So I've basically gotten out of the house three times this week: one quick trip to Blockbuster, one visit to my sis, and one date with Steve and another couple. That's it. The rest of the week, I have literally spent in my bed. Usually, even at my worst, I at least migrate to the couch downstairs. Not this week. This week is an 'in-bed' week for a couple of reasons. One is that, on top of my usual Lyme symptoms, I got some kind of a cold...Just the usual sore throat, achey feeling type of thing. Plus, I've had stomach problems on top of it all, which just makes for a lovely week.
Today when I woke up, I felt worse than ever. My body feels so heavy that I have found myself scooting instead of walking at some points, because I'm too tired to make normal movements. When people are around me, I find myself almost opening my mouth to speak and then refraining, simply because I need to save my strength. I'm too tired to talk.
Usually when I write on my blog, it is for the purpose of sharing an insight or a meaningful experience. But today, I think I just want to be heard. When I'm sick, typing is easier than speaking and writing is easier than reading. I guess I just wanted to get my thoughts out there without summing it up into a neat package. Today is a hard day and I wanted someone to know it.
LIFELESS.
PINNACLE.
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All of us have them in our minds. We might not talk about them, but that does not mean they are not there. Maybe it’s the fear of losing your identity or your job. Perhaps it is the thought of being single forever. Maybe it’s the thought of losing possessions, status or opportunity. Maybe it’s the fear of never being able to rise above your pain and your depression. Maybe it’s the fear of death or loss or grief. Whatever it is, your own worst- case scenario is whatever tickles and pokes at the base of your brain at night and keeps your eyes from closing…
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When I first got sick, I was only thirteen years old. I wasn’t thinking about how this sickness would affect my future, my college education, my marriage, my children or my career. I was just trying to run a lap in P.E. without having to go to the nurse. I was trying to figure out how I could still stay at friend’s houses and convince my parents that it wouldn’t make me relapse.
But then a couple months turned into a year; a year turned into two; two years turned to three. When my sickness didn’t go away, my fears and thoughts deepened…. Pretty soon, I was wondering if I would ever have a life again. I was wondering if I would ever go a day without taking handfuls of pills. I was wondering if I would ever look normal. I wondered if I would ever be able to escape this illness without looking over my shoulder and wondering when it would catch up.
Just before my senior year of high school, I melted down. I felt like I had a stack of books on my head at all time; the weight of my illness was too much to bear. I remember pressing my face on the carpet, which was wet with tears. My friend Luke was there beside me, waiting for me to breathe, to stop.
When I finally was still, Luke reminded me of the path of anyone who follows Christ must take: surrender. He reminded me that following God required a deep and complete letting go of my self: my hopes, my fears, my vision of what life was to be.
And when I gave it to Him, he handed it right back.
Senior year. Friends. Prom. Graduation. College. Freshman. Adventure. Moving. Dorm life. Learning. Passion. Sophomore. Freedom. Love. Home. Growth. Expansion. Health. Energy. Life. Teaching. Junior. London. Travel. Italy. Senior. Cooking. Friendships. Graduation. Student Teaching. Moving. Substitute Teaching. Experience. Vitality. First Job. Steve. Completion. Celebration. Italy...
SICKNESS.
Where had it come from? For years, I was sailing along in a life that was full of healing, joy and reward. I believed it was gone. It did not control me. I had left it behind. Even the tests proved it. But then, on October 1st, 2008, out of the blue sky, a wind crept in and with it blew in a storm…
On its way out, my sickness handed me a jar. In it were words written on slips of paper…
Surrender. Peace. Trust. Perseverance. Goodness. Faithfulness. Joy. Gentleness. Goodness.
I had come out the other side stronger.
But when I got sick again, my jar filled new words:
Despair. Denial. Depression. Anxiety. Lethargic. Fuzzy. Disbelief. Discouraged.
When I first relapsed in 2008, even something as small as a shower could wipe me out for many hours. I couldn’t stand long enough to put on my make-up in the morning. I had to sit on a stool, which was carried into my bathroom for me. Walking downstairs was a concerted effort, making my bed was too much and laundry was impossible. And yet, each day, I had to wake up and do it all again.
Day after day, I lay on that couch…Month after month I waited. I expected. And yet, there was no answer. No reason. No cure. No hope of going to back to my job. I had to let it go. I had to let another take my place- my students, my classroom (which my friends and I had spent many long nights preparing for the school year), my salary, my position. In its place, I was handed sickness- not a fair trade.
And that one morning, when the water trickled down my face and the steam crowded the window, I realized that I was truly living out my deepest fear- the return of my sickness and the loss of my job. Since I was in High School, I began to root these ‘what if’ fears in the deepest, most hidden places. I remember worrying about all the things I wouldn’t be able to do…And there I was, standing in my worst fear- the loss of everything I had worked for and everything I had hoped for…
Yet, I have to tell you- there was something curiously comforting about the sensation. I promise I am not a masochist. It’s just that, in that moment, I faced my fear. I’m telling you; there’s something to this. It gave me a strange sensation of confidence to look fear in the eye and realize that I didn’t have a lot more to lose.
I think it also made me realize that there was something within me during those years of healing that made me believe that I couldn’t do it again. Deep within, I believed that if God called me back to sickness- I wouldn’t be able to handle it. I had been there- done that- and now I was taking those lessons and moving on with my life. But for some reason, God allowed me to be brought back into this place of loss and grief. And knowing that I can be here- in the depths with Him again, makes me feel like I can get through anything- even my worst-case scenario. It’s when you’re at the top that you have everything to lose.
STARTLED.
I live near a major city, where the lights are always shining and the traffic never ceases. I live where you can drive 70 on the freeway and still get dirty looks from the cars passing you on either side. And yet, in my own little world, within the walls of my sickness, life feels quite slow. This makes for a difficult transition between my 'sick' world and the 'real' world. Sometimes, when you are limping, it is easy to forget that other people can run. When cars are whizzing past you, it is hard to slow down.
It is difficult to describe this transitional feeling; it is quite distinct and nothing I have said quite does it justice. Have you even had those dreams where you are trying to walk, but your feet won't move? Everyone is saying to you 'Hurry up, you are going to be late!' but you feel as though you are running in jello?
Ok, maybe I'm the only one who has had that dream...Here's another analogy that may or may not be useful...
I want you to imagine your body is frozen, stiff as a board, with your hands at your side. Despite your attempts to move, you are stuck. Your toes are six inches away from a long splintered railroad ties. There is nothing around you but empty space. On the top of your head, sunlight piercing your scalp. Between you and the horizon, there is only dirt, tracks, broken bottles and spiky Joshua trees. The air is still; your heart is beating fast. Sweat rolls down your cheek and stings in the cracks on your lips, but you can't reach it to wipe it away. Without warning, a train zooms by and and nearly knicks your toes. You begin to lean in but the air pushes you back like invisible hands, knocking you to the ground. When you open your eyes, passengers are boarding with their tickets in hand. You had not noticed them before? Had you ever been alone or was that a mirage? And how on earth are you going to make it to the platform before the train leaves?
Okay, it's possible that description only makes sense in my head, but in short- this is what I am saying: it sucks to be sick in a 'well' world, where you stand alone in a crowd.
ISSUES.
I would just like say though blogger.com is a good friend of mine, I am not too fond of it today! It keeps messing up, changing and erasing what I have written and I am just not sure why! I am going to re-post my next blog for the 20th time and see how it goes. Wish me luck!
SACRIFICE.
A couple of years ago, I was assigned a project for one of my college classes. We were to follow a media project in the news for a few months and then reflect on the issue in a creative way to present to our class. I chose to follow the release of the movie The Passion of the Christ, which was just coming out at that time. I wrote this poem to reflect on my research and interaction with the film. I've made a few small changes to it, but to be honest, I want to rewrite the whole thing. I have learned a lot about the 'show, don't tell' principle in writing since then. However, I think it still communicates the story of Christ's sacrifice. Maybe next Easter, I will rewrite it in a more effective way. But for now, here it is...
The Passion of Christ
The story begins in a garden, late at night,
When darkness reigned,
Before the morning light.
A fear unimaginable lay ahead
Jesus kneels in the garden-
With both purpose and dread.
"Not my will, but yours be done,"
he earnestly prays;
Drops of sweat drip like blood,
Baptizing his face.
Betrayed by his own, with a bitter kiss-
Am I leading a rebellion, that I should resist?
Questioned by Caiaphas, he gave no reply-
'Tell us if you are the Christ.
If it is as you say, prophesy!'
Mocking, they beat him, again and again-
His blood stains the floor,
Spiky whips tear his skin.
His disciples scatter, what else could they do?
Peter's words burn in their ears,
'I will never disown you.'
Questioned by Pilate, but again no reply.
The crowds condemn him;
They yell, 'Crucify!'
Pronouncing his own innocence,
Pilate washes his hands
He concedes to the crowd;
their cries for murder out of hand.
Stripped of his clothing, crowned by their hate,
Spit on, insulted- his dignity raped.
Led to Golgotha, he bears his cross,
followed my mourners,
All humanity lost.
Weep not for me, but for yourselves,
came his reply,
'For if men do these things
When the tree is green,
What will happen when it is dry?'
Crucified with criminals, a storm is brewing
In pain he cries,
'Father, forgive them:
they do not know what they are doing.'
His pain so excruciating, he can barely breathe
He cries aloud,
'My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?'
Heaven and Hell break loose
After one last breath,
An atoning sacrifice complete,
But not ending in death.
But in his death, came life
The Son's life, laid down-
a perfect sacrifice.
For with the fulfillment of his death complete,
Death's power was lost in this life's defeat.
But as we accept this life,
we must first mourn his death.
Let us not grow numb; let us not forget.
We must also not hate
Those who cursed, spit and nailed
Without realizing our own hands
Are blood-stained as well.
We must daily see this gift through new eyes
Our bodies- a living sacrifice
For which he paid the price.
Let us wake up each day with passion renewed
For the cross of Christ, must affect all that we do.
