A Love Story

Think for a minute about the greatest love story you can imagine.  Movies have shown us amazing romances, with gifts, fancy nights out, perfect words whispered in the perfect tone of voice.  The books I read in junior high always had the man so in love that he couldn't even notice another woman, his words were always smooth and the sex was magical (yep sex books in junior high).  


One of my favorite love stories though, didn't happen in a book or a movie.  It didn't even happen in a romantic setting.  I witnessed it in white hallways filled with the smell of urine, confused elderly people and grumpy nursing assistants.  The summer I worked as a CNA (certified nursing assistant) was eye opening.  I imagined that the people who worked at the nursing home were there because they wanted to serve someone.   And some of them were, so sweet and respectful to the people we cared for; taking the extra time to make sure they had everything they needed, taking the time to listen.  I didn't know that people who didn't care about the little old people would apply for and get a job like that.  So I was shocked when I saw CNA's who were disrespectful, didn't care or were even mean to the people we were supposed to care for.  Often it was just neglect; hair left unbrushed, faces unwashed.  But their was one woman who lived at the home who was always well cared for.  I remember the first morning she was assigned to my care.  One of the more seasoned CNA's said I wasn't ready to take care of her, she would do her care with me so that I would learn to do it right.  She said it wasn't that I wasn't doing a good job but this woman was special.  So we went through the routine.  Everything had to be just perfect.  The right pillows in the right places, her hair brushed just so, her clothes arranged just right.  This woman couldn't do anything for herself, and she couldn't complain if things weren't done just right.  As we went about our routine the other CNA said "her husband will be here in about an hour.  Everything needs to be perfect by then."  


I think I was expecting a tyrant, but I recognized the man when he came because I had seen him every day I had worked so far.  He was just a regular older man, soft spoken.  He came every day and stayed by her side.  He fed her, brushed her long hair and styled it.  He would sit by her chair, his face close to hers and smile into her eyes as he talked to her.  He would touch her face tenderly--his love for his wife was obvious.  He was also fiercely protective.  The soft spoken man disappeared if he arrived to find she hadn't been cared for like she was supposed to be.  He was her voice, her advocate, her defender.   It was almost puzzling, the way he loved her.  She couldn't give him anything anymore.  She couldn't return his tender caress, his words of love.  She couldn't serve him in any way.   


Ephesians 5:25-28 says "Husbands, go all out in your love for your wives, exactly as Christ did for the church—a love marked by giving, not getting. Christ's love makes the church whole. His words evoke her beauty. Everything he does and says is designed to bring the best out of her, dressing her in dazzling white silk, radiant with holiness. And that is how husbands ought to love their wives. They're really doing themselves a favor—since they're already "one" in marriage." (message)  

I don't know if the man was following scripture or just doing what naturally came out of the love he had for his wife.  But I know it impressed me.  And then I forgot about it.  I was 20, independent,  full of plans for an amazing future.  My (future) husband was going to love me but he wasn't going to need to take care of me.  But 24 years later this older man keeps coming to my mind.  I really think the Holy Spirit keeps reminding me of him.  My awesome plans for my future haven't exactly turned out like I thought they would.  And the independence I cherished has faded down to a low point lately as my health problems have brought on symptoms that make me depend on others more than I really ever wanted to.  I never looked at this old couple's relationship and thought "I want that."  


I'm not big on public affection either.  I cringe when I see friends on facebook talking about how awesome their significant other is.  I always think, "just tell them!  Why are you telling all of us?" (and for everyone I just offended, truly it's not you--it's me.  Keep it up if it makes you happy because it truly is my issue.)  For some reason I'm not different than I was back in highschool when I was still 16 and didn't want my friends to know that I really liked Rick Knowles.   But I am going to make myself (and maybe anyone like me) sick for a minute and publicly proclaim that I really like the man that I married.  


Because I can see now that Rick really does love me like that old man loved his wife in the nursing home.  Lately I don't carry my weight around the house, Rick works all day and then comes home and cooks.  He takes me to the doctor, he takes me to the grocery store, he rubs my head and my back, he researches doctors and treatments online and most importantly he prays for me, with me, and tells me over and over that he would pick me again EVEN IF he knew all of the challenges my health would bring into our lives.    He's thankful to have me in his life in whatever state I happen to be in.   When we first started dating I wanted this exotic romance that would take us on adventures around the world. I wanted flowers and diamonds and fancy restaurants.  Instead I see now that those things make great stories and they're probably fun but they're not really what true love is about.   True love is about being there, it's about laying down your own life for someone else.  For better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health. And that's what Rick does.  So next time you see him, tell him that he's a really nice (older) man and that you really respect and admire the way he loves his wife.  

Where's My Concern?

An old friend of mine posted a heartbreaking video on bullying this week on facebook.  And in the comments one of his friends remarked about how different high school would have been if we could have all just been ourselves.   The post and conversations got me thinking about bullying and the pain of high school.  Not so much reflecting on my own experience but more about reflecting on my cluelessness. 

I think I’m clueless because I don’t have any memories of my friend being bullied.  All I remember is that he was such a nice guy.  I remember that he wasn’t ever mean to me.  I remember liking him so much and I just assumed everyone felt the same way.  And I think that’s why there’s so much pain when you’re bullied.  It’s usually completely undeserved.   You’re just a person who doesn't fit the mold in some way and that makes you a target.  For me, it was that I was tall and skinny and got good grades.  (Or maybe it was because I was a nerd and didn’t know it—ha-ha)  The other thing that I thought about was that part of what was so painful about not fitting in and being picked on is that it always seems like everyone is in on it but you.  Everyone else is cool, everyone feels the way the bully feels about you.  My cluelessness shows that this isn’t always the case.  It makes me think that there were lots of times when I felt like everyone was in on some meanness when in reality most of the school was completely unaware of the target on my back. 

Another friend posted the other day about her son being bullied.  Kids are stealing his things, hiding his school supplies.  Who knows why he’s the target.  And the emphasis was on teaching our children to be kind.  But teaching kindness isn’t enough.   We can teach kindness until we’re blue in the face but without the ability to empathize, it falls on deaf ears.  This takes me back to my cluelessness and the grief I feel about that.    I feel like I’m a pretty empathetic person and this shows that I completely missed some big clues.  So if empathy isn’t the key, and kindness isn't the key, what is?  I don’t have a simple answer.  I remember the pain of my daughter being excluded from a clique for the first time and all of these girls were kind, empathetic girls, one on one.  They had nice parents who taught them the right way to treat people.  But they still specifically excluded her.  I’ve seen my son on both sides of the equation, being labeled or excluded because he didn’t fit someone’s idea of who he should be and I’ve also known how painful it is to watch your child single another child out as the object of his taunting.  He was taught over and over that it was wrong.  It was addressed every time it happened.  Yet he did it anyway.  And if I’m honest I know I’ve done it…I think most of us could remember a time when we joined the crowd and someone else walked away hurting.

Philippians 2:3-5 says, “Don’t be selfish; don’t try to impress others. Be humble, thinking of others as better than yourselves. Don’t look out only for your own interests, but take an interest in others, too. You must have the same attitude that Christ Jesus had." (NLT)

I was clueless about my friend being bullied because I was so concerned about myself.  But beyond my selfishness there was one other part (just one—yeah right) part of Jesus’ attitude that I didn’t have and I think it’s absent every time we see cruelty or bullying.  Jesus suspended judgment as he interacted with the world.  Yes, he called people, especially the Pharisees, on their wrongs.  But he knew everyone's heart and he could have walked around excluding everyone who was different from what he KNEW was right, but he didn’t.  He decided instead to walk in love and embrace people right where they were at.  He knew that this kind of genuine love can do far more than bullying can even pretend to accomplish.  He didn’t hang out with a particular type of person; he had friends from every social group.  He didn’t care what other people thought of him because of who he chose to hang around.   I cared.  The opinions of the very people who were mean to me still mattered.  And this concern captured more of my attention and energy than what was going on in the lives of my friends. 

I wish I knew of a simple way to teach this to children, but I don’t.  I guess it needs to start with me.  Really, it needs to start with all of us.  I need to take my eyes off of MY life, MY issues, MYself, and really start seeing others with Jesus’ eyes.  Eyes that are humble, full of love, full of empathy and full of compassion.  I need to drop my attitude and take on Jesus’ attitude that only God’s opinion and priorities matter. 

And to my friend, I’m sorry that I didn’t see when others were bullying you.  If I could go back I would see with new eyes and be a better friend who was aware of what was going on in your life because you matter—both to me and to God. 

The Shift

I was in Junior High and I remember waiting for my Mom to get home from a doctor appointment.  I don't remember being worried about her appointment.  I mean, she was my Mom.  She was the pillar of strength for our whole family.  It was dark when she pulled in the driveway and put the car in the garage.  No one else was home and I walked through the dark family room to unlock the back door for my Mom.  When she walked in she stopped and looked at me.  I asked if she was ok and she said, "I have a tumor." And then she started to cry.  I wrapped my arms around her and held her as she cried.  In that instant something changed in our relationship.  I realized that the woman who was always there for me, the woman who went to every appointment with me and seemed so unflappable was human--just like me.  She had weaknesses and fears and needed my support just as much as I needed hers.

My mom and I have always been close but I truly do think her health crisis that year was key in shifting our relationship.  We weren't sure if the cancer she had fought 10 years before was back, and we were so thankful to learn her tumor was benign.  But post-op complications meant a long recovery and my Dad would pick me up from school and drive me to the hospital where I would sit by her side, do my homework and drink apple juice until I couldn't stand the flavor anymore.  I just knew that I went from the childlike idea of Mom being there every time I needed her to the idea that I was so blessed to have her in my life in whatever capacity she could be there.

I think that's why it is so strange to me that I don't want my kids to have the experience of having a sick Mom.  So often I grieve over the normalcy that they miss in their lives.  They were 10 months and almost 5 when my aorta dissected and their experience has always been the experience of having a mom with serious health issues.  They've both had to deal with a mom who was more fragile, who couldn't do everything other moms can do.  I never felt cheated by having a mom with health issues but over and over I've felt like my own kids got ripped off somehow.

My daughter easily slips into the role of caregiver and so I push against that and push her to go out and live her own life.  But since she's 20 I do lean on her more and confide in her.  She's always been one to call me on my moods and can sense when something isn't right.  I don't try as hard to be strong for her.  But my baby boy is a different story.  This man-boy was the kid that I couldn't do the pretend cry with.  It did him in.  If my daughter wouldn't share I could pretend to cry and she would giggle over how silly I was.  If I did that to my son he would cry too.  He couldn't stand to see me upset.  So I carry that.  I try to put on the brave face for him.  "Here's what the doctor has said, and it's going to be ok."  But he sees the stress and yet I won't let him break out of the sensitive little boy mold that I've locked him into.

Today was different.  I was frustrated after a call from the doctor's office.  The procedure that's supposed to be the first step in hopefully fixing my CSF leak needs to be scheduled.  The urgency I feel doesn't seem to match the doctors' and so I was told that we're going to get this scheduled and that the doctor who will do the procedure is really booked up so it might not be right away and she'll work on it and call me tomorrow.  I've had a steady headache, dizziness, back pain, fatigue, etc since July now.  But it's really been happening intermittently for the past 5 years.  It's obviously not killing me but I'm weary.  So I hung up the phone, sat down to trim beans for dinner and silently started to cry.  And that's when the shift happened.  My man-boy came over and wrapped an arm around my shoulder.  He asked me to talk to him and as I poured out my frustration in the middle of my sobs he held on to me and reminded me, "Mom, God's got this."  He asked me what he could do to help me, and as I leaned my cheek against his big, hairy, man-arms I said "you're doing it."   It's that shift like I had with my mom happening all over again.  Maybe it's a shift that's hardest with your baby.  He's not a little boy anymore.  He doesn't need to be protected and sheltered anymore.  It's ok for him to see that I have weaknesses and fears and that I really need his support just like he needs mine.

My son is right.  God does have this.  Every delay in my treatment can be used for great things.  God taught me something so valuable today that I wouldn't have learned without the delay.  My son is growing into a man who is strong and dependable.  He doesn't need me like he did even 5 years ago.  But what a beautiful thing to start to transition to the relationship that we'll have for the rest of our lives.    Thanks for my son God, and thanks for the lesson.

Worthless?

Weeks ago I was laying flat on my back with a headache.  As Rick, my husband, walked past I said "I feel worthless; I'm just laying here doing nothing."   That was before I got the test results that told me that I have a CSF leak.  You would probably think that finding out that I have the leak made me feel like it was ok to lie around.  But I really don't like lying around. I like to be up and doing things.  I like to be the one serving others.  I like to be active and involved.  And there's really nothing wrong with that.  But in this period of time, many of the things that fed my worth have been stripped away and it's a struggle for me emotionally.

Our society equates worth with what we contribute.  I can remember as a young stay-at-home wife and mother attending business parties with my husband.  Other women would ask me, "What do you do?" My answer that I was home full-time was usually met with a polite dismissing comment and they would excuse themselves to talk to someone who seemed more interesting to them.  I was happy to be home with my kids, but these encounters still stung.  Part of the way I dealt with it was to remember that my contributions weren't financial but they were still important.  And that way of thinking has carried me for a lot of years.  Again, I don't think that it's a bad way to think.

But like God so often does when we're on the edge of the truth, he finds a way to bring me into his center because God doesn't want me to stay on the edge.  All these years I've been justifying my lack of outside employment and how that ties to my worth by looking at all of the ways I contribute through my life.  I could count up hours instead of dollars and I felt good about how much I was pouring myself out to serve others even if I wasn't making any money doing so.  I still felt like I was contributing--to my home, to society, to God's kingdom.

God says my worth comes from who I am and whose I am, not my tasks. I've said I believed that for years.  But if I truly believe that, when my tasks have to slow down or stop, I wouldn't feel worthless.  Scripture over and over talks about worthless idols and often when people are described as worthless it is because of their idol worship.  Am I an idol worshipper?  Maybe, if the idol is being healthy or being the one who jumps to help others.  (Remember an idol is anything that takes the place of honor that should only be reserved for God.  If these things are more important than doing what God asks, they've become idols)

So when I first had to start staying home more and laying around more I thought, "Ok, I'll just be the prayer warrior.  I can't go in and serve but I can be useful by praying like crazy while I'm home."  Again, this isn't a bad thing.  It's awesome to pray for others but my ability to spend time praying for others doesn't give me my worth anymore than a job or volunteering or any task does.  Philippians 3 says, “I once thought these things were valuable, but now I consider them worthless because of what Christ has done. ⁸ Yes, everything else is worthless when compared with the infinite value of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For his sake I have discarded everything else, counting it all as garbage, so that I could gain Christ ⁹and become one with him." (NLT)  Christ is the one who gives me my worth.  Not because of anything in me or anything I do, but because of HIM!  Psalm 139:13-15 reminds me that I am fearfully and wonderfully made and again the thing that tells me is that my worth comes from being made by God.  It says "wonderful are your works." Not because we're special on our own but because God is special and he made us.  

So if my worth comes from being created by God and the gift of Christ's righteousness, I can rest in that when I can't do anything else.  When I can't do anything else, I can still love the Lord with all my heart, all my soul, all my mind and all my strength. (Mark 12:28-34) So when I go back to the basic questions; "What gives me my worth? What makes my life worthwhile?" I can fall back on the truth of scripture and remember that there's nothing I can do that will add to what Christ has already done.  I just need to live my life worshiping the one who gave me life and has allowed my present circumstances.  That's a lesson worth learning.  

Shaken

This morning I feel shaken.  So I did a search for "shaken bible verse" and this is what I got.  It's pretty cool to read all the different translations.  (if you're a word nerd, anyway)  It came up with Isaiah 54:10, "Though the mountains be shaken and the hills be removed, yet my unfailing love for you will not be shaken nor my covenant of peace be removed," says the Lord who has compassion on you. (NIV)   What I love is that I had just been praying, "God I can't feel your peace."  I love that God so quickly reminded me that my ability to feel his peace has nothing to do with the reality of his peace being present.  Our pastor, Mike, likes to remind us that "feelings lie".  My feelings tell me right now that I'm not in God's presence because I don't feel him.  But He's there.  He never leaves.  Wesley's notes on this verse tell me, "the mountains shall sooner depart from their places than any kindness depart from thee."  Yeah, I know it's outdated language but what an awesome reminder.  When I look out my window in the morning I expect Mount Miguel to be right where it was yesterday and the day before and the day before.  But so often I feel shaken and think "where's God?"  Mount Miguel is more likely to be gone when I look out my window.  Matthew Henry's Concise Commentary says, "We are neither to despond under afflictions, nor to despair of relief.  Mountains have been shaken and removed, but the promises of God never were broken by any event."  The events going on in my health right now are big.  But they're not big enough to break God's promises.  These reminders are enough to remove the ball of anxiety from my stomach and settle me back on ground that can not be shaken.  

There's a monster in my closet

I woke myself up this morning from a dream yelling "Daddy!!"  My 20 year old daughter came running in to see what was wrong with me.  Obviously, I was fine.  But I was dreaming that I had woken up and a cupboard over my closet (from the house we lived in 6 years ago) was opening on it's own.  I must have jerked in my sleep which knocked my cpap mask slightly off which makes the machine loud.  The sound--a hissy, gurgly sound--crept it's way into my dream and I was sure there was something in the closet cupboard hissing or growling at me.  So I yelled.

Now here's the crazy confession, I've always been afraid of my closet.  Any bedroom closet.  Growing up I couldn't sleep if the closet door was open, and often even when it was closed I was sure that there was a monster in there.  I know a lot of kids have that fear. But in college when I had a little apartment by myself I was happy that the closet wasn't in the bedroom and was actually in the living room.  But I still always had to look in there before bed and then make sure the doors were closed.  I still can't sleep well if the closet door is open.  I wake up in the night and without my glasses the shapes all meld together and look frightening.  

The other part that was weird was that I yelled "Daddy!"  I always called my Mom as a kid.  I can remember the only time I ever called my Dad was after hearing my Mom tell my Dad she didn't know why I couldn't call him when I was scared in the night.  For that one night, I called out for Daddy but went right back to the comfort of Mom after that.  And I don't call my husband "daddy" unless I'm talking to my kids.

So as I laid in bed this morning wondering why I would yell and dream of monsters in my closet, I thought of my life right now.  As a kid the monsters in my closet were big scary things that I was afraid were going to hurt me or worse. I started each night trying to convince myself that I had nothing to be afraid of.  My mom even went through a period of time where she would use the logic of showing me the closet, moving all the clothes around before closing the door.  It helped for a few minutes and then the fear would creep in, what if the monsters could hide? I felt like I needed protection as the fear threatened to overwhelm me.  Mom would come and all my fears would melt away as long as she was present.

My monster is now the uncertainty of my life.  Will the neurosurgeon I'm going to see next Thursday take my case or will he determine it's too complicated?  If he refers me out of network will I have an insurance nightmare trying to get them to cover me?  Will any doctor know how to treat this CSF leak?  What if I have to deal with headaches for the rest of my life?  What if they treat it and I end up with surgery complications?  What if they don't treat it and the fuzziness I feel gets worse and turns to real memory loss and I lose other functions because of cranial hypotension?   Those all combine to form a pretty big monster.

My first thought was that I expected Rick, my personal monster-slayer/husband to come running but why on earth would I have called him "Daddy?"  But then I thought about my father God.  He is the only one who can banish the monster of fear.  He's the one who didn't give me a spirit of fear.  He's the only one who knows exactly what the future holds for me and how all of this will turn out.  I also know that he is worthy of my trust.  He doesn't promise me that he'll take care of this for me immediately.  He doesn't promise that I won't have pain, he doesn't even promise that I'll be physically healed on this earth.  But he does promise that he'll never leave me or forsake me.  And because he promises me that he'll be there I know that I can rest in his presence.  I know that his presence is enough to melt my fears, no matter how big the monsters seem.

The 4 friends

It's almost been a week since I found out that my pleural effusion is caused by a CSF leak.  To say that I've been overwhelmed with the information is probably a huge understatement.  Part of me is validated that finally I have proof that what I've been suggesting to my doctors for years is actually happening.  Part of me is relieved that the effusion isn't the result of some rare form of cancer.  But I'm not sure what this means for my life and I'm not sure how or even if they'll treat it.  I know that my dural ectasia complicates things significantly.  I have an appointment on October 27th with a neurosurgeon and until that time I'm resting and trying to process and cope.  So since I'm resting I've had lots of time to think.  

One of the things that has been on my mind a lot in the last few weeks is the story from Mark 2  where the 4 men carry their paralyzed friend to Jesus.  One day I was overwhelmed with anxiety as we were waiting for the results to the latest round of tests. I felt weepy and I called my friend and told her I needed prayer.  I shared all of my worries with her and she prayed for me right then.  She also said that she was with a few of our other friends and could ask them to pray too.  That was when I first started thinking about the 4 friends.  I know prayer is the quickest cure to anxiety.  But sometimes my anxiety is so high that I can't seem to think clearly, let alone pray.  After I hung up I felt my heart rate slow back to normal and the anxious fluttering in my stomach subside.  I needed my friends to carry me to Jesus because at that time I wasn't able to get there on my own.  

The other reason that this has been on my mind is because I'm not really that good at letting my friends carry me.  I want to be the strong one.  I want my friends to be wowed by how faith-filled I am in the face of hard circumstances.  I want to be the comforter, not the comforted.  I want to be the one reminding someone of truths from scripture, not the one being reminded.  Truth is, I hate being needy.  But right now, I do need my circle.  I was imagining what it would have been like if I was the guy in scripture.  I can see myself saying "seriously you guys, I can get to Jesus on my own.  You don't need to carry me."  And then what?  Try to drag myself there even though I actually can't make it alone?  Or I can imagine telling them not to mess up the roof to the house because I didn't want to be that much trouble.  As I imagine these things I think of how life would have been different for those 4 friends if they hadn't been allowed to carry their friend to Jesus.  Those 4 men got to witness a miracle firsthand.  They got to be commended by the Son of God for their great faith.  They got to be a part of something huge, something eternal.  

Maybe these things come to my mind because it makes me feel better to hope that my friends are getting something out of helping me.  Maybe it's still the result of my pride that just won't allow me to accept help unless I see it doing something good for someone else.  But I know that something big happens when we carry our friends to Jesus.  Something bigger than any of us can do on our own.  I know that hearts are bonded when we walk through trials with a friend.  I know that relationships are deepened when I strip away my defenses enough to admit my needs.  

God designed us for relationship and some of us (ahem--you know who you are because I know I'm not the only one) like to think that we're ok on our own; that we do fine doing life and faith and relationships on our own terms.  For whatever reason, God won't let me stay in that place of solitude and independence.   

So if you're helping someone out, or offering to help out and your friend seems irritated, just know that it's not you.  It's just your friend having some rough edges ground off and sometimes that doesn't feel so good.   Thanks for the help.