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. :)
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. 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. 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.
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
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. ;) “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.
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 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.
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.
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.
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
On that note,
I’m sure you are curious on how am I doing?
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”
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.
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. 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.)
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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!
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 1st 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.
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.
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! 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.
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.” 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.
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. :)
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. 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!
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.
6-6-13: Today:
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
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. :)
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.
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! :)
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.”
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.
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.
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.
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).
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!).
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.
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?”
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!
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.
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!
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. 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.
