch. We waved goodbye and
then I went inside and jumped around holding my arm, releasing all my pent
thoughts, “It burns burns burns burns! Ahhh! Like fire. Why can’t it leave me
alone? What is this? It BURNS! Ah-ah dang! Ahh! You hurtful little bump! Oh my
arm!” Moments later, began looking for something, anything to stop the feel of
burning. Put my arm against the freezer door. Ran under lukewarm-cold water. Dabbed
ointment on. Nothing worked. I wanted to cast my arm away from me, it hurt so
awful. After a second, I realized: if this doesn’t stop NOW I’m going to go
insane! That’s when I realized, I think I better go see the doctor now. And so,
I called them up and was squeezed in to see the nurse. Good. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Saw her and
discovered it was a poisonous spider-bite and the venom was what was burning. I
was asked if I saw the spider and what type it was. I was surprised. A spider-bite.
I’d been bitten years ago by a brown recluse while reaching deep into my
dresser to retrieve a sock that had fallen behind the drawer and it crawled up
my fingers and took a chomp (-I didn’t know what that spider was at the time,
so I thought nothing of it, although I did think it was very quick – it
escaped. The next few hours I felt so dizzy. I thought I was developing a cold,
so I had soup that night. Went to work the next day and told my coworker that I
felt sicker than a dog and was sorry but I couldn’t work any further – I had to
go home and lay down, my vision was wavy and I felt so unbalanced and I might
even barf. She pointed to my hand and gasped. Some of the skin was peeling away,
gray-black and the mark was huge. I hadn’t even considered the possibility that
my ‘sickness’ was from the spider-bite (which I was not oblivious to, it hurt).
I was sent to E.R. where they gave me anti-venom as soon as I described what
spider I saw. They asked if I was joking, and I wasn’t. “Why’d you just stand
there and let it bite you??” I remember being asked. It happened too quick, too
quick to do anything. So they were very worried and wondered why I didn’t come
in the day I started experiencing symptoms and asked me if I knew what would
have happened if I hadn’t of come in when I did. I didn’t know, so they told
me. I was shocked and sat open mouthed). I will never forget that day. No, this
new spider-bite didn’t come with any of THOSE symptoms. So I was told to take
Benadryl and also a steroid cream from the pharmacy. She shook my hand and I
flinched. She looked at my hand as I pulled it away. She examined both hands
and then told me what I suspected. I sat in the car afterwards and looked at my
hands, “Okay. Okay God. This is just how it’s going to be then.” I turned on
the ignition and then drove home. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">6-6-12</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Day at work
was spent very uncomfortably, constantly glancing at my two bites and wondering
what on earth I did to deserve them? Pulling out that small tree-sprout? Well,
I was after all, under the porch and locked in focus with yanking on that. Of
course I was in a cool dark place. And perhaps I’d been pulling on its home. So
of course it would be very angry with me. The day wore on. I saw one of my
brothers-in-Christ and he asked how I was doing and that I was in his prayers.
I said I was really struggling today with a poisonous spider-bite that just
burnt and it was getting harder to focus around the pain message it was sending
my brain…I was having trouble counting currency back to the customer and I felt
badly about that. He said he hasn’t stopped praying for me. I nodded and
thanked him. He’s been through a lot himself, so I knew he understood my
discomfort and then some. After all, pain is not fun, and I’d prayed along with
the rest of the church family for him during that time. Finished up my day at
work, keeping my mouth as closed as I could about the subject of my forearm and
burning pain. I think I only told one lady because she gasped when I handed
back her change. She’d said, “Oh my, honey! Your arm is blistered and swollen!
You NEED to go to the doctor.” I told her I had been and it was found to be a
poisonous spider-bite, so I was given medication and it would be alright…I just
had to press through the burning. She said she’d pray for me and she was very
concerned, “It’s very blistered.” I nodded, “It hurts some.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Happened to
tell my coworker that I was having a rough time dealing with finding a good
bread that didn’t taste sandy.</span> <span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I didn’t want to eat sandy bread, blech. Don’t like sandy bread. XP Was
eating Ezekel bread, but now that the gluten was being removed, I wouldn’t be
able to have it. And the Ezekel bread I was toasting in order to eat it,
otherwise my mind translated that bread as sand grit. She said she’d see what
she could do to help, so I was to find her after I clocked off work. So when
the time came around, I clocked off, and wandered around the healthy food
section in search of her. She was loading up the freezer when I found her.
“Ready?” she asked. I nodded, “Yep.” She pointed me to Udi’s Bread and pulled
out two packages: “The chia seed is good, and the flaxseed is also a good one.
Pick which one and I’ll mark “no sale” on it so you can try it and see if you
like it. Or, I could mark both at half-price and you could try both for the
price of one.” I pressed my palms to my heart, “That’s so nice of you! You
don’t have to do that!” She smiled and said she was doing that, so choose. I
looked over my options and then said I’d take one at full price and the chia
one for free. “Very good, I’ll mark it no sale and just go through the register
with it and show it to them. You will like this bread if you love homemade.” I
nodded vigorously, “I love homemade bread.” “You are in for a treat then.” She
handed it to me, “Enjoy.” I felt like crying, but didn’t. “Thank you.” I said. Paid
for the one loaf, and was given the second one free with a smile from the
cashier, “Ooh, a treat from Natures Corner. Enjoy it.” Went home and looked at
the chia seed bread, pulled it from its frozen slices n held it up. The song
“Ch-ch-ch-chia pets!” echoed through my thoughts. I sighed and placed it into
the toaster, “Here goes nothing…” Seconds later, it popped up, unfrozen. I took
a gentle nibble of it and then grinned widely and shoved it in, chomping on it.
Love this new bread! Tastes just like homemade! I love it more than any other
bread I’ve ever had, save for my friend’s homemade honey bread. </span><span style="font-family: Wingdings; font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">J</span></span><span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">7-11-12</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">A bundle of
things has happened in the gap of time between my last post, my above draft,
and now. I’ll condense it. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">~Received my
blood count report for the ITP. 150 thousand. I am in the clear. The nurse
pronounced me, “Normal.” (Drat! I should have gotten that in writing!! It might
have come in handy when my mom gives me that eyebrow-raised look and the words,
“You’re crazy.” I could have held it up and grinned widely, “Nope. I’m normal.”
That probably would have earned me a thwap with a pillow, magazine, or the
like.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">~I was told
when at the doctor’s office for a ‘spider-bite’ that it certainly looked like I
had rhuematory arthritis in my right hand. I was bummed because I’d heard that
arthritis is a killer to an artist and writer, but I gave it up and didn’t keep
the worry. Found out later through a blood test that nope, I don’t have it. And
my ‘spider-bite’ is nonvenomous, that instead, I am allergic to it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Next time I spot it biting me, I’m to examine
it so I can tell them what got me. The next day, I was outside yanking at the
weeds some more and saw a very tiny black fly land on my arm, then, it bit me.
Wellah! I had my ‘spider-bite.’ It’s a nosee’em (biting midge) that got me. I
was bit several times, same affect. It is mosquito and nosee’em season. In one
day, I gathered 32 bites. Yesterday, 36 new bites just while watering the
garden. I’m glad to be so liked, but by bugs…well, they’re being rather pesky.
:P Thank goodness for Benadryl itch sticks! </span><span style="font-family: Wingdings; font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">J</span></span><span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> At least I know what ‘spider’ I am
allergic to now. :P</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">~On to what I
was saying about a whole new realm of doctors in my last post. My stomach has
been giving me some issues…well, a lot of trouble, to say the least. So I went
to an internal doctor and was prodded, scoped (yuck to the GoLytelly bowel prep
stuff I had to drink, I’ll never forget that experience. When they said it’s
nasty, they were very right and nope, I won’t indulge details about why. I
agree with what a customer said once to me, “There are some things us older
people don’t tell you younger folk so that you can live without dreading what
you’ll face later in life.” From the Colonoscopy and Endoscopy it turns out… I
am 100 percent healthy inside. No Crohns, Colitis, Irritable Bowel Disorder. Cancers.
None of that bad stuff. So, peace of mind for me. I kept saying after I was
told each one I didn’t have, “That’s great. Good. Good.” The doctor gave me a
look, “You are glad? It means we didn’t find the problem.” “Yes I’m glad!” I
replied back, “I DON’T want those!!” He smiled, “No, you don’t, you’re right.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">So it’s
nothing critical. Only thing is…what is causing all this trouble?? It’s
suggested yet again that my problem is that I’m dealing with Depression (a
subconscious kind, in other words: I’m not aware of it) and antidepressants
might help. There were questions about my past, present, future, concerns and
worries, and stressed-environments and relational as well. Quite frankly, I’m
not stressed out and I’m not dealing with this Depression stuff. I know people
who do, and I know I don’t have it. I was told that I’m in denial and can’t be
helped until I let them help me. My symptoms continue for a while longer, not
stopping. I remind myself that being scoped doesn’t solve any problems, it only
told me what isn’t the problem. Narrowing down the options as to the trouble is
a very good thing. Right? Right.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">~I saw the
doctor again. The doctor says what we’ll do is process of food elimination and
see if it’s food-related. First thing to go: Dairy. All dairy, including eggs.
For three weeks. The total test would take six weeks, so dairy would be out for
that long. Gluten would be out for the last three (this way, we’d know which
one was the troublemaker). Within three days of my dairy-free diet, my presumed
writer’s block lifted and the fog was gone. I was writing again (yippy!!). The
frog in my throat left (I thought I had a slight cold or pollen allergy, but,
umm, nope). </span><span style="font-family: Wingdings; font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">J</span></span><span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> An unpleasant symptom was resolved and my confusion as to
what to do to make it stop, I finally had an answer: Dairy. I went with the
diet very willingly after that. Feeling good, felt….good. People began telling
me how great I looked. I still had a few symptoms, but with the other symptoms
now resolved, I wasn’t troubled like I had been. I could deal with them,
although I didn’t like them either. Especially the part about how fast I was
dropping in weight, didn’t matter how much I ate. I figured at this point that
the left-over symptoms that the nondairy diet didn’t catch, might be connected
to gluten. Perhaps I was allergic to both? It was possible. I know people who
are. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">~Called the
doctor on the end of the 3<sup>rd</sup> week, ecstatic about the
writer’s-block-lift and the other dairy-sensitive symptoms lifted away. He said
that it seems we’ve finally found the problem and so I don’t need to see him
anymore. Which was great. I was a bit unsure, mainly because of the weight-loss,
among other issues. He said if I wanted to continue on the plan or not, it was
up to me from this point. The conversation was quickly over. I was left, mouth
open, wondering -<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>but…but….the other symptoms….<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Shrugged and decided to go gluten-free as
well, stick to the plan. After all, the two allergies could interconnect. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">~Three weeks
later… From 125 to 117lbs, I called him back. Taking gluten out until I only
consumed 1/4<sup>th</sup> of my prior amount, then down to zero of it, has
helped some, but not enough to make it stop. Still not digesting my food. Still
burping…a lot (annoying but painless). Gas. Bloating. Pain was not vanquished
as I had so hoped. Neither had throwing up. I got desperate. I started separating
what foods I’ve eaten from all the rest, and began planning meals two days in
advance. I found that carrots, potatoes, cauliflower, broccoli, lettuce,
celery, beef, fried food, coffee, oranges, lemons, onions, soda, all have
something in common – I think my stomach does not like them and I think I feel
better when I leave them out. I’m not sure what else bothers me, I’m afraid to
know at this point because…what if it is everything and it leaves me with only
three food sources, chicken and rice, and almond or coconut products? How will
I gain weight that way? So I stopped trying to find all the problem foods. I
continued eating the lesser problem foods. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Decided to
put beans into a dish (I thought it would give me needed proteins), but very
quickly discovered they are a bullet in a game of “food Russian Roulette” (as
Hannah termed my eating of foods). Thought to call the doctor…well, once I was
able to get to the phone. (There was quite some time where I was pinned, really
hurting and curling in my ball. I wasn’t about to take the trip to E.R. only to
be told, “You’re just stressed out. Go home, relax and drink some tea.” I don’t
want to hear it anymore. I don’t, repeat, don’t have Depression. The subject
being brought up has begun to chaff on me by this point. Some begin to try
opening me to the concept that I might have this Depression). I can’t reach the
doctor, so I leave my number and name. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">~Their office
calls me on another bad day where I have just finished throwing up and curling
up by the toilet. On the floor, where I was whimpering and crying, trying to
soothe myself from the explosive pain in my swollen stomach. And they ask how I
am doing. I tell them every little speck of detail. I hear the words I’ve been
longing to hear, “Umm, that is NOT Depression. That’s not normal. Let me talk
to the doctor and we’ll call you back.” Yes, good. I laughed aloud once the
conversation had ended. Triumph. Yes! That’s what I’ve been trying to say all
along! Now we can move forward without that distracting issue in the equation
and find the problem. Oh happy day! </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">~I went down
to 114lbs and at last, it is finally being believed that what I was saying is
true- I don’t have Depression and something isn’t right, just as my gut has
been telling me all along. I so hoped we would find the monster that was making
my social life no further than my house. I was canceling with friends when it
came to fun things I really wanted to do. Parties, hiking, movies, swimming,
walks…*sigh* so hard to cancel fun things. I hate canceling. I hate having to. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">~So, I was
told there would be more tests coming up. I’d kept a journal of my food and
pain, tracking it steady for 1 week. I missed two days the next week, and I
couldn’t recall what I ate - it’s a blur. Weighed myself at 112lbs. Still going
down. With a more intense drive, I ate when it was time to eat and kept eating
and eating. Even when I wanted nothing to do with food anymore, I ate. I ate
when it bothered me so bad that I had to put the fork down and my mind screamed,
‘Stop, stop! No more!’ And I’d take a breath, and eat more. I didn’t want to
drop any further. I didn’t want to get to 90lbs (they told me they would put me
in the hospital at that many pounds), and it was speeding closer and closer to
me. At the rate it was at, it would take less than a month before I hit that
number. I had people telling me, “You are so skinny, you need to eat more.”
Well, I was trying! My food just didn’t want to swallow at times, like that was
as far as it could go. It would start rising back up into my mouth as soon as I
went for the next bite. I fought, struggled to eat. Painstaking task, I started
wishing I didn’t have to eat. And then there were other times it went right in
and I felt horrible. I began dreading meals. Hating meals. They just weren’t
fun anymore. Cooking used to be so therapeutic for me, I loved cooking and
baking. But now, now it is something that I am obligated to do, and it always
hurts me later. I feel better when I eat nothing, when I am empty. I like that sorry-choice
far better than the swelling, cramping, pain shooting down my legs, and aching
muscles. …and worse, the fetal-ball and facing the toilet. Isn’t food supposed
to be the good guy?? I feel like it is the enemy. My grandma said of the
situation, “My goodness dear-heart, it is like you are accidentally bulimic!
How horrible.” It is horrible. …I loved food. And a secret (that really isn’t a
secret cause I’m telling you): I still want to love food. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">~I learned
that most people want to hear that I am doing just fine, they don’t want to
hear anything else. It was just as my mentor through this situation had said. I
hadn’t paid that part of the conversation much attention because I didn’t think
it would apply much to me. ‘There are different types of people out there. Ones
who love to hear that you are doing okay and others who really want to know what
okay really means.’ She developed a code-speak for how she feels on good days,
on okay-days, on bad days so that in mixed company of these two groups, she
could say the same thing and have both understand. It was an amazingly complex
system. I remember being so shocked that people would not be interested in what
was really happening that day to her. I just sat there when she told me that, shaking
my head. “I want to know!” I’d blurted. She’d smiled. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I’d decided
to use her system recently. I grew acutely aware of how much people were happy
that I was “ok.” But, a few of my pals were insistent, demanding and pleading
in person and in texts that I PLEASE tell them what was REALLY behind the words
“I’m ok.” They wanted to know just what pain I dealt with…as they would know
how to pray, and my struggle encouraged them. That’s how I learned which group
was which. It’s not the easiest to do, this system. I think it is because my
mentor is wise and more practiced at it than I am. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">~Speeding
ahead…. July20th: I was given a CT scan without/with dye. I had sat out the
waiting time cuddling my stomach and wishing I could lay down in my fetal-ball (the
test was done on one of my bad days). Drank what I was given. I pulled out the
sheet of paper with lots of scribbles from my pocket, read over it, clutched it,
put it back in my pocket. Remember, I began to instruct myself. My name was
called. They told me what they were doing. I already knew what the dye would
feel like- Hell on earth. My body would burn with fire so intense I would physically
sweat and I would have to remember to lay very still. Very still and not move.
I’d asked for prayer from close friends that God would pull me through this
test…I knew what was coming and I wouldn’t like this. Not at all. Thankfully,
liking this dye was not the point. “Please find something,” I hoped. “God, can
you point out the problem, please? No one is finding it and You can make it
visible to their eyes. I know You can.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The lady in
the room began to dawn her aloe gloves. I objected very quickly and asked her
to please switch her gloves – I am allergic to aloe. Had a conversation about
how many products contain aloe. She was an amiable person and made the cold
white room seem warm. She gave me a heated blanket and that stopped the
shivering…cozy. Swab, poke, done. The iv was in. She was fast. Good cause I
don’t like needles. The taste and smell of cool metal went in my mouth and
nose. I gagged hard. “Oops!” She said, “Are you okay with the saline?” Saline.
I had forgotten. I nodded, “Fine, fine. Just got surprised by it. Forgot that
part.” Up went my arms like I was told to do. The cord had been wrapped around
my thumb, a pillow went behind my head. “Arms down, good. Ok, here we go
sweety. The machine will tell you when to breathe.” She said. I squinted. It
would tell me? What did that mean? She disappeared behind me and the table
below me shifted forward. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Close your
eyes.” She said, “The laser is going to sweep over you.” I did. I thought briefly
of Attack of the Martians and little laser guns shooting little red beams; the
sounds being puny and high pitched. Remember to pray… I thought. “Hold your
breath.” Came the masculine computer voice. The table moved. My stomach did a
little flip, but I made sure I didn’t move a muscle. I wished my stomach wasn’t
raging on this day, of all days. But then, being it was so uptight, perhaps
they would see whatever it was, easier? More clearly defined? I had no idea.
Pray, I thought and did so. I released my breath as instructed. The table came to
a stop. The easy part was over already? She was fidgeting with a cord. “Here
comes the dye.” I heard a faint click. Then, fire. Burning fire. I remembered
this. Spreading down my arm, my shoulder. Searing, painful heat. Licking
flames. “I feel it.” I said uncomfortably; she’d told me to tell her when I
could. “Already?” She asked, “How are you? Does it feel too painful?” I gave a
faint shake of my head, “Fine. No, do this. Do this. Let’s find this tricky
monster.” She chuckled and said I was cute. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Footsteps
stopped and the table moved. My eyes were still closed. “Hold your breath.” The
voice commanded me. Cool air whooshed against me. Oh yes, praise God! They have
fans! I thought. I hadn’t noticed them the first round through without the dye.
It was not like that tube I went into before, where I baked, feeling sweat
trickling down my face and pitch darkness and loud knocking sounds, the machine
mere inches from my face. And I was burning in there, I remember the thought,
“I am burning alive. This is like hell, only, God is with me, so it is not.”
Remember, I shook myself off the past and began praying. “Release.” Came the
next command. The pleasant fans were farther down near my ankles, so I was
outside the machine. “Hold your breath.” It told me. The fans got closer, good.
I was going to stay in prayer, it didn’t matter the heat. “Release.” I breathed
out. Another time through. Then faster than I expected, she came out and told
me I was done and I could sit up. “W-what?” I was surprised. “Yep. You are all done.
You’ll get your results on Monday from your doctor.” She informed me and
bandaged up the spot where the tube had gone. I was glad she didn’t tell me to
wait where I was. That was a good sign. I liked that very much. “Okay, thank
you.” I slipped off the table and snatched up my items. “Umm, you’re welcome.”
She smiled, “I hope you feel better.” “Me too, me too.” I said. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I sighed a
prayer of thanks as I closed the door behind me. I didn’t want it to be
something that I found out today, that meant it wasn’t a huge problem and had
to instantly be dealt with. That made me happy. I didn’t want it to be.
Although, on the other side, I was very curious what the problem was. Could she
see what it was when I was being scanned or was this another trail where I would
be found as clean too? I hoped both that it was clean and that the answer
wasn’t hiding anymore. That it was found, but that I was fine. Contradictory
hopes, but hopes all the same. The air was bone dry when I went outside. One
ice-cold raindrop splashed on my arm, then another on my head. Then the boom of
thunder. Then a flash, another flash. A rattling boom that was too loud for me.
I wandered to my car, sat in it and thanked God nothing had been found, yet.
And praying that the problem, whatever it was, wouldn’t stay hidden inside of
me. That this was the right trail. Went home and spent a miserable night
pondering what on earth I ate that made my stomach so upset. Not gluten, not
dairy. Those were gone. So were beans, potatoes, cauliflower, broccoli, celery,
acids, greasy food, caffeine, and onions. I couldn’t bear yet to remove
carrots, but it couldn’t be that cause I didn’t eat that recently...besides,
those make me burp a lot, I’d know if I’d eaten carrots. I couldn’t bear to
remove apples. I love apples. Turned on the heat to my bed and finally drifted
off.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">~July 24<sup>th</sup>:
Worked hard. Had a great day. No pain, no troubles. Had chicken and rice for
lunch and a bottle of water. Yum? Bland actually. Some BBQ sauce would have
been lovely. :P <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I worked hard, it was
busy. I got a splendid idea in my noggin and thought: Say, being I feel so
good, let’s invite Hannah over for cherry pie. She’d like that, I’d like that.
It’d be grand fun. …So, I snuck up on her and grinned widely, “Whatcha doin’
once you’re off today?” “Uhh, nothing…” She grinned as if she suspected
something good and liked it. “Want to come over and have some cherry pie? It’s
good. We could even make one. The smell of almond and cherry hot in the
oven…mmmm…” I teased enticingly. “Yessss,” She rubbed her palms. “That sounds
good.” She said when she’d be off, I told her my off work time. The plan was
set. The house would be filled with floured hands, laughter and stories, and
the warm soothing smell of hot pie. Got home and we came inside the house. 90
degrees indoors. Bummer. Sat on the couch, despondent-like. Turning on that
oven would make the house miserably hot. “Well, things could be worse. It could
have been 100 degrees…” I stated. She twitched a smile. “Next time. Perhaps hot
dutch apple cobbler in the fall?” I promised. That got a grin, “With a scoop of
vanilla icecream!” …So we settled on an iced cold banana chocolate mocha shake.
(First few taster sips were disgusting. I didn’t say a word, I just poured in the
chocolate. :P) Put in the hand-blender and pressed the button, both of us
laughing in hysterics at the ridiculous slurping sounds the pancake blender
made. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">We enjoyed
the shakes, then sat in front of the tv and watched Jane Eyre. We fictated
through the whole movie. Talking to the characters, comparing the book to the
movie, talking about the attire the actors were wearing, how the shots were
taken to make the movie, and our thoughts. Instead of popcorn, we had out a
bowl of homegrown Rainer and Bing cherries and a separate dish for the pits. It
was grand fun. After the movie, we walked about the yard. She petted the
chicks. The larger hens squawked and dashed out of her reach. I picked up the
golden-colored chick, the one Mom and I named Curiosity (due to how it was the
only one who would come up to us and cock its head every time). I let her hold
the chick, telling her how to do so. She talked to it. We talked about the
chickens and the new batch and about how we think the dark one Mom called
Tiger, is a rooster due to its cocky dominant way over the other chicks more
mild mannerisms. I said, “Well, if it crows, we know without doubt.” We walked the
back property and discussed how it was so quiet and untouched. “Like another
world where time is still. Like a lost world.” She was saying, slowly turning
circles and looking around. I agreed and told her what I’d like to do, once I
get to feeling better. She agreed it was a grand idea. “There are a lot of
ideas one could get from this place,” she’d told me. I could just picture the
writer in her licking her chops and reveling in the notions of a secret getaway
spot to sit with pen and paper and write as it comes….I would know nothing of
this, being a writer myself, now would I? …Yes! :P</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The end to a
good day. We said goodbye as she had supper yet to make for her hubby. I went
inside and closed the door. That had been fun. I stepped forward to peruse the
kitchen for ingredients for supper. But instead, this little click went off
inside of me and I lurched for the bathroom with the thought that I’d never
make it. Leapt over the dog on her bed, grabbed the doorframe and swung inside.
Odd, I thought. I had been fine all day. Well, it was over now. It had come
fast, and left just as quick. Didn’t need that room. Good.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I went into
the kitchen and knowing what I should do for supper, I reached up to the spices
and a sharp pain yanked me downward towards the floor. I snatched hold of the
oven door and held myself up, barely. My stomach flipped-flopped and I felt
severely nauseous and very, very crummy. I had the thought, I ought to lay down
so this goes away. It yanked again, combined with rumbling growls. “Not again.
Not again.” No no no no, I was thinking. I made my way to the couch slowly but
as quick as I could. This could drop me and I’d be stuck where I landed. I
wanted it to be a soft place. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I eased
myself onto the couch and laid in a fetal-ball, breathing slow, staying calm.
It came to me after a few minutes: I need my meds…which are upstairs. It might
as well be 3 blocks away, I reasoned. I could do this. I sat up and my world
spun off to the right. I laid down with the motion. Ighh, so not fun. Sharp
pain struck through my stomach like a searing bolt of lightning, white hot and
painful. I cried out. It was motivation enough. I was GETTING those meds.
Lowering myself onto the floor and crawling by my forearms, still in my ball, I
ascended each step. I was GOING to get that relief. 1/3 of the way up I
screamed. It was just that sharp. I covered my mouth with my hands to hush what
had already come out. Paused. Then climbed again. Higher, higher. Closer,
closer, closer. Screamed more. Didn’t care anymore. Screamed again. Cried.
Sobbed. Nothing mattered but medication. Medication to stop this evil monster.
Fireworks exploded in my stomach. Explosion after explosion. I kept screaming
as the white pain shot through my whole body, prickling hot needles in my legs.
I didn’t care. I wanted relief. Relief now. Relief at the speed of yesterday
already. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Now at the
doorway of my room, the invisible spear thrust into my stomach and pinned me
directly to the floor. I saw stars and screamed hard, curling into a very tight
ball. I could not reach my meds. I was stuck. I was stuck. Helpless. And alone.
I gripped my cellphone tighter and tighter. I couldn’t think. What should I do?
“Message box full.” My inbox chimed four times. I couldn’t care. I cried
unstoppably, screaming. And then trying to hush me, stroking my own hair, “Shh,
shh, shh…” I knew the meds to be on top of my desk, 7 footsteps away. I’d have
to stand to reach it. …but it was out of the question. More explosions rocked
my world. Fierce as it was sharp. Pain shot down my back, down my legs. I had
to reach the meds. I couldn’t reach them. No way. “Oh God…Oh God…” I began, and
then “Owww!!” I slammed my palm over my mouth. No screaming. I wanted to think.
I had to get to those meds. Had to plan. But I couldn’t focus, all my thoughts
were scattered. All I felt was pain. All I knew is I was stuck until it
released me. My phone rang. Mom asked how I was, she was pulling up. Then I
screamed. Appologized profusely. Appologized more. It was right in her ear. So
sorry, so so sorry. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">She came
bolting up the stairs and stopped right where I could see her feet. “Oh honey…”
She sighed. “Medication.” I said. “Desk.” She hurried over me and got the
medication, gave it to me. “How many?” “Two,” I said. I put them in my mouth
and waited. And waited. Sharp pain continued. And I waited. Nothing. It still
hurt, I was still pinned down by the invisible spear. “This isn’t normal. This
isn’t right. No, you need to go to E.R. I’m taking you.” Mom said, pacing. “No,”
I said. “No.” She called someone, but I couldn’t understand what was said. Only
that Mom was frazzled, frantic, worried sick. I screamed, covered my mouth.
Screamed more. I cried. It wasn’t fair. It just wasn’t fair. I obeyed my strict
diet. I ate A LOT. Still dropped weight. Nothing was showing up: Tests showed
nothing was wrong with me. My blood sugar was a little low, but that wasn’t
concerning. Footsteps came pounding up the stairs. “Message box full.” My phone
chimed at me 5 times. I gripped it harder. I imagined words I knew were coming
in to my inbox. I am praying for you. Mom began to pat me on the back. “You
need to go to E.R. sweetheart. Here, let me help you…” “No, don’t touch me. It
hurts. I’ll know when to move.” I said quickly to explain. She started to scoop
her arm around me. “No don’t. I’ll do it.” I said, “I think I have a break.” I
scooted. It worked. I scooted more. Then piercing pain exploded through my
stomach. I cried out. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“This is not
normal. Nicole, we have to get you to E.R. Let me help you. Are you going to
crawl down those stairs??” “Yes, yes, we are going to crawl down them, which is
far easier than going up them. If I stand, I could fall.” I said and moved
again. “Oh my…this is not normal. This isn’t right. I am so sorry.” Mom
commented. “For what?” I huffed, easing down the next step, then the next.
“This isn’t your fault.” “I’ll get your shoes and purse.” Mom said and got down
the steps. I got down to the bottom and slipped on my shoes, crawled across the
kitchen. But stopped there. Began to feel my stomach go tight and my throat get
warm. Nausea prickled at the back of my throat. I gagged. More pain and my eyes
went wide. Back to being pinned, but this time I was going to throw up, and
there was nothing I could do to stop me….felt it coming, but it stayed in my
mouth. I was so glad. I did not want the mess it would have made. Got down the
steps and hunched far over, got to the car, got in and curled back up. Rode to
the E.R. Where I was wheelchaired in. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Noticed the
nurse had aloe gloves. I told her my allergy. She put on a clean pair of the
same. Mom told her while I cried and curled tighter. New gloves (this time
without aloe) and told to lay on the table. I did so, in my ball. Crying,
whimpering, crying-out. “We aren’t sure what to do for you, do you want pain
meds or do you want tests done?” “Pain meds! Test was just done. Waiting for CT
scan results to come in.” I huffed. “Stop the pain. Stop it quick. Please.
Please…please!!” “Okay. Are you…what’s your pain from 1 to 10?” I was asked. “I
don’t care!” I cried, “I want relief. 10, no 9. Pregnant mothers get the ten.”
“The pain scale is for YOU.” I was told. “9. I don’t care. Help me please help
me.” I responded, crying. A few moments later, one of them came in, introduced
himself and told me, “Your CT test result is in our files. It says you are
clean of critical issues. However, you are jam-packed with heavy constipation.
Your colon and intestines are packed tight. Your colon is malfunctioning, we
don’t know why, but you do have IBS-C. Where your intestines don’t work
properly, rather, they are spastic, so that doesn’t make the situation easier. It
packs things even tighter. Which is probably what is causing you all this pain.
Is it random sharp pains or repetitive sharp pains?” I smiled, glad. The
answer. We had the answer at last. I clutched the warm blanket I was given and
cried out. “Nicole?” Mom prompted. “I don’t know, random? It’s sharp pain.” I whimpered.
“Very sharp. Like lightning in my stomach. Explosions. Hot and white and sharp
and running down my back, in my thighs…Where’s the medication?” “It’s coming,”
He said. “Message box full.” My phone chimed from across the room. Once. Twice.
Three. Four times. “People are praying for you,” Mom said, patting and stroking
my arm. “Oh, and Grandpa and Grandma and Paul are in the waiting room.” “Goody.”
I whispered. “Glad.” I cried out and then, “Is it coming?” “Soon, sweetheart,
soon.” Mom said. “I’m sure Paul wants to see you, but he can’t come in here.”
“I know.” I said. “Dad is on his way also.” She added, and then informed me she
was going to go out in the waiting room for a little while to talk to them. It
was fine with me. I laid there, listening to my phone tell me how full it was,
comforting to know I was cared for….even if I couldn’t reach the silly thing to
free up space so I could see what was sent! Cried out. More pain. Covered my
mouth with both hands, muffling the noise. Could those in the waiting room hear
me crying? Hear my pain? A sharp pain and I cried louder, hands both to my
stomach, not caring who heard me. “Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear…” I whispered. Oh
dear God, help me. “Oh dear, oh dear….” God, help me. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Mom came back
in moments later and said they were all worried for me. I nodded. “Is it
coming?” “Right here.” A lady said, “But I’ll need to get to an arm, you’re all
twisted up in a knot.” “Go fast. I don’t like needles.” I informed her. “Okay,”
She swabbed my arm. “I’m going to stick it…” “No, don’t tell me, please. Just
shove it in.” I objected. “Okay, wiggle your toes for me please.” She said. I
wiggled them, “Why am I doing this?” Poke, it was in. “The medication is going
in now. It makes it easier for me to get the needle into your vein. When people
get scared, their veins get smaller, so when they are focused on moving their
toes, their veins are more open. It’s an effective distraction.” I saw one
vial, two, three…three I think? She put them in there. Explaining something
about the nausea I was complaining about and the pain in my stomach. She asked
about my favorite hobbies, what I like doing in free time. I told her. She says
she likes to garden. We talked of gardening. How her plants turn yellow. I
explained overwatering makes them yellow just the same as under watering does.
She didn’t know that. I told her how to check the soil and talked of green
thumbs. Her doing most the footwork on the conversation I’m sure.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Next I knew,
my legs were restless and it was dark. I had my eyes closed. I opened them. I
couldn’t tell if I had slept, I supposed I had. The pain was gone; however, the
world was blurry. A clipboard was placed in front of me. Something was being
said. I recognized a slurred “name” and “sign.” The pen was toward me. The page
was white. “Where?” I was pointed to the bottom and I wrote my name. “Nicoley!...Well,
she usually is much neater…” I heard Mom explaining. I wondered what my writing
looked like. I figured I wouldn’t want to know; the perfectionist in me
wouldn’t like it. “Oh that will work. We’ve seen worse.” The lady said. “How do
you feel? Scale of 1 to 10.” “Marvelous.” I mumbled. “And the pain?” She asked.
“Gone, yay.” I smiled. “Good. Do you need a wheelchair?” She asked. “Nope. I
can- walk now.” I said. “Okay.” She stepped out. I went to stand and the world
tipped side to side in waves. Mom caught me before I could slip all the way off
and land on my face. Both Dad and her supported me out to the waiting room.
Paul sat up and I put up my thumb, “No more pain.” He said something but I
couldn’t hear him. He said it again. I’d forgotten what it was but he’d been
praying and it was something that I smiled at. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Got out to
the car where I sat and Dad and Mom talked about something. Paul rested his arm
on the door and peered down at me. A sad sort of smile on his face, glad that I
was ok but worried. He said something to the effect that I mattered, that I was
worth it. I was no trouble. I shouldn’t be sorry, or something of this sort. I
guess I was apologizing. He said he’d be praying and then said goodnight. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">8-16-12</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">8/2: Stomach
got all swollen up. Informed Paul that if he didn’t want to join me for lunch
on the 3<sup>rd</sup>, that would be fine with me. I didn’t want people assuming
something awful and catch him off-guard so as to embarrass him. I’d been
congratulated on being pregnant before due to this condition, so I was no
longer caught by surprise at the question (although I still feel my ears and
cheeks get warm). I know it looks like I’m three months along in a pregnancy
because I was told so. I don’t try to explain anymore, I just let the issue
drop each time. Why? Simply because when I try to tell them it’s not that, but
a medical issue, they don’t believe me (its people around town or when I go
places, that assume this). It goes kinda like one lady said, “Aww
congratulations sweety! Is this your first one? You must be proud! How much along,
three months?” “Uhh, well actually this is a medical issue.” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>-me. “Haha, that’s a different way of calling
a pregnancy. Don’t want everyone to know yet? Trying to surprise your friends
or family? …I suggest you wear a loose top around them, then.” “Uh, I’m not
pregnant. Really, I…” –me. “Oh honey,” She puts her arm all friendly-like over
my shoulder. “I’ve seen a lot of new moms and its ok. You don’t have to hide it
from me. I can tell.” “Uh…” –me. She patted my back, “You are a sweety. You’ll
make a great mom for that little one.” …at this point I just gave up with
trying to tell her. Others have been just as difficult. They do not believe me,
they do not know me. Little do they know that the very next day, my stomach
will be flat and my ribs will show again so I’ll be back to wearing two shirts
to hide it, instead of one loose shirt to disguise it when it swells up. Paul
has never (I don’t think) encountered being congratulated like this… which I’m
sure he would be if around me at the time, due to how the thought process of assuming
works. “Aww! Congrats to you both.” And to him, “You must be very proud…” I
could see it now. Paul was bothered by my saying that “perhaps we should just
get together another time.” He didn’t mind the assumptions (which were wrong
anyhow). He just wanted to talk to me, didn’t matter what others said anyway.
So, we were going for lunch regardless. I really liked that he was willing to
endure that just to be in my company. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">8/3: Went to
lunch with Paul. It was great. And, nobody did any assuming of the sort I
worried about a day prior cause I woke up and my stomach was once again flat.
Huzzah.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">8/4-5:
Migranes, sleep, nausea, dizziness, weak, napping for hours, feeling sick. Me
fighting to live an ordinary life free of pain, despite the pain. …umm, sorry,
not going to happen. Still managed to do some chores and get things done, which
was great. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">8/6: Dizzy
and weak, spots in vision while watering the garden, stumbling about trying to
drag the hose. Wasn’t about to give up. Finished that. Napped off a few hours,
woke still dizzy. Wasn’t at all hungry (which I’m not hungry anyhow), but ate
anyhow (forced myself). Feelings of being stuffed sick were overwhelming and
awful. Exhausted from fighting. Realizing how easy living had been prior to
this circumstance in my life. Realizing that if life got tougher, that I was
going to be thankful that this wasn’t as bad as it could get. Enjoying what I
have, grateful knowing I’m here at home and not in a hospital with the poking
of needles and tubes of ivs. Ever thankful for good pals who have really shown
the brightest during this time in my life. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">8/7: A bad
day with extreme dizziness and nausea (will I ever escape the latter?).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Was told by pals to tell work I am very sick
cause I was, but I refused and put my foot down. It was a busy day there and I
committed myself to my job, worked very hard, as hard as I could. Everything in
me screamed to go home, but I would not abandon my crewmates and leave them a
person short. Not doing it, period. Fought. Fought hard. Was warned to pick up
the pace. Reminded again to speed up. Go go go. And my mind waged war. Listen
to my pals and go home!…No. Don’t give in, don’t give up, fight hard! I
listened to the latter. Was told I was getting behind and it was unlike me. I
worked harder. As hard as I could press, I pressed to do. I wasn’t smiling, as I
was reminded to smile. I put a smile on. Was still told that I wasn’t smiling.
Apparently my smile kept slipping off me. I couldn’t seem to keep it in place.
At the end of my shift, I was told that I didn’t get something done that needed
doing and next time I would hopefully remember to do so. I was angry at myself
for not being efficient enough to meet the standard. The standard was a simple
one, too. I met it easily before this issue. I promised myself that tomorrow my
boss would not have to speak to me again about picking up my pace, about not
getting things done when they should. I was going to improve, darn it. No if
ands or buts. Tomorrow would be better. Spoke to my parents about my bad day.
Was informed softly that I could lose my job. People can be fired if they
cannot meet the standard, if they are medically sick enough to not meet the
standards of their job. I was horrified, because I LOVE my job. I am at home
there. It is where I belong, and I’ve known it from the start. Yes, it is
challenging at times, just as it is full of growing opportunities, and yet,
enjoyable enough that I love driving to work and am hesitant to leave to go
home. :P My coworkers are all amazing. Yeah so every workplace has its chaffs
and gossip and “excuse my French Nicole, blahblahblah.” Those things are at any
job. *shrugs* I could care less about that, cause I don’t listen to it anyhow.
This job is home for me. It fits me. Perfectly. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Went to bed
feeling incredibly uncomfortable and ill. And now worried with knowledge that I
could lose my job over this condition. I fought with my health, now I’d fight
to keep my job too. I was not going to let that slip like sand through my
fingers like my weight is. I could actually do something about the job. But
what? I thought about how to push myself to achieve the goal for the morning. Yes,
coffee was a bullet for my stomach, but it was also caffeine, which would
create energy. Lack of energy was my downfall… I knew what I was going to do.
And I wasn’t going to be sorry. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">8/9: Drinking
coffee was not a wise choice as to how it made me feel, but wise choice in how
I worked. I was complemented on my speed being just “how you used to be!” And
then I got ahead in my tasks, and then right on time during the rush. It made
me smile, feel accomplished. I made the right choice. Regardless of how mad my
stomach was, never minding the migraine. Fighting never felt so…alive. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">8/10:
Drinking coffee today was totally out of my reach, I felt too sick to even
consider drinking it and making myself feel sicker. I felt flushed and just….terrible.
In the breakroom, one coworker looked at me with worry. Finally she spoke and
told me my face was very, very red; like a fresh sunburn. Other coworkers
sitting around the table agreed. I was told to go look for myself. It was true.
I wrote it in my Health diary and let it go. I didn’t know what to do about how
red my face was anyhow. Felt incredibly ill the rest of the day, but kept in
mind my parents warning about being fired. It kept me fueled with resolve to
push through my tasks, not quit, not give in. By 3pm, my thoughts began to be
rather loud about going home, forget eating, and just go to bed! I wonder if I
am developing a cold. I hadn’t had one in quite some time. Perhaps I was and
that’s why my muscles ached so much? Why my stomach was so mad with me? I didn’t
go home, wouldn’t complain. Not a word. After I got off work, I went straight
home, showered and put myself to bed. Mom wouldn’t let me sleep until I had
eaten. I watched Sara Plain and Tall and ate supper. Then went to sleep.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">8/11:
FINALLY! A good day at last! I feel some semblance of normal! Can everyday be
like this one? Oh pretty please!! Went with Paul to the store (cause I had to
get some special groceries for myself…yup, I ran out at home. Mostly used ‘em,
the rest went bad cause…well, sometimes I felt too sick to cook, so whatever I
grabbed was, bingo, you guessed it, supper). He went against my complaints of
not needing to buy me anything. That I just had to get a few things and then
we’d be off for my house and able to go do something more fun. I know, a girl
who doesn’t like to shop. Weird aren’t I? :P Anyhow, he goes one way and tells
me to just go get what I need. So, wondering and hoping he wasn’t up to
mischief, which I supposed he was certainly up to some sort of mischief. I
collected my groceries and went to the check-out. Poof. He was behind me and
setting special grocery items I could eat- specifically what I was out of and
couldn’t afford (they weren’t necessary items) – ice-cream and fudge sticks.
“Paul…” I shook my head and said no more. What am I to do? Say no? That hasn’t
worked in the past. “…thank you.” I manage. I pull out my money quick and step
closer to the register cause…well, who knows what Paul will do. Sometimes he
gets rather stubborn about what he has in mind to do. And I don’t want to use
my pal, that’s not right nor is it fair. I’d warned him/told him before to save
his money for his girl, she’d like that very much. A lot. Slid my card. There.
Done. Grabbed the groceries but they were abruptly, gently, removed from my
hands. “Well urr, thank you.” I said awkwardly as Paul took all four bags.
“Can’t I carry one?” I asked. “Nope.” He said, grinning this wide smile that
tells me he’s enjoying this... I give in and let him carry them out to my car,
where he both puts my groceries in and then closes my door for me once I’m in.
Shoot, I smack my steering wheel with my palm. Satisfied at the relief of
pounding the steering wheel, I give it three more: Shoot shoot shoot. He’s such
a gentleman. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I get to my
house first and he parks to find me going for my groceries. “What are you
doing?” He asks knowing full well what I’m about. “Getting groceries,” I huff,
bent over the seat and retrieving rolled items. He clears his throat and my
eyes turn to see his hand is waiting. Reluctant, I attempt to take them inside.
“Bratty young impish whippersnapper of a princess,” He smirks. “Ha!” I say,
“I’m not a brat.” “Yes you are.” He laughs. I laugh.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I get my food
put away and he takes me to my next errand where I am getting bottles for
Kombucha Tea which I am told helps upset stomachs and gives it good probiotic
stuffs. So on and so forth. He stays in the car. I talk to the lady at the
counter, feeling odd and very out of place myself standing in a wine and beer
shop. I am informed that I can’t have 12 bottles because she doesn’t have all
12 in stock. But she searches cause she has “an idea” and soon enough, she has
5, 7, 8…including a heavy plastic bottle meant for beer. I’m informed there’s
very old bad beer in one of the glass bottles, so give it to someone I don’t
like….but don’t drink it (in other words, pour it down the sink, which I did.
Smelled NASTY btw). A swipe of plastic later and the dusty bottles were mine,
packaged into a case, and away I went. Went for soft serve ice-cream and talked
about how we both don’t like crowded places….so we went out from the busy
restaurant and took it to a nice, quiet park. Sat at a picnic table and enjoyed
it. It was very quiet. Conversation-wise too. I suspected both of us knew that
after today, things would be very different. I didn’t speak of it, neither did
he. But the silence screamed it. I prayed quietly a few times when it just got
too quiet, looking up and watching the wind. Thinking about a random verse,
“The wind blows where it wishes. We hear the sound of it but we do not know
where it is going or where it has come.” And then popped back to the week’s
memory verse about guarding one’s heart for out of it springs the issues of
life. Sighed. I know. Picked at the grass. He did too. Joked that if we kept
picking grass, no one would have to mow this park lawn. Enjoyed the sun and the
shade, and enjoyed amiable laughter. It was such a lovely day. It was
near-perfect. Zero pain and with a good pal, on a summer day, in the park, and
with a soft serve treat. How many days are like that, huh? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">8/12: Another
day of good! Huzzah! A trend! A good trend! Yippy!!! Today at work was
near-easy, just like it used to be. Well, the tasks were. :P Dealing with a
rush of hungry people all longing for the stuff inside of the cases….haha, another
matter entirely. Speed and knowledge and questions and answers and shouts above
humming fans and roaring equipment….ahh, sweet adventure! *grins* I love it!
Not a dull moment, no siree. :P<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Prayed
for Paul as I worked. I foreknew the day prior that Dad and him would be going
out for lunch. I didn’t know what all would be said, but I knew the general
idea. I texted a few girl-pals to be praying. End of day, no usual text from
Paul. No one had to say a word, I knew. I got home and listened to Dad talk
about the meeting. I pretty much only nodded, but what was I supposed to say? I
knew it was coming. I was in agreement with both of my parents. I wasn’t in
agreement with Paul. That’s why I wanted Dad to speak to him. And he did. Now
it was over. Done. Finished. Sadly. Went to bed and prayed. And prayed. Put my
head down, hands up against the window pane, up to the stars, touching the scintillating
satin-black sky with an invisible barrier between. And looked up beyond the
stars. God, Your will, not my own desires. Amen.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">8/13: And
back down to reality. Watered garden although nauseous. Tripped about, tugging
the hose. Gave up half-way through. It was just too hard, too much. Burping as
though I had soda, but I’d had none. Gas. Awful gas I couldn’t escape. Nose
starts running like our drippy faucet. Decided fine, I’m not going to sit
around the house. If I’m going to feel awful, at least I’m going to feel awful
and be somewhere other than within these four walls! I’ll go crazy if I stay in
this house! So, I hear Dad telling me he’s going shopping for a faucet that will
work. I tell him I’m coming too. We’ll make it a father-daughter date. He
agrees but wonders if I’m up to such an event. I tell him I’ll be sitting,
it’ll be fine. I’d only be sitting here at home too, so why not? My reasoning
wins and we adventure out. Many faucets later, we stop for lunch at Subway
(cause I can eat there). I fuss about how he can go for a burger being he
really seems to want one. We’ll just grab one sandwich from here and then go
over there. But he’s adamant and won’t hear me. “Stubborn man,” I huff and cross
my arms, a playful smile on my face cause I’m not being serious. “No sense
eating at two different places, we’ll eat from the same place.” He says right
back and then puts out his tongue. Alrighty then, two could play at this game. I
put out mine. We laughed. “Fine Pa, Subway it is.” I smirked. I get a turkey
avocado sandwich, fresh apples, and break from my diet to enjoy one small soda.
Mmm, soda. I mean, really. When the day is already crummy, how could one soda
possibly make it worse, right? *rolls eyes* Riiight. Not a smart move on my
end, but hey, it did taste soooo good.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Some more
shopping and we locate the faucet, buy it and home again jiggity jig. I fall
asleep several times, nap. Wake up. Nap. Wake up. Like that, until we start to
approach home. My phone vibrates and I don’t think about it even looking at the
caller id. I know who it is. I snatch it up. I know what Paul’s going to say
afore he says a word. He says precisely that. Our conversation ends and I press
the end button very reluctantly. Dad asks what was said, and so I tell him what
Paul just told me. We pass his house and I think, “Vaya con Dios.” I fall back
to another nap. I wake up very near home. I am talking to Pa and just then, I
see him on the opposite side. Whoosh. Just like that, we pass. I wonder if he
saw me, too. No, I doubted it: he was looking straight ahead when we passed.
Just like life, showing me in real time about how we are going separate ways
from this point on. My mind goes back to reality: I hate soda. It hurts my
stomach. I look down at my skinny hands and twine them together over my
stomach. “Hurting?” Pa is curious. “Yeah. I’ll be fine.” I half-smile. “Uhuh.”
Pa is not convinced. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Wander inside
with a half-aimless quality. I lay in my usual spot on the couch and text two pals
what was on my mind. I force myself to eat, then decide that tomorrow might get
worse. I prepare my first batch of Kombucha. I’ve never made it afore. I get
called away from the task to sit beside Mom, who’s on her computer. She puts an
arm around me and says she loves me. I say why. (…umm, duh? :P) She says
because. Then she points me to a friend’s facebook profile page. And then I
tear up and fight to hold it back. Mom doesn’t hold back, she calls me her
beautiful daughter. I read what my friend has reposted from my earlier text to
her: </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">A friend of mine just found out that the man she REALLY
wanted to marry would not be able to... her response to learning this is excellent
and inspiring. Something I intend to emulate in whatever difficult situations
:)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Here's is her response:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“It is goodbye and the end of a chapter. I am very sad.
...there are just many things that don't go how I want. I feel I stand in a
current of all my pals’ happiness and I just watch it go by. But then,
realizing their life, like their shoes, don't fit me. God knows what's better
for me. This is just a blessing of another sort (although the world would call
it a heartbroken tragedy), just like my health issues (which are still very
much present). It is like [Pastor] Keith was saying. Blessings aren't all money
and health and ladeedah [or the relationships we feel we need]....”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">She also said:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“[Most people] would have been angry and irritable and upset
with God. Not only to say goodbye to a good friend, but to deal with a very
painful health issue at the same time. They would have called it unfair, not
praise or glorify God anyway, not count it as joy. ...I do hurt some, but it
isn't anguish. It is sadness, the loss kind, the disappointment kind. ...God
knows what’s in store for me. The best thing I can do is just trust Him and
leave the reigns of my life in His hands. Haha, I don’t want the control at
this hour anyhow! It'd be madness how fast it would all spin, spin right out of
hand and crash. O_o Well, a very good thing He has them. It’s going to be ok, I
know it very well. :)”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">That is faith in action. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>:)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I continue
onward with making the tea and I get stuck on what to do. My mind rolls over
and over again with words I’ve heard before: “When I think of the Proverbs 31
woman, I think of you.” “….Inspiring….intend to emulate….” “You are such a
beautiful, godly young woman and it is an honor to be your friend. </span>:)<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">” “A beacon of light and
encouragement…” “An encouragement…” “Such a testimony...” “…walking the walk.” am
I? Am I? I blink back tears, grab the teaspoon and taste the starter-batch,
then gag. It is slimy-nasty! I cover my mouth with both hands. Oh gross! I pull
out the culture that has grown in there and set it aside. I pour sugar into the
tea part and look over the recipe. I’ve followed it, but the brew isn’t sparkly
like our neighbor’s Kombucha Tea is. I call her and she comes over. She says I
look horrible and wonders if I hurt my back, then realizes it’s my stomach that
has me doubled over. She wonders why I’m not doing this batch tomorrow. I tell
her tomorrow may be worse. I should deal with what I have. If I can stand, I
can do it. She hesitates on that, but then helps me with my first batch. It fizzes
and sparkles perfectly. I shake my head. Just like taking a car to the
mechanic, I guess. I pop in the berries into my new bottles, we pour in the
juice, and close them up. She gets her Kombucha jar and bottles back (she let
me have some of her batch…thank you dear neighbor!). In five days, I’ll enjoy a
new batch of it (which if it’s anything like hers, its kinda tasty and reminds
me of soda minus the vinegarish first taste and berry aftertaste…and way more
healthy). I clean up and go to bed with the hopes that tomorrow will be better.
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">8/15: A good
morning! Huzzah! So exciting! Went about the garden watering and it was great.
Enjoyed the warm summer sun, birdsong and soft breeze. Mmm, soo nice. 2pm rolls
around and I realize I’m feeling kinda not alright. Semi-nauseous actually. And
definitely dizzy. I clock in only to feel a switch inside of me. I must go,
like right now. So I race around the tables and slam my shoulder into the
bathroom door and make it. Barely. Hands to face, and thinking of how I hate
this. How I just want to be normal, like I used to be. But then, was I ever
truly normal? What does normal mean? Average? Am I average? No. Then I will not
be normal, either. Fine. Will I ever feel better? Be rid of this constantly
ever-there health issue? Or will I keep having good and bad days (errr, which
could start out bad and end good, or be good and end bad, depending)? I just
don’t know. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Hurried to
help my coworkers and do my tasks. Nearly fainted while bending over cleaning
but caught myself on the way down. No one saw, thankfully. I would have been
embarrassed. Stars in my vision as I cleaned. I ignored them. A guest and his
wife, both I know well, said I made their day nice and told me anything I would
like to drink, they would buy for me. I said they didn’t have to do that. I was
stared at with the expectant “I’m waiting” look from the wife. She’d obviously
go get it so I didn’t have to leave my station. “I…I…” I stuttered. “You…you….”
He smirked, imitating me, “So, coffee, tea, soda perhaps? Juice? There must be
something you really want.” I thought of what I really wanted. I bit my lip and
then spoke up, “Yeah, water.” He was taken back. “15 cent water? No really,
what do you want. I meant anything.” “No really. It’s incredibly hot back by the
machines and water would be wonderful. It would be perfect.” He paid for the
water and smirked, shaking his head. I asked what was the matter. He chuckled
and looked up at me, “You make a very cheap date. ‘Water, please.’” I laughed,
“I guess so, huh.” His wife passed me the water, “Well, in my opinion, she’s
truthful. Someone is going to love her for that.” I smiled, “Thank you. For the
water.” They smiled, she spoke, “You’re welcome. You make our experience here
so nice; it’s just a small thanks.” “It’s what I needed,” I took a sip of cold,
refreshing water. He chuckled, shook his head with a smile, and they were on
their way.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The rest of
the day was spent with discomfort and indigestion feeling. Not to mention gas.
I kept moving, highly embarrassed. No one noticed that, either…perhaps its
cause I stood next to Big Bertha (our huge black trash container) and that
stinks nasty bad! Igh. Got home and surprise, supper was waiting for me. I ate
and then committed to clean up and then to pick berries out in the garden. I
was interrupted from Mom, who was mowing the lawn. She gestured for me to go to
her. So I did. Then to hop on the riding lawnmower with her, so I did. Then to
drive it. I objected. I wasn’t allowed to touch any of the sharp or motorized
objects here ever since the ITP ordeal. I was told, “Drive.” So I did, for a
moment. “Further.” So I did. Started to turn around. “Through the woods. Keep
going.” I kept going till we made a huge loop around from the front of the
house to the back, mowing our path through the woods. Avoiding tree stumps and
twigs. I didn’t like it. I was greatly bothered by the jarring motions, the
searing pain in my legs and arms,, the shlopping feel in my stomach. “I can’t
do this! I can’t do this!” She encouraged me forward, me groaning the whole
way. We reached the back lawn. I lept off as soon as we reached the flat
portion, “No more. No more. It hurts too bad.” My vision went gray-black for a
moment, so I leaned over and prepared myself to throw up. I felt like the
ground was tipping forward to meet me. Mom had me get on the mower by myself,
her getting off. I was glad to sit. She taught me how to use it, which was way
more comfortable than squatting on my legs, pressing the gas pedal while
lurched over the steering wheel to keep me on it (which bruised my forearms). I
mowed the back lawn as well. I was told I didn’t need to be so timid on the gas
pedal. So I pushed it down. Surprised how stiff the pedals are. The whole thing
shut off, just like that. I put my hands up. “What did I do?” “You got up off
the seat.” Mom explained, “So you have to stay seated.” “Oh.” I managed,
understood the concept. Mowed around the property, kicking up a huge dust-cloud
that covered the entire garden. Next time, I thought, blinking at the sand. I
will have to wear goggles for this! Got off at the end, being the hill was
ahead and Mom didn’t want me doing that until I was more apt at handling it.
Otherwise it could flip and land on me, crush me. I didn’t like that idea
either. That’s how Grandpa’s neighbor died. Went back to picking berries.
Texted my pals: “I rode a John Deere mower about the yard just now. My very
first time without a push-by-hand mower. Feels kinda like driving, only on a
very bumpy, dusty road. :P” A second later, my phone was buzzing. “Neato,”
Rissa said. “Did it make you feel like…like taking over the world?? :D” Hannah
asked. I laughed. Yes, yes, like taking over the world. Dominating one blade of
grass at a time, all at the power of a pedal, instead of arm and back muscles!
Bwahahaha! ….O.o Perhaps they would think me too odd if I said such a thing, so
I didn’t. But, now I consider it and think, perhaps I should have. :P</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Tidied up the
kitchen, washed berries and froze them for my Kombucha drinks and protein
shakes. By 8pm, I was hurting. Drank herbal tea. Stomach is rock hard and so
uncomfortable that no position, standing, sitting or laying down, helps. I
weigh myself, curious if it makes me heavier. Dummy me, of course not. Although
I do discover I haven’t lost weight. I’m at 112lbs. A far cry from what I want
to be and need to be, but at least its not 109lbs anymore. Well, I hope the
pounds gained are real. I’ve had fake weight before. 3lbs there one moment and
by the end of the day, completely gone and then one, four. So I have become a
skeptic when I step on the scale. 9:30pm- Mom touched my stomach, agrees I do
look pregnant. I raised my eyebrow, telling her she won’t feel nothing kick,
there’s nothing in there but me and food. She called me a goose-head and said
she wanted to know if it felt hard…and it does. “Hard as a rock,” as she said.
*Glances to stomach* As hard as rock….iiinteresting. I’ll not let my
imagination get away with my head about telling me I’ll turn into some hideous,
grinning rock monster, rawrrr! :P Anyhow, night got so incredibly uncomfortable
that nothing was comfortable, or interesting for that matter. Put myself to
bed. Couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t get comfortable. Watched the stars in the sky.
The shooting stars, the satalites. Tried looking in vain for the meteors, but I
couldn’t see any. Drat. Rolled over. Rolled over. Rolled over. Nothing
comfortable. Tried to read for point 2 seconds. Shifted. Tried to hunt for new
reads on Amazon. Shifted. Turned off my kindle. Sighed, shifted, rolled over.
Tux padded up to me and flopped over on his side onto my face. Oopfh! “Thanks
Tux.” He purred loudly, snuggling himself into my arms. “Fine you silly cat, I
will pet you.” I petted him for about 10 minutes, then he got up and went on
his merry little way. To roam the house, I suspect. Tossing, turning. Praying.
Tossing, rolling over. Stomach hard, swollen, hard to bend. Back sore, legs
sore. No sleep. Not coming. 2 hours of this. 2 ½ hours. And then, I open my
eyes and frown. It’s very dark, and a sharp pain is rippling through my stomach
like a storm caught inside of a small space. I look upward toward and back to
the clock to try and read the time. 4:54am. Awwh no. It’s too early for this.
Go back to sleep, please. Stomach is still swollen. Still can’t find a
comfortable place, can’t find rest. Darn it, so I’m up. I’m awake and that’s
that. Fine then. I write in my Health diary about the low back pain and waking
up to prickling nausea in my throat, about painful-discomfort in my stomach,
and what on earth did I eat – I just want to sleep!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Mom came in
and rubbed my back, which helped…a little. She asked if I was still planning on
going swimming and would it be wise? (Yesterday, I got this crazy notion that
summer will only be here for so long and this waterbug needs some watertime, so
whether or not I have company, I am GOING swimming. Fortunately, I told Hannah
that and her eyes lit up, so she’s coming too.) I said I won’t change my mind,
I’m going. However, just in-case my stomach gets that invisible spear stuck
through it and pins me, I’ll stick to the shallows where my feet easily touch
the ground. I don’t want to drown cause my stomach seizes up or whatever it
does to make it so hurtful that it drops me like a stone. But I’m convinced
that I just can’t stay indoors. I’ll go insane. I’ll go mad. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I wonder: how
do long-term ill patients make it through being inside all the time? How? I
admit that I don’t know the answer. They must get rather lonely. I know I do
when I’m pinned down inside the house. I wonder if people visit those lonely
patients? To read to them, talk to them, make them smile, hold their hand and
pray for them, or/and be the sunshine in their stark-white room. Are these
people being visited? Can I one day visit the lonely hearts as my pals are
visiting with me? I pray for them today. That someone will go and be there with
them. So they know they are not alone. So they can think as they drift off to
sleep at the end of the day: Someone cares. Someone cares about me.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">11-8: The
first day of snow. Real snow. The kind that sticks to everything it touches.
I’m sitting on the couch, listening to my favorite Christian songs and watching
it. It looks cold, and it was earlier when I was outside. 43 degrees actually.
But it wasn’t snowing then. I woke up not too long ago from a nap and noticed
the sideways slant of swirling snow, the wind swishing our Snoopy themed fall
banner completely off to one side. To my delight, the tea kettle is informing
me with its high squeal that a nice hot tea is waiting for me. To my right,
Tuxedo snoozes on, making muff noises whenever he moves his paw or takes a deep
breath. To my left, the heater has been turned up to 71. It still feels too
cold for comfort, so I’m going to have to get up and grab a throw to ward off
the chill. Gray toes have already been spotted a week ago, so I switched back
to wool socks. Still they are gray, due to my poor circulation. I’m thinking
its time to dig out the Hot Hands and put them on my socks and another layer to
hold them in place. Just in the corner of my vision, 3 apple spice candles are
lit, filling the room with the sweet spice scent. Behind me, Genny huffs at the
door to be let in, tail wagging and hopeful. I’m going to these three and
return shortly: Tea, blanket, and happy puppy. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Ok, I’m back.
So let’s see, where to begin? Been growing and learning. So, the realm of
seeing doctors is apparently done. I went through a whole adventurous maze of
test after test and hardly anything. All that showed up is how jam-packed
constipated I am (like to the point that we found out the reason why I wasn’t
hungry: I was honestly, full). And that my blood sugar is low. When they did
the test, I was at 50. They asked why I wasn’t asleep and I didn’t have any
other explanation: “God wanted me to be awake, and so I am?” They looked at me
incredulously and gave me lots of juice to drink. They saw that there is
certainly something going on, being I’m unable to keep my weight (dropped down,
again, now 105), have low blood sugar (but no visible reason why, everything
checks out normally), the ITP issue (which dropped 22,000 points, I’m now at
134,000), and the constipation-fill up issue. They said they needed to label it
as something, so they said they’ll put it under the stress-related IBS
category. I had to squint at that one. I’m stressed out? Wait, what? They know
I’m not. They proceeded to explain that it only means that they don’t know what
it is that’s bothering me, but this IBS won’t endanger me. They could find
nothing wrong physically with me, they said IBS is triggered by rough emotional
troubles and it would be a good idea to seek a counselor or pastor or
hypnosis-treatment and a dietitian to help me form new habits to deal with
this. I came away from that disagreeing, so did others around me. The doctors
had proceeded to explain that I’m so stressed out that I don’t know it and its
subconscious. I didn’t take well to that either: I didn’t know that I was
stressed out but I was, really? To me, that’s just crazy. I didn’t like the
knowledge that I was now categorized as a stressed IBS patient. I thought it
could fuddle up stuff, make a mess that I’d soon be dealing with. Sure enough…
I started getting asked by doctors to set up appointments with hypnotic
treatment to cure the stress, to do this or that mental stuff to heal my
stress. I could handle those easier than I could the people that care about me.
The multiple chats about how I shouldn’t be so stressed out, the chats of how I
was in sin and needed to repent and God would take all of this away and I’d be
back to being healthy (what sin did I commit? I have been only praising Him and
fighting in His strength to keep the right attitude of a worshipful life,
honoring to Him). They persisted in telling me that I was holding on to my
situation, to my sin, and I wasn’t letting God take it, or I would have release
from my pain. Being I stubbornly resisted, God couldn’t have it. It didn’t make
sense to me, especially being I’d been pushing away my circumstance into His
hands, constantly repeating, “Take it, take it all. Take it. It’s not mine.” Am
I perfect? No, but neither was I in sin in this area. It was awful. The more I
prayed for Him to please relieve me of this trial, the more they would insist I
wasn’t giving it to Him and how in sin I was. It occurred to me: Job’s friends.
These pals of mine care about me so much that they are giving me the most
helpful advice they know: Repent and God will take this away. It wasn’t right
for my situation, but from that point on, I saw their repetitious conversations
to me as care and concern and so I responded with that knowledge. Then I was
told that the reason why I am in this state of decline is because I am dying
because of breaking up with Paul; I’m not strong enough to handle such a
situation. I never saw that one coming, but I responded just like I did with
the others that cared so much and completely for me. And so, I hugged them and
told them God would see to it that I was provided with all the strength I would
need for each new day. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Tuxedo, my
senior cat, began throwing up, at least 2-3 times a day. I’d be too late to
stop it, but as soon as I tried to comfort him, he’d tuck his tail and fold his
ears like I was going to back hand him, although I would far from do that. I’d
cuddle him up to me and tell him everything was going to be ok and that I loved
him, then I’d let him go. After that, he’d purr and headbutt me and rub rub
rub. This became more and more frequent, which troubled me. He wasn’t getting
thinner, but more plump. And he was eating a lot, given, but he was throwing it
all up after he ate it. I started noticing how often he was sleeping and more
and more during the night. It bothered me. I looked it up and the symptoms he
had looked to match diabetes. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Saw the
nutritionist, a few times, and set up a high protein high fiber diet for me. We
were so sure that would be helpful, that my weight would rocket up in the two
weeks and that would be good. I’d also feel better for the fiber. After 2 weeks,
she, like the doctors, was baffled. I lost weight and gained nothing, and I was
still constipated after all the fiber. She asked to see my food diary which she
shook her head and said, “Now I know something isn’t right. You’ve eaten
everything I’d asked you to. I put you on this diet and you should have gained
weight….” “At least I didn’t lose more. It was only half a pound.” I said,
optimistic. She told me, “No. I put other people on this diet and their weight
skyrockets. Yours doesn’t stay steady, it drops on that diet. Why? Why. That’s
what I want to know. Your medical mystery boggles my mind. It’s right in front
of me (she gestured to my food diary) and yet, you’ve done everything I’ve told
you to do. I don’t understand. And with tests, they gave you the whole works
and you come out as completely healthy. It doesn’t make sense.” After this, we
tried a few change ups, and I lost 2 pounds. She’d given me good tips for
getting fiber and protein in my diet, taught me about foods that would benefit
me. I had a feeling we would soon get to the same dead end that the doctors
hit. One day, she leaned back in her chair and blew a breath, then I nodded. I
knew what was coming, I expected it. “I’m out of ideas. I don’t know what else
to do to help you. We tried the protein, tried the fiber. You already stay away
from the foods that irritate you; you know what those foods are. You aren’t in
danger, thankfully, but I just wish we could figure out what it is that’s
causing the problem. I just have this feeling that your IBS, ITP, that low
blood sugar, and all those stray symptoms, are somehow all related. It’s like
they are all tied with an invisible string, but I can’t find the string. I’m
sorry. I wish I could help you.” She gave me the name of a doctor and told me
to go to him, see what he says, and with my permission, she would talk to him
about me. I gave permission. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">And then…I
got very sick. What started out as a sore throat, progressed to sharp shards of
glass that wouldn’t swallow. And then pressure in my skull. Unnerving, awful,
horrible migraines assaulted me. I couldn’t work. I spent four days in bed,
miserable and tired and already so from my turbulent adventures. Finally got
some relief by placing a moist warm rag over my forehead and eyes, which made
it much easier to sleep. The very bad head-cold didn’t go into something worse,
and the symptoms, after the rag trick and Sudafed (my hero!), went away. I think
that was pretty quick, and I was relieved that it didn’t hang around. Lost 5
pounds from that. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Was given a
conversation by those that care about my eating habits. How I need to up my
protein and fiber in my diet, and eat more often, and more food. I listened and
nodded, but didn’t say much. I let them speak. They were concerned, and that
showed me how much they love me. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The invisible
spear struck the day before yesterday. A level 7 that made concentration on
conversation a laborious process as my focus was elsewhere. My workday was
already over when it happened, so that was a relief. I laid down and rode it
out, just as my doctors had said: Do whatever it takes to get comfortable and
ride it out. It took the rest of that day and night away, but it did go away. I
knew it would. Didn’t go to E.R. No reason to. I knew I wasn’t in physical
danger. I’d survive this just like the last ones. Fought with it until I ran
out of energy and slept.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">12-6-12</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Update: Its
snowing! At last. For the longest time it was merely rain and windy days. Its
so peaceful to see the new falling snow. Brilliant white coating everything.
Silence drifting down through the sky to the ground. Soft Christmas music in
the background, Frank Sinatra singing Christmas Dreaming. Mmm… lovely. Heatpack
on my stomach (its just upset, not mad like it was last night). Tuxedo all
cuddly with me, eyes closed, purring. And the tea-kettle heating up on the
stove. Trying to finally post this. I reckon by the time I do finally post
this, it’ll be 100 pages. JUST KIDDING! HAHA! :P Spirit this morning is relaxed
and quiet. Slept well last night, so that was a plus. Woke up at 6am by a
hungry puppy pouncing on me. Ooof! Nothing like being pounced on and licked by
a slobbery wet tongue. “Thanks Genesis, now here’s the plan: You go to right
back to bed and I will too! Sounds great. Good night!” “Woof!” She says right
in my ear. She’s not going to sleep. That means…neither am I. Then, I hear it:
Tuxedo is getting sick. Oh dear. Good morning world. I look around for the mess
but can’t locate it. Then I notice Genny licking her chops. I frown deeply, “Oh
my word. You are GROSS! That’s just SICK SICK SICK!” I scoop up my kitty and go
turn on the tea pot, starting my morning. A nice day off work. Its planned we’ll
be setting up Christmas décor today. Can’t wait. Also going to shoot Christmas
photos for my friends today. Exciting. They expressed how they’d like their
photos to be done- the two of them together wrapped up in Christmas lights. Ah
young love. *giggles* Adorable. :D</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Was excited
to go to church on Sunday. Dad had the sound booth, so I sat out with the
congregation this time. Gave the update: We retested for Celiac Disease cause I’d
seen on tv an actress who had Celiac and her words echoed in my mind- you must
be on gluten when tested for Celiac or it will show as negative. …And I’d been
off gluten for several weeks when I was tested. I have almost all the Celiac
Disease symptoms. It made perfect sense….a perfectly invisible string – we’d
done the test improperly. The diagnosis might just be right beneath our very
noses and we had skimmed right over it! So, I’d called the hospital where the
test was done and asked them “Did I need to be on gluten when we had the Celiac
test done?” The answer was “Yes, or the test is useless. Even a Celiac patient
would test out as negative if they didn’t consume gluten at the time.” My heart
had beat rapidly. Was this it? Would this mystery be over now? The answer I was
seeking, my answer, was this it? Finally? At last? I’d be able to be proactive
about this, instead of just taking it, rolling with its punches? I’d decided to
hope. I had to hope. Not in the test, but in the fact that God was in control
of this, and if this was the answer, God would show me it were so: The test
would be positive. And if it wasn’t, that God would provide for me in my
continued pain and through this mystery. I was either way, going to be okay.
But! I desired prayer. So, I asked for that. Thanked my church family for the
prayer. And then sat down. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">After church,
Dad came up to me with a white envelope, small, with my name on it and beneath
it scrolled in neat letters: God will provide. I put my finger under the flap
to open it, but was touched on the shoulder. Talked with my pals, laughed,
shared in good conversation. Walked out to the parking lot. Finally, I could
take the suspense no longer. Who was this card from and what did it say? I
lifted the flap and stopped dead. My vision blurred right up, but not before I
saw the only thing in that envelope was a 100 dollar bill. Exactly the amount I’d
set aside for a bill that was coming my way in a few short days….and I’d lost
it. How badly I’d been upsetted by that. Tore my room apart. Never could find
it. Considered myself a poor steward. How could I just loose a 100 bucks like
that?? I laid starfished on the floor, staring up at the ceiling of my room.
Well, I had. Now what would I do? How would I pay this bill? What on earth was
I supposed to do? Draw money from some hidden stash? I didn’t have one. I was
out. My paychecks were already dolled out to other things. That’s precisely why
I’d scrimped up that 100 dollars inch by inch and hidden it away so I would
have it for this bill. Now it was gone. Then I’d cried cause I was just…well,
careless. How could I be so careless to loose something like that?? Then I
broke down and asked God to calm me down. I knew already that He’d provide, He
already had so many times before. Everything was going to be okay. One of my
pals said she’d be happy to help me by showing me how to do a budget plan. I
agreed to it and she’d showed me how to start one the following day. …now here
I stood, tears slipping trails down my face, in the parking lot, crying over a
crisp 100 dollar bill. I’d expected a card with heartfelt encouragement within
it. I didn’t expect this. At all. God had provided EXACTLY what I needed to pay
that one bill. “What is it? Nicole?” my pals asked, gathering. I couldn’t
answer. Just cried and lifted the envelope. Mumbled beneath huffs, “God will
provide. He did. He promised. He did. Who…who did this? Who did this? Who?” “Oh
you silly girl,” one of my pals smiled and hugged me. “Of course He does. It’s
going to be okay.” “Yes, yes, it will.” –I’d agreed. “Someone just paid off one
of my big bills. Exactly.” “Wow, isn’t God awesome?” she said with an awed
smile. I nodded, wiped my tears away, “Always.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Paid my 100
dollar bill off when it arrived in the mail. Sent it on its way with a flowery
spring stamp. Good bye bill. Began a reserve stash of emergency cash inside the
now empty envelope that read “Nicole. God will provide.” The five dollar bill
seemed scant, but it’s a start. Into the bank it will go at the end of the
week. </span><span style="font-family: Wingdings; font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">J</span></span><span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> The week passed by rather quick. Hard
days came and went. Began reading “Do you think I’m Beautiful?” And a book
about Detoxing and vitamins. Tried on one account to submerge my swollen
fingers into a steaming hot bath and then an ice cold bath for set amounts of
times. My hands became so swollen that I was miserable. Added Epson salt into
the hot bath and waited with my hands submerged to bring down the swelling.
They only swelled more until I couldn’t use them at all. At 8pm, I went to bed
because I could do nothing with my hands. They were rendered unusable for the
night. I’d not be doing that again. But the idea stuck on me. If I had toxins
in me and that was the cause of my swollen hands, it was a good idea to try and
get them out of my system….just not with hot and cold baths. It was another
idea, and for that, I was grateful. Any more ideas? I’d be willing to try them.
Yep. </span><span style="font-family: Wingdings;">:)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Saw one of my
friends and talked about one of my pitfalls- asking for help. I’d told her about
how my Grandma had suggested wisely that I’d do as much testing as I could this
month before January when the deductible ended and I had to start all over. I
didn’t have that much money to do the next test with: A food allergy panel. I’ve
heard they are terribly expensive….as well as painful, but I wasn’t concerned
about the later. Pain was as free as it was abundant. “Just how do I pay for
that test?” –I’d asked my friend. “Ask for help,” my friend had said. “That’s
what friends are there for. To support you. Ask them. They will love to be
given the joy of being there for you. Let them have that situation. You don’t
have to do this on your own.” Novel idea. But I was scared to do that. What if
that was taking advantage of them? I did not, absolutely not, want to do that.
My friends were priceless. They were treasures, blessings in my life. I loved
them for them, and I wanted to be sure they knew that more than anything else. “Are
you denying them the pleasure of showing you that they love you and want to
help?” I was stunned by her words. I had to think about that. Was I, in effort
to show them they had no obligation to help me, denying them what they wanted
to do for me because they wanted to? Was I? ….thought provoking, certainly
because I didn’t want to deny them that pleasure. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Church next
Sunday and I was able to go. </span><span style="font-family: Wingdings; font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">J</span></span><span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> Didn’t feel at all good, felt very sickish and mostly
because of the nausea. Dizziness didn’t help. I remained seated during worship,
but I was there. That’s all that mattered anyhow. There and worshiping with my
church family. Yes. I was happy with that. It wasn’t something I’d take for
granted. During prayer and praise time, I raised my hand and gave the update:
The Celiac test, the second one, complete with my eating gluten this time, came
back: Negative. I heard breaths of sadness, disappointment, hums of compassion.
I told them I was thankful for their prayers, and God was still in control,
still sovereign. Celiac was apparently not my answer, and I only want my
answer. I told them I was very grateful it wasn't Celiac, and thanked God for
that. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Fought
drifting to sleep, just as I did last Sunday. Embarissing, disappointing, and
most of all, rude. I kept hearing snippits of the sermon and knew I wasn’t
staying awake. I’d go stand in the back, but I was too dizzy. That would be a
distraction if I collapsed. I hated that I was nodding off and fought hard. I
lost. I woke up when he said amen. I was humiliated. I’d caught some of it, I
could piece together what the message was about, but I wanted to hear the WHOLE
thing. I was bummed out. It made me sad. But how do I change this? How do I
fight harder than I already am? I let it go. Dropped issue. Watched all the
conversations around me and all of the conversations muted out as I saw one of
the dear ladies come up to me, smiling. I later wrote of her in a text message
to my pals: So special: A couple at church today was a blessing in my life. The
wife came ovr n askd how I wwas doing n that they’d been prayin 4 me…she
clasped my hand n something scratchy stiff pushed into my palm. I glimpsed th
amount. “Nonono, u need that!” I objectd. And she closed my fingers over it n
smiled with her heart. Told me God had blessed them this month n this was a
gift from their heart as they knew what illness n its pains felt like…and they
wanted to bless me as they’d been blessed. So I cried….sobbed actually. She
wiped away my tears and told me, “Don’t cry sweetheart, God provides. Its going
to be okay, trust Him.” She gave a huge hug n told me I am an angel, touching
her life as I’ve done. …wow. Speechless.” I’d snapped my words short as soon as
I’d objected. An echo had crossed my mind: Are you denying them the pleasure of
a gift from their heart? Let go. Accept it. So, my fingers curled when she
rolled her palm over my fingers, giving the generous amount to me. I hadn’t
asked for help. She just….gave. She told me she felt led. She gave me a gentle,
comforting hug, rubbed my back motheringly, whispering how God was going to see
to my cares, everything was going to be ok. So, of course that just made me cry
harder. And she shhh’d and rocked gently. Then pulled out of the hug, wiping my
tears from my cheeks with such gentle care. She was aquanted with pain and
illness. She understood. “Don’t cry sweetheart, God provides.” That first part
of her tender words echoed in my mind this whole week. It’d touched my soul. And
my food allergy test? She just paid for it unknowingly. I didn’t have to worry
about not being able to afford that test after all. Didn’t that dear lady just
tell me “It’s going to be okay, trust Him”? Speechless is right. Darn right. “Won’t
He as well provide for you, oh you of little faith?” –Jesus had said. True. Oh
so true.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Went to a
Luke Commission event/dinner with one of my pals, both of us guests of my
grandparents. I’d not heard of them, but my friend had, so she told me all
about it and we looked at all the African crafts that were being auctioned and
sold. I fingered black wooden elephants, they so reminded me of Daddy. He would
have liked these very much. I smiled. Reminded me of his travels. All the
amazing knick-knacks he’d brought back for me. The flute, the currency…and so
on…and telling me about them. I remembered all of this in brief flashes,
childhood memories. I was mighty tempted to buy one, send it his way for
Christmas…then I saw the price and the object suddenly wasn’t that tempting a
purchase. I set it down and moved over to the colorful scarfs. Touched a
blue/green/brown/red one. Heard my mom behind me, so I turned. When I looked
back, I saw a lady had picked up the scarf I admired and went to pay for it. I’m
glad someone took it. Now they’d get to enjoy it. It would look beautiful on
her…oh the compliments she would get, her complexion was made all the more
enhanced. It was the perfect match for her. It made me smile as someone came up
and complimented her just as I suspected. Her smile made her look all the more
beautiful. I was glad. “Oh, someone took the scarf that was here earlier. It
was a pretty one.” My mom said, coming up beside me. “I guess so.” I said, “What
were you looking at?” “Come here, I’ll show you.” She brought me to the hand-beaded
necklaces and lifted one. A slate gray brown one. It was so delicate. I touched
it. So light. “It would look beautiful on you. And look! It could go with
anything. It even has a bracelet to match! You should get it.” I recalled what
happened the last two Sundays and inwardly shook my head. No, this was
unnecessary, although, yes, I loved it…it was a beautiful piece. It would look
pretty. I wanted it. I set it down. I picked it up. I set it down. Picked it
back up. …oh no. I was in the buying stage. I set it down and with resolve,
told myself I did NOT “need” it. It was pretty. I admired it. Now I would go. I
walked down the stairs. I felt victorious: I didn’t buy it. Nope. I had what I
needed anyway. I was here with my family and my friend. What else did I need
anyway? I located my friend and she smiled, “So what necklace were you looking
at up there? I saw you eyeing one and I wanted to purchase it for you.” I
bumbled about in my words before getting out that I didn’t want her to feel
obligated. I didn’t need it. It’d be fine witho… “What are you talking about?”
She asked, her whole expression clearly showing confusion. “I WANT to buy it
for you. You’re not making me obligated. You didn’t ask me. I just wanted to. I
saw that you liked it and know you can’t, and I wanted to.” Oh. Uhoh. I closed
up my objections. “Okay.” I said simply. I was turned away by conversational
questions directed at me. I answered and turned back to her but she was gone.
Oh boy had I done it! My mouth went dry. I botched it. Now I’d hurt my friend.
I sat down and pushed my food around my plate. Then I was tapped on the
shoulder. I turned to see my friend standing there, two colorful necklaces held
in her hand, “I can’t remember which one you liked? Was it either of these?
Could you show me?” I stood up and went to the table and pointed it out. She
picked it up and smiled, “It is a pretty one.” It was set aside for us. We went
into the room where they had the presentation telling what the Luke Commission
was all about. They played a video about aids and their endeavor to treat this
disease which was rampant. A man was interviewed. It showed flashes of days
spent tossing and turning in his bed. And how there was a huge difference in
being treated and he could do things. It showed children without parents, all
of them orphaned. The age people were lucky to get up to? 30yrs old. I watered
up a lot during that presentation. I didn’t understand aids, I didn’t
understand the situation, what it took, any of the details. But their pain,
their hurt, touched me very deeply. I had nothing to give to them, but I wanted
to. I really wanted to. And one day, I will support them. It’s as good as done.
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">My friend and
I returned to the shops after the presentation and she put the necklace in my
hands. Purchased it at the tables. We went to dinner afterwards, just light
salads or soups. And oh yes, warm coffee/tea/hot chocolates around the table. </span><span style="font-family: Wingdings; font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">J</span></span><span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Afterward,
once I got home, I received a text message after again thanking my friend for
the pretty gift. “:D Thanks for giving me some joy today! :D <3” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I swallowed. Okay, so this would be the thing
I worked on. I opened my fist and looked at the necklace. Put it on and leaned
forward to look in the mirror. It was a beautiful piece. I touched it, but didn’t
see it as a treasure. I saw my friend as the treasure and this was just the
proof of her kind, beautiful heart. Indeed, she too was a blessing. A thought
caught me in its twirl: Was I that way in my friends’ lives? Showing them in
honest love of how much they mean to me?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I’ve been
taking it easy the last few days. Came out of two bad days back to back the day
before yesterday. Days where I couldn’t wait for them to end, only to fight
everytime I turned over in my sleep as well. It was the definition of
miserable. No real relief. I was again told that I was in sin. I didn’t say
anything this time. I just wanted to have the day be over so I could lay down,
cuddle up with my hotpack and collect the sleep I was longing to have. Hugged
that dear one and said I loved them and was so grateful they were praying for
me and how much it meant to me. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Yesterday, I
woke up with the raging pain that sucked my breath away. “Okay,” I breathed. “God
is still in control. I will go through this day just as I have for the last two
days like this. He’s providing the strength anyways, not me.” Got ready for
work and worked hard. At 11am, I bent over to chase a cherry tomato that
dropped on the floor and squinted. I wasn’t in pain. I was in zero pain! I felt
awake. I couldn’t help a grin. I was so incredibly thankful. At last, yes! I
felt great! Terrific! Outstanding! I breezed through my day and it was very
enjoyable. I had fun. The evening went beautifully as well. It was more than I
could hope for. It was perfect. Saw two of my friends, and then went to
Biblestudy. A few minutes to the end of it, the fatigue hit me hard. I began
nodding off. The ringing in my ear and dizziness began. I started burping. What
was this? I squinted and struggled to stay awake, to pay attention. Hey! I was
learning here! I didn’t want to sleep. Where had this sleepiness come from? A
second ago I’d been wide awake, now I was completely spent. I was nudged, told
in a whisper to not drift off, stay awake…I was drifting. I could barely hear
my Mom’s voice. Fire erupted in my stomach like the flick of a match being lit.
Poof! It was there. Just so instantly and sharp. It brought tears to my eyes.
The left side. Again. Now I wasn’t able to drift off to sleep…I was seriously
hurting and my mind reeled noisily about how I was dizzy, my ears were ringing,
I needed to lay down…I needed my hotpack. My low back was in hot-pain. And then
my muscles pulled sharply, so of course I twitched away. Tingling in my right
wrist to elbow, in my legs. What on earth was this from? I had been fine. I
fought to listen to the conversations of questions and answers and then prayer.
Once it was done, my parents whisked me homeward. I laid down in bed as quick
as I could and thought for sure I was going to be speared here, the pain was so
intense. My eyes were blurred up with unshed tears. I pushed my face toward the
pillow, there was no way I was going to start any sort of screaming. That
wouldn’t solve anything, I wouldn’t feel better. Pain would still be pain. I
laid there and prayed fervently that I’d just sleep, and now…quickly, before it
got worse like I knew it could. God could answer that prayer, I believed He
could. The pain would numb out to nothing if I got deep enough into sleep….an
impossible thing at this level of pain. So I asked Him. At 6am, I woke up. I’d
slept soundly. Thanked God for a restful night’s sleep. And that my pain today
was bearable. Yeah, so I had an acid back-up this morning, but haven’t had one
since. Thankfully. </span><span style="font-family: Wingdings; font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">J</span></span><span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> If I take it easy today, it should be a fair day. And that
will be very nice. </span><span style="font-family: Wingdings; font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">J</span></span><span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Praise God
for even trials, because even within the hard times, the rough spots, there are
many blessings. He is Wonderful. Even though the storms are rough, I can see
that He is Healing me from within, and transforming, molding and shaping my
life into something beautiful. Something my imaginative mind cannot picture,
it’ll be just that stunning. :’)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Until next
time, God bless.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Ps- Oh! And
about my kitty’s IBS. Although he has been diagnosed with that, he has also
been a naughty kitty and his reasons for throwing up could very well be from
his fern-eating habit (which was cut short by us putting it high out of his
reach). I caught him nibbling off a branch of it yesterday night, and licking
his chops. Doesn’t he know that’s bad for him?? Ah well, at least the
temptation has been taken from him. I expect to see improvements in him health
wise after this find…well, once the fern is out of his system. Poor guy. He
didn’t know any better.</span></div>
StrongInHimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09642451472290489136noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2687423329314564537.post-26363512345958694822012-06-18T16:51:00.001-07:002012-06-18T16:57:36.519-07:00A song for today :)http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cel_O-qy0i0&feature=relatedStrongInHimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09642451472290489136noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2687423329314564537.post-50320305160213587472012-05-18T11:39:00.001-07:002012-05-18T11:39:25.242-07:00A season called March<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Thursday,
March 22, 2012:</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 9pt; line-height: 115%;">March. From
sunshine to thunder and rain, to hail, to snowfall to whooshing winds. I saw
this in a Garfield comic strip given to me from Paul (designed to make me feel
better…it worked). March could almost be a season in itself, the weather seems
like it doesn’t know which to pick…a little of this, a little of that…lol. Just
last week while trying to capture a little creative time with my camera, I
heard a thick, resounding boom. It was instantaneous with the vibration the
house took. That wasn’t thunder, was it? I shrugged it off, thinking that they
were doing scheduled blasts up on the mountain. That made sense. To have a
thunderstorm with our landscape so covered in thick snow seemed impossible. I
put the camera up to my eye, and focused up at the snow-clad trees. The wind
was picking up. I couldn’t get a clear shot with them swaying like that. Well,
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<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I lowered the
camera with a sigh. Then squinted. The wind was picking up a lot! A blinding
flash shattered the sky and just as quick with no time to count, a deep,
rumbling boom shook the floor beneath me. All doubt fled from my mind. This WAS
a thunderstorm. I hastily put away my camera and slipped into my coat, out of
the house, and my wading rubber boots. The chickens had to be put away pronto.
I’d heard from a lady at work that chickens are easily spooked and large amounts
of lightning could terrorize them into miniature heart attacks and they’d be
dead. I wasn’t sure if this was true or not, but it wasn’t like I was going to
stand around and find out. I herded them into their coop, closed the doors and
felt the dripping of rain. Uhoh… I snuck a glance at the sky and took a deep
breath. Everything in me said, <i>run, run, run lest you be soaked; it is coming!</i> I
closed the gate and took off like a rocket through the mushy snow, the muddy
places sucking at my boots. I slid towards the steps and bounded up them. No
sooner had I tucked myself safely beneath the sheltered porch, there was a
resounding boom that vibrated through the air. It seemed to rattle all the hail
from heaven, as it poured so thick that I could not see the mountains, and the
trees around me blurred into a solid sheet of white. The hail was so huge! I
briefly wondered if it could put a crack in my car’s brand new windshield. I
resolved not to ponder it and stood mouth agape on the front porch. Lightning
forked across the sky. “Awesome….” I said, staring. <i>Camera! Camera!</i> I frowned.
Yes, this needed to go on my camera, undeniably so! I got a few shots and then
my alarm rang: time for work. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 9pt; line-height: 115%;">I had a good
day at work. There was a lot of work to do, which I enjoy. The only sad part of
the day was knowing that it was the last day that I would work with one of my
coworkers who was moving out of state. He was a great coworker and I knew we’d
all miss him. “Draw for it!” I said as we three closers stood in a circle at the
beginning of our shift. I raised my hand, “I’ve got the kitchen.” “Coffee and
pizza.” He said. “Salads then,” said Tina. We turned off to our respective
tasks and the day went by swimmingly. I grabbed the utensil cage from the
dishwasher and began to pull out the spoons. My hands began their random
trembling dance. The spoons I held flung from my hands and clattered to the
floor around me. I was overcome with embarrassment. I tried to grab the spoons,
hands still shivering wildly. No good. Frustration overwhelmed me. “STUPID
HANDS!” I shrieked angrily at my hands. </span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9pt; line-height: 115%;">Tina turned toward me, her eyes wide.
Apparently she had never seen me lose my temper. My face heated with shame.
“I’m so, so sorry. I…” “It’s okay Nicole.” Tina said. “Really, I’m sorry. I
should keep control of my mouth. I know better.” I continued, rambling.
“Nicole! It’s okay. Haha, you’re so cute…” Tina laughed. I picked up the fallen
spoons from the floor and placed them in the sink. I turned to Dan, “I’m
incredibly sorry. I should keep control of my anger. That wasn’t a very good
example and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t lose my temper.” He chuckled softly and
looked at me, “Apology accepted although, honestly, I can’t see what’s so
wrong. Sometimes things happen. Besides, you didn’t say anything harmful that I
heard.” “But I called my hands stupid, and nothing God made is stupid.” I
replied back. “True,” he nodded. “But you were frustrated. It happens.
Sometimes you have to vent or it just gets stuck in there, and that’s not good.
It’s okay.” I turned away and went back to my tasks. The rest of the shift
passed without reoccurring hand tremors, of which I was grateful. </span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Well,” I said,
wiping my face on my forearm (washing dishes can be a wet experience…especially
if the hose squirts back at you through a loose spot in the seal), “We’re all
done back here! How are you guys doing? Almost ready to go home?” (why do I
refer to myself as “we” I wonder?) “Yep yep, just finishing with the trash and
we’re outta here.” Dan replied enthusiastically. “Yeah!” Tina agreed happily
from near the salads. I squinted. My nose felt soggy. I brushed my forearm
across my nose (unwilling to dirty my hands with drying water off from my nose),
and I saw bright red blood streaked wetly across my arm. “Oh no, not now!” I
cried out, knowing I had just a second. I thrust myself toward the nearest
sink, intending to put my head down to it. They’d just mopped the floor,
cleaned the counters and the sinks. We were done. Blood splattered all over the
counter, myself, and the sink. A flood of it poured from my nose like a facet
opened all the way. I could hear Dan whisper from behind me, “Oh my **d…” </span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Tina stopped
dead in front of me, eyes wide, “S***, Nicole are you okay?” “I think so.” The
sink clogged and backed up with blood, the dark red pool filled higher, then
splattered wildly outside of the sink, dripping down my apron, filling in my
mouth. I spat. I knew better than to swallow it. I reached my hand out for the
paper towels, my hand and forearm were glistening with the bright red. I
snatched off a wad and pressed it to my nose. “Put your head back. I’ll get a
wet towel.” Tina said. “I’ll get a chair.” My 45 min nosebleed flashed before
my mind with the thought, oh no, please not again. “No no, this is how I need
to do this. Pinch the bridge of my nose and keep this wad on it, and look down
so I don’t swallow the blood. The nurses said so.” I objected. It seemed like
many minutes passed, but I wasn’t sure. I tried to peer at my watch from around
the towel, it had me feeling cross-eyed and dizzy. I gave another try but I
couldn’t see. I glanced in my peripheral vision, trying to see the hands of the
clock stationed over the bakery. The hot case blocked it from view, the only
way to see would be to erect myself and splatter the floor and anything within
the vicinity of the sink. Not a good idea. I stayed put. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9pt; line-height: 115%;">“We need to
call her mom.” Tina said. “Now. She needs to go to E.R.” “No,” I breathed from
beneath the towel, pinching my nose and looking down at the blood filling the
sink. My blood. I was getting dizzy. I tried another look at my wrist watch,
but I couldn’t see the hands and notches from this angle. “What time is it?
Tell me.” I ordered gently. “It doesn’t matter. What matters is getting...”
Tina said. “Yes it does. I need to know. I need to count how long.” I replied
hurriedly. “No, honey, you need to go to E.R.” Tina said. “Ten minutes, the
nurse said. Ten minutes. Then I’ll go to E.R. IF it’s still gushing.” I
interrupted. “Okay,” She told me the time. “Thank you.” I said, dragging the
trash barrel toward me with my right leg and dunking a completely soggy towel
into the trash. Then a third, then a fourth. It was soaking right through,
making the towel more than useless. “Oh my **d.” Dan said again, still behind
me, otherwise speechless. “S***, s***, s***…” Tina said openly, pacing back and
forth in front of my peripheral vision. “It’s going to be okay, really.” I
tried convincing all of us. “Just a part of life, bloody noses.” Something
gagged me and I couldn’t breathe. I pulled the towel away and a long 7 inch
goop of blood clot drew out. Tina’s pacing was more frantic. I stared at the
unknown streamer, blood gushing faster from my nose. “Is this umm, normal?” I
held up the towel. Tina looked. “Umm, no,” she laughed nervously. “Then can you
get a plastic half pound container for me. I’d like to have the evidence. Gross
as it is.” </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9pt; line-height: 115%;">“Are you okay?” Dan asked, still frozen in his place. “I think so.
I’ll find out. I’ve dealt with these a lot with my disorder. Ha, I think
eventually I’ll get good at it.” I joked. “Disorder…” Dan repeated. “ITP,
basically my blood has a hard time clotting because my immune system thinks the
platelets used for clotting are yummy.” “Oh,” Dan frowned. “That’s not good.
Could you bleed to death?” “No, it’s being monitored and I’m at a safe level.
Just not out of the woods yet, that’s all.” “How many minutes?” I asked them,
curious. “Seven, and I’m going to call your mom. It’s not stopping and you need
to go to E.R.” Tina said, stopping from her pacing to look at me. “Wait wait,
when it hits 10 minutes, then you can call her. But it might stop.” I said,
looking into the red pool in the sink. My ears popped. I felt vaguely dizzy.
Okay, so now I was imagining that I was about to pass out? Oh no you don’t. I
thought. It’s only been under ten minutes. Don’t imagine yourself in trouble,
you’re fine. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9pt; line-height: 115%;">“Ten
minutes,” Tina announced. “I’m calling your mom and she’s taking you to E.R.”
“Okay,” I said, resigned. That had been the agreement, and my nose wasn’t
stopping. “You can call her now.” Tina, however, was gone from my peripheral
vision and I could hear her muted talking from across the way. The phone hung
up. “She’s on her way.” Tina told me. “Look at the mess I made. I’m not leaving
you guys to clean up my blood. Here, get some bleach and…” Tina got the bleach
and began to open it. “No no,” I objected. “It’s my blood. I’ll get it.” I
said. “You’re in no condition to clean it up, you’re still gushing a river of
it!” Tina said right back. I put my head down toward the sink, but reached out
with one bloody, but free hand and put it into the pool of blood, finding the
drain. It finally went down and then she poured in the bleach. By this time, my
nose was merely dripping. I scrubbed at the blood with my hand. The bleach made
me feel lightheaded and the smell burned in my nose. I wasn’t about to let them
to this sickening job of cleaning up blood though. It was mine and I felt
obligated to clean up after myself. I finished up and scooped up my purse. I
apologized, but was told to stop it because it wasn’t my fault. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9pt; line-height: 115%;">Said goodnight
to them and mom took me to E.R. I told them what happened, so they asked more
questions and then took a sampling of blood. I showed them the clot and they
said that was gross, but a good sign…it meant I was clotting. They threw it in
the trash. “You’re bleeding again.” Mom said, pointing at the blood spot on the
floor. “Oh no!” I said and covered my nose, but felt nothing…I removed my still
clean hands and looked at the floor, rubbing my shoe against the blood spot. It
was dried. “Oh, not mine.” I said. The doctor returned with good news: my count
actually rose. The reason why I started bleeding was simply “because the nose
was dry,” and “stress.” Dryness, that I could see…but stress? I hadn’t felt an
ounce of stress before it happened. They asked if it were possible that I was
suffering from Depression, I answered a solid no to that. I am not a depressed
person. We shook hands. I was told to take it easy and they joked, “I hate to
say it, but hopefully we don’t see you in here again. Although, sometime in
your life we probably might.” “Same here.” I agreed. We went home. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9pt; line-height: 115%;">I texted my
pals and told them I was a-ok and that my count actually rose. I was warned not
to tell all my coworkers, lest they think me frail and incapable of doing my
job. That was a thought I had actually not considered – my bloody noses causing
them to think me unfit for working? Firing me for dealing with a disorder was
foolish in my mind and I couldn’t see my bosses doing that – the proof was all
around the store, others that I knew that struggled with adventures of their
own. My bosses are compassionate and good. I did see one point about what she
said, and that was the rumors. Rumors can easily spark untrue things and I
didn’t want that. I shrugged it off as whatever would happen, would happen. I
wasn’t about to be concerned about rumors, now was I? No. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9pt; line-height: 115%;">Tried to
sleep, but my stomach was in knots and very unhappy with me. I tossed, turned,
tried to sleep, but rest was evasive. My stomach still hurt. I tried to reason
with the pain: I was finished with the medication, so I shouldn’t have the same
pain as I had throughout taking the meds. It was over. But the pain was still
there. I prayed about it, then watched the stars from my bedroom window, tossed
and turned some more. Relief just wasn’t obtainable, was it? Finally, at last,
I drifted away…</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9pt; line-height: 115%;">The next
morning at work, although I said nothing, I was greeted with a concerned
coworker, “I heard you were raced off to E.R. last night! Why are you at work,
shouldn’t you be resting? I heard there was a lot of blood. What did the
doctors say…is it serious??” I pulled her aside and quietly fixed her concern.
There was no reason to worry, it was a bloody nose. She relaxed with a sigh.
Another coworker stuck his head around the corner, “Oh, talking about the
bloody nose? How was the ambulance ride? Loud?” “Ambulance?” I said incredulously.
“I didn’t take an ambulance ride, mom took me.” “Oh.” He said, his eyes
squinting. It didn’t line up with what he was told. I began to wonder who else
knew. I got a phone call from mom reminding me not to tell anyone so no rumors
could start. “Too late, I didn’t say anything, but they know.” I replied. Then,
I heard from behind me a familiar voice. “How are you girly?” Tina asked. I
gave a thumbs-up. She hoped I didn’t mind, but she told a few people. So, I
reasoned, those few people must have passed it on and that’s where it contorted
into “a dangerous amount of bleeding” and “an ambulance ride to E.R.” I don’t
blame and don’t mind that Tina told them. I’d scared the crap out of her that
night, gushing blood as I was. It certainly wasn’t her fault that the story
twisted up on itself.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9pt; line-height: 115%;">I fixed the
story as it finished spreading throughout the store. I was safe, it was a
simple bloody nose, Mom drove me, no ambulance. The main part of the story was
still there, so it made it quicker to fix. My disorder is not a secret; I just
didn’t want people to be unnecessarily concerned, and worrying their socks off
over me. I’m at a safe level and I wanted the story to go out, not to make
people scared for me, but to use as encouragement. That’s what I want. The day
went smoothly and all went very well. I even had a few coworkers tug me aside
and tell me I was in their prayers and what a blessing I was to them. It was
heartening to hear that. I was glad the info had gone out for their sakes. </span><span style="font-family: Wingdings; font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">:)</span></span><span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The rest of
that shift was spent bagging and packaging bakery items. “Hello deli girl, what
are you doing over here?” My head snapped up to see a regular customer and his
wife. “Hi! I’m working bakery today.” I said. Across the way, my coworker put
his hands to his mouth and shouted over, “Traitor! Traitor!” lol. Tina did
likewise. Soon, my deli coworkers were shouting over, “Traitor!” “Yeah, yeah!
You just think I am!” I shot back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“Because you are, haha!” Tina said. “Oh yeah?” I questioned. “Yeah.” She
said back, laughing. “You might win this time, but…” I started to warn her.
“You bet I did!” she chuckled. We all laughed. A great day. </span><span style="font-family: Wingdings; font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">:)</span></span><span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9pt; line-height: 115%;">Text talk:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">3-2-12 A memorable
moment: Serving an older gentleman who wore a wide brimmed hat with what looked
to be a pheasant's feather. I had given him a sample of my newest creation, a
Country Kitchen Beef Bake. He said in strained English, "It is very
good." He decided on a 1/2 serving of it. I engaged in conversation with him
as I served him...about warm, good home-cooking, and also, what brought him to
visit Idaho (he said he was only visiting). I passed the order to him.
"Merci beaucoup. Vous êtes belle." He smiled at me, tipped his hat
cordially, and walked away without translating it. I didn't understand anything
except for merci, which I knew meant thank you. I didn't know the French words
for "You're welcome." I turned to a coworker, "What does 'Merci
beaucoup. Vous êtes belle' mean?" My coworker smiled, "Oh...he said,
'Thank you very much.'" :) Dru later told me, “That is the translation of
the first part. Vous êtes belle means, ‘You are beautiful.’” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9pt; line-height: 115%;">3-20-12:
“Today’s the first day of Spring.” -Paul. “Really?” –me, I placed my palms on
my desk and looked out the window at the snow. “Yep, just look at the Google
page. :P” –Paul. I looked, finding that he was right. I smiled and looked out
the window, putting my fingers on the keyboard once more, “*Is very tempted to
open her window and shout “Hello Springtime! Tell Winter his time is up!”*” Paul
laughed in response. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9pt; line-height: 115%;">“So why were you saying you’re clumsy this morning?” He
asked a few moments later. “Instead of leaping to my feet out of bed, once I
placed my weight on my feet to do that, I crumpled. :P …My legs were apparently
made out of jelly. They just, didn’t take the weight. :P After all, they’d been
rested for quite some time unbothered…then I leap to my feet? Ha, they weren’t
ready yet.” I recalled the failed leap from bed: "Mayday! Going down!" I had said
as I went backwards and down. “Morning people. :P” He said. I wasn’t done
explaining my clumsy behavior. “Getting to the laundry, I got my toes caught up
in the laundry pile and accidentally dragged a sweater behind me…” I smirked,
thinking about how nutty that was. “Unhand me, you! I said let go!” I said as I
shook myself free of the clingy sweater while not trying to topple over and
lose my grip on the clean bundle of laundry. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9pt; line-height: 115%;">“In putting the granola box away
for my yogurt, it toppled toward me and I shielded my face instead of moving to
catch it. :P” I stood up on my tiptoes, stretching to reach the cabinet,
speaking to the cereal box as I went, “Up you go…” It began to slip, then fell
from my grip, so I shielded my face with my palms, “Aaaahh nooo!” It landed
against my palms. I opened my eyes and peeked at the ground, not a single piece
of granola slipped from it. “Yippy!” I celebrated with a little dance around
the kitchen, then slipped the box up where it went. I wouldn’t talk about the
dancing in little circles, hugging a cereal box; he’d think I’d lost it. Anyone
in their right mind dance happily with their cereal boxes in the morning?
Doubtful. Yes, very doubtful. I continued typing, “I smacked into the wall
instead of going through the entry way to my bedroom…” I had tried to enter the
door, humming and stepping lightly along and then I looked up just as I met
with the wall, *whomp!* “Oh my deepest apologies!” I said to the wall. “Quite
by accident, I assure you.” I bowed with a flourish and then proceeded through
the actual entrance to my room. I finished with my rather silly argument of how
clumsy I was, “Now, if those things aren’t clutzy, I ask you, what is? :P” It
didn’t go believed. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 9pt; line-height: 115%;">Later… I
sighed, thinking, then started typing. “Who knows what else I'll find on this
"treasure hunt" as Val calls my medical adventure. :P” “True.” Paul
agreed. “Ha, it'd be nice if there was an everything-test. That'd erase all
surprises for sure. lol. :P …I laugh and think to myself by the time I'm in my
mid 60's, I'll be part machine. Then I'll be indestructible! Bwahahaha!”
Paul smiled in reply, “Only part of you. :P” I squinted, he was right. Well
now, that did it. “Pop my balloon will you?” He typed, putting a silly face
with a tongue sticking out, “…Eventually you won't have to worry about it. :)” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Yeah, forever young.” I said. Paul simply
smiled. I thought about it for a moment. “That'll be somewhat odd. To reach
whatever age I'll be all pruny and wrinkly at and die of old age and then be
*poof* young again. But permanently this time with no need for "age
defying wrinkle cream remover dark circle hider" stuffs! :P” He smiled. I
turned to pondering my story as I typed in memories of all that had happened. I
typed my thought, “Ha, what a story I have. :P<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I wonder if people will believe all of this, or think I'm some sort of
exaggerating drama sort of writer and these facts are all fictional. :P” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He smiled, I imagined a shrug with his words,
“Some will, some won't. :) …I do.” I continued writing, looking up old text
messages and wishing I kept a better record of the specifics. Everything
seemed, in hindsight, blurred together in a single incident, instead of several
events as it had happened. It’s so interesting to find how everything is
piecing together, just like a puzzle. I found myself daydreaming. What if the
answer to all of this was just around the corner? I hoped so. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 9pt; line-height: 115%;">3-21-12: I brought up a chat window with one of my friends as she
wanted an update after my appointment. My stomach has been very upset as of
lately and as a result, I feel nauseous most of the time. I thought at first it
was all due to the steroid treatment, but being I’ve been off the treatment for
months, it couldn’t be that and had to be something else. I was expecting to
hear that something I was eating was disagreeing with me. What it was, we’d
have to find and then cut it from my diet. I was prepared for anything but what
the friendly, bubbly nurse was about to tell me. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remember not crying, but sitting there in
the small room as she spoke, Hannah sitting beside me; my hand over my
stomach…numb. Quiet and numb. I began typing, “My tummy ache is not really a
tummy ache from med side effects. I can't have wee-ones, so the nurse says. She
joked to lighten the dark news, "At least you aren't married so you don't
have to go home and tell your hubby why you can't have kids. Consider it natural
birth control." Would appreciate your prayers. I know it doesn't affect me
right now, but I had hoped in my future to have wee-ones. It may be fixable...I
certainly hope so. Will u pray for me?” Her reply was instant, “Of course I'll
be praying…” I wrote in a hug. “…I'm going to find out on Tuesday at 11... and
if they tell me I can't, I'll be an absolute mess. I have plans to run away to
my secret place to cry and pray. I don't know how I'll drive, but that seems to
be such a small detail.” “Well I'll be praying for your appointment on
Tuesday...” She wrote. “Thank you.” I texted back. “…You're welcome!” I gave a
hug and she hugged me in reply. I put out my tongue, being silly. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“lol… It’s comforting to know I'm not alone.” I wrote. “Yeah.”
She smiled back. “I've had a very brief time to think about it. I was told just
the day before yesterday.” I could almost hear a sigh, “Yeah.” “Even though I
was told that this problem isn't new. Doctors never saw it because the ITP, so
the problem was invisible until now. They just said my pain was strange for
others but being that it’s always been that way, it’s how I am. ...and I'm just
now learning that's false.” I shook my head and continued. “lol, doesn’t it
seem like when one thing breaks, just like a car, other things go with it? :P”
She agreed with me, “Yep. Lol. Hopefully nothing else.” “I know trusting God is
the way to go. But how do you do it, you've had to deal with your trials much
longer?” I asked. “I just do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It's a way
of life for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know these things
won't ever change so I just deal with it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I've had these medical problems since I was born.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don't know how else to explain it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There's no use in complaining even though I
still do from time to time. I just have to get over it and keep moving forward.”
I smiled, “I wish I could be there for you, so I could hug you…” “I wish I
could be there for you too.” She responded.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I sat there for a
moment. “My friend, Sage, said upon hearing my news, that I could steal an
orphan from Haiti or China.” I joked. She smiled. “Adoption is what she means,”
I clarified the ‘stealing’ part. “Just something to keep in mind for later.
I've thought about adoption for a while now, being that I was told that ITP
could affect pregnancy. But now that it’s controlled, I'd be fine. But this...
*shrugs* it’s an idea. And those little orphans need a mother with unmerited,
unending, beautiful love that reflects Jesus. :) Those wee ones are still gifts
from God, even if it’s not born of our flesh. This was brought to my attention,
and I couldn't help but agree the truth of it.” “Amen to that.” She agreed with
a smile, “I have also thought about that option as well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I would love to have however many kids God
allows me to have through giving birth to them but if not then I will
definitely adopt that is if the husband is okay with that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whoever he might be....” “I'm sure your
husband would adore you for you, whether you could bear him children or not.
He'd just want you, and on that note, I doubt he would be opposed to an orphan
baby. :) "There is always adoption." I was told, once. "A man
who truly loves you will not look down at you for not being able to give him
children. A man who truly loves you, will love you for who you are." She
smiled, “That's sweet.” I nodded, then remembered via text, she couldn’t see
that. “Yeah, I gave that little tidbit treasure to you cause it applies to you
as well. The man God will give to you, will love you. He will be compassionate,
and if you truly wanted children, I don't think he'd be at all opposed to
adopting. After all, aren't we all adopted? :)” “Yep.” She grinned and I
smiled. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Well I gotta be going.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Have to run an errand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Going to
be buying myself a small pocket bible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
would like to get one that is the entire bible that is small enough that I can
take it with me to work… The book and the card that you sent for me arrived on
the same day- My Birthday.” She told me with a smile. “That was pretty neat.
:-)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thank you for those! :-)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Love you!!” I grinned and my fingers flew
over the keys. “I am glad you like them. You will love the prayer book. I got
gifted that book and it's so rich, it helped my prayer walk. I thought it'd do
likewise for you. :) *Hugs* Love you too! Glad to have someone to relate with
in my trial. :) Plz take my friend's words to heart for you. You're special,
just you. :) Talk to you later and have a great day! God bless!” “You
too!!!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Have a wonderful day!! I will
take your friend’s words to heart. :-D<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Thank you for the encouragement!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>You're the best!!” She grinned back, and then closed out of the
conversation. I sat back in my chair. Perhaps the reason why I am going through
this not only to learn, but to encourage others. Maybe something would happen
so I could have children? But then, what if it wasn’t fixable? I placed my face
into my palms and rubbed away the thought. Maybe this situation was here to
open my thoughts to the concept of adopting? This way when the time came (whenever
that would be), a child who didn’t have a mother would have one, and a woman
who was childless would have a child to nurture and love, and point them in the
way they should go. I very much liked that path of thought. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">3-21-2012: I slowly sat down and placed my hot-pack up to my stomach,
then opened up Word and started thinking, my fingers hovering in indecision
over the keys. I was popped with a message and a conversation began with Paul.
I hoped he wouldn’t ask how I was, I was getting tired of saying that I hurt, only
for the reason that I didn’t want to be a complaining person. I was told I am
certainly NOT that sort of person; that I’m just saying that I hurt, and by
expressing that, they know how to go about praying for me. I couldn’t focus on
my sci-fi’s story plot. I x-d out and began scrolling through emails. I was not
focused on any one place. I hopped around from email to email, sorting as I
went. “How are you doing?” His message popped on the chat screen. “Just okay
today.” I said, choosing my words. “But you know what, that's just swell cause
it means two things: I'm alive and I'm breathing. Two remarkably good things!”
“True,” Paul agreed. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“May I ask what's
wrong?” “Tummy ache,” I decided to say. “It woke me up this morning. When it’s
strong, it sort of feels like a Charlie horse, sort of. So I woke up. It feels
kinda like I ate something wrong and my stomach doesn't like it...but it’s not.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His response came, “That's why you said the
waking up wasn't so good.” “Yeah,” I sighed, “It really wasn't. I probably
would have slept till 8am otherwise.” I was still on the sleepy side, and could
have easily slept till that hour, even though I tend to be a morning bird, up
at the crack of dawn. Paul frowned, “Well, I'm praying for you.” I didn’t want
him being worried. I knew I would be just fine. “It’s okay, really.” “I don't
care.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m STILL going to keep praying
for you.” He said, and then joked, “So take that.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">In the middle of trying to jump-start the sci-fi story again,
I squinted at his reply, then re-read it again. I caught on. Silly text
messages… Was he thinking that I was saying it was okay, he didn’t have to pray
for me? I tried to clarify what I meant, “Thanks for the prayer. I'd never
refuse that.” He smiled, “You're welcome.” I didn’t want him worrying, either.
“This tummy ache won't hurt me, the nurse said so. She said I'll be just fine.”
He only smiled. The conversation shifted. “Meh, getting to sleep was a restless
venture, but I slept perfectly fine. Got up to my alarm. Trying to write.
...trying.” I joked, sticking out my tongue. Just a smile and then a text was
the reply, “A lot of things going through your mind so you couldn't get to
sleep?” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I shook my head, then wrote, “Nah,
my stomach was bothering me…Tried to relax n cool off, but that only made me
dizzy and weak, so I went to bed, but it was still bothering me. Oh well… I'm
ok.” I attached a smile to the comment. He smiled back. “Still breathing.
That’s a plus, yes?” I joked. “No,” Paul replied. “That's a GREAT thing.” “Haha,
right you are sir!” I laughed. “*yawns* I'm still sleepy. And after a full
night's rest. lol!” He wrote in a smile then added, “You should have stayed in
bed.” I laughed outright, and then wrote, “Could u see me sleeping in?” The
reply was quick. “Yes,” Paul said. Oh, I thought, how does he figure? I watched
the bar as it explained he was typing. “Albeit tied down.” He added. I laughed,
“Well in that scenario, I'd obviously be unable to get OUT of bed…But I'd be
giving whoever would dare do that a mouthful of complaint.” He thought about
it, “Mm.” “Nah-awh,” I began, “Or....or I'll make good on my guest's idea -
"whoever makes the cook angry had better watch out, you could always slip laxative
in their food and they'd be sorry..." “Mmmm…” He wrote, “If you could get
out of bed.” I smirked. “A minor setback, I assure you.” A smile was the reply.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">3-22-12</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“And chat with you while I press aprons and pkg them up… acourse
after I do my morning chores, which is oh, 7am. People who have the day off can
afford to sleep in till 6ish, yes? :P” –me.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9pt; line-height: 115%;">Later…</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“After I sent the message that at least you'd still be able
to have tea and the girls night out, I get "And chat with you, while I
press aprons, etc."<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I responded
saying I thought you had to work, and then no response.” Paul said,
lightheartedly. “No response because when I read the message I was curled up in
a quiet ball upstairs and felt no desire to respond, only to close my eyes and
try to fake sleep until it did take me. It was a very bad night…” I read over
what I wrote and then added, “I'm okay though. It can't hurt me.” I thought it
best to remind my pal that I was okay and this wasn’t dangerous. “Are you?...”
He sounded doubtful, so I added more, “Yes. I'm sore, but the pain is much less.
Feels just like I'd eaten something sour, that's all.” I considered what was
going on inside of me and wondered if my vivid imagination was tricking me
somehow. But no, the pain was real, as was what the nurse told me. “Ha, part of
me keeps thinking that my imaginative mind is making all this pain up. That I'm
just milking off all the attention, so my body makes up imaginary signals of
pain. But the other half of me is repulsed by the foolish thought of that.” I
entered that in the conversation. That was foolishness, signals of pain like I
was having couldn’t be imagined. How could they be? </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Paul wrote back, “Somehow I doubt your body is making it up.”
I didn’t think it was possible either, but someone had planted that thought.
What if I just didn’t know it yet? I returned to typing, “That side that thinks
that, thinks that’s the truth and the doctors will never find a problem because
it’s imaginary. But again, that other side thinks that they better find the
problem because this pain sucks, bogs me down and sometimes pins me down. There
ought to be something wrong in there because if this were imagined, it would
have an off switch.” I read over my entered text and then sighed, “I'm a
strange person.” “We all are.” Paul responded back. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I told him to pray for an upcoming doctor appointment, that
all would go well. I told him very little. He asked if I would have someone
there, but I said no. I would want to be alone if I didn’t hear something good,
and to go to my secret place afterwards. Then I’d take company. But, I fancied
that my symptoms were uncomplicated and simple to deal with, and not a problem.
It would be over before I knew it and everything was going to be just fine. He
told me he’d be there for me if I asked. I knew somehow that he was going to say
that. It wasn’t like I could tell him details. And he shouldn’t show up at that
appointment. If I were to hear that I couldn’t have children, I wouldn’t be in
a good way, and I wouldn’t want him to see that. No, it was better if I were to
simply text him with either, “It went well, thanks for praying!” or “It didn’t
go so well today and I still want prayer.” I decided on what to say, “I’ll keep
your offer in mind. But! I’m going to hear good news. Yep yep.” He smiled and
said he’d still be there if I asked. “Of course,” I wrote, then thought to
myself, <i>Of course he would say that. :P</i> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I huffed as I read over my blog draft. I typed in the chat
block, “I hate how this is turning out. *sighs* Journaling about me and all I
see is me...I can be so doggone stubborn! Why won't I just let others help me?
(lol *shakes head*)” Paul responded, “Dunno.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I keep asking you the same thing. :P” I laughed and copied a section of
the post and pasted it, “Look at the mess I made. I’m not leaving you guys to
clean up my blood. Here, get some bleach and…” Tina got the bleach and began to
open it. “No no,” I objected. “Its my blood. I’ll get it.” I said. “You’re in
no condition to clean it up, you’re still gushing a river of it!” Tina said
right back.” I typed after it, “I'm not like this, am I??” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 9pt; line-height: 115%;">I posted a second
section, “I put my head down toward the sink, but reached out with one bloody,
but free hand and put it into the pool of blood, finding the drain. It finally
went down and then she poured in the bleach. By this time, my nose was merely
dripping. I scrubbed at the blood with my hand. The bleach made me feel
lightheaded and the smell burned in my nose. I wasn’t about to let them to this
sickening job of cleaning up blood though. It was mine and I felt obligated to
clean up after myself.” I facepalmed myself and groaned, then typed. “*sighs*
Oh Coley, what do we do with you? :P” Paul smiled. I wrote, “Perhaps I'm crazy.
:P Who else is like that? I've never read of a character quite like the one living
in my journal. I wish to shake sense into her "let them clean it, sit
down, you're dizzy. You're unfit to clean up." But, just like all
characters, they are untouched by such fictating. Nothing that is said will
stop them from their next paragraph and course of action. She moves on to clean
the counter and drawers. *facepalm* lol, someone help me before I tie her down
with rope!” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 9pt; line-height: 115%;">He smiled, “…No, you’re not crazy.” I raised my eyebrow, “No, I'm
not? Why not?” “No, you're not.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just
stubborn. :P” His response came. “lol, thanks. I think.” I said with a silly
face. He smiled, “And I remember having to walk you to the house twice to get
you to rest. AND make you promise to take it easy.” Hmm, I said, then typed, “True....I
forgot about that.” “And then shortly afterwards found you curled up on the
couch in a ball.” He finished. “I...tried to collect laundry from all over the
house, so I could do something. <.<....>.><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn't get far.” Me and my excuses. Why
didn’t I just say it? I am a workaholic. “I knew you needed to rest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As did your Ma.” Paul wrote. “Yeah. I got
into one of my modes. Besides, I wanted to help.” I explained. He said he knew
that, “But helping would have been resting.” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Hindsight's twenty-twenty? Thank you for
helping, btw.” I wrote back. “It wasn't hindsight for me.” He said with a silly
face, “And you're welcome. Besides, it's in the past now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Go get your breakfast if you haven't yet.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 9pt; line-height: 115%;">I
frowned. I wasn’t sure. I placed my fingers over the keys, “I haven't had
breakfast yet. I was debating if I should eat something or not....I don't feel
very hungry being my stomach feels uptight. but, I'll eat.” “Just get something
light, non-greasy, etc. Non-acidic, decaffinated.” He suggested. I grinned and
typed quickly, “A double double animal style cheeseburger with an iced caramel
mocha. Mmmmm!” He laughed, and then wrote “How about a blueberry bagel?”
Without hesitation I wrote, “Potato wedge fries and blue cheese yes please!” “Toasted,
and with butter melting on it…Blue cheese?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Ugh.” He replied. I laughed and then told the truth, “I’'ll go with
yogurt and hot tea.” He agreed, then told me he was glad that I’d be going out
for tea with Val, “It sounds like you need the encouragement.” I nodded
quietly, yes, I did want that. “Si.” I would talk briefly about my medical condition,
but not a lot as I didn’t want to accept it before I knew if it was mine to
accept. I didn’t want to cry in public. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9pt; line-height: 115%;">Later…</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“I’m not really hungry. Trying to get me to get food
is...difficult.” I joked it off. “Course, your stomach bothering you, doesn't
help.” Paul told me. “That's the reason why I don't want food. In a way, it
makes sense: Why put something into an upset stomach?” I shrugged. My own
statement bothered me because I wanted to get food in there. My doctors want me
to be 130lbs at least….and I’m not. The subject shifted. “I know I eat slower
than others but that's just so I don't get hiccups, which I get if I eat too
quick. Its chronic (had them since infancy). Dunno why that is, but they are
embarrassing. Sage says I sound like a mouse squeaking and its super comical.”
I joked. “I think I've seen you with them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It's amusing.” Paul told me. “But I also feel for you.” He added. Was he
thinking that it hurt? I began typing, “It doesn't hurt at all. It just sounds
loud and draws attention. I get them a lot at work (due to cramming in my food).”
I paused. Had he heard the squeaks? “You've heard the high-pitched fits? I know
you've seen me drink water upside-down. I've gotten to that point many times.”
He wasn’t sure. “Usually people around me give this sympathetic smile before
they tell me it hurts their ears.” I explained, because it did. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Then I happened upon a crazy thought that made me laugh. Me
and my wild imagination! …so I typed it in the chat block, “Jah! Supersonic
hiccups! Blasting the eardrums of all nearby, muahahaaha!” “Sure. Uh huh. I've
heard you make that claim before and it not be true.” Paul replied,
unconvinced. “Yeah, then no one would be able to hear me sing.” I explained. “I
WANT TO HEAR YOU SING!” Paul shouted in the chatroom. I pretended not to see
that, “Mercy, mercy! they'd be screaming.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 9pt; line-height: 115%;">He repeated himself. “You are
shouting.” I stated the obvious, and then wrote, “You must already have damage
from my powerful hiccups.” “No, I'm trying to get it through somebody's thick
skull when they've stuffed their ears with cotton, put their hands over their
ears and is going "lalalalalalalalala." I laughed hard, wiping away
the tears in my eyes before typing, “rofl.” “I still want to hear you sing.”
Paul said. I shook my head and typed, “I know. You've said it a kazillion times
(I've kept track, see?).” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Yes, I but I don't think it's gotten through to you yet.” He
said with a silly face. “No, cause somebody's thick skull won't hear it cause
they've stuffed their ears with cotton, put their hands over their ears and is
going "lalalalalalalalala," I repeated. There was a pause and then, “You
need to be tied to a chair until you sing.” “O_O” I wrote simply. “Seems like
the only way.” He wrote. No, I’d not sing because of that. “I'd likely die
there then.” I joked and then told him, “I haven't a pretty singing voice.” “That's
not what I've heard.” Paul replied. “I don't, but that doesn't mean I don't
like singing. I love to sing.” I thought of all the times I sang and danced
with an air-microphone and air-guitar when alone….spinning circles on our lawn,
my jedi pack (fannypack with cd player inside) strapped at my side. “And what
were your parents and the others saying when you sang that one night?” He
asked. He had me at that one. Hmm. “That it...was beautiful.” I said
reluctantly. “And that's why I want to hear you sing.” He had a good argument,
darn it.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“And they wanted me to
sing it in front of the church. I hit the falsettos and that doing so is hard
to do and I shouldn't be able to hit them like I did.” I was very nervous about
that. He smiled. <i>Fine, Paul, fine…</i> I knew how to solve this. I pondered a good
song, tapping my chin in thought. <i>Yes! That one!</i> I put up my pointer-finger, and
then twirled it down to the keyboard like a spiraling plane. The other nine
fingers followed and touched down on the keys. <i>Jesus is comin’ by Sam and
Jennene would do perfectly.</i> “Okay, I'll sing... *clears throat*” I began and
then typed furiously, verse by verse, "Jesus is comin'. Someday, maybe soon."
“HEY!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I said I want to HEAR you.” Paul
interrupted, but I kept going undeterred. “I know He’s comin'. Someday, maybe
soon." “That means I need to be there in person.” He interrupted again.
"He's brinin' changes to this world of sin." I wasn’t finished. "Open
your heart right now and let Him come in… Better get ready, don'tcha wait too
long. No one can know the hour He'll come. The hour He'll come. Jesus is comin'…"
I smiled. A small sampling was all that was needed, I was certain. “There. Satisfied?”
“No. So when can I hear you sing?” I laughed. “I said I want to HEAR you. Right
now, I'm READING.” I laughed harder.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">3-23-12: “But that's too simple. I demand some difficulty!” –me. That
received a roll of the eyes. I facebooked it only to have Val say, “Haha, yep.
That sounds like you!”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">3-23-12: “Oh that choosing boots were a simple matter “Would one of you
shoes just fall off and I’ll wear you?” *Jostles the shoe rack to help the
decision.* A lone red sandal falls and rolls to a stop in front of me. “Umm, I
wish. Back on the shelf with you. You are summer-wear, not to hurt your
feelings or nothing but my toes need protection. I know, I want to wear you but
later I promise.” Were that summer be here already! :P” I texted my goofy
behavior to Hannah.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 9pt; line-height: 115%;">3-24-1: “I've been cleaning house (well, and two naps to recoup
energy). …I think mama bear loves me.” I smiled, hearing the phone conversation
downstairs: “No....she's<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>mine!! Hahaha! I
went to clean my lady's house and came home to laundry, dishes, vacuumed house,
all done... and pot roast in the crockpot!! What a great daughter I have!” “Now
what would ever give you such a crazy idea?” Paul joked in response. “(see
above text)” I said simply. “I did.” “Her friend is too cute: "I need a
Cole!" lol. (I took over mama bear's facebook profile while she was at
work n that's how I wrote under her name. Clever, ain’t I?)” I grinned. Paul
smiled. “Course she doesn't know about the power naps.” I joked. “Or power-downs,
actually.” Paul shrugged. “Who cares.” I shrugged as well. “I do.” He wrote, “But
at least you took the naps.” I didn’t want to take the naps. They were not in
my plan at all. I had sat down on the couch to catch my breath, intending to
stand right up and work... only to wake up an hour later and find out I had
slept. I told Paul that. He was glad I did, as I obviously needed it.
“Obviously.” I nodded.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9pt; line-height: 115%;">Later…</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 9pt; line-height: 115%;">“(Val) convinced me that going to my appointment alone is not
a good idea. And that she'll be there with me. Her reasoning: if I get all emotional,
I won't hear details and she will.” Paul nodded, “That's probably a very good
idea. …Just remember, if you need me, I'll be there.” I bit my lip. He couldn’t
be there this time, maybe next time, but not this one. I came up with another
reason of why he couldn’t. When told bad things and I am hurt by it, I gather
hugs… that was a good reason why. “I know you would, but I don't know that this
is a trial to share with you. I mean, what were to happen if I were to be told
what I don't want to hear and I were to get all emotional and cry on you? It is
better to protect the situation from that, true? I just want to be wise about
this.” He knew that, but still told me he would be there for me if I needed
him. And I knew that and thanked him. “Like I've always said, prayer is the
best thing.” I knew he would want something to do about my trial. Prayer was
very good. “I've already come to the conclusion that God's in control and this
won't ruin me... it'll just grind at some more rough spots in my walk.” He only
smiled. I shrugged, “Who knows, it could be something else that's bothering me.
Who knows but God? right?” He nodded, “Perhaps a few angels.” I smiled, “Well
yeah, there's that. I know there's at least one nearby. Kinda interesting to
think about, isn't it?” He nodded and then paused. “I missed seeing you online
yesterday.” I frowned, “Yeah, I wasn't on yesterday. It was sort of a lost day.”
A very lost day. It was awful. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 9pt; line-height: 115%;">“I figured you were having a bad day.” He told
me. I should clarify – most of the day wasn’t bad, I’d slept. “Not really a bad
one until dinner time. I just....slept and slept and slept. I couldn't seem to
get myself to wake up.” He nodded. I had felt so lazy that it gnawed at me in
an irksome way. “I hated the fact that I was being lazy, so finally after
sleeping off a good 4 hrs, I forced myself up and cleaned house and made dinner
and folded laundry. Then I felt accomplished somewhat....and also crummy. So I
cleaned up and went to bed. Where I promptly fell asleep (who thought a person
could sleep so darn much??).” He smiled, I imagined sympathetically, “Are you
feeling okay?” Best not to lie, but I didn’t want to say I felt crummy. “Kinda.”
It seemed like such a good answer, right in between. “In other words, no.” He
translated. “I've been praying for you.” He added. “Well, kinda yep and nope.”
I was trying. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I talked about the
appointment and he smiled, “It's in God's hands.” I twined my fingers together
in my lap, then put them back on the keys. “Yep. All you're likely to hear from
this dr app is that I'm sad to hear bad news, or I'm relieved to hear good news.
*hopes u understand*” He did. I had to go fill out paperwork, so I said my
customary farewell. “Vaya Con Dios.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I'll
be praying.” Paul typed. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">3-27-12: <span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"></span>At the doctor’s office, I sat
with Val, chatting with her as I waited to have my name called. My name was
called. This would be it then. I mustered up courage and followed the lady
through the door….</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I blew a sigh of relief and
smiled. I brought up my text message on my phone and found Paul’s message
waiting for me. He was praying the tests would come out fine and they can find
the problem. I wrote to a few of my close pals and to my Mom. “Glad to be ok.
It’s not what they thought. It’s what I thought all along: It’s my stomach.
Onto another kind of doctor and a brand new situation with the possibility of
irritability (thus my trouble with loss of weight and no appetite) and possibilities
of food allergies (they want to test for wheat and milk, among others). Just
like Val said, it certainly is a treasure hunt. :P” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">...Is this new
situation scary? Yes. But then, God has guided me thus far and I am still okay.
I’m learning, I’m growing. It is a treasure hunt… although the prize at the end
isn’t really a mystery after all. At the end of this journey, I will have grown
so much. This is shaping me and changing me from the inside. Wherever this
leads to medically, I don’t know. What I do know is that the treasure is a
deeper walk with the One I most love.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>StrongInHimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09642451472290489136noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2687423329314564537.post-26908386813170498802011-11-03T10:09:00.000-07:002011-11-03T22:10:59.133-07:00Updates n' such.<h2 style="font-weight: normal;">Oct. 25, Tuesday: Battle in the mind:</h2><div class="MsoNormal">My day off. It’s a crisp sort of morning. Everything outside is beginning to unthaw from frost sheaves. The Fall colors; bright yellows and ambers and browns against the contrasting deep blue sky have my fingers itching for my camera. It’s quite beautiful. I’ve just sat down, having completed tending to the chickens, and I wait for the kettle to heat up so I can have some earl grey tea. Speaking of, there it whistles!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">….mmm, okay, I’m back. This morning hasn’t been all fluff and roses, I just don’t like starting off on a negative foot. I like to look back at all that I’ve written and see the beautiful moments (not that I am an optimist, I am not. I’m a realist). But sometimes, I’ve learned, the most beautiful moments are hidden under the weight of trials. The flower breaking out from its seed and struggling up through the soil, up toward the sunlight. Breaking through the surface, and as the sun warms it, it opens. …and it is beautiful, isn’t it? </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I had a rough morning, a rough last night, lol, a rough week. I woke up right where I left off from the night before: slicked in sweat and shivering cold, my stomach protesting how upset it was at me, and *closes eyes* nausea. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I laid in bed for a while, thinking about how I agreed yesterday to chat with my friend, Paul. But, I’d felt terrible and laid the whole evening and night away, curled in a ball with my headphones on, eyes closed and listening to my daddy play his guitar (daddy had sent me a few to soothe me and it was as he intended; it helped). I felt badly that I never texted Paul to simply tell him I wasn’t feeling so grand. I didn’t tell our neighbor either, pressing myself against the cool wall and trying to remain interested in what she was saying. I care about my friends and family and I want to show that I do. I tried hard, but I still felt distant, removed, and longed to just curl into a ball and sleep it off. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I snatched my phone and texted my apology to Paul. I went on to think about how I made a promise to my parents to clean and tidy my closet and room on my day off. I looked about my room (which isn’t messy, it just needs to be gone through and throw away what I don’t need) and then I cried. I didn’t feel good, I knew I wasn’t up to cleaning, but I did not want to break my promise above all. But I knew I couldn’t do it. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I stared at my closet door and wiped my eyes. No. I wasn’t going to break my promise. I just wasn’t! I stood up and marched over to the mirrored door and rested my hand on it to begin, then I noticed, staring back at me wasn’t tear marks dribbling down my nose. It was blood. It started to gush and no sooner did I realize that than I covered it and raced to the bathroom, my thoughts disarrayed. Thoughts slammed up against me with no other intention than to hurt me, and they did. <i>You are so weak. You are frail. You are worthless and lazy and care only about yourself.</i> I snatched wads of toilet paper and then, in the dark, sat down atop my bathroom counter, peering down into the sink. <i>Worthless. Good for nothing. Frail. Selfish. Lazy. Weak…</i> pounding relentlessly. I blinked away tears, crying but trying hard not to. <i>Think</i>, I told myself. <i>Think around it.</i> But it was so heavy and so hurtful. I just wanted to cry openly, but I couldn’t because I knew I needed the blood to clot. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>Oh help</i>, I prayed, then I texted two of my pals. My thoughts shouted back up at me from the texting block. “I am a frail person.” I closed my eyes. <i>No,</i> I told me. <i>Think anywhere else. Think up some Scripture.</i> I couldn’t bring any to mind. I have a memory verse card holder in my bathroom that has a verse per week to look at. I turned my head to glimpse it, I knew what I would find for this week, I’d read it for the past few days. I read it anyways, just to have something to visually grab onto. Adversity: Romans 8:28: “And we know that all things work together for good for those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose.” I closed my eyes and just sat, hunched there. The phone rang, startling me. It was mom. I chatted with her and let her know I was in the middle of another bloody nose. Text messages came through, but I couldn’t look at them while speaking with her. She stayed on the line until the bleeding stopped. Thankfully, it was short-lived, lasting only six minutes. The text messages were my pals telling me they were praying. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I decided not to do my closet today, instead choosing to relax and take it easy. This makes it so my friends don’t have to come over and tie me down with rope. :P Being I feel the need to be productive but I am relaxing, I figured to update my blog.</div><h2 style="font-weight: normal;">Oct.20, Thursday: Trusting</h2><div class="MsoNormal">I woke up with a terrible thought. I remembered what a lady (a guest at work) told me about I.T.P. and how it hindered and could stop pregnancy, especially - killing the mother. This news, of course alarmed me. I didn’t know it did that and she was saying it did. So patients with I.T.P. couldn’t bear children? She said sadly that it was the case. (-This I now know is NOT true.) I was heartbroken. She’d asked if I was pregnant, but I had told her I wasn’t. She told me I should notify my husband of the danger to myself, but that didn’t concern me because I’m not married. Then the boyfriend, she said. But I haven’t one of those either. “I’m waiting for God to bring him to me.” She had rolled her eyes at that. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The conversation came to mind because I firmly believe that raising God-fearing children is the lasting legacy I desire to leave behind. Nothing would bring me sweeter pleasure than to teach my own to look to the Lord for their strength, to find peace in His love, and rescuing security in His arms. And oh what a thrill it would bring me to have them worshipping Him too! Six am in the morning, alone by myself, I struggled with finding resolve to press away from the memory of her words but it was too overwhelming. I knew where this fear came from. I had clamped my mouth shut because there was one word my flesh was longing to say, and I would not dare utter it: <i>It’s not fair. God is not being fair. </i></div><div class="MsoNormal">I didn’t want to accept that lie, no matter how hard it echoed around in my head. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I texted two of my best-friends, seeking not for encouragement but for prayer-support. “The enemy is trying to make me fear, amica (Latin for “my friend”). I am resolved to plug my ears, to not hear the what ifs. God is good, He loves me so, and if this is where I must tread, I love Him still. Still the thoughts upon my mind make me cry because I was told if my case is chronic, it may affect having children and for my hubby when he comes, amica, I want to give him that joy. I cry at this possibility of “what if” but inwardly I know my God, I know His heart, His character is True. I remind myself He is the One who works great wonders and what mortal man can ever hope to comprehend that sort of love? I will not fear this! I am not afraid of this cruel shadow because inside my heart is my Joy and my Light; He is everpresent. I press my fears into His Mighty palms, my hope is in the Lord, not in me, to pull me thru.) Pray for me, chica. Thank u.” </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">What I received was not what I had expected at all. It was Paul! He’d received that message somehow, perhaps a slip of my thumb or some way, I don’t know how. It certainly wasn’t meant for his eyes. I wiped at my tears and tried to wrap my mind around how this fluke in sending had happened. It had sent to Hannah and Rissa, which was good -I had intended for that to happen. But, I didn’t mean for him to get it! What did I touch? How’d he get this? “No,” I cried out. My message had deleted as I scrolled through hurriedly to make room for his text messages to enter. I felt very frustrated at technology and my lack of knowledge about it. Finally I opened Paul’s text. He told me he was praying for me when my message came. It occurred to me: God knew what I needed before I asked my ‘amicas’ for prayer. Someone had been praying. (And Paul: I am sorry I called you a girl, I will likely never live that one down. :P ) </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Paul set my mind straight by what he said. My husband, wherever he was, would love me no matter if I could bear a child or not. I would be a treasure to my husband regardless because he would love me. And there was another option for those families who couldn’t have children -to adopt them. I’d always known whoever my husband would be; he would love me for me, not for what I could provide. I wanted to text him back in thanks, his words were truly spoken. However, my fingers quivered, my eyes were unfocused with unshed tears….and then I was undone. In a matter of seconds, I had curled into a ball, hand clenched on the cellphone, and I cried. Heart-wrenched, torn, noisy and yet without intelligent words; just the sound of my voice behind clenched teeth as I fought to compose what little of me I had at the moment. There wasn’t any strength in me though, so it came out. It was honestly the most horrible sound I’ve ever heard in my life. I’ve never heard a cry quite like that one and I surprised myself that I had made it. I knew the name of that cry and I had read about it in books. Its name was pain. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I could hear Genny (my puppy) come up and she rested her head on the bed, nuzzling me in the shoulder and whimpering softly. Inspired by her concern over me, I felt Tuxedo (my cat) pad up to my front and he flopped beside my curled fist. Purring, he began bathing my fingers. You know, animals know when you are hurting. If that’s not proof, I don’t know what is. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I wanted God to be pleased with me but I was so unhappy because of the possibility (it wasn’t even a fact, and it was with wrong information) that I couldn’t bear children. I thought about the cute little pact I’d made with Hannah: That she have a little boy and by the time my husband comes I’d have a girl, then we’d introduce them nice and young. They’d grow up knowing each other and then get married. Wellah! We’d be family! The inlaws – dundundun! The scheme was a master-mind plan, we were sure of it. Although it was only good joking, this thought hurt too. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I felt ungrateful, a wretch, longing for what I wasn’t given. This only caused me to sob harder. I wanted to honor God so badly, with all that was in me. The thought of not hearing the pitter-patter of barefeet down the hallway, the unstoppable giggles at bedtime while tucking them in, teaching them to sing “Jesus loves me this I know…” ….it stung terribly. <i>Daddy help, please Daddy help,</i> I huffed. <i>I’ve never been here before. I don’t understand. I’m alone but I’m not. You are always here. </i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I clutched my pillow and tried to stifle my sobs with it so I could think straight. <i>If not having children is Your will for me, I accept that. It’s just…oh Daddy it’s hard! I would love to honor my future husband with bearing children to carry on his name, I would love to teach them Your ways. God, why can’t I bring my flesh to understand what my spirit knows? You are in control of all things, even this. You are more than fair to me, make this lie about You being unfair to go away!</i> I swiped my tears. <i>Help me to understand. This is our journey together, You and I. Wherever You lead, that’s where I’m going. </i></div><div class="MsoNormal">My flesh was quick to object to the concept of this possible path, but my heart was pre-decided. <i>It doesn’t matter to me what path or how dark or how painful or nothing! You are guiding me through this valley and I am going wherever You go; I am going to follow. I love You that much.</i> With that, I sat to the edge of my bed and wiped the remainder of my tears away. I was going to make it through this battle too. Not because of my strength, but His strength alone.</div><h2 style="font-weight: normal;">Oct. 21, Friday: Touching a life</h2><div class="MsoNormal">I have been learning what it is like to deal with hot flashes. It is, as I’ve told my pals, everything that elderly ladies say it is: It’s really <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">not</i> any fun. I like my clothes dry and when it hits, I become a furnace of heat and I get sweaty. Ighk! Then I shiver, ice cold. Burrr! I have been cooking (I love working with food!) and am often hovering over the fryers or near the oven or leaning into the hot cases. It is very difficult to remain there and do my task with the sweltering heat, but I am committed to doing as great of a job as I can manage. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I am grateful for such compassionate coworkers. I will never forget their kind acts. This day was particularly difficult. My face flushed and instantly a bag was thrust into my hands by a fellow coworker wearing a knowing sort of smile. “Take that into the freezer.” Far grateful for the task of putting away the object, I went quickly. The cold, icy air whipped on my face and I thanked God for merciful coworkers. I stood, resting up against the icy shelving unit and boxes, praying for endurance. To tolerate this awful feeling, and for strength to keep going so I could make it to the end of the day. The last thing I ever want to do is hinder my coworkers. I am committed to be a team-player, to make the quality of their day the best day, just as I want for all my guests. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Lunch rush hit and we were slammed with orders for chicken, and fritters, and mac and cheese. I hurried about to drop the chicken and keep the cases nice and stuffed. A lady came to the counter. She gave a faint smile and asked prices on chicken pieces. She looked so tired and worn. I felt compassion for her, her day must have been rough and it was only noon. I tried to slow my rapid-paced mind down; she was my most important focus right now. She would have my full attention. Everything else faded to background noises. Her hubby had just been through surgery and she’d driven a whole 45 minutes because he wanted our fried chicken! I smiled, then said something dumb, “If it would help, I’ll be praying for you.” She sighed longingly, “I would love that.” </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I could have slapped my forehead, I fixed my error, “Prayer does help; I’m going to pray for you.” I asked her husband’s name and wrote the prayer info on a paper towel scrap for later, shoving it in my back pocket. <i>Encourage her,</i> I kept thinking. Then: <i>No no, she’s busy, I’m busy, there’s no time.</i> I handed her the baggy of chicken pieces and she left. My heart felt ripped. Oh! Why didn’t I tell her? I had encouragement and she needed it, I just knew she did. It would only take a second to jot down my blog address and then my story could speak for itself and encourage her, just as I’d recently read in 2 Corinthians 1:4. I saw her briefly, but I was stopped and asked a question by a guest. I answered their question and then served them. By the time I looked back up, she was nowhere to be found. I felt horrible. I had botched it and I knew I did. <i>Oh God, please bring her back. I made a mistake, I know it. You brought her all the way here and I…I messed up. It wouldn’t have taken long for me to scribble my site address on a napkin and pass it to her, but I’d used the excuse of “I’m busy,” coupling it with the worst excuse in the book, “there is no time.” I am so sorry.</i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I continued to do my job, trying not to think about how I had messed up, trying to move on. An hour later, there was an order call on our phone. Five chicken breasts, 4 fried, 1 baked. I recognized her voice. Somehow, her order had never made it home with her although she’d paid for it. She was coming all the way back. I glanced up at the clock. I’d be off-work by the time she got here, and I also knew I’d be sitting in the fireside area to catch my breath before driving home. That had been pre-planned for me. I’d been longing for the moment where I could sit down, rest, and have a cool glass of water. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The end of my shift came and I sat down with my water, it was a sweet relief. I nursed my water and glanced every now and again at the cooking channel, mainly speaking to a sweet-mannered lady at the next table across from me. We talked about Thanksgiving suppers, cooking and all the warm pleasantness of being with family, among all the memorable chaos that somehow always happens. :P </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I glanced up at the clock, realizing it’d been longer than I’d thought. The guest had come and left without my knowledge. I grasped the paper towel with my site address and tried to run although my stomach did not like that. I couldn’t find her in the parking lot. I couldn’t recall what she looked like. I slowed to a walk and stopped near the flag pole, looking up at the sky. I felt rain dribble on my face but I didn’t care. Tears came to my eyes and I crumpled the paper in my hands. <i>God</i>, I said, dejected. <i>I tried… I tried…</i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i> </i> </div><div class="MsoNormal">A car engine from behind startled me. I moved aside, glancing at it. A woman looked at me in concern and asked if everything was okay. I told her it was, and then I recognized her and she recognized me. “Hi, are you the guest who ordered the fried chicken?” A silly question, I know, but I was double-checking. She nodded, asking me if I needed a ride somewhere. She kept asking if I was okay. I must look pretty awful, I decided. I pointed to my car, thanking her but I had a ride. “I wanted to give you this.” I said, uncrumpling the paper and handing it to her. “I wanted to give it to you, but I…didn’t.” I told her how I’d prayed God would bring her back so I could encourage her and her husband. “Then your prayer brought me back a whole 45 minutes,” she laughed then after a pause, she looked up at me. “Thank you.” I saw tears in her eyes and I wanted to cry too. It was beautiful to me.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“God provides.” I told her. “He always has, always will.” Her eyes did water up, “You are an angel…” I blinked, taken back, “Oh I am no angel ma’am. I am only a servant, God’s servant, and I want to do His will.” Her expression had me wanting to lean in and give her a hug. She looked like she could use one. I wondered if I should, but I wasn’t sure how to go about giving the hug being she was in the car and I was standing. To lean over like that would make me very nauseous and that wouldn’t be pleasant for either of us if my stomach decided to let go. I decided on a smile instead. “Thank you,” She looked back up at me. “You have encouraged me. You <i>are</i> my angel today because God has sent you. I needed this.” She touched my heart with what she said. We smiled at each other and I told her I’d be praying for her and for her husband, then we parted ways. I watched her tail-lights as she drove out of the parking lot, praying that she would find encouragement from my current trial. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>God, you have amazed me</i>, I told Him, and then I wandered to my car. I eased inside and sat. And sat. Then I cried. <i>Why choose me?</i> I cried in my thoughts, and then blubbered, leaning my head on my steering wheel. <i>Who am I? I’m only a vessel of clay. Yet, You are working amazing things through my pain, through this trial. I can’t understand; it’s too big, too grand.</i> I prayed for the guest and her husband, then drove home. </div><h2 style="font-weight: normal;">Oct. 22, Saturday: Faithfulness:</h2><div class="MsoNormal">My stomach had been upset the whole day, and it gave me no rest. Gurgling, bubbling, very angry. Breakfast was hard to eat and I had to concentrate hard on the knowledge that I needed the fuel, that I needed to eat. I swallowed the food and my stomach protested, resulting in feeling awful. I prayed for the day to be over quickly, but it went on second by second, minute by minute, just as it always does. Then my work day was finished. I wandered to my car and sat in it for a bit, praying before resting my fingers around the steering wheel. I just wanted to go home, I wanted to cry. My stomach was hurting, I did not feel good. I did not like these hot flashes. I wanted to go home now. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I drove home, concentrating on the fixed prize: Bed, lay down. I turned up the worship music in my car to focus on that instead of the pain inside of me. <i>I want to be at home now,</i> I said, informing God of what He already knew I wanted. I didn’t want to be driving, I wanted to be curled in a ball with warm covers. Hot tea; the soothing hot liquid to stop the lava-feeling in my stomach, and to ease the nausea. Yes, that’s what I wanted. There was so much pain inside of me. I turned up the speed on my wiper-blades. Then I watched it appear. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">A rainbow streaked across the highway in a brilliant arc of color. I breathed in awed delight. I love rainbows. I seek for them when the sun begins to shine through the rain. It was so beautiful, so vibrant, so amazing! </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">In a second, I’d nearly forgotten all my pain, although I knew it roared in my stomach all the same. <i>That’s what’s going to be over Your throne…Faithfulness, that’s what it represents, that You are Faithful.</i> A song popped to mind, <i>“Great is Thy faithfulness.”</i> My heart knew the song by memory, and so it sang… <i>Great is Thy faithfulness. Great is Thy faithfulness. Morning by morning, new mercies I see. All I have needed, Thy hand hath provided. Great is Thy faithfulness, Lord unto me. Great is Thy faithfulness, oh God my Father. There is no shadow of turning with Thee. Thou changest not, Thy compassions they fail not. As thou hast been, Thou forever will be. Summer and winter and springtime and harvest. Sun, moon, and stars in their courses up above, join with all nature in manifold witness. To Thy great faithfulness, mercy and love. Great is Thy faithfulness! Great is Thy faithfulness! Morning by morning, new mercies I see. All I have needed, Thy hand hath always provided. Great is Thy faithfulness, Lord unto me. Pardon for sin and a peace that endureth, Thine own dear presence to cheer and to guide. Your strength for today, and bright hope for tomorrow. Blessings all mine with ten thousand beside. </i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">….I lurched for my cellphone. I wanted a picture. I doubted anyone would believe I’d seen such a beautiful treasure. Not at this moment in my life, anyway. I pulled over and clicked the picture. It did not look near as beautiful as it did in person, but I still sent it to my friends. I watched it begin to fade as the rain poured. So beautiful… Then I drove the rest of the way home, laid down, and crashed. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Added-on:</div><h2 style="font-weight: normal;">Oct.26, Wednesday: God provides for our needs:</h2><div class="MsoNormal">A particularly bad day. I woke up from a sound sleep with a dry heaving motion that caused me to double up. My stomach was in the worst pain it had yet been in. It made the other days look like it was less pain. I was crying and I wasn’t trying to, my eyes were watering so badly. The pain in my stomach was fierce. I needed relief. I supposed I just had to go to the bathroom, so I went there but that wasn’t the cure. I decided I needed something soothing and hot tea sounded good. I waddled down the stairs and turned on the burner for the kettle. Instantly I realized I wasn’t done with the restroom. I bolted back up the stairs as quick as I could, my stomach raging at the quickness of my movements but I felt I had no choice. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Long story condensed: I found out I was bleeding, something I knew the doctors had told me to watch for. My instant reaction was to begin shaking and quivering. I paced the house aimlessly, sat on the couch, got up and paced more. Was this anxiety? I tried to still myself. No, no, don’t be anxious. I told myself. God’s still in control. You must think through this, I fought my fear to think straight. Should I call someone? Whom? I sat on the couch for a moment. What if I imagined that I saw blood? My stomach curled at the memory as I recalled it. No, it was blood. I felt very ill. There was blood upstairs…my blood. My nausea increased. I stood up and paced the kitchen. Perhaps I should eat something? No, I should call someone! Duh! “If you have any questions, call me.” I remembered my aunt had told me. I called my aunt. She eased my mind and told me what I knew: I needed to inform my doctor, and I needed to be calm. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">So, I passed my fear over to God for Him to handle, then I made the call to the doctor. I wager I didn’t make much sense, babbling that I’d seen blood and it worried me being they’d told me it might happen and might had just happened to me. They told me they wanted to see me at 1:30pm, so I agreed to the appointment. I heated up a breakfast muffin with sausage and egg and tried to eat it. My body, to my frustration, kept trying to not swallow, to not eat, and to gag it back up. It didn’t want food, but I knew I was hungry. I also have been struggling with keeping my weight up, so food is important. I fought with myself and forced it down, then felt miserable for it. Until the time for the appointment came, I laid on the couch in a ball, dozed in and out of sleep, and texted my pals. I thought about working on my blog or one of my books, but I couldn’t focus – my stomach hurt so bad it was unbelievably painful. I wondered if I was bleeding internally, but I didn’t dwell on it. It wouldn’t have been good for me. I turned on my worship music and curled up in a ball with my headphones, closing my eyes and listening. Every now and again, bringing my finger up to tap a one-fingered text to my pals when they texted me.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The appointment came and I was told I had the option to lay down. <i>Great!</i> I curled up. “That’s how she is when she gets home,” mom pointed out to the doctor. He asked us both questions, mom doing most of the responding while I laid there, hurting. Then he asked me to stretch out so he could see something. He prodded my stomach a little bit, which really hurt. One spot had me taste bile in the back of my throat, and a few more prods off to the side – <i>ouch</i>. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">He asked me a slew of questions as he went, then he sighed. “I have never seen anyone so sensitive to Prednisone before but your stomach is very irritated with it. We’re dropping it from 60 to 20. And I’m putting in a prescription for Sucralfate to coat your stomach and protect it. Don’t be surprised to continue seeing the blood for a little while, but that should go away. If it doesn’t, call us and make an appointment. I’m scheduling you for an appointment in two weeks. Also, on Friday, I’d like you to go down for some blood-work and we’ll see if your platelets go down or up due to the drop in the medication. Prednisone is the best medication for this, the only other kind to put you on is other steroids.” I nodded. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I’d done some research at home and Prednisone was proven. I wasn’t too sure about other steroids either and I hope I don’t have to go down that path. I’d rather be on a well-worn path that was proven, but at what cost to my stomach lining? Another worry to let God handle. He had guided me this far, He’d guide me through the rest of the way too. I was certain of that. I just had to go willingly one step at a time, trusting Him. I don’t know where this is going, but He does. He knows where He is leading me through all of this, even though I do not. This is called faith. To trust in what cannot be seen, knowing that God has control over it all, and He will work it out for good. Hand in hand, I’ll go through this trial with Him too. It won’t make me weary or break me. I know that because the Bible said: “Those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will rise up on wings like eagles. They will run and not be weary. They will walk and not faint.” <i>Oh God, teach me to wait.</i> </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Went to the store to pick up my prescription. I was hoping to go unseen. Slip in and slip out so I wasn’t asked if I wasn’t feeling good. It was certainly noticeable in my walk, although I tried to draw up so no one could tell. Phony! Everyone could tell I didn’t feel good, and they cast concerned smiles at me. I got my meds, checked out and then started for the door. Then I recalled a promise. The other night, I was having one of my hot flashes and so dad got up and served me some Chocolate Bourdoux Cherry ice cream. I am not a big fan of cherry flavored things for the reason that as a child, medication was grape or cherry flavored, so it all reminds me of…medicine. XP </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I took it gratefully. He got mom one too, but he didn’t have any. I asked and he said because I was a piggy and had hogged it so there was none left. He is so generous! He gave me something he really wanted because I was uncomfortably hot and the cold ice cream was a delicious relief. I promised myself that the next time I was at the store, why, I’d get him a private stash to honor his gift to me. I walked up to the counter with the ice cream and my coworker immediately took notice as my face flushed. She came around the counter and wrapped me in a hug. I closed my eyes, I had so needed a good hug, “Thank you.” She told me she would be praying for me and I thanked her again and gave her a hug. A few customers stood back as they looked at me, unsure what to make of the situation I am sure. They probably thought I had a cold due to the fact that I had a pharmacy baggy in one hand and cold ice cream in the other…and telling my coworker that I was hot and sweaty as a warning before she hugged me. Perhaps they thought I had the flu? I speculate that was the case…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Got home and curled in a ball on the couch, my headphones on and listening in the dark livingroom to smooth classical music. Then it occurred to me in a panic: Tonight was Bible study at church! I hadn’t made dinner, hadn’t considered it at all! It was 4pm. I had time. I stood up reluctantly and made for the stairs to the freezer. I stopped at the top as the stairs seemed to wobble and shift beneath my foot as I put it out to descend; I was dizzy. I turned around and paced the kitchen. Was there an easier way? I went back to the top of the stairs and then shook my head. <i>No, no.</i> I checked the fridge aimlessly, not really looking for anything. I wasn’t hungry, I didn’t want to cook. I wanted to lay down. I felt awfully crummy. But mom and dad, they hadn’t had dinner and they would be hungry. By the time they got home, there would be no time for them to fix dinner before study. I was torn. I went back to the stairs and gripped the hand rail. I’d get down those darned stairs if it killed me! I took one step and then stopped. I started crying. I realized I couldn’t do it. I felt helpless. I sat down on the couch, wiped my tears and then laid down. I continued aim-ing with Paul. He offered to bring me supper. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I cried quietly, feeling them streaming down my cheek as I peered sideways up at the laptop screen, one finger typing. That would be wonderful. He asked what I’d like, where, what kind, narrowing down the field. Done. KFC for supper. I felt…relief: Supper was provided. I wished for a good hug. Genny brought me her red pillow and nosed it up to me to take. I cuddled it and cried some more. Grateful for good pals.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I realized then that he’d be showing up at my doorstep with supper. He’d not see me like this, curled up in a ball as I was. My hair was askew and unbrushed. The house needed a good and quick tidy. Someone was coming over, after all. I fought myself to move, but I only felt pain. I considered the condition of the livingroom and kitchen. Well, perhaps those I could let slide. He knew I wasn’t feeling good. But I should turn on some lights so it wasn’t dark in here. I should get up, brush my hair, wash off the tearstains from my cheeks, and make myself presentable. Was it worth it? I mused. Making it appear that I wasn’t as in pain as I was? Wouldn’t that be lying? <i>Yeah, it would be lying,</i> I decided. Still, I wanted to look more put together. I went to sit up and try, but the nausea and dizziness kept me down now. I cried openly, upset at this ‘disaster.’ It wasn’t fair. He was coming and he’d find me stuck to the couch, helpless…wait, that wasn’t good thinking. I had to re-evaluate my thoughts. He was coming with supper because I <i>was</i> hurting and couldn’t do it. He was coming to <i>help</i> me. He knew I was hurting. It would still feel humbling to have him see me curled up like this. So…I cried about that. Then I turned to crying about the irritation in my stomach. I texted mom to tell her supper was provided for. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>I am so alone. I just want a friend here.</i> I was thinking. <i>Someone to please talk to.</i> Then I realized I had a great friend with me, who always listened, who was always there. So I turned to praying. I admit, I lost track of time. I may have dozed off, I’m not sure. If I did, I continued praying where I left off when I woke up again. There was a knock at the door and it startled me. I laid there for a second, realizing foggily that the front door was locked. He couldn’t come in unless I got up and opened that door. I stood up and wiped at my tears. I didn’t want him knowing I’d been crying, but that was just plain silly: I had tearstains down both cheeks, testifying against me that I had been. My eyes were probably all red too, more evidence to the fact. The doorknob, cold from the Fall weather, was stuck tight. I fought it. It just had to open! I wasn’t about to shout through the door, “Its stuck! I can’t get it. Can you?” It didn’t sit right with me. I might be feeling terrible, but this door was going to open. I clasped it tight in both hands and wrenched it with a thick turn. *Click!* It opened. Relief flooded me. <i>Good</i>. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I let him in and tried not to share eye-contact at first. What if he saw the pain inside of them? Wouldn’t that hurt to know he couldn’t do anything to ease it? It hurt my other pals to see it. I dismissed the notion: He could pray. Not making eye-contact would be rude of me after so nice an act as he had done. It was selfless really, and out of his way. I hoped that the piece of Scripture would be said of this case to him: “I was sick, and you visited me.” He had provided for an immediate need to his sister in Christ. I was so grateful for the supper and I thanked him. He set the bag down on the kitchen counter and then he wandered back toward the door. He saw my pain all right, I could tell he did. I wished he wouldn’t go, but no one else was home. I swallowed the words that I’m sure would have had him gladly flip on the lightswitch and sit on the couch until my parents got home. I needed to be upright first; above reproach. I didn’t want to be alone though. I reminded myself that I really wasn’t alone; I hadn’t been since I was five. Once I’d reminded me of this fact, then I was okay with my pal going out the door. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">He stopped at his car. “You are surrounded by lots of people who care about you, we are all praying for you,” he encouraged me. My vision blurred up, but I put that under control. I wasn’t about to start crying. “Thank you.” I responded, beginning to close the door, then I swung it back open. “God bless you, Paul!” He smiled, told me his usual goodbye and added that he was praying, and he left. I heard him drive away, then I smiled at the warm smell of Kentucky Fried Chicken emanating from the kitchen. I laid down on the couch, then I let go of the tears.</div><h2 style="font-weight: normal;">Oct.27, Thursday: Unexpected Surprise:</h2><div class="MsoNormal">11am. I am upstairs working on the updates to my blog. There is the sound of a truck and the gravel crunching. Genny scurries from her bed and begins barking furiously. Someone is here! I realized in surprise. Who? Is dad home for an early lunch? I questioned. I hurried down stairs as quick as I could manage it. The front door was stuck. I gave it a quick wrench. <i>Stuck, stuck tight! Blast!</i> Something was laid down on the porch. I wasn’t expecting anything. I wracked my brain. Well, there was that book on prayer that was coming via Grace2You ministry, but that wasn’t due to come in a few weeks yet. And this sounded heavier, bigger than a box with a book in it. I twisted the doorknob, trying to get it open. Gravel, the sound of the truck fading into the distance. <i>Gah! Silly door!</i> I fought it, twisting it. I pressed myself against it and jerked the knob. It clicked. <i>Yessss! Victory!! </i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It was a brown box. Standing “this side up” vertical. I cocked my head off to the side, reading the name. It was for…me? My fingers quaked as I placed them around the box and lifted. It was light, not heavy at all. Who from? There was no name in that column. It was completely blank. <i>What the…? </i>The thought came. Confusion. What was this? Who would send a box and not put who it was from? Questions were like the popping of corn kernels, filling my brain. I grabbed my box-knife and slit open the packaging tape. A card slid right into my palm. I saw it and then fell to pieces, sniffling and wiping my nose and trying to contain myself. “Nicole, You’re surrounded by family and friends who love you and are praying for you. The light of Christ is shining brightly through you, a beacon of hope and encouragement to all those that you meet. –from, a friend.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I shook my head, baffled. <i>Who would…? Who did this? </i>Then it occurred to me, whoever this was, didn’t just put a card into a huge box to ship it to my door. I flipped back the cardboard flap and gasped. A dozen yellow roses with accented baby’s breath! My favorite color of rose. I re-read the card. Hugged it (silly, aren’t I?), thanked God for such simple treasures as these. And then with careful but quaking fingers, blurry tear-dripping vision, lifted the wrapped bundle in my hands. <i>How beautiful!</i> I brought it to my nose and sniffed. I was made upset. I was crying so my nose was all stuffed with drippy snot: I couldn’t smell them! How infuriating! </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I carefully unwrapped the plastic and brought the project over to the sink. I cut off the rubber bands and sniffling and crying, I tended to it. Pieces of the ends flung across the room. Genny ran over and bit on the little projectiles and then spit them out. My guess is she doesn’t like rose stems. :P Tuxedo flicked his ear and stretched out in the sunlight coming in through the dining room. I recalled my three months of working the floral department, as I arranged them in the glass vase. I was allergic to the plant food, so that was a short-lived task, although I loved making the arrangements. Now I got to do that again. It was a creative moment and I enjoyed that. I set them on the dining room table and observed them, wiping at my tears. I re-read the card again, plagued with the mystery of it all. I paced to and fro in front of them, using the little card like a fan. Who sent these? Who did I know with this writing style? Who used these kinds of words when they spoke? Which friends could afford such a bountiful purchase? This friend was right, I was surrounded by those that cared about me – there were too many to narrow it down to who had done this. Brushing away the last of my tears, I sniffed the roses, faintly smelling its sweet, relaxing scent. They were a lovely treasure. I was greatly encouraged. “Friend, whoever you are, you have made my day.” I said aloud to no one. I was, after all, by myself.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Had blood-work done. I told them about my aloe allergy and they began a joking-argument about if the perrywinkle color of the gloves she slipped her fingers into were blue or purple. We all got to laughing, and then she stuck me. It sucked the breath out of me in shock, but then I reminded myself to breathe and I was fine again. I chatted with her in good conversation about my unexpected surprise and then she informed me I was all done. I snatched my book and went to the hospital cafeteria. It was lunch time. I wasn’t hungry, but then, I had only had a breakfast burrito at 8:30am and it was 2:15pm. I should get something to eat. It didn’t feel necessary, but I should. I debated, yes and then no. It was like a ping-pong match. Finally, reason won. I should eat. I pushed through the cafeteria door and entered. <i>There</i>, I told me. <i>You are in the cafeteria, you have to eat now.</i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i> </i> </div><div class="MsoNormal">I stepped up to the counter and ordered their beef stew and roll. I got a coke to go with it and then sat down at the table. I spooned my soup, moving the beef chunks around for a disinterested second, then I prayed and ate it. I read my book and slowly cleaned off my plate. I was not in a hurry. I had another 15 minutes to go; I’d only used 45 minutes so far. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I wandered aimlessly to the gift shop and found a necklace I couldn’t leave alone. I started playing with the magnetic pieces that go in its center. It was fascinating, and it was also on sale. I also didn’t need it. I put it back. I took it. I put it back. I fidgeted with the pieces. (-Translation of this strange ritual: my usual process of convincing me to buy it has begun.) :P </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The phone rang: mom. I talked to her and with my free hand, organized the pieces into shades, textures, and then created an apron design pattern with them on the magnetic board. It was becoming my artwork as I spoke to my mom. I’m sure the gift-shop lady wondered what in the world this shopper was doing with her display piece! :P I took off six of the little magnets and held them in my hand. Mom told me she was on her way, she’d be there for the appointment. Great. I hung up and then the lady informed me that the necklace was on special today: Buy the necklace and get one flair-magnet free. My mind perked at the 20 dollar price. <i>Not bad!</i> I could spoil myself this once. I’d yet to this month. I reasoned in my mind: <i>You only have a budget for spoilage once per month. Is this the spoils you wish to get, or is there something else?</i> I bit my lip. <i>Hmmm…</i> I slipped the black satin chain with its silver pendant from the display arm and held it in my palm. It had a Japanese flair in it, a bird with pink background, black leaves curling this way and that way. <i>Kinda….yeah…pretty</i>.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>Hmmm…</i> said my mind. I didn’t put back the other six flair-magnets. I curled my fingers into a fist. (-Translation: Process of convincing is complete. I am getting it.) I paid for it and then felt my usual sick “I just spent money” feeling that I have always felt when I purchase anything. But then I signed my name with a flourish and she passed me the necklace and its flairs. Then I grinned and felt better. A good treat. I liked it. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Ping ping! Ping ping! Went my phone. I fumbled before realizing that last month I’d bought a messenger-styled purse for ease of carrying things, the phone was no longer inside the main bag where I was digging, but in a special phone pouch. I blushed, embarrassed. “Oh, yeah,” I mumbled in remembrance, retrieved the phone and turned it off. “Time for my appointment.” I smiled and said goodbye. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Wandered into the cancer wing of the hospital and told the ladies at the counter I was there. They were so surprised that I wasn’t finished with the book yet. “Ah, because I’m savoring it!” I said, then added. “It is very, very good and I don’t know when I’ll find another one like this. It’s a great story.” I sat down and read it while I waited. Mom came, so I shared my purchase with her. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">My turn came up. I discovered I’d lost a little bit of weight. Learned about taking medication. Learned about doses and times, scheduling. Learned about keeping a record of what medication I take with me in my purse. Learned about reading the side-affects warning (which I usually skim over with a “yeah-yeah, I know” mentality) and what to do when I have those affects. Now I know. This whole realm was (still is!) completely new to me. I’m grateful for such patient nurses. I had the nurse repeat most of this over and over and over again, because it kept going over my head. I finally got it. I’m glad they were so patient with me. :) Discovered my level had soared to 175,000. Mom and I were delighted. I was in a healthy zone with lots of maneuvering space, lots of cushion. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I was spoken to about my tummy-irritation, which I’d tried to “tough through” and not tell anyone how badly it was hurting me. “Some things are not meant to be toughed through.” I’d been told. I agreed quietly, nodding and fidgeting with the corner of my book and purse strap. It was a duh moment: Of course I should have told them it was upsetting my stomach and making me uncomfortable. What had I been thinking?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The specialist spoke with us for a little while, repeating what the nurse said about my stomach-irritation. What they said was right on and I knew that. I wondered why I hadn’t done what they were telling me is the right way to address such symptoms, it made such good sense. She then said that most children grow out of this, but for young adults, like myself, it was most likely to be chronic. She said we would get to know each other. I had anticipated this route, just as I’d pre-thought out all the routes. It didn’t surprise me at all. It made sense. It was an allergy to something. We just have to find out what the “something” is.</div><div class="MsoNormal"> I want to know what it is that causes my I.T.P. and on my next visit, I plan to ask my specialist what the process for elimination is. How do they plan on going about isolating the outside-allergy that causes my I.T.P.? Once I know that, a mystery will be solved. Hurrah! I can’t wait for that day! </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Mom took me to the gift shop and so I showed her my handiwork and she gave a slight tilt of her head. “So, which ones do you like?” I shrugged and grinned, “I bought them already.” “But what else?” She asked. I pondered this, staring at the pieces. I had been reluctant on putting back the two ships in the harbor, the blue ivy, and the yellow and white flowers. I pointed out the three pieces of flair. She plucked them off the board. “What are you doing?” I asked. She gave a wirey grin, “Everyone else is not the only ones who you’ve inspired and encouraged with your story you know.” She said, matter-of-factly. “You inspired me too. You are an encouragement to me, and I want to buy these for you.” I just about blubbered emotionally, but then I caught myself – it was a public place with the cashier watching us. I still teared up, but I blinked them back. Mom bought the pieces and then handed me the baggy of three flair. I held them and smiled up at her, “Thank you.” It was a great day. <span style="font-family: Wingdings;">:)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">…Well, I best go have some breakfast and attend to the rest of my chores. I’ll try and keep you all updated as it comes, and thank you all for praying for me; it is a very big encouragement. I hope that my story brings you encouragement to continue to press your concerns and worries into the hands of the Lord and trust Him, even when it seems hardest to do. Rest assured, God knows what we are dealing with, and He intends for those things to mature us and strengthen our faith (and that’s why we should consider those trials as joy). Wonderfully enough, He knows what struggles and trials we are going to encounter long before we discover them. He has control over it all, and that is the greatest of comfort. <span style="font-family: Wingdings;">:)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Until next time, God bless.</div>StrongInHimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09642451472290489136noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2687423329314564537.post-79328559644535460922011-10-18T18:21:00.000-07:002011-10-23T19:59:26.963-07:00My life is in His hands<div class="MsoNormal">Today I awoke with a single thought: <i>I am alive, praise God</i>. I reflected on yesterday's events, pondering all that has happened to me. Then as I watched the sun rise, I cried. I cannot describe well enough what indescribable emotions I have. I am so grateful, so happy, so relieved, so thankful.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Two weeks ago on Sunday is where I will begin...</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I was working, laughing and joking with my coworkers when I got another bloody nose. I lurched over to the paper towels nearby and thought that after a little bit, it would be over. It is Fall and the air is dry and cold, bloody noses are bound to happen under such conditions. It began to gush really bad and it wouldn't stop. My coworker became very concerned about me. My other coworkers and her brought paper towels after wad of paper towels and I easily filled up half the trash barrel. Thirty minutes and it was still gushing. I heard a ringing in my ears and suddenly, a thick juicy pop. Instantly I felt I was in a fish bowl, spots entered my vision and things began to look muted and darker. I watched the clock, feeling dizzy. My heart started pounding as I watched time tick by, and knowing that although I had a damp cloth around my neck and my head back, the bleeding just wasn't stopping. Forty minutes later and I heard my coworker whisper to the others, "I am worried. Do you think we should take her to E.R.?" "Maybe it will stop, I pray it does soon. I'm worried too." the reply came. "If it doesn't stop in ten minutes, I'll take her." She said. "And I'll hold down the fort." came the response back.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Forty five minutes later, the bleeding slowed and stopped. At fifty minutes, I stood back up and went back to my tasks. I didn't feel very good, I thought for sure that something was very wrong about what had just happened. My heart wouldn't slow, the world around me seemed so dark and dull, and oh the piercing ringing with the dizziness! I just wasn't sure what to make of it, but I wanted to work and work to my best ability. So I did. I took a few breaks to catch my breath and overheard coworkers saying I was having an anxiety attack. I prayed that was not the case. The verse "Be anxious for nothing," came to my mind consistently. I handed God the reigns on my life, I did not want the burden and I knew that His way was best. Trusting Him was better than relying on myself to pull through. I still felt abnormally weak and my mind pressed me so hard with the thought: Something is <i>wrong</i>. </div><div class="MsoNormal">I finished out my workday, punched out. I sat in my car for about ten minutes, shaking fingered and resting my head on the steering wheel. I couldn't rationally bring myself to drive home. I called the doctor's office and asked their opinion. They said to "call an ambulance, get to E.R. and <i>don't</i> drive yourself." Those I knew cost money I could not pay. I called one of my best-friends, Hannah. Her reply was instant, "I will be there. Hang in there sweetheart, I'm on my way!" My mom called and I told her about the bloody nose. She told me she was on her way. My parents got to my car first and I was taken to the E.R. where Hannah and her hubby met me and gave me encouragement. I was hooked up to the heart monitor where I was told yet again that I was having an anxiety attack and that the cause of my bloody nose was only dryness from the Fall weather. I insisted that something just wasn't right, something was <i>wrong</i>. He rechecked the equipment and then made sure it matched my actual vital signs, insuring that the equipment wasn't glitching up. It wasn't. My heart rate was actually very low, not rapidly pounding. I was told I hyperventilated, swallowed a lot of protein-rich blood, and needed to relax now, go home and moisturize that nose, and take care. Finally giving in, still inwardly unsure, still feeling that sense of something being not right, I did so.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">My aunt, who is knowledgeable about medical things, heard my story about the 45 minute nosebleed. She told me I was in the process of passing out. That explained the hyperventilating, the fishbowl effect, the darkening and dulling of my vision, the anxiety. It wasn't that I was anxious after all, but my body giving me a final firm warning that I was about to pass out on the floor! I did not know that at the time but it suddenly made total sense. She gave me a tip about pinching my nose and looking down so that I didn't swallow the protein-rich blood. The body wasn't meant to digest such rich proteins and that explained why I felt nauseated after the 45 minutes of gulping and swallowing. I took her suggestions about moisturizing my nose.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Saturday rolled around and I found bruising on my arm and on my legs. Perhaps I had tapped something a little hard? Bumped into something while bustling around at work and at home? I spoke to my family and they suggested that my iron may be low. I began eating iron-rich food and worked on gaining good weight.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Wednesday of last week. Nosebleeds had become a routine. My coworkers looked at me with the common concerned expression of, "Again? Oh no, sweetheart." And they uplifted and encouraged me, lots of times helping so that I didn't fall behind in my work. (A most excellent team, I love my coworkers. I wouldn't trade them for the world.) :) Fifteen minutes passed to twenty minutes as I stood over the bathroom sink pinching my nose and staring downward, praying that God would see me through this bloody nose too. I spent the time waiting for it to stop in prayer. I figured that was the best way to spend up time that I'm sure would have been otherwise spent thinking negatively about it. If this was going to be a normal situation with me, I was convinced that it would not be wasted, I was going to use the time in prayer. It was going to be time with my Jesus, even if it was talking to Him with a bloody drippy nose; I was not going to let it give me an excuse to be negative. I was going to spend that time with Him. I performed my tasks at work, helped my coworkers, smiled and did my best that I could do. When I got home, I got changed into comfy clothes so I could nap. That was becoming routine. I found that I was dizzy and often times fatigued, so one to two hour naps after work were becoming useful in order to continue doing things at home. I like to be productive (what workaholic perfectionist doesn't?). :P This time, I shouted down the stairs, "Oh no! Mom???" She hightailed it up the stairs to see what I was worried about. I had raised my shirt-sleeve to discover a rich purple-blue bruise the size of my whole hand on my upper left arm. Smaller 1/2 dollar sized bruises dotted the back of my elbows, and forearms. "You need to make an appointment with the doctor." She said worriedly. I booked the appointment for the following day.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Thursday of last week. Another nosebleed. I pinched my nose and began my time waiting for it to please end and praying. It plugged up and I freshened up and returned to my tasks. It wasn't going to ruin my day. I convinced myself daily that, "Today is another day to live for Jesus." I was going to live it in the best way I knew how: by throwing myself at His feet and letting Him know that no matter what, I am His slave and I will do His will. It did not matter the situations, the pressure, or those dreadful nosebleeds. Inspired, I drew a sharpie smiley grin on a cherry tomato and wrote on the back of it that saying. I placed it into the hands of a co-worker who I knew was having a tough day. (Bunny trail: lol, she is so cute! She refused to destroy the "beautiful treasure" I had bestowed in her care, so she put it up on her kitchen sink so she can see it every morning. A few days later she came up to me with a frown and told me it had to be thrown away due to it's being a tomato and...yeah, those things just don't last.)</div><div class="MsoNormal">I got off work and I went in to the appointment. The doctor's eyes grew wide when I displayed nineteen bruises on my arms and legs, promising that I did nothing more than touch something and poof, there they were. And what were those tiny bruise-dots? I asked him about those too. He had the nurse take two vials for blood-work and then I was done. I went home and took a nap.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Friday. I was notified to "be very careful. The lab says to surround yourself in bubble wrap and lounge for this weekend. We'll see you on Monday." "I err...I think I have to work on Monday. Perhaps another day can be scheduled?" I stuttered, confused. Why be very careful? Why the example of bubble wrap? "No, it’s urgent," the doctor objected with my offer. "We <i>will</i> see you on Monday morning. You talk to your boss and get it arranged." "Okay," I moused. "Also, can you come back in today? We need one more vial for blood-work." the doctor said. "Blood-work? Uh, sure." I grabbed my purse and went to the doctor's office. The place they'd drawn blood from last time was already bruising up pretty good so they stuck my other arm. The nurse seemed very careful about pricking me the second time with the needle. I kept feeling like something wasn't right with me but I'd felt that feeling since the monumental 45 minute nosebleed from two weeks ago. I set that warning into the back of my mind as dismissible nonsense. The nurse finished up and I was sent home. A few hours later I was called and told that the result was positive, I had been diagnosed with I.T.P.: Idiopathic Thrombocytopenic Purpura. My first reaction was to laugh out the word, "What?" He explained what it meant and I realized he was serious and the situation was serious. The warning in the back of my mind, it was real. I was given a heavy prescription for Prednisone and told to "pick it up <i>now</i> and get started on it." Still confused at the explanation that my body's immune system was devouring my platelets that clotted my blood, I made a trip to my work and told my boss I needed a span of time for a doctor appointment on Monday. I informed her of my issue, so she was in the know. Thankfully, it was discovered that I was off that day.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Got my meds, went home and told my parents. We researched my diagnosis via the internet and tried to become educated as to what it was and what questions we should ask the doctor. I brought it to the Lord in prayer. I was certainly convinced that wherever God wanted me, that's where I would be, whatever I was to go through, God knew why. I would rest in His hands, the best place in all the world. I received a phone call from the cancer center telling me that I had an appointment with them on Monday morning. That was my doctor appointment? With the cancer center? A cancer specialist was going to talk with me? I swallowed and said okay. I prayed. If this was God's will that I carry cancer within my body, I would remain victorious because it was not me that was strong but Him. Because it was His strength within me, I was "more than a conqueror." <i>God loves me so much, I am a daughter of the King, </i>I reminded myself.<i> And if He desires that I be at Home with Him, then I will live my every last breath at peace and knowing that only He has control. If I try and take the reigns, I will only find my world spinning like a plane in a fast-falling spiraling nosedive. Oh yes, my greatest hope is in Him where security and hope is steadfast and enduring. And how much do I know that no matter what the outcome, God's will WILL be done. Isn't it best then that I "be still and know that He is God?" Yes, certainly.</i> From this point onward, I no longer felt afraid. I was (and am) at complete peace. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Mom had one of her friends over for supper and Pastor Keith also came (bringing with him a Daily Bread dealing specifically with struggles and trials - this soon became a treasure trove in the days to come). I don't remember saying much, but the evening was very pleasurable and full of good conversation.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Saturday, I was told that I had made an impact on someone's life and they were inspired by me. I waited till I went to bed and then I cried; so in awe that Jesus was using me, His vessel, to shine so brightly when times seemed so dark. I couldn't comprehend fully this fact. I decided upon something monumental: If these dark big bruises, these bloody noses, this purpura that spotted my arms, legs, feet, and eyelids brought even ONE person to the throne of Grace. If my pain, in my weakness, in my struggle, in this situation, the Peace that is within me stirred ONE heart and opened them to see the light that is Salvation. If all of this trial brought just ONE to safety from Hell's gate, then it is worth it all. <i>God let me have this trial because it is my joy to bear it! There are those that pray that You remove this from my life, but if this is Your will that I have it...Oh yes, without a doubt, I will carry it! Please! To be a light from which You shine, Mighty One, my Strength and Delight, that's what I want most! This trial has become my joy. I am strong when I am weak, this mystery I once thought hard to understand, I comprehend it. I am strong not because of me, but because You are in me: I am weak, You are my strength.</i> I read a page of the Daily Bread. Psalms 36:7-8: "How precious is Your lovingkindness, O God! Therefore the children of men put their trust under the shadow of Your wings. They are abundantly satisfied with the fullness of Your house, and You give them drink from the river of Your pleasures." I meditated on that until I drifted off to sleep.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Sunday. "I am praying for you." "You are in our prayers." "*Squenches* I love you, we are praying for you." "Can I add you in our prayer-chain?" "You were prayed for before worship started today." "We prayed for you." "Be encouraged, we are here for you girly, God has a plan for your life!" -my phone vibrated with each text, many of these duplicated until my inbox read 98% full. I blinked away tears and sat in awe in the breakroom, in the car, at home, in my room, as I came to understand just how many were backing me in prayer. I was mightily encouraged.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Monday came. I had set my alarm for 4am. I prayed alone in the quiet dark until 6:30am when the rest of my family woke up. I felt I needed a good long talk with God, He is my support and I knew I would need Him. I wanted Him to know how much He meant to me and that I was willing to go through this day with Him just as any other: With Him guiding me through. Yes, me and my Beloved. Special are the secret times alone with just Him and I. Then I picked up the Daily Bread book and read, meditating on what I discovered. It read: "We experience peace - not panic - when we trust the power of God." The supporting verse was Psalm 29: 11 - "The Lord will give strength to His people; the Lord will bless His people with peace." <i>Wow,</i> I thought. <i>He is faithful, His Word is True, He has done this in my life, today. </i>I got ready and went in to fill out new paperwork at the cancer center. All I felt was peace, calm and secure; my Jesus held me fast and strong in His mighty arms. As nervous thoughts entered my mind, I passed them over to Him and thought about them no more. He would take excellent care of me. </div><div class="MsoNormal">My mom was pulled aside by one of the nurses into the hallway. I couldn't help but overhear them as I filled out the paperwork. "We are worried about your daughter. Her levels are very low," the nurse said in a hushed whisper. "Normal is 150,000 and very low is 10,000. Nicole's is only 7,000." my mom replied, just as soft. "Her condition right now is life-threatening," the nurse agreed. I heard my mom sniffling, trying to contain her tears.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I texted my three best-friends with an update and to be praying for me, and most of all for strength for my mom. I was assured that many were praying. I took that to heart and was comforted by the support. I was called up, my turn. My parents and I entered the room with the specialist and the questions began. I answered them all to the best of my knowledge. Surprisingly, together we tracked the symptoms to a decade at least. This was not a new problem, I had it for a long long time. Suddenly, events in my life that had been so confusing, made the most perfect of sense. Every sore throat my friends had when they were around me, I'd caught and it instantly became strep throat for me and if I didn't catch it, it spun frantically out of control. It landed me into Scarlet fever twice in my childhood. I got H1N1 so easily, then a week later, strep throat, a little bit later, a bad nasal cold that left me with my right ear being infected with piercing random high squeals (it was hard to hear from that side, but I'd let it go, figured it was part of life). The frustrating 'acne' (it wouldn't go away) I thought I had speckled down both legs for years was instantly pointed out as purpura; blood that was popping under the surface of my skin. The winter stories of frostbitten toes and poor blood circulation, she took note of.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The 45 minute bloody nose, nearly passing out and the E.R. rush, my specialist became alarmed at that story: "Did they draw blood for a test?" "No." Mom said. "It was pronounced as only dry and I was sent home." I told her. "No?" She blinked, repeating words, "Dry nose? Sent you home?" I nodded. Mom told her we were not interested in causing any trouble, and the specialist told us she would find out who it was and inform them of what had happened with me so it doesn't happen again. She called that situation "very dangerous." I was examined and then asked if I had the day off as I might be here all day, if not longer. That concerned my parents, but I smiled and said okay. She (the specialist) then sent me off to the lab for more blood-work.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I am afraid of needles, but I informed my fear and the lab personnel of the fact that I was working on conquering it. I read the newest addition to my bookshelf: "Courageous," as I sat in the waiting room. A frail hand rested on my shoulder and so I turned to look at the friendly smile of a stranger. Her words sent me pondering, "You are a light, precious and beautiful." The lady left the waiting room with her friend. I sat there for a moment before being able to read again. They called my name. I swallowed and mustered courage. I was improving from the hyperventilating that I used to do upon seeing the sharp tip. I looked away from the needle, which helps, but only to see Halloween decor that was stickied to the office window in large dripping blood letters spelling out: B-E-W-A-R-E-! (...yeahhh, <.<....>> cozy feelings!!) I turned my fear over to Jesus. I could conquer this! <i>He is with me! He is with me!</i> I reminded myself. My eyes drew to the vampire grinning sharkishly back at me. <i>He is with me!</i> I shouted in my mind. <i>"Perfect love casts out all fear,"</i> the verse popped to mind. I looked away. <i>I will trust in Him! Perfect love casts out all fear, He is Perfect Love, He will cast out my fear.</i> I was told to please hold the last of the seven vials; it wouldn't fit in the slot on the monster-large green chair. It looked like a torture chamber in here with the rubber twisty-tie on the arm of the chair and the plastic vial slots. I told the lab lady that and she laughed at my joking about. We had a good conversation and I surprised myself, holding the vial that would soon contain my blood, and watching the tubes be filled (normally this would make me feel very sick). Soon I was told that I was all done in the "torturous room of blood, bwahahaha." and it was time to return to the cancer wing of the hospital.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I was told the first result would come back within half an hour. I read and played checkers with my Dad to pass the time. A woman placed her hand on my shoulder when I stood up from the match (Dad won) and she gave me a gentle embrace (I bruise amazingly easy), "You are an inspiration. Your mother just told me your story, and honey I am praying for you, so is our church." She smiled sympathetically back at me and then whispered, "So beautiful..." I didn't know what to say. All I could think was, <i>Look, look what God has worked! Amazing! Amazing!</i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I sat down to read more of my book. "Want some mint tea?" one of the patients asked, grinning jokingly at me. He had overheard my strong dislike of mint when mom pointed out a recipe back in the waiting room of the lab. We shared all in a good laugh and it became a running joke. It was quite funny and laughter felt really very good. There was a lady sitting near the window near her mom who was dealing with cancer and they both told me what a beautiful young lady I was, how "inspiring of a light in the darkness" I was. I found myself speechless, but my mind became a noisy place, full of contemplation over what many were telling me, all of them people I did not know, all of them affected by my trial in amazing ways, all of them telling me basically the same thing: They clearly, so clearly, saw Jesus in me. Overjoyed -that was me. And here I was, waiting for 25 minutes to hear back if I would be staying at the hospital, and to hear back if I had cancer, and to hear if I was going to live or go Home. I was excited by both prospects. I was not afraid.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The specialist practically burst through the doors and she was smiling. "I have good news..." She began, crossing the room quickly. All eyes turned to me and the room went silent. It crossed my mind: <i>She is not pulling us into a room, she is grinning ear to ear.</i> "You do not have Leukemia!" I breathed and my vision went blurry very quickly. All around I heard words of delight and happiness, clapping; happiness. Mom put her hand to her heart and breathed relief. Dad put his hand around my shoulders and I heard the elderly lady a few seats down say with her daughter, "Praise God, praise God." <i>Thank you Jesus</i>, I told Him quietly. I listened on to my specialist as she told the results of the first test. "You are responding to the steroids, that's good. You're still in critical condition because if you stop taking the Prednisone, you'll drop back down. Don't stop taking it! But I want you to know you are out of life-threatening..." "Praise God!" The daughter said enthusiastically. I smiled, <i>yes.</i> "You are also not anemic, and your white and red blood cells are good. You will be able to go home today. And your count has risen to 34,000." I thanked God. "You still must be very, very careful. Do you work between now and then?" I nodded. "Where?" I told her. "Ask your coworkers to handle the sharp objects, okay? It is incredibly important." I nodded, smiled, "Okay." "And I will see you on Thursday, okay?" I nodded and held my book. "I want you to buy antacids so that you don't develop bleeding ulcers from the other meds, okay? That would be very bad at this point. Double the amount and keep on top of it. See you Thursday morning." I felt like my fingers were shaking, but when I checked them with a glance, they didn't seem to be. I felt...so grateful. My parents and I went out for lunch and hot coco to celebrate.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Later. As mom talked to her friends, told the events of the day, I was lightly touched on the shoulders every now and again, sometimes being pulled into gentle hugs by those around me and people passing through, some I recognized, some I didn't. "You are so strong." "Look at her smile! It's been there the whole time!" "Has it really?" "She's at complete peace, I don't know how." "She is such a light!" "What an encouragement to others!" "And I thought my trials were tough...look at her! Look at those bruises, how's she do it?" I pondered on this all, amazed. I had done only one thing: I had given my situation up to the Lord and rested in His hands, knowing that wherever He would take me in this, He was in control. I trusted Him, that's all I did. And this was the result? ...so awed.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Sat at the pharmacy while the prescription was filled. One of my best-friends (one of the three I'd remained in contact with throughout the day with updating) swung by to see how I was and that was encouraging. I thanked him for being diligent to pray for me. It was good to see the smile of a good friend.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Slept on the way home, wiped thoroughly out by the adventure of the day. Got on my computer for a little and posted a song on my page that I thought best described my day: "My Redeemer is Faithful and True," by Steven Curtis Chapman. I chatted with my friends for a while, eating liver and onions and joking about it to them via chat. "Mmm, yummy...." I told them. "Eww, that's nasty!" "Gross!" They exclaimed. I laughed and told them I devoured it (which I did; thankfully, I like liver and onions, broccoli, and spinach. Good iron-rich foods. I have liked them since I was young. I know, I was an odd one, eh?) :P Dad said when we bought "the stuff" that, "I can't find the use of a Tragger recipe for liver; apparently, they didn't want to ruin a perfectly good barbeque with that junk." lol.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Made an out of state call to my daddy to update him. Hearing his voice was the cherry on top of my ice cream, so to speak. It was very nice and he was relieved at the good news. He promised to send up some of his music to soothe me *smiles, can't wait.* I recall him playing his guitar from my childhood to adulthood, and it is beautifully done how he makes that guitar sing. One of these days, I will ask him to please record a special cd with the song Valseana on it (Mmmmm). </div><div class="MsoNormal">Dozed off while chatting with my pals, listening to my favorite Christian worship songs. Was woken up by my mom for bed. Told my friends good night and thanked them for praying, then saw how many more were praying for me and their comments. It was awe-inspiring for me, seeing how God was working through my life. Cried, prayed, promptly feel asleep.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Woke up this morning at 5 am, watched the sunrise touch the mountains and tree tops. I felt like I was seeing the world with a brand new set of eyes and it was <i>beautiful</i>. Cupped my hands and buried my face in them. My experience of yesterday flooded my mind and I had a thought I've never had before: <i>I am alive, praise God.</i> I broke into silent tears and cried, praying that God would never let me forget this experience in my life, pondering all He did in and was doing in and through me, and thanking Him for everything.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Remembered all my new things I needed to have in my routine (-sometimes needing to backtrack, lol) as I got ready for a day of resting and reclining. Bundling up against the frosty cold air, I completed my morning chores, then played a bit of frizzbee with the puppy; watching her antics to catch it as her ears flopped about, bounding here and there across the field. Laughed heartily as she lunged prematurely for the unthrown frizzbee. It was grand. I gave her head a good tussling and then went off to check off my grocery list.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Met up with one of the ladies at the coffee counter (hey, a mocha sounded reeaally good!) and she told me quite meaningfully that I was a blessing in her life. I stood there, just as stunned as yesterday when all those people touched my shoulder, hugged me, smiled at me, telling me all those amazing... (wow, I can’t fathom it). Joani continued on, telling me how often I'd been in her prayers, especially Monday morning (which I had never informed her was my cancer center appointment)! I was amazed, breathing out, "Wow..." She asked what and I told her about yesterday. She reached over the counter, scooting my mocha out of the way, and gave me a gentle squeezed hug, "You are such an inspiration! Oh just look at how beautiful you are! Look what God's doing in you! What a blessing! What a blessing!" I breathed, clasping a pretty good grip on her shirt, "I didn't do anything...I didn't do anything. He did it all." She patted my back, "Oh yes, yes He did. But," She pulled out of the hug and grasped my shoulders, making firm eye-contact, "You were willing." My eyes watered up, I swallowed. "You were willing to obey Him regardless of the outcome; you are victorious. People see you, you are NOT invisible: You are a light, you are His light to the lost. You inspire me, you are an inspiration to us all." She gave me a second gentle hug, "In our weakness, He has made us strong. Here you are, a living example of that truth." I opened my mouth but I couldn't find words to say. Speechless. "I love you and we are all praying for you," she encouraged, gently resting her hand over mine. "Thank you," I whispered. I went on to do my shopping, but my mind wasn't on my shopping list. I had to back track a lot, and I usually tend to be a straight go-for-the-item-and-go person. My mind was too busy pondering on all that had happened within the last few days.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I am awestruck. Look at all that God has done. Isn't it amazing?? How unfathomable! How incredible! How awesome! How amazing! And how great! Praise be to God, always and forever. I have done nothing and He has done miraculous things in my life. How can I fathom it? All I know is that my life is in His hands, the best place in all the world for me to be.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">God is good (ref. Psalm 136). Selah (think about, ponder on this amazing fact).</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">(Footnote: I do not know yet what the underlying cause is for my condition. If it is permanent or temporary, I don't know that either. I do not know much, I am learning. It looks like I have had I.T.P. for over a decade and within the past two weeks, it rapidly declined to where I stood on death's doorstep unknowingly oblivious. There are speculations as to the underlying cause, but I do not wish to say speculated ideas, only facts, this way there are no misunderstandings. More testing is being done in the labs and I will discover more on Thursday. Your prayers are appreciated. Thank you.) :)</div>StrongInHimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09642451472290489136noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2687423329314564537.post-81743259141485507852011-07-19T21:09:00.000-07:002011-07-19T21:10:30.127-07:00Trials = Joy<div class="MsoNormal">~ James 1:2 – “Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds, for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness. And let steadfastness have its full effect, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing.”</div><div class="MsoNormal">~ Romans 5:3-5 – “More than that, we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Hello all. It has been a while since the last time I wrote. There has been much going on in my life. Most of it, I know, is in the form of lessons. One lesson in particular: Perspective. Counting trials as joy. </div><div class="MsoNormal">I know, I know. I have given conversations about this topic. I know this command well, yet I still struggle with it time and time again. Why? I am forgetful. It is as a Christian broadcast said: “We often remember the miracles and answered prayers in the Scriptures, but we often forget the working of God in our lives.” What a statement that is! </div><div class="MsoNormal">I was met with an interesting day this past week. Everything that could go wrong electronically at work went wrong. Every task I must do needs to be done at a certain time so the consumer gets their product on time. The fryers cooled down on their own and turned off when I put my back to them to wrap up some products. I turned them back on and watched them heat up, then dropped in my noon-day meal, only to have the fryers turn off and cool down. I struggled with my frustration level and reminding myself that each day will have its challenges. Each day, I will be met with a struggle of some sort. Yet it is my choice to my attitude. I can say: “Oh great! My whole day is ruined! What a disaster! I’ll never complete my tasks this way! Ughhh!” Or I did say, “Ok God, today one of those days with lots of shadows. It is another day to live for You nonetheless. Help me to make right choices in regards to my attitude. Please be a light through me in this situation. I want to be frustrated and toss my hands in the air and…and just be so angry! But I would rather glorify You.” It is good to have emotions. God made them…but the emotions that do not reflect His character are the ones I know I should most avoid. They do not honor Him. </div><div class="MsoNormal">I helped a gentleman with his lunch and he told me he would like a coffee to go with it. He was tired and it had been a long day. I turned to make him a nice hot latte. Wouldn’t you know it – the milk steamer sprayed my hand (ouch!) then stopped providing steam to heat the milk. I sighed, “Just a moment, this is giving me a bit of trouble today.” He smiled and told me it looked like I was having a rough day. I told him I was indeed having quite a turbulent day, and a hard one. I wasn’t afraid to admit I was struggling. He told me flat out that I was dealing with bad karma. I got the steam wand working again and spoke to him as I worked. “Sir, in all respect, I don’t believe in karma: it is works oriented. To have good karma, I would have to work hard to gain it, when I know that I make mistakes. It is a stressful way to live, trying to consistently be perfect. Can you imagine the strain of trying to be perfect every day?” I paused. Being perfect is impossible. He said. “Sir, I believe in God. I am a Christian. I admit: I am frustrated, but do you know what? I know that I am to count this very upsetting moment in my life as joy itself. And I will.” Trials as joy? He asked me. “Yes. I know that I am imperfect and when I encounter trials, I view them as a tool that God will use to cause me to grow in knowledge and understanding. You see, this is a small trial and when the larger trials of life come, I will be strong and wise to handle them in the manner that they should be handled.” He just gave me this look and opened his mouth, but said nothing. He paid for his order and then shook his head with this smile. I won’t forget his words: “That is amazing. I never thought of it that way. You should know: You are a light.” The words took me by such surprise. I hadn’t considered that in my frustrated, unhappy day, that I would see joy in the trial. God had shone through me and in my tough day, He’d planted a seed in this man’s heart using me. What other can I say as I reflect on this day than wow. Do you want to know something? That changed my entire day. Did my day get easier all of the sudden? Or did my equipment begin working properly? No, it got rougher as the lunch rush-hour came around. But! I saw the perspective I needed to have. This trial, if for nothing else than to have that conversation with that gentleman, was so very worth it. This trial was my joy because in that five minute interaction, God worked through me. I am amazed, I am praying for that guest as well as for more situations like this one. </div><div class="MsoNormal">(…and for those who question: My coworkers came around me as a support frame, encouraging me along in my tasks and helping me whenever they could. I completed my tasks by the end of my shift. A sweet relief, I am grateful.)</div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal">For all those who are having a rough day, I hope this little ray of sunshine from my life brightens yours. Until next time, God bless.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>StrongInHimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09642451472290489136noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2687423329314564537.post-4237515331008319022011-06-14T17:00:00.000-07:002011-06-14T17:14:35.486-07:00The Butterfly ExperiencesAs of lately, I've found myself looking for butterflies as much as I look for rainbows, and when I find them, I get all excited. Do you? I am rather fascinated by the little creatures. Perhaps its that I've had so many cocoon experiences this year, that I just find myself drawn in that way. While window shopping in town, I discovered these little mason jars with butterflies flapping about inside. They were incredibly beautiful. Entranced, I moved up closer, then picked it up off the shelf. I discovered that they were toys on little fish wires that made them to dance about the inside of the jar as though they were real, even moving at the flick of a fingernail against the glass.<br />
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I found myself suddenly removed from all the noises around me. I was thinking about a good friend of mine who has been struggling with trials. I thought about the butterfly, remembering watching the Truth Project and how Dell Tacket taught on the struggle within the cocoon. I bought two of those toys, one for her, one for me. My favorite butterfly is a monarch, so I chose those out from the four varieties. I felt rather impish, knowing that I'd be giving my dear friend one of these and yet, keeping it a secret for three days. I didn't just want to give a butterfly toy, but something substantial. Something thick with meaning.<br />
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I searched the web late into the night, not resting until I had what I wanted. Unknowingly, I was about to find out something rather amazing as well. (Isn't that always how it works out?) <br />
Did you know that the most critical stage in the butterfly's life is the caterpillar stage? No one really thinks much about the caterpillar but to say, "Oh yes, those turn into butterflies." But I didn't know there was 5 stages, called instars. It is necessary for the caterpillar to begin eating what is good for its health, and to prepare for it's future life as a butterfly. Everything it eats is necessary to help it in it's life as a butterfly. If it goes malnurished, then the butterfly will not be as healthy as it could have been. If it doesn't eat the right foods, it won't develop the right coloring that will detour it's predators. During it's short life as a caterpillar, it must eat eat eat. While that happens, it begins to form the starts of it's wings, called disks. It is not visible to the naked eye. The structure of the butterfly is forming within the caterpillar. It enters into its cocoon and the struggle begins. It is stripped down to it's bare form and the wings begin to grow and the butterfly begins to take shape. Once it is fully formed, it battles free of it's cocoon and basks its wings in the light of the sun, drying them out and getting the energy that it needs to fly. Fascinating creatures, as I've said.<br />
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I began to see something. My life is similar to that transformation story. I, like the caterpillar, began my newly-born life as a Christian, hungry for the morsels of the Word which would nourish me, and provide the energy that I need in my struggles in life. If I do not have quality time in the Word and with God, then I am malnourished and have a very hard battle when I enter my trials and times of tempting. If I had only spent time in the Word, I know I would have been so much stronger to put my trust and hope in the Lord to grow me, instead of leaning on my frail self, only to find that I crumble beneath my own weight as though from heat exhaustion. But, with the nourishment, I am given the strength to go through my trials with the right perspective and I am grown through it.<br />
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Off onto a bunny trail from my original thought to help my dear friend, I began to delve through Scripture to find verses to support my thoughts about the caterpillar journey. I found many verses that spoke on the subject of trials that I was amazed. I know, there are several verses on trials and testings and the growth of a Christian, but I hadn't really given it much thought, I guess is what I mean to say.<br />
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<div class="MsoNormal">The verses of Scripture were so much like water to my thirsty soul that I was up past midnight (I forgot to watch the clock and time slipped away...I only know that the tinge of morning was spreading along the horizon). I want to share what I found with you....<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><u>This is how I am to respond to my trials:</u> </div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>Romans 12:12</i> – “Rejoice in hope, be patient in tribulation, be constant in prayer.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>James 1:2</i> – “Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds, for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness. And let steadfastness have its full effect, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing.”</div><i>Hebrews 12:1-2</i> – “Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God.<br />
<i>Romans 12:1-2</i> – “I appeal to you therefore, brothers, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship. Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind, that by testing you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect.” <br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><i>James 1:12</i> – “Blessed is the man who remains steadfast under trial, for when he has stood the test he will receive the crown of life, which God has promised to those who love him.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
<u>What suffering does in the Christian's life: </u></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>Romans 5:3-5</i> – “More than that, we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><u>Transformation: A new creation: </u></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>2 Corinthians 5:17-21</i> – “Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold the new has come. All this is from God, who through Christ reconciled us to himself and gave us the ministry of reconciliation; that is, in Christ God was reconciling the world to himself, not counting their trespasses against them, and entrusting to us the message of reconciliation. Therefore, we are ambassadors for Christ, God making his appeal through us. We implore you on behalf of Christ, be reconciled to God. For our sake he made him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
<u>Transformation: Who I was before and my transformation into a new creation: </u></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>Ephesians 2:1-10</i> – “And you were dead in the trespasses and sins in which you once walked, following the course of this world, following the prince of the power of the air, the spirit that is now at work in the sons of disobedience –among whom we all once lived in the passions of our flesh, carrying out the desires of the body and the mind, and were by nature children of wrath, like the rest of mankind. But God, being rich in mercy, because of the great love with which he loved us, even when we were dead in our trespasses, made us alive together with Christ- by grace you have been saved- and raised up with him and seated us with him in the heavenly places in Christ Jesus, so that in the coming ages he might show the immeasurable riches of his grace in kindness toward us in Christ Jesus. For by grace you have been saved through faith. And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God, not a result of works, so that no one may boast. For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
<u>Transformation: This described me before and after Salvation: </u></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>Galatians 5:19-24</i> – “Now the works of the flesh are evident: sexual immorality, impurity, sensuality, idolatry, sorcery, enmity, strife, jealousy, fits of anger, rivalries, dissensions, divisions, envy, drunkenness, orgies, and things like these. I warn you, as I warned you before, that those who do such things will not inherit the kingdom of God. But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control; against such things there is no law. And those who belong to Christ Jesus have crucified the flesh with its passions and desires.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
<u>Transformation: Who I am now as a new creation: </u></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>Romans 8:15-17</i> – “For you did not receive the spirit of slavery to fall back into fear, but you have received the Spirit of adoption as sons, by whom we cry, “Abba! Father!” The Spirit himself bears witness with our spirit that we are children of God, and if children, then heirs – heirs of God and fellow heirs with Christ, provided we suffer with him in order that we may also be glorified with him.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>Ephesians 1:3-14</i> – “Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us in Christ with every spiritual blessing in the heavenly places, even as he chose us in him before the foundation of the world, that we should be holy and blameless before him. In love he predestined us for adoption as sons through Jesus Christ, according to the purpose of his will, to the praise of his glorious grace, with which he has blessed us in the Beloved. In him we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of our trespasses, according to the riches of his grace, which he lavished upon us, in all wisdom and insight making known to us the mystery of his will, according to his purpose which he set forth in Christ as a plan for the fullness of time, to unite all things in him, things in heaven and things on earth. In him we have obtained an inheritance, having been predestined according to the purpose of him who works all things according to the counsel of his will, so that we who were the first to hope in Christ might be to the praise of his glory. In him you also, when you heard the word of truth, the gospel of your salvation, and believed in him, were sealed with the promised Holy Spirit, who is the guarantee of our inheritance until we acquire possession of it, to the praise of his glory.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>Romans 8:28-30</i> – “And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose. For those whom he foreknew he also predestined to be conformed to the image of his Son, in order that he might be the firstborn among many brothers. And those whom he predestined he also called, and those whom he called he also justified, and those whom he justified he also glorified.” </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
<u>This changed how I viewed my trials: </u></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>2 Corinthians 1:3-7 </i>– “Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God. For as we share abundantly in Christ’s sufferings, so through Christ we share abundantly in comfort too. If we are afflicted, it is for your comfort and salvation; and if we are comforted, it is for your comfort, which you experience when you patiently endure the same sufferings that we suffer. Our hope for you is unshaken, for we know that as you share in our sufferings, you will also share in our comfort.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">Is it no wonder why trials are to be viewed, not only with joy, but as joy? Not only do trials transform the Christian more and more into something so much more beautiful - into the image of the Savior, but trials can be useful tools to come along side others and comfort them in their afflictions. Does this amaze you the way it amazes me? Wow. There is so much to digest here that I admit openly: I haven't barely begun to comprehend it totally. All I know and understand is that: No matter what, no matter when, or anything- Read the Word! Be immersed in it, constantly ready, meditating on what is good and true and right! Trials <i>will</i> come. In the Christian's life, those are the tools that God uses to grow His sheep, whom He loves. Strengthen each other, uphold each other. Trials are very good in the life of the Believer.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Now that I say this, I should explain that I know that trials are not simple and are often times very painful and humbling places. What I mean by calling trials "very good" is that they are often times the very thing that returns my focus back where it should be, and when looking through my hardships with the right perspective, I can turn and glorify God. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Lately I've had to remind myself that my unhealing sore is a beautiful gift in disguise. I must sound as though I am crazy, but I'm not. It has caused me to know what pain on a day to day basis feels like. It gave me a whole new perspective on those who are hurting, who are hindered by pain of some sort in their lives. I understand and relate, to a small fraction of a point, what they are going through. Would I ever know that miniscule understanding if I didn't have that hurtful sore? It has been the thorn that is good for me. Yes, a blessing in disguise in my life. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I am determined that through it, I will bring God glory. It too can be a big trial at times. I've seen doctors and foot specialists about the dime-sized sore on my foot pad. I've had surgery to have it scraped out, examined to find out what it is, and to destroy it. That attempt failed. I've froze it and scooped it and rubbed it raw and picked...anything to desperately remove it, but the pain is always dagger hot. Last year, I saw a foot doctor and was outfitted with a specially cast pair of inserts for my shoes. I discovered a small measurement of what it feels like to have overwhelming joy even through my pain. Aided by the new tools, I could walk without a limp, walk without fire....I'll never forget when I got home that day they arrived and were fitted to my feet. I was told to take it easy....well, I'd spent six years under the pain of that sore, and when I was able to move without pain, I looked at my front yard and.....I ran. I ran! For the first time in years, I was running without flames knawing at my flesh, so it seemed. It was an indescribable moment in my life where I knew I wasn't healed of my trouble, but yet, in that field, running and leaping about, I was shouting praises to God. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I do still feel a deal of pain, sometimes it makes me flush when I take a step. The doctors don't know for sure what the sore is. They said it looks like my body made it, as in some patients cases, this has happened before. I have been warned that it cannot be surgically removed or I will loose padding and with it the stability to walk. I cannot carve or burn it off - it doesn't do anything to it (its not a wart). Once a week, I must scrape off a callous that forms over it so it doesn't shoot pain up my leg. (That's when I hide myself away, saw at it, and sob.) </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I know that sore is there for a reason: It's a blessing. It is a way to understanding the pain of others that I may be ready to come alongside them and uplift them in their trial. Understanding is a beautiful gift. I don't want to complain about it, I praise God. I do pray a lot for endurance, some days it is very difficult. When I take off my shoes, I return to limping. Sometimes I've lost balance and stumbled. Like this evening, I removed my shoes and took a step forward, only to feel a race of heat that toppled me backwards into a wall, so that I slid down against some very rough objects and bench. I sat there for a moment and covered my face with my hands. "Oh God, help me." I said. "This is a gift. This is a gift, don't let me forget." I admit it: I tried to keep my composure, but I still cried. Lesson I've learned: It is okay to break down in tears. (This is one of the best time to pray, I've found.) There in those quiet moments of hurt, I have always found His comfort. And when I most need it. He is ALWAYS there. Always and at all times, forever with me. I pray that I will never forget or take that for granted. He is so awesome.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">You know what? I am not upset or afraid to carry this unhealing, painful sore my whole life. If it brings glory to God through its being there, I am very glad to bear it. Being it has been a trial that I have learned much through, I know it has been very good for me. I do not know if you will find my thoughts to be silly, but I could find no better example to show the beautiful treasure I have found. Also to encourage those who may be dealing with their own trials in life to discover the beauty hidden within the struggle. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The butterfly experiences begin with the Believer, a hungry appetite for the Word, and a great and awesome God. Be in the Word. The trials will come, they always do. Cling to the Word and you will find the nourishment you require. The trial will be the cocoon, and at the end of the struggle, you will emerge more of a reflection of the Savior. <i>That</i> is beautiful. </div><div class="MsoNormal"> </div><div class="MsoNormal">Until next time, God bless.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">(Credit for the butterfly research goes to:) </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><a href="http://www.butterflyschool.org/new/meta.html"><span style="font-size: 6pt;">http://www.butterflyschool.org/new/meta.html</span></a><span style="font-size: 6pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"> </div>StrongInHimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09642451472290489136noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2687423329314564537.post-66428128158397314832011-03-21T14:26:00.000-07:002011-03-21T14:26:01.449-07:00What I'm listening to now....Such a beautiful song!!http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jdtHwaNUZhoStrongInHimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09642451472290489136noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2687423329314564537.post-24445743560528731792011-03-20T01:10:00.000-07:002011-03-20T01:12:36.576-07:00My Cocoon, my struggle.It has been a while since my last written post. I have been keeping myself busy. Sometimes it is good that I am, but I also do need to free up my time for the more important things in life (quality time in the Word and with Him). It is a struggle I am sure that every brother and sister in Christ has. And so because I lean towards delaying and putting things off, I have forced myself into a relentless pursuit of precious time with my Saviour. Certainly, it has not been "a walk in the park" and has been difficult for me to change my bad habits, replacing them with these most excellent habits.<br />
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I've decided that I must begin going to bed earlier....although it seems the world around me directs a path that novelists/writers are night owls. I have decided that this must change for me (I do not mean it is the same for everyone else and they should decide for themselves really). This is my upcoming battle. My night-splurts of writing must become morning-bird splurts. I am determined as I am finding my night owl tendencies to be a hindrance to my morning time with Jesus, and I am sleepy because I've stayed awake past a good and decent hour. I know this needs to change for me...<br />
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My latest journey began in February. I'll first update where I've been, and then end with my musings of my latest journey. I have, as said in prior posts, been sent marvelous things in the mail via Grace2You. First with my ESV Study Bible (praise is due to God: He is most awesome, there is no denying this!!). Off of that, I began to consider and roll things over in my mind about how I should be spending quality time with my Saviour. I know how he waits for me, yet I made no outstanding effort to brush away things that didn't matter so much, so that I could make room for Him. Alas! Why had I done such a thing as to suppose those trinkets of things to do were oh so important that they couldn't be delayed, put off or stopped so I could spend good time with the one I adore?? *Facepalm.* I was sent a devotional book in the mail. As soon as I opened the package and the book slid into my palms, I convinced myself that this was it. I am going to make room for Him if that means everything must get wiped away first! I'll add them slowly back in again, if they truly matter! I began reading that little devotional book every day. It seemed every page dealt just so with my struggles. I could only feel amazement. (This was not man's doing, no, not G2Y's doing, this was God's handiwork, working through G2Y. They do not know currently that they are tools God is using in my life to change me in a metamorphosis process. I am considering writing them to tell them what they have unknowingly done, all to the glory of God). <br />
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Sadly, I did not wipe away every one of my prior trinkets that took my time up (This does not include work. I am talking about the small things I do at home: watch tv, read, craft...time-takers). I did want to know God more though. It was an uphill battle. My attention drew to my friend's blog and he had posted a reading program to assist in helping one get through the Bible. I did not hesitate but dove into it, longing for transformation. I was mad at me for my sinful actions, for the creation of idols in the form of time-takers that took His beloved place....oh I am ashamed for it! The loss of that quality time I only wish I could retrieve and use it rightly as I should have done at first! >_<<br />
I was sent a cd sermon in the mail. It was on the attributes of God...and it spoke about idols in one's life. The pastor should have addressed me by name, it seemed so pointed to me. It broke my heart because I realized I did have such idols in my life. Trinkets of time that used up precious time that should have been spent on quality time with Him. "If you spend more time thinking about other things in your life, dwelling on them, rolling them over and over and over in your mind, that's meditating on them. If you do that, that, Christian, is called an idol. Anything that has a larger place, a more prominent place in your life, other than that of Christ Jesus, that is an idol. And it needs to go." -This has not ceased to echo in my mind, constantly coming back to me. You see, like a dog returns to its throw-up, I keep (irritatingly enough!) returning to the idol I continually cast away from me.<br />
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I decided to tell my best friend Hannah about my struggle and how I sent away the object that had entangled me so blindly. She was encouraged by my struggle and went home and went through her bookshelf, clearing out the sinful content from her home....and then she texted me, telling me of her grand victory in her life and thanking me, her inspiration to fight the battle. I remember looking up, as I was sitting on my couch, drawing my attention to my own bookshelf. Anger raced into me so fast that I stood up and marched over to those shelves. I felt such the hypocrite! I had destroyed my ties with one sinful object, but had I even glanced at the content I was storing on my shelves? I had not! <i>"Do you not see that whatever goes into the mouth passes into the stomach and is expelled? But what comes out of the mouth proceeds from the heart, and this defiles a person." (Matthew 15:17-18.) What am I filling myself with? I thought.</i> I saw what I was filling my mind with and I loathed it, hating it in my heart. I tore them from the shelf and searched for any I had missed. It took me the rest of the day to clean up my mess, but I felt better. I had purged my bookcase and I was victorious in that battle!<br />
<br />
I began setting my alarm for 7am each morning, trying to change my wake up time from it's late 9am rising to a time that would give me the space needed to spend good time with my Beloved. For days, for weeks, I found myself swatting off my alarm and waking up later only to realize it was 9am or later and I had failed! It was a horrible experience and I hated that I was failing. I began to hit and miss. Waking some days to succeed, other days to fall back to sleep, and others where I would be awake and blink to find my cheek against the open Scripture passage I'd been reading -I'd dozed off. I began to feel annoyed with me. <i>Just how important is God in my life?</i> I began asking myself. I tore out another idol from my life and cast it aside. I wanted to make room for Him. I desired to have that sweet time in the morning, just Him and I. I realized, pondering in the break room on my lunch break, why I wasn't succeeding. Wasn't I using my own strength? Well, there's where I was failing. I wasn't considering asking for help, was I? No. So, I did. It was rather humbling...and I felt horrible about my failed attempts. It is good that He already knew about those days, and it was good that He was right there, listening. I got up the next morning, slapped off my alarm...and fell asleep. I jolted awake at 6am realizing I had to be at work at 5am. I grumbled the whole drive to work because I sooo badly wanted to turn around and get in my time in the Word. I could think of nothing else the whole day, I was so hungry for it. I got off work and the first thing I did when I got home was bolt up the stairs, grab my Bible and read. The next day and so on, I started the routine. I am excited because as of now, I've read 8 books of the Bible!!! I don't know about you, but from nothing-to-two verses or so, to 8 books, that is an astonishing leap in the right direction!!<br />
<br />
My life has changed dramatically since my (don't do this!) deal with God. "If You get rid of this sin issue in me, I'll go buy a study Bible." -I remember the words I prayed. Thankfully, God is a God who hears, even when I say things like that. What authority have I to be the one making the deal?? I owe my life to Him! I am His slave. He is working on my heart. I am battling my flesh with His strength. I know my sin has no strength due to the power of my most awesome Master. It will need to fall, but first, I must begin to let go of it. How I battle my sin. The more of it I see in me, the more I despise it, the more I despise it, the more I want to be rid of it! The more I want to be rid of it, the more I cry out to Him to deliver me from it and the more I battle it. The more I battle it, the more of it I discover in me and it circles! My flesh constantly irritates me as it is sinful to its core, sinful since the day of my birth, and sinful until I die. I know though, that I can stand, I can walk in victory because I was rescued from my sins, my life was purchased by the blood of the Spotless Lamb who paid my well-deserved penalty for me. Because of this, when God looks upon me, He sees His son's atonement and when He sees me, it is as though I have never sinned. Oh what a concept! Too great for my mind to fathom its awesome depths!<br />
<br />
I began longing to serve Him. Something. I wanted to do anything that would serve Him. I was yet again sent something by G2Y. A cd sermon about the Christian perspective on work. I am waiting and eager to inhale what is said. Yet, what was said to me on the letter was all that needed to be said to me, I believe, for that time. I began treating my workplace as the place of my service to Him. Do you know, I have never thought of my work as anything more than a blessing in my life from God? I never envisioned it to be the place that I serve Him through. Yet, that is exactly what it is!! I cannot believe how that small letter has dramatically shifted my train of thought as to working. I am beginning to view it as something I get to do, something I get to do for Him. It makes me excited, pleased that I can do not just something, but something that I know how to do. There could not have been a more perfect match....and I never would have considered it. I'm excited to serve Him in this way. I only hope and pray that I am refined and made more efficient for His service.<br />
<br />
<br />
I've decided to post these two February musings. Perhaps they will give you encouragement in your Walk. (One of them has portions of the letter I spoke of just a little bit ago).<br />
<br />
February 19th, 2011:<br />
1.) Amazement: "So here I am, wondering what to write about. Sounds silly, I know, for just last night I was rambling on and on about things. Yet, it is what it is I guess.<br />
Lets start with the most prominent thought as that seems to work best. Yes, so then, here we go...<br />
<br />
Been thinking a lot about what I'm to be doing. I mean, really DOING (going out and or making some sort of motion of being active) in my Walk. I'm so unsure that I just don't know. I don't feel inactive for the reason that people have told me that I am affecting their lives, so I must be active or a ripple affect wouldn't be possible. Its hard for me, I guess is what I am trying to say. Yes, hard for me to know where my place is. Those around me are planning their lives, they know what they want and they are striving for that goal. When I try to plan my life, it's like its an empty space on a page and I don't know what I'm supposed to put in that blank spot. I know that I am supposed to be where I am, and doing what I'm doing, but I keep thinking that I need to be doing something...I dunno...something more. Something helpful, something useful, something to reach out. But what? But what? That is the question, and I want badly to have an answer to it. <br />
I keep entertaining the notion that I have already answered this question and its answer is: <i>I don't need to know what I'm going to be "when I grow up." My life is not to be compared to my friends' lives; it is not right to do that. Right now, it is only imperative that I keep my eyes on God and keep walking rightly with Him. I should not worry about "what tomorrow brings." My future purpose will be revealed in due time</i>. I wish most strongly that I would just accept that, but I find it a difficult pill to swallow. Especially when asked, "Are you going to return to college? What are you planning on studying?" I tell them I don't know........ I am doing the only thing I know how to do: Continually asking (pleading is a more correct term) for God to bestow His wisdom on me.<br />
<br />
I received a letter in the mail today, telling me that a sermon cd is being sent my way called "God's Perspective on the Christian and Work." I am curious and more than eager to listen to it as words leapt off the page at me...."<i>Let me encourage you - there is no division between sacred and secular in the lives of believers. Knowing and loving the Lord sanctifies even the mundane aspects of our lives and brings an eternal purpose to bear on everything we do. So no matter what our day-to-day jobs are, we're all called to live lives of full-time ministry. Your opportunities to serve the Lord and His people don't end when you exit the doors of your church. Whether you're a doctor, a grocery clerk, a truck driver, a flight attendant, a teacher, a police officer, a professional athlete, or a day laborer, your workplace is your mission field. At work you're more than an employee - you're an ambassador for God's truth. You're not just there to punch a clock, perform a task, and receive a wage. There is an eternal purpose in your work. Your job is the vehicle the Lord has chosen to bring you into contact with people who need to hear and believe His Word. That's not an invitation too shirk your work duties in favor of non-stop preaching to your co-workers - that kind of behavior is a poor testimony (and would likely lead to unemployment). Do your job, and do it well. Be a conscientious steward of the time your employer pays you for. But remember each day to look for opportunities and fresh ways to declare God's truth to your co-workers. They are watching and listening, and your example and your words can have an eternal impact in their lives. In fact, when it comes to reaching spiritually lost men and women, you probably have an advantage over your pastor. While he spends the majority of his time working and meeting with other Christians, you're face to face with nonbelievers on a daily basis. Its not a coincidence that you're surrounded every day by people who need to hear the truth of Scripture. The Lord has put you into a unique, specific position to reach the lives around you with the gospel. From heaven's perspective, your "secular" job has vast, eternal consequences.....Indeed for the Christian, there is no such thing as "just a job."....ps: Your attitude and performance at work is one of the strongest testimonies you have. I want to help you find greater joy, meaning, direction, and eternal purpose in the day-to-day work to which God has called you.'"</i> And I was left sitting with amazement in my car, in my driveway, the windshield wipers swishing back and forth at flakes of snow. <br />
I almost texted my friends to tell them what this letter just did to my train of thoughts and my perspective but I thought that they would think...I dunno what...that I was silly, strange, crazy or something like that. This is the fifth time in a row that what Grace2You has sent me has impacted my life: ESV Study Bible, Daily Devotional (bk), "Attributes of God" (cd sermon), "Slave: Conforming your will to the will of God" (bk), and "God's perspective on the Christian and Work" (cd sermon). <br />
<br />
I do not know what say other than what is happening here is transforming me. I feel like I am fighting against the tightening shell of an old skin, struggling, squirming about, wiggling as hard as I can. I am fighting myself to grasp onto what is good and true and wise. It is a concept far too deep for even me to fathom. Every time I consider what is happening to me, I get into this state of amazement and awe about God. Why? Because all I've ever done is to cruise and relax into sins that I never should have taken pleasure in! And I was awoken to battle. Awoken by God. All of this has been His doing, not my own. Had I been left to myself, I would have stumbled farther into darkness, as is my natural habit to do. But no! His hand upheld me when I stumbled and He did not let me fall, but placed my feet back on solid ground and placing a magnificent Sword in my hands. I was again charged to don my Armor each morning for preparation of the day and then to go and proclaim what is True. I cannot help but know that I'm not going to remain the same. Why does this make me shiver from head to toe? Excitement? Anticipation? ...yes, yes it must be that. The more people see the reflection of Him through me and not see me, the better it is."<br />
<br />
2.) Ray of Sunshine: "Where do I begin? I guess the biggest news first: Today was my best friend Sonia's wedding. I spent a bit of time this morning in hopes to catch her on the phone but she was very busy. Succeeded in texting her twice, wishing her the best and giving advice n whatnot (such as: "remember to breathe...", "Enjoy every second because you'll blink and the day'll be over", and "pay no attention to fluttery butterflies!" :P) I do wish that I had been able to scrape up the finances to be able to afford such a spendy trip, but I couldn't. Although I had the money for the flight, I did not have money for anything else (food, shelter, vehicle, gas....and bills when I returned home....yeahh...all those bills had to be considered in the equation as well, the hungry little monsters!!! :P). So we texted each other with "I love you's" and "hugs" and I spent the rest of the day thinking about her and her wedding. <br />
<br />
It wouldn't be gone from my mind that childhood memory of us two sitting on the bed, chatting late at night in whispery voices, daydreaming of prince charmings and pinky-promising to be at each other's weddings. Slowly, today, I learnt that some childhood promises can break, and like this one, they really hurt deep deep down. Kind of like the acid when one eats too much greasy foods and it tries to come back up, but you're trying to smile and keep it swallowed so that no one notices you are hurting. I suppose I did a good job, cause every one thought I was in a very pleasant mood today. And I wanted to be very happy! I wasn't attempting to lie. I wanted to be happy because I knew that today was the happiest day of my bff's life. I was and still am incredibly happy for her. I am only sad and hurt because I could not go and celebrate with her. I am resolved that I will not let this eat me. Tonight, I will place this in Jesus' hands and let Him take it. I know full well that once I do that, my sleeping will be restful and tomorrow will be brighter. He loves it most when I talk to Him and ask for His help. He doesn't want me to walk through my trials alone, He wants to be right there with me. <br />
.......(Later that day) I was busily attending to my customer's needs, making her order of two 16 ounce chai teas, heated to 160. She was such a dear hearted lady, with quite a merry laugh that ended with chuckles. A deep sort that just made my day by hearing it. Well, of course I happily obliged to fill her order, and before I knew it, we were chatting about teas and our favorites and the cold day and how pleasant and nice a treat hot tea was. I could smell the warm aroma of sweet chai as I steamed it, "Ahh, it's such a relaxing smell." "I agree!" She said, counting out her coins for the purchase. Then she paused, leaned forward over the counter, "I know you can't accept tips, honey, but I'd like to buy you a chai tea. Would you like that?" I smiled and nodded before I could think about it, and then said, "Oh no, you don't have to do that. Its...its oka..." "Done then. Add it on...go on now. Its on me." She waved her hand at me to hurry and add it to her order. (I blushed because she told me my face was a very pretty shade of pink. Why do I blush? Why do they always notice so easily? I dunno.) I did as I was bade, choosing a 12 ounce chai, heating it to 180 (cause I was working, so it'd need to stay hot longer). "Thank you." I whispered, "You don't know what this means to me, but thank you." (I'm such a tearful person! gahhh!! *Swats at tears*) She wagged her finger, "You know, you looked like you really wanted one. I was right. You have that chai and enjoy it." I felt like stepping around the counter and hugging this lady whom I'd never seen in my life, this ray of sunshine. "Thank you. Thank you." I repeated, chastising myself mentally for not knowing anything else off the top of my brain to tell her other than "thank you, thank you." which I'd only told her four times already. :P Anyhow, it was a precious part of my day. It got me considering something grand: how am I doing in the area of generosity and kindness? Am I being to others the ray of sunshine as that woman had just been to me? In what ways could I improve?"<br />
<br />
<br />
And this is my cocoon, my struggle. I praise God for my trials and times of struggles, these battles....they are drawing me ever nearer to Him. That is what I want, that is what I desire. Paul Washer said it well when he said that the most obedient Christian is the Christian who has realized they have been the most disobedient. This, I believe, is who I am...disobedient and I know it well. Nothing I can do on my own can change it. Praise God for He is rich in mercy and forgave my sins! I am His slave and I am grateful.<br />
I hope this brings my brothers and sisters in Christ encouragement that they are not fighting battles alone. Please always remember that God is not just beside you, He is within you, working through you, refining you as gold by purging the dross from your life...As you can see, He is doing currently in me. Remember that He who has done a good work in you is faithful to complete it. So exciting!!!<br />
<br />
May you turn to Him always and your gaze be ever fixed upon Him. That, truly, is all that really matters. :)<br />
God bless and good night.StrongInHimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09642451472290489136noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2687423329314564537.post-65717227843250422302011-03-19T22:50:00.000-07:002011-03-19T22:50:16.149-07:00"It is no longer I who live but Christ who lives in me." I am His slave!http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nx3ColYGNMMStrongInHimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09642451472290489136noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2687423329314564537.post-8157953238616297552011-03-19T21:27:00.000-07:002011-03-19T21:27:29.749-07:00This is most excellent!! Listen to this!!!<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_RRrs3Ox5lQ&feature=related">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_RRrs3Ox5lQ&feature=related</a>StrongInHimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09642451472290489136noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2687423329314564537.post-36502473253679348852011-03-03T11:33:00.000-08:002011-03-03T11:33:38.012-08:00Poem: A Heart-Song to Sing<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:DoNotOptimizeForBrowser/> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--> <br />
<div class="MsoNormal">Down by the meadow brook</div><div class="MsoNormal">Sitting beside that flowing water, sit I.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Within my hands are the pages of a special book,</div><div class="MsoNormal">As I read, I let my heart-song fly.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">All of creation around me testifies </div><div class="MsoNormal">Of the greatness of this written word.</div><div class="MsoNormal">The Bible which I read tells me Jesus sanctifies. </div><div class="MsoNormal">I feel a song arise in me, sweetly sung as like a bird.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The early morning daylight sweeps through</div><div class="MsoNormal">As the young doe quenches her thirst beyond the bushes hedge.</div><div class="MsoNormal">The sky is revealed with a clear and breathless blue.</div><div class="MsoNormal">I, like the doe, have come to the water’s edge.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Here in this moment, meditating, I want to be,</div><div class="MsoNormal">Along side the refreshing stream,</div><div class="MsoNormal">Just my Savior and me,</div><div class="MsoNormal">Here in the morning’s new light, with the sunlight’s soft beam.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Gazing in quiet meditation, I’m grateful for everything.</div><div class="MsoNormal">The sunrise, the new day, the birdsong, the breeze.</div><div class="MsoNormal">The bird, the trees, the fresh mountain water softly streaming.</div><div class="MsoNormal">I’ve written a heart-song to sing, for His pleasure to please.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">A song written in pictures to my Savior, my King,</div><div class="MsoNormal">Who spoke to the waves and calmed them, be still.</div><div class="MsoNormal">A song for my Master, who has given me everything.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Peace and joy, forgiveness and freedom, and yet I have free will.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Choose as I may, I’m not always correct.</div><div class="MsoNormal">I stumble and fail, crying out to Him and still He is there, </div><div class="MsoNormal">My hand to catch, after I have fallen in a sinful act.</div><div class="MsoNormal">He knows my name and my each and every care.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I do not know a better master, a better king, or a better friend.</div><div class="MsoNormal">God who became flesh, to rescue the sheep, who from the way had turned aside,</div><div class="MsoNormal">So I could spend forever with Him without time or end.</div><div class="MsoNormal">He died for my sin so I could be reconciled and to Him all my personal thoughts I can confide.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">He gave me His word, teaching me, training me up</div><div class="MsoNormal">And to learning, growing, deepening my relationship with Him, I’m forever committed to being.</div><div class="MsoNormal">So many beautiful names for one who chose to drink what was meant for me, God’s wrath in that bitter cup.</div><div class="MsoNormal">My Master, my Helper, my Savior, my Friend, my King.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Beautiful Jesus, here I do sit,</div><div class="MsoNormal">With you here with me, in this quiet place.</div><div class="MsoNormal">I know my day will begin in just a short bit.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Your creation is awesome, oh Jesus, look at the fine diamond dewdrops upon the spider’s lace!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">All the flowers in the meadow, dancing softly in the wind,</div><div class="MsoNormal">Each one you have dressed with colorful and dazzling gowns.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Even my stained rags, you’ve taken away I’ve found.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Dressed me in white and called me beautiful, your treasure; my joy abounds.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I love my King, my heart-song sings,</div><div class="MsoNormal">A joyful tune that cannot be sung out loud for the words would be lost,</div><div class="MsoNormal">For to my eyes, deep tears abound, for the chorus rings, </div><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt;">The awesome majesty of the King who paid my cost.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><i>(copyright: 5-19-2009) </i></span></span>StrongInHimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09642451472290489136noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2687423329314564537.post-56114039697968461782011-03-03T11:08:00.000-08:002011-03-03T11:14:39.399-08:00An entry from February 27, 2011: Deep MusingsSo here I am, wondering what to write about. Sounds silly, I know, for just last night I was rambling on and on about things. Yet, it is what it is I guess.<br />
Lets start with the most prominent thought as that seems to work best. Yes, so then, here we go...<br />
<br />
Been thinking a lot about what I'm to be doing. I mean, really DOING (going out and or making some sort of motion of being active) in my Walk. I'm so unsure that I just don't know. I don't feel inactive for the reason that people have told me that I am affecting their lives, so I must be active or a ripple affect wouldn't be possible. Its hard for me, I guess is what I am trying to say. Yes, hard for me to know where my place is. Those around me are planning their lives, they know what they want and they are striving for that goal. When I try to plan my life, it's like its an empty space on a page and I don't know what I'm supposed to put in that blank spot. I know that I am supposed to be where I am, and doing what I'm doing, but I keep thinking that I need to be doing something...I dunno...something more. Something helpful, something useful, something to reach out. But what? But what? That is the question, and I want badly to have an answer to it. <br />
I keep entertaining the notion that I have already answered this question and its answer is: <i>I don't need to know what I'm going to be "when I grow up." My life is not to be compared to my friends' lives; it is not right to do that. Right now, it is only imperative that I keep my eyes on God and keep walking rightly with Him. I should not worry about "what tomorrow brings." My future purpose will be revealed in due time</i>. I wish most strongly that I would just accept that, but I find it a difficult pill to swallow. Especially when asked, "Are you going to return to college? What are you planning on studying?" I tell them I don't know. The more I tell people I want to get majors in English and Photography, the less convinced I am that I really do want to obtain that end. What purpose would they have to me once I had achieved them? Of what use in my life would they be? A slip of paper to frame? I do not desire learned knowledge to become dusty like that. Not when investing money in learning. It needs to do something of good use for me. I'm beginning to have the impression that I may not step foot in college again. Almost like I am stretching out my hands for it, but it is going one way and I am going the other. I am doing the only thing I know how to do: Continually asking (pleading is more like it) for God to bestow His wisdom on me. <br />
<br />
I received a letter in the mail today, telling me that a sermon cd is being sent my way called "God's Perspective on the Christian and Work." I am curious and more than eager to listen to it as words leapt off the page at me....<br />
"<i>Let me encourage you - there is no division between sacred and secular in the lives of believers. Knowing and loving the Lord sanctifies even the mundane aspects of our lives and brings an eternal purpose to bear on everything we do. So no matter what our day-to-day jobs are, we're all called to live lives of full-time ministry. Your opportunities to serve the Lord and His people don't end when you exit the doors of your church. Whether you're a doctor, a grocery clerk, a truck driver, a flight attendant, a teacher, a police officer, a professional athlete, or a day laborer, your workplace is your mission field. At work you're more than an employee - you're an ambassador for God's truth. You're not just there to punch a clock, perform a task, and receive a wage. There is an eternal purpose in your work. Your job is the vehicle the Lord has chosen to bring you into contact with people who need to hear and believe His Word. That's not an invitation too shirk your work duties in favor of non-stop preaching to your co-workers - that kind of behavior is a poor testimony (and would likely lead to unemployment). Do your job, and do it well. Be a conscientious steward of the time your employer pays you for. But remember each day to look for opportunities and fresh ways to declare God's truth to your co-workers. They are watching and listening, and your example and your words can have an eternal impact in their lives. In fact, when it comes to reaching spiritually lost men and women, you probably have an advantage over your pastor. While he spends the majority of his time working and meeting with other Christians, you're face to face with nonbelievers on a daily basis. Its not a coincidence that you're surrounded every day by people who need to hear the truth of Scripture. The Lord has put you into a unique, specific position to reach the lives around you with the gospel. From heaven's perspective, your "secular" job has vast, eternal consequences.....Indeed for the Christian, there is no such thing as "just a job."....ps: Your attitude and performance at work is one of the strongest testimonies you have. I want to help you find greater joy, meaning, direction, and eternal purpose in the day-to-day work to which God has called you."</i> ...And I was left sitting with amazement in my car, in my driveway, the windshield wipers swishing back and forth at flakes of snow. <br />
I almost texted my friends to tell them what this letter just did to my train of thoughts and my perspective but I thought that they would think...I dunno what...that I was silly, strange, crazy or something like that. This is the fifth time in a row that what Grace2You has sent me has impacted my life: ESV Study Bible, Daily Devotional (bk), "Attributes of God" (cd sermon), "Slave: Conforming your life to the will of God" (bk), and "God's perspective on the Christian and Work" (cd sermon). <br />
<br />
I do not know what say other than what is happening here is transforming me. I feel like I am fighting against the tightening shell of an old skin, struggling, squirming about, wiggling as hard as I can. I am fighting myself to grasp onto what is good and true and wise. It is a concept far too deep for even me to fathom. Every time I consider what is happening to me, I get into this state of amazement and awe about God. Why? Because all I've ever done is to cruise and relax into sins that I never should have taken pleasure in! And I was awoken to battle. Awoken by God. All of this has been His doing, not my own. Had I been left to myself, I would have stumbled farther into darkness, as is my natural habit to do. But no! His hand upheld me when I stumbled and He did not let me fall, but placed my feet back on solid ground and placing a magnificent Sword in my hands. I was again charged to don my Armor each morning for preparation of the day and then to go and proclaim what is True. I cannot help but know that I'm not going to remain the same. Why does this make me shiver from head to toe? Excitement? Anticipation? ...yes, yes it must be that. The more people see the reflection of Him through me and not see me, the better it is.StrongInHimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09642451472290489136noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2687423329314564537.post-15345002337831586822011-01-27T10:54:00.000-08:002011-01-27T10:57:19.627-08:00What I'm listening to now..."Flower in the rain," by Jaci Velasquez <br />
<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_ac5dz8azW4&feature=fvsr">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_ac5dz8azW4&feature=fvsr</a>StrongInHimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09642451472290489136noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2687423329314564537.post-82642490251551953192011-01-27T09:55:00.000-08:002011-01-27T09:55:07.780-08:00A Battle Front: Conquering Excuse-itis.Excuses are so simple to make. They're easier than doing whatever it is that the excuse is being made for. Yet, nothing results from excuses that's beneficial in the long run. Perhaps short-term, but nothing long lasting. Nothing ever seems to get completed. The accomplishments are not there because an excuse or more (I don't know about you, but my excuses come in pairs) has hindered or stopped me from doing whatever it was that should have been done. <br />
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Why do I am I pondering excuses? Well, lately I've been thinking a lot about my excuse-itis. It's really been attacking my time. Excuses, I've realized, aren't friends. They are certainly enemies. Especially when I use them to get out of doing important things. The prime example of my excuse-itis at work is my time alone with God. "Its hard for me to sit still, I'm a workaholic" or "I just got overwhelmed with things to do" are two of the top excuses I use. You see, the problem isn't in the words I used. The words are certainly true: I am a workaholic and because of that it has always been difficult for me to sit still. And yes, I did get overwhelmed with things to do. But questions must arise from that: When you truly love someone, how much time do you dedicate to them to show that person that you care for them? Were those things so important to do or could they have slid off to the side to make room for the far more important things? While spoken words like "I love you" and other caring words that you bestow on your loved one are meaningful and good, unspoken actions go deeper. Showing them that you love them takes the relationship past the tongue to the depths of the heart.<br />
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Last night, I was very sleepy, worn out from a hard day at work. I couldn't help but notice my Dad's work clothes and thermal attire in the laundry pile last night. They really needed a good washing up, so that in the morning, he could wear warm clean clothes. I set aside my personal wants and did a "s.h.m.i.l.y." (see how much I love you) act. I didn't have to, I certainly wasn't obligated to do that, but did it because I love my Dad. In the same light, my relationship with God should be treated with as much (and more) love as I bestow on my loved ones. Much to much of my time gets consumed by things of the simple sort: tv, reading a book, relaxing, just to name a few. Those things can certainly slide off to the side to do at a later time. My time with God is important for uncountable reasons. The most important reason is that it attests to the fact that I love Him. When I spend time with Him, it becomes obvious that I'm not just saying I love Him - I mean what I say because I'm making room for Him in my life to spend quality time with Him. Do you struggle with this issue as well?<br />
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We are in a spiritual battle. We need to be looking to the Commander for instruction and guidance. The first thing I should be doing (yes, even before grabbing that famous cup or two of coffee) is to go before the Lord in prayer and ask Him to guide my steps and provide me with His strength so that I am not walking in the flesh, but according to His will and for His glory. That is far better, I think, than anything and everything else. The next thing I should be doing is to pick up my Bible from it's place on the nightstand and do my daily devotional with Him. This sharpens my sword, preparing it for good use. It is important for the Christian to be at the ready. To defeat my excuse-itis will not be easy and I'm sure I'll stumble around a bit, but I know that just so long as I keep my eyes focused on the Lord, eventually, it will be defeated and I will establish a healthy routine of picking up the Word, donning my armor, and conversing with Him. To me, it is a critical matter. This is day one of my challenging battle. After a brief struggling in the mind, I spent time with my beloved Savior. Excuse-itis can do nothing today in that area but hope that tomorrow, I will cave in to it's busy-cry. With God's strength, I will shut out it's noise and focus on Him, the one who matters the most in my life. I desire nothing less than to show Him that I truly love Him above all else.<br />
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I hope my struggling and want to overcome this enemy brings you encouragement, and will cheer you on in your own walk to tackle the excuses that seek to hinder your relationship with Him.<br />
God bless.StrongInHimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09642451472290489136noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2687423329314564537.post-40958136818230013852011-01-16T16:58:00.000-08:002011-01-16T16:58:12.942-08:00Song by Josh Wilson: "I Refuse."<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BbH0IWZL05s">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BbH0IWZL05s</a><br />
I heard this song via my friend, Maize's presentation of her 3 month trip to Israel. The lyrics of this song touched me and I felt like standing up, hands over my heart with my eyes closed, singing with it. I strongly agree with the song. This is how a Christian should be. Yes, this is how I need to be! I must stop being complacent and comfortable. I should care, and not only just care, but <i>do something</i> about it. How much do I care for the state of the lost? the poor? the helpless? the weary? the suffering? What am I doing to show that I care?<br />
Something to ponder deeply: What am I doing to shine God's light in this present dark world?StrongInHimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09642451472290489136noreply@blogger.com0