Wednesday, December 31, 2014

Resilient

Two years ago, God put a word on my heart.  Just one word.  By itself.  Without context.

It's funny, really.   I didn't know why, or what the word was for, except that I really felt like it was something I needed to write about.  Nearly every day from then until the first week of this past October, I spent time researching and pondering and praying about what it means to be resilient.

In the first week of October, I finally felt like I had found direction in my writing about resilient.  I began to write.  I really have to give much of the credit to my fiery first-born.


Let me preface with a brief introduction to this little girl.  She dreams up the show.  She casts it with any (-one who's in the room) living or (because they are much more submissive) imaginary character necessary to complete her vision.  She passionately directs and produces the entire elaborate scheme before you realize that your coffee cup has been removed from your hand and you've dawned a feather boa, crown, and miniature glass slippers, not to mention a script (with little room for improvisation and) with your lines already highlighted.  Life with this beautiful little lady remains at the seat's edge, if you can even make it into the chair.


As an infant, she was content to sleep anywhere I went, as long as I was holding her or wearing her. As an early toddler, she was happy to play as long as I was sitting next to her (with my hands at my sides). Once she was half-way through two, she had become an engineer, an architect, a composer, an artist.  Her creativity and passion require a lot of energy and up-close reigning-in.  Her heart, if you'll abide her excitement long enough see inside of it, is tender and beautiful.  And, it is that heart that sometimes just catches me off guard. 


So, back to that first week of October.  I began to write, as I recalled an autumn morning from the previous year.

The leaves had just begun to turn and pumpkin spiced lattes were coming out in all of the coffee shops.  What truly great story doesn't start with that image?  Oh, how I love fall.  We uprooted our life, moved a quarter of the way across the country, and I was well into my pregnancy with baby number three.  Itching to be sitting in the crisp outdoors and sipping one of those glorious pumpkin lattes, I was, instead, at our first appointment with the pediatrician in our new town.

It was that small room at everyone's lunchtime where nothing is allowed to be touched and you aren't allowed to leave and your two toddlers are (to say the least) antsy.  It was a perfect setup for making an impression on new folks.  Have you been there?  You'll remember--it's the room where the walls close in on you by the minute and you forget how to breathe.  

In full knowledge of her own awareness of tight spaces, I presented an opportunity to my oldest child: "If you are obedient, we'll go and get frozen yogurt when we leave here." 

Well, in the midst of a tiny world recently having been turned upside-down by relocation and the natural changes of growing into full-blown late toddlerhood, not to mention the nature of sin, my offer wasn't enough to motivate the practice of good listening skills.  Disobedience ensued.  And the walls of the room continued to close in as my oldest toddler bounced off of them.

Then, cue the three-year-old screams that ensued as I (still very pregnant) carried one child on my hip and another over my shoulder and tried to keep smiling for the parking lot audience that I was sure we were gathering as we made our escape from the doctor's office.  It got louder and more piercing once I had her strapped into her car seat.  I was standing firm on the second side of my earlier bargain.  The screaming turned to piercing as we drove past the frozen yogurt shop.  Pulling over to add consequences (that Proverbs would approve of) for being a danger to the driver didn't reduce the volume, and by now, I was frazzled, feeling helpless, angry, and like I would never win this battle. 

Suddenly, as I gripped the steering wheel, glaring at the road in front of me, willing it to take me to some place that felt like home and peace, a familiar voice (from an era somewhere preceding the past hour), asked me sweetly if we could sing a song.

Wait. That was it? That huge tantrum in one moment and a happy song in the next? It was as though the entire thing had been erased from her mind and she was completely ready for a new adventure.  I was sweating and flushed and stewing, and she wanted to sing.  If only I could switch gears that quickly!

"Don't you think you need to say something to Mommy?" I asked, taken aback by her composure.

"Yes, Mommy. I'm sorry that I didn't listen to you at the doctor and I'm sorry for screaming at you," and again she asked, "Can we sing a song?"  

I was floored.

It was then that I realized what it is to be resilient. It's bouncing back, no matter what surprise or disobedience or challenge or devastation hits me, and not because of any power of my own, but because of the grace of the One who bounced back from the ultimate devastation long before me.  It's the Psalmist describing God's people going from "strength to strength" (Psalm 84:7, NIV) on this pilgrimage we call life.  

"How lovely is your dwelling place, Lord Almighty! My soul yearns, even faints, for the courts of the Lord; my heart and my flesh cry out for the living God. Even the sparrow has found a home, and the swallow a nest for herself, where she may have her young— a place near your altar, Lord Almighty, my King and my God. Blessed are those who dwell in your house; they are ever praising you. Blessed are those whose strength is in you, whose hearts are set on pilgrimage. As they pass through the Valley of Baka, they make it a place of springs; the autumn rains also cover it with pools. They go from strength to strength, till each appears before God in Zion," (Psalm 84:1-7, NIV).

Make no mistake: the people described in this Psalm were not strong by any means they could conjure up alone.  They were pilgrims.  On a difficult journey.  Making their way through a valley. 

And this valley, "the valley of Baka," wasn't just any valley. It was one of the places that the Israelites had to pass through as they travelled to Jerusalem.  It was figuratively called, "the valley of weeping."  The name may have come from the appearance of the balsam trees whose branches hung in the valley like tears pouring down around them, or it may have been because this part of the journey represented intense challenge.  And these faithful people had to walk through it in order to get to their destination.  

But that's the thing--The passage says that they passed through the valley.  They didn't stay in the valley.  Somehow, they made it out on the other side.  

They were not destined to remain in the low place, either in a physical sense or in a spiritual sense.  They maintained a spirit of strength from God as they journeyed through the valley, through the weeping.  It doesn't say that they went from stress to worry.  They didn't go from complaining to despairing. They didn't go from exhaustion to resentment.  Deep, dark places are very real and usually mean very real places of pain that can be very deep and very dark.  The key, however, is not what happened there in the valley, but how. 

They went from strength to strength.  A strength that they could not have found on their own in the midst of trial and hardship.  The strength of the One who was the reason for their journey.  No matter what trouble came, their hearts remained steadfast, their eyes fixed on Him.  He was with them through the weeping.  He was stronger than the trial.  "The fear of The Lord leads to life: Then one rests content, untouched by trouble," (Proverbs 19:23).  Matthew Henry once said, "Those who live in the fear of God, shall get safety, satisfaction, and true and complete happiness."

Resilient.  Journeying through the valleys of life from strength to strength.  Having hearts that are not destroyed by trouble because of the confidence that God is always stronger.  He is with us through the weeping.

My little girl reminded me that I need to remember the true source of my strength, even in moments that feel so overwhelming.  If I keep my focus on Jesus, the One from whom all of my strength comes, I can capture those desperate feelings when they start to rise up.  I can stay focused and walk with grace and with wisdom and without fear.  I can live life from strength to strength.

It really shouldn't surprise me that just two weeks after that first week of October, when I started to write about what it means to be resilient, that I received a diagnosis that hurled us full-force into a valley.  Into a life where we could let the valley get us down, or we could fix our eyes on Jesus and choose joy because He is joy.  Strength to strength.  Even in the valley.  Resilient.


Oh, and I almost forgot to mention...I had a fantastic water therapy session this morning, and afterwards, I was able to walk for more than HALF of the day!!

Thursday, December 25, 2014

Letters for Christmas

In lieu of our usual run-down-the-stairs-with-excitement-Christmas-morning, we were in the car, with twelve hours of driving ahead of us.  It's ok--both the running and the stairs would have been out of the equation for me this year anyway, and we were on the way to visit my family!

We've been rejoicing this week because my right arm has been doing much better.  I've been able to hold my kids without much reservation at all--such a gift.  One thing that I am still unable to do, however, is write with my hand.  

I've been longing to write.  I love to letter and to paint and to sketch.  In the past couple of weeks, I've regained most of the strength in my right arm and hand, which is a huge blessing.  But I still can't grip a pen.  

When Sean and I were dating, we lived fourteen hours away from each other.  Our phone plans were expensive, he was busy in college, and I was busy in grad school.  To stay connected, we spent months writing letters back and forth.  He used to write that he was "joyfully anticipating" the days when we would see each other face-to-face.  

The words are all memories in a box, now, and he brought them back to create the most incredible gift for me.  He searched the letters I had written to him for all of the uppercase and lowercase letters of the alphabet, in multiple forms.  Then, he hired a freelancer to help him with the rest. 

On Christmas morning, he handed me an envelope that contained a kind of letter I never would have expected or imagined. He turned my very own handwriting into a graphic font for the computer.


Now, I can hand-write without my hand--in my very own style.  Isn't he so thoughtful and wonderful?!  I sure do love that man!!



Wednesday, December 17, 2014

The First Nerve Block

I just got home from my nerve block procedure.  It was very successful in terms of what they expect from the first one.  

The temperature of my foot actually regained five degrees!  That is the biggest improvement that they are looking for after this initial block.  For the first time in two months, I am able to really feel my toes, and it is glorious.  The warmth in my leg is very comforting.  My leg is weak and my back is a bit sore from the needle, but I'm doing wonderfully.  

The procedure wasn't bad at all.  My IV was a little challenging.  My usually great veins were pretty flat from dehydration (I had to fast before the procedure because one of the potential risks is seizure, and they want to take all of the necessary precautions).  They had to insert the IV and then reinsert it into different veins three times, because each vein was accessible, but wouldn't let go of my blood (I was hungry! My body wasn't going to let go of anything without a fight), and the third one hit a nerve.  Apparently, the nerves in my arms were  a little bit eager, thinking that maybe today was about them. 

After that, they numbed the area on my back, injected dye, and took several x-Rays to identify the problem nerves.  They inserted a needle to my spine, directly into the nerves, and "bathed" the nerves with anesthetic.  The goal of the nerve block is to reset my nervous system--to shut down the nerves until they can, hopefully, re-learn the correct signals to send to my body. 

The doctors and nurses were wonderful.  They printed out x-Ray pictures of the process for me!  This picture shows the needle in my spine:


The pain is still the same right now, but they don't expect that to really change until, at the earliest, the second procedure.  I repeat the procedure next week, and again the following week.  

After that, we will have an idea of the kind of relief I will get from the nerve blocks.  They said that, this early in the game, there is no way of knowing how long the effects of the blocks will last.  They told me that some people need the procedure weekly for the rest of their lives, and some people don't need it nearly as often.  So, we're just praying for the latter!

Thank you all so much for your prayers through the process.  God is so good.

"I thank my God every time I remember you. In all my prayers for all of you, I always pray with joy because of your partnership in the gospel from the first day until now, being confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus," (Philippians 1:3-6 NIV).


Tuesday, December 16, 2014

Grin and Bear It

Part Two of the "Why Suffering?" story is still to come, but it had to take a back seat for the sake of a joy-filled, wonderfully encouraging, dreary-weather day.  

It rained today. December rain--the kind that slowly chips away at the snow and only has that edge of chilly.  Coats are a must, but you're able to be outside for a while without mittens before the temperature starts to hit you.  And, I'll take it--it's winter weather that's bearable.  

I walked today.  Sometimes with one crutch, mostly on my own.  And I had the incredible blessing of being able to take my kids outside to splash in the puddles.  They've been begging me to take them outside for so long, and, while I couldn't run around with them, I got to watch them run around.  It was beautiful.  





For this week and part of last, I've been able to be up and around for a very long while--until my nerves have chipped away at enough of my resistance that I can't stand anything touching my skin.  I push and push until my brain tells my leg to quit and then my muscles go limp and my foot turns cold and and my toes become numb.  But, it's wonderful, because on so many days now, it's pain that is bearable.  I cannot begin to express how amazing that feels.

Someone, somewhere, coined the phrase, "grin and bear it," and I'm loving that one, because I've found that the grin is sometimes what makes it possible to bear the tough stuff.  Today, I grinned my way through the pain and chose joy out in the drizzly winter rain with my three gorgeous little ones, soaked from the toes to knees (convenient for me, at least, because I'm already cold from my toes to my knees).  Once we were back inside, we sipped hot chocolate and thanked God for the incredible progress on our journey to find a new normal.  




The kids and I got to spend the entire day together, unassisted, and it was a great success!  I got to hold and snuggle little ones, change diapers, make peanut butter sandwiches, break up fights over toys, clean Cheerios off of floors, set the girls up with craft projects, get Jack out of his crib, and hold him the whole time he drank his bottle.  I was even able to put all three of them to bed tonight because Sean was working late, and I had the strength, still, at the end of it all, to sing to them.  It might sound crazy to be excited about some of the most seemingly menial tasks, but most of this is new for me since the CRPS began, and I'm overjoyed. 

Tomorrow morning (Wednesday), I am getting the first of a series of nerve blocks.  For this procedure, the doctors locate the nerves that are causing problems through x-Ray, and inject a type of anesthetic directly into the nerves through my spine.  If it works, it allows for movement and function with significantly diminished pain.  This is a very important step, because it has the potential of making it possible for me to take a whole lot more steps.  

We are so thankful for your continued prayers and love and help and support!  We are so blessed.







Thursday, December 11, 2014

Why Suffering? (Part One)

"Ok, I'm over it.  Done with the challenge.  Done with the burden.  Done with the pain.  Ready to wake up from this dream and have life be the way it used to be..."

Have you ever had thoughts like that?  Life was so much better when... or, Life would be better if...

A few days ago, we were in the car on the way home, and, as I looked ahead of me at the road, I wondered how long it would be before I would be able to sit behind the wheel.  Would I ever get to drive again?  The thought had a great deal of metaphorical significance as I pondered a life, in the not-so-distant past, in which I could arrange my day and drive my way through it.

But, here's the thing: It's a lie that says that what life looked like in days gone by is the only way, the better way, the best way.  

"But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead,"(Philippians 3:13 NIV). 

Just because I could do something before doesn't mean I somehow deserve to be able to do it now, or that it's the only way to live well.  Just because things were easier for me to do and I felt confident in my abilities and I could schedule my days and I had a very different kind of freedom doesn't mean that I'm unable to live now.  I'm just living differently.  God has this race of life marked out for me, from beginning to end.  He is working out every step for His good purpose.  Every step (or, in my current state, every hobble).  For good.

I believe that God can heal, and that He absolutely does heal.  He made our bodies, He knows our bodies, He loves our bodies.  I believe that God can restore and make what is broken whole.  Sometimes, that's what brings Him the most glory and best reflects what eternity with Him will be like.   

And sometimes, He is the most glorified when we are not healed.  Sometimes, it's the way that we walk in the trial that best shows His love and faithfulness and mercy and beauty.  "I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do all this through Him who gives me strength," (Philippians 4:12-13). 

I pray for God to heal me, and then I pray for Him to hold me. 

I don't need to pray for healing over and over and over and over again.  And I'll tell you why.  I know that God hears me the first time, and I know that He does not forget me.  In fact, according to Jesus, in Matthew 6:8, God knows what I need before I even ask Him.  He is good.  He is love.  And He is at work.  I don't want to get so focused on praying for the restoration of yesterday that I miss out on what God is doing today.  My prayer is for God's will to be done and for God to be glorified.  Whatever that looks like.

Is it possible that He could be glorified...in my inability, in my suffering?  Is it possibly that I could learn more about how much I need Jesus, more about His love and power, more about His own sacrifice and suffering for me and for the world...because of my inability, because of my suffering? 

"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," (James 1:2-3).  So, "...let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith. For the joy set before Him He endured the cross..." (Hebrews 12:1-2).

Perseverance.

The Apostle Paul had a "thorn in his flesh."  It limited him. It tormented him.  It challenged him.  It followed him.  About that thorn, he tells us this:

"Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me. But he said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong," (2 Corinthians 12:8-10).

His grace is sufficient for me.  His power is made perfect in my weakness.  Weakness is beautiful because it keeps me keenly aware of how much I need Jesus.  

Ava was talking, this morning, about how excited she is that God will give us brand new bodies in heaven.  Her greatest thrill is that we won't get anymore bugbites, but she's also excited for me to have "a leg that's not owwie."  And, because of Jesus, we get to keep those new bodies, free of bugbites and owwies, for eternity. 

For now, I'm in this body.  Right now, it's weak, and that's hard.  But, like I said before:  I don't want to get so focused on praying for the restoration of yesterday that I miss out on what God is doing today.  He knows what I need, and He knows what is going to reveal His love in the greatest way. 

When Jesus walked on earth, He healed people to show what His new kingdom would be like--free of pain and disease and brokenness (and bugbites and owwies).  Jesus loved the world so much that gave up His very life for the sake of something greater: for a kingdom where life doesn't hurt and suffering doesn't exist.  I'm living to be a part of the uncontainable, unfathomable, unquenchable love and life that Jesus invites broken people, like me, to take hold of through faith in Him.  That is the ultimate healing, and it gives me the ultimate hope.  

Two songs to share.  The first is a make-you-tear-up-ballad, and the second is a dance-and-clap-along-kind-of-song.  Feel free to choose one or the other based on your current disposition or preference.



Each day, I'm praying for God's strength for the day that I'm in.  I'm praying for His will to be done, and for my heart to be at rest in whatever that looks like.  I'm pressing forward, not focusing on what's behind me, and I'm praising God for the steps along the way.  


Check back soon for Part Two of this piece, on praying for other people's healing.

Sunday, December 7, 2014

Laying Down Expectations

We love going out to find our Christmas tree each year.  We get immersed in the tradition, the adventure, the memories, and, of course--the hot cider and homemade doughnuts.  I knew that I wouldn't be able to be a part of the actual hunt through the farm to find the perfect tree this year.  I was ok with it--I had already laid down my expectations, given the circumstances.  I figured that I'd just wait in the shop with Jack while Sean took the girls out.  

Sean, however, was not content with that option.  Weeks before, he apparently began conniving.  Now, I wasn't present in said conniving, but I imagine that his first thought was to drag three kids and a wife through the woods on a large sled with his beastly man-strength (my hero!!).  The tight turns required in the limited space between trees may have aided in ruling that idea out (he wouldn't want to lose a passenger around every bend), not to mention the distinct lack of snow.  Instead of getting a sled, he contacted Stokoe Farms and told them our situation.  They were overjoyed to be able to help us!  So, when it came time to go on our tree hunt, Sean had a surprise for me:  Stokoe Farms had a Bennett-family-sized RTV waiting for us, and they drove us all around the farm to find our perfect tree.  It was such a gift!


A quick flashback to the day before we went out:  we positioned the furniture in our living-room-turned-first-floor-bedroom in such a way that we would be able to neatly tuck a nice skinny tree into the corner and still have some semblance of a room left over.  

At the tree farm, riding along on our chariot-of-sorts, Sean and I spotted several great trees that were just the right size for that pre-arranged corner.  As it turns out, our firstborn had something a bit different in mind.  Every time that we pointed out a tree that caught our eyes, Ava would matter-of-factly turn it down.  

After a good deal of exploring, Ava ran up ahead.  The heavens opened and a beam of light descended over one particular evergreen (ok, it may not have been quite like that, but to see her response, one could easily have assumed)...and...she saw it:  the largest, fullest, tallest tree that she could find.  Possibly the largest, fullest, tallest tree on the farm.  Of course, she deemed it perfect.  Nothing else would do--Ava's heart was now set on that tree.  Sean and I both pictured the corner of the room where the tree was "supposed" to go.  We looked at Ava.  We pictured it again.  We looked at Ava.  And in her sweet and determined, peaceful and contented eyes, we could see how much she wanted the tree.  And what is a great family adventure without children getting to learn, in some measure, what it means to seek, to assess, to find, to approve, and to be approved?  

So, we cut it down.  The largest, fullest, tallest tree.  And we had the staff cut a great deal off of the bottom to temper its enormity.  And we cut several more branches from the bottom and the top when we got it home.  And it is definitely not positioned in the pre-arranged little corner.  But it's perfect.  And Ava is so proud.   


Ava's tree--our family tree that wasn't at all what we had planned on--found its new home at the very center of our living-room-turned-first-floor-bedroom.  It's the only place it would fit--it rests against the ceiling and it spreads its way through the room.  It's absolutely beautiful, and, because it's at the center, its light shines through the whole main area of the house.  

Our tree, this year, serves as a great metaphor for us--it reminds us of the lovely surprises God gives us when we lay down our expectations and well-suited images of what things should be like.  His love is the highest, deepest, widest, longest love there is.  He fills us and shines His light out of us.  If we could pre-arrange all of our circumstances, we, most likely, wouldn't choose a lot of the trials we walk in.  But then, we would actually miss out, because God has incredible, beautiful, purposeful things in mind that are far beyond what we can see when we make our own plans.  So, down with my expectations.  God's way is so much better!  

We emptied our box of ornaments and hung each one on the tree as a reminder of seasons past.  Each year, we get a new ornament in expectation of the new seasons.  The one that I picked out last year, in God's perfect timing, preparing me for this very season, was JOY.    

"I pray that out of his glorious riches he may strengthen you with power through his Spirit in your inner being, so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith. And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power, together with all the Lord’s holy people, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge—that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God.  Now to Him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to His power that is at work within us, to Him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen."  (Ephesians 3:16-21)


Saturday, December 6, 2014

My little joys

Ava was playing cleaning up blocks from the playroom floor just now. She came running around the corner, elated.  "Mommy!" She exclaimed, "Look what I found!  J-O-Y!!"


What a beautiful reminder, from my sweet spirited little first-born!

Tuesday, December 2, 2014

Today, I wanted to mope.

We've been experimenting this week--trying a few days with me at home on my own for several hours at a time.  

This morning, the sun stood up in the atypically bright--for Western New York in early December--sky, and I stood up with it.  With the gift of someone to drive me and carry my kids, I walked on crutches into a check-up for the littlest one.  After that, I walked, by now a little bit more gingerly, on those crutches into the bank to make a deposit that had been patiently sitting for three weeks on my make-shift dresser in our living-room-turned-first-floor-bedroom.  When I got home, I hung my body over the crutches to try to cling to another couple of hours to make lunch for the munchkins, tidy the playroom, and get them settled for naps.

It's unusual for me to be able to be upright for long, so I was pushing pretty hard to take advantage of this strength.  I was going to stop and rest.  To take a nap when they napped.

But, out of synch with his usual schedule because of his check-up earlier in the morning, the littlest one woke up as soon as the older two went down.  I arranged pillows on the floor next to him so that I had something soft underneath my now very painful right leg and arm, and we played.

The girls woke up, anxious to bake and decorate ugly sweater cookies, courtesy of a very creative Aunt of mine.  I asked them to set out the ingredients--they're getting so good at that!  I was determined to feel like I could do "normal" things.

By this time, though, I was losing my newfound ability to stay vertical, and I was moving at a snail's pace trying to get the cookie batter together with four small hands in the bowl.  But, we were baking together--something we so love to do--for the first time in seven weeks.  The baby got hungry and was crying.  The girls started arguing with each other over something ridiculous, like one having her knee too close to the other's chair.  I thought I might be able to surprise Sean and make dinner at the same time, too.  For the first time in seven weeks--I was going to try to make dinner.  I had even defrosted the meat already.  I was going to multi-task.  For the first time in seven weeks.

My ability to move freely was fast dwindling.  I couldn't keep up.  My patience was quickly waning.  Stress was surging through me.  I wanted Sean to be home--to take over and to rescue me.  I felt like I had let my kids down because I couldn't keep up with the expectations I had set for myself for the day.  My body was aching and burning.

I needed.  To stop.  And rest.

Then--help came through the door.  My reprieve, wearing flannel and a really cute beard.  The one who always reminds me that I'm trying to balance too much and that my goal right now needs to be to erase all of my past goals and just keep everybody alive and loved and fed.

(A little shout-out to the flannel-wearing, cute-bearded man that I love:  Tonight, after making dinner and bathing the kids and putting them to bed and doing the dishes and tidying the playroom and taking out the trash, he put up curtains in our living-room-turned-first-floor-bedroom.  They were a gift from my wonderful brother and sister-in-law!)

I collapsed.  In his arms and then again onto the couch.  I stopped.  I rested.

And then, I decided that I was going to mope.  I wanted to feel the overwhelming emotions that were bubbling up inside of me from the stress that I had layered upon myself throughout the day.  I wanted to feel sorry for myself.  For the first time in seven weeks.  For the first time since the doctors said, "CRPS."  I thought I deserved it--to mope.

And do you know what happened?  After less than five minutes of my sad, self-pity...I remembered.

I remembered that those feelings are a choice.  Just like joy is a choice.  I have a choice to sink into feelings of stress and self-pity.  I also have a choice to find my identity in Christ's love and in His promises and not in how much I can do or in how well I can do it.  I have a choice to rest, and to let the joy of the Lord be my strength, because it is my strength (Nehemiah 8:10).  I have a choice to respond in faithfulness, instead of complaining, to the faithfulness that God has always shown me--to do things His way--in the way that I keep repeating to myself throughout this trial:

"Rejoice always; pray continually; give thanks in all circumstances, 
for this is God's will for you in Christ Jesus," (1 Thessalonians 5:16-18).  

When I am comfortable, or when I am in excruciating pain.  When I can run, or when I have the gift of having to slow down and rest.  When I can multi-task, or when I can focus on just one thing.  When Plan A works, or when I need to figure out a thousand other ways.  When I can keep up, or when I need to lower my expectations.  When the day is predictable, or when it completely takes me by surprise.  No matter what, I want to dwell in the joy of my Lord.  Jesus says, "Abide in my love . . . that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be full," (John 18:9b & 11).


I want this to be true of the way that I walk through this life and of my faith in the One who is all of my strength and all of my joy:

"Therefore, among God's churches we boast about your perseverance and faith in all the persecutions and trials you are enduring.  All this is evidence that God's judgement is right, and as a result you will be counted worthy of the kingdom of God, for which you are suffering," (2 Thessalonians 1:4-5).