He Said it would cost me everything...

But when "everything" is only a theory and when the life you're experiencing is full of His tangible presence and when the people you care about are on your side, well, "everything" doesn't seem as daunting. And I haven't even lost everything, not even close. Both my little Belle and I are alive and healthy, though we both knocked on death's door not so long ago. My husband is still married to me, he still holds tha flame of faith and faithfulness to me and to Him who gave him to me. My family still loves me, though they may disapprove of my choices. I still have friends. No, by no means has obedience cost me EVERYTHING, it only cost that which I never expected to pay. Obedience cost me security, the security I thought was guaranteed, the confidence that I would be taken care of in ways that I considered acceptable. In hindsight, i can see that I was taken care of, taken care of in ways that clashed heavily with the God I thought I knew, in ways that met my physical needs but left my soul feeling ravaged and abandoned. I thought the answer would come in weeks, but the months have passed into a year and I still don't understand and I know enough to know that there are many who wait decades and even lifetimes without the answers I seek Even though the darkest part of the night is gone and I can feel the sun coming, if not even see it just a little, my soul feels branded. I have loved God with a deep passion from as long back as I can remember, a fiery soul longing to stand true to Him who gave me breath. With marriage came a new season and work challenges I hardly understood, much less was prepared for. I remember distinctly the season I moved from leading the pack, front row and passion arisen, to hiding in the back, passion exhausted, waiting anxiously for a way out. Years of struggle and a final gut level wrestle with disappointment and loss, I feel permenantly broken and too tired, too marked by disappointment to try again. In some ways I am confident that I am more of who I was made to be today than I was five years ago but I always wonder what happened to the fiery girl I once knew who felt so alive. Most days I'm sure she's dead and gone for good and if I stop to be really honest, the only thing I might really miss about her is her deep experience of His presence. My weaknesses and errors are clear enough and I am content to take ownership of my faulty expectations, my shaky foundation, and the cracks and fissurs therein but neither am I confident enough to build again. The last round nearly took me out for good while I weekly wished for death. I have no desire for another round yet knowing that by my choice or not, another round will eventually come. I don't want to build again to find myself here again, amidst crushed pictures of a God I thought I knew. I am too tired to labor in vain, not to mention that I don't really want to build at all. Bare walls aren't as homey but they feel less painful. There is a real room in my house that the Lord named my "encounter room." It too, is bare and even the furniture that lives there seems lost in the space. I have neither the vision nor the funds to furnish it. It feels utterly symbolic of the room in my heart. It feels less painful to leave it bare than to pay the price to decorate it only to have it pulled down in the next round of shaking. **It has been eighteen months since I originally penned this post. There have been some frightful lows and beautiful ups between now and then. And yes, we're in the next round of shaking. The encounter room of my heart still bare. There is emergency and disaster on many fronts. I'm asking again to find Him. If every room of my house and heart is bankrupt, I'm asking Him to meet me here. Now is the time to shine, he says, so meet me here and bring the light that cannot falter.

Finding New Bearings

"You'll get through this. It won't be painless. It won't be quick. But God will use this mess for good. Don't be foolish or naive. But don't despair either. With God's help, you'll get through this"

 So Max Lucado makes thesis of his recent book "You'll Get Through This," a hopeful evaluation of the Biblical story of Joseph in Genesis. My mom handed the book to me after my little family of four, unexpectedly to me, landed as refugees of financial disaster born of long term unemployment, in the home I grew up in - just long and short eight weeks ago. My family has cared for us with generosity I'm only beginning to comprehend, literally clothing and feeding us, sacrificing personal space and time and certainly finances to lift us up above the flood.

In many ways, the weight of five years of nearly continual crisis feels lifted off my weary shoulders, shoulders that have bent both spirit and in truth. Yet the relief is not without a price, and my heart feels it most keenly. I often think of the city we just evacuated as the home of my heart - it is there and among that community that God helped me find and heal an oft neglected heart, there that my heart came alive, a heart that is now grasping for lost bearings and friends that have been my anchors.

The thesis above stated feels like a road map to a way I would not have chosen and I am in between surfing with or crushed by the weight of the promise of long suffering that is clearly indicated. I don't sense God coming in with the calvary this time- we're going to be here for a while, just as Joseph served long in Potipher's house and in the prison that came following. Yet even feeling exiled, God still speaks.

In my early twenties, I felt that the Lord met me in a break room during my lunch break from my nursing job and asked me something like this: "If you could have one thing for the rest of your life, what would it be?" Spiritual wonder that I am, I blew off the question. The response, "If you knew how much you would suffer, you'd take me seriously." I've spent the past ten plus years trying to decide if the promise of suffering was from the Lord or not as my theology has encountered various expressions of spiritual understanding. In any case, my answer, which would be likely a different one if faced with the same encounter today, was that I would hear His voice. And whether or not that promise of suffering comes from On High or not, I'm still asking to hear. And from the unexpected places these past few tumultuous months, He speaks.

Lately, it's been from the old story of Cinderella. The childhood story I don't even like. The genre of tales I try to keep away from my three year old, but God speaks. Cinderella didn't start out as a pauper, but the beloved daughter of a loving father, the favored apple of his eye. She knew her value and identity long before circumstances tried to choke it out of her. Cinderella was shining in the story because it is darkness that reveals the light. In the appointed moment, ALL the maidens were invited to the ball, a chance to meet the prince. Cinderella had more obstacles to overcome than most, was resisted by her family and her resources were slim - but she was invited. I wonder if the fairy godmother would have come if she had rejected herself from the invitation. What if Cinderella believed what her stepfamily believed about her, believed what her circumstances said she was? Would her heart have responded to the invitation? Would she have been found in the garden amidst her mess or would she have counted herself lucky to have the night off and gone to bed?

Like Cinderella and Joseph may have wondered, I am tempted to lose sight of whose I am. My invitation to meet the prince is daily but I'm often too engaged in trying to survive my reality to believe that he wants me. It's been a long time since I was the petted little girl delighting in His then easily accessed presence and while I've been looking and pleading, it's been rare that I've found the one my heart loves. It's been easier to shut down than face the pain of feeling lost and abandoned or find faith to believe that I'm not, amidst all the darkness that says I am. I'm quite willing to take the blame for a weakly burning flame, maybe too willing, but my long enduring hope is that whatever the cause may be, that he will not put out my smoldering wick.

I'm certain that no amount of holding my breath until it's over will eradicate this trail. As I embrace the reality of whose I am here, exiled like Josepsh, facing despair and disappointment in the garden like Cinderella, I will be escorted into the presence of the King. Until then I hope, I wrestle and I wait.

Fighting Deprssion

In the past 3 1/2 years of almost continual crisis, fighting for the welfare of my heart has been an "all hands on deck" endeavor. Here are some of the practicals I've been fighting with.

Joy strength: God has translated "the joy of the Lord is your strength" into an understanding that finding joy is necessary, not optional. Joy is what I overcome pain with and I keep praying that he will show me where I can find wells of joy. For me, I have found joy in reading children's books (like Anne of Green Gables, etc), having tea at girly places with a friend and visiting used furniture stores among other things. I used to disdain these things because I considered them unspiritual and invalid but God has been been broadening my definition of joy and my sources.

Chiropractic: people who struggle with depression often lose the curvature of their spine and especially their neck. These can lead to further depression among a host of other health issues.

Mommy's helper: I have hired students or friends who need a job to help me for two hours a week. Cheaper than a cleaning service but just someone to help me get the laundry done, unpack (as we recently moved), organize, put up dishes, etc has been a God send

Prolief: I had a dream a while ago that I was passing out this hormone cream like candy samples. I didn't know anything about it except that people used it for hot flashes so I did a good bit of research. To put it in a small nutshell, I learned that MANY western women are overloaded with estrogen because of the hormones not only in meat and dairy, but the chemical estrogens in cleaners, make up, pesticides and so on. For example, drinking two glasses of soy milk a day has enough estrogen to change your menstrual cycle. Progesterone balances estrogen, it is the feel good hormone and in the BIO IDENTICAL form, has no side effects (unlike synthetic). It comes in a cream form that you put on like lotion. This has not been a fix all problem, but it is easy and inexpensive and has definitely helped cut the edge off the downward spiral. I would be happy to give you more info about it or order some for you if you are interested. (I get it cheaper than available on this site, but here it is for info) http://www.hormonewell.com/index.html

Diet: i've noticed that having a solid breakfast with protein helps me avoid the after breakfast, baby still awake but fussy for nap, mommy meltdown. I used to start the day with coffee only or coffee and then breakfast later but this seems to only add to the meltdowns. Keeping protein in my diet 3-4 times a day seems to really help with keeping my blood sugar from crashing as much. Cutting out, or reducing caffeine and sugar has also been really helpful. When i do consume these, eating sugar/caffeine with protein has helped maintain a steady blood sugar and therefore mood. I could go on and on about this, I actually am hosting seminars about it, but i'll keep it brief here :). If you're interested i more info of course, please feel free to ask.

Paying attention to my emotions: i've noticed that the earlier I intervene when I start to feel overwhelmed, resentful, etc, the easier it is to regain emotional ground and peace. Intervening may be asking for time out (to pray, to shop, have alone time, etc), asking for a friend to come over and give me something else to focus on, get out of the house and so on. Trying to "press on" seems destructive more than helpful sometimes in these situations.

Praying that God will give you whatever tools you need to overcome. Love and blessings.

An interesting surprise

A friend asked me tonight how I got into cancer nursing. Twenty minutes later, I stopped talking. I freely acknowledged the parts that I hated and I just talked about the people. People whose stories I participated in. Almost every story I told ended in death, but those stories are the closest to my heart. I have said so often how much I hate nursing and it's true that I have hated most of my nursing career, let's say 95%. I was surprised to find in my stories to my friend that there were bits of joy scattered about the journey. I find joy in standing with people in their pain. I'm okay with not being able to fix it. I don't feel like a failure in faith if I don't see their earthly lives restored but their heavenly lives begun. I have worked among the suffering for many years but the past particular year of personal suffering has made a deposit of understanding and compassion. I look forward to when suffering is eliminated from the syllabus of life. I'm looking forward to heaven.

You are well equipped to win

She was drunk with her own pain, pain that spilled out in anger, accusation and despair. She blamed those who loved her most, too broken to make sense of the situation and blind to the path of hope. The wise fairies acknowledged her pain, shed light on the reality and gave her permission to quit. Under intense pressure, she found her passion stirred enough to force her forward. Apparently unarmed, she ventured on to rescue the one she loved. In the end, it was her love that set captives free and defeated darkness, not only for the one she went after but for a whole nation.

Such was my take on Meg, a character from Madeline L'Engle's "A Wrinkle in Time". There are days without number when I feel just like her, drunk and blind with pain, unable to recognize or take hold of any hand of hope that is offered. I've reeled in anger towards those who love me, throwing darts of blame, losing sense of all the goodness He's poured into my story. That's where i've been the larger part of the past year, that's where I've been this week, that's where I've found myself today.

Panic rising, I've been asking for help. He reminds me of Meg. Of all, she believed least in her herself. Feels familiar. Yet because she loved, she held the key for freedom. He reminds me that I am well equipped to win. In the pressure of life and death, Meg found her fighting spirit. I am angst that I will ever find mine. The pressure comes in waves and lately I usually land underneath it, gasping for air. My wrestle is to believe that I will eventually win, to believe that I have what victory requires, to hope that the battle will really have an ending. Oh for magic fairies, oh Spirit of Grace, give me eyes to see that I will win and a heart to find hope in this truth. Help me remember that it is the weak things that confound the wise.

An Honest Evaluation

Black circles under my eyes, yesterday's make up. Drinking caffeine, hoping it kicks in soon to energize me for the neccesry tasks at hand. A dark night of the soul. One crisis after another for three and a half years, this particular one feels darkest and today it makes a year in duration. My daughter's need for my survival keeps me fighting the tide of dispair for another gasp of air. Believing You are able to cause me to feel the pleasure of Heaven in my very being, living amidst the nearly dead until you do. Though my efforts are weak and poor, I have done all I am able. Your turn.

An "Old Fashioned" Day

Somewhere in the vicinity of a decade ago, I uttered a prayer that seems now to have been the seed of a life defining conviction. "Lord, I want to serve you but I don't want to be tired the rest of my life," I said in a moment of reflection and probable exhaustion. This cry stemmed from observation of the "grown ups" I was admiring at the time, men and women I respect and honor today. These few, whilst doing great works and seeking hard after God, made frequent comment of their exhaustion, and some of whom made continual homage to the coffee pot to keep going. I also have passed many years in that same occupation.

Yet about the time of that first utterance, I began to wonder about the Sabbath. Whether or not I had many formed opinions on the matter at the time, I do not remember. I made some investigation into Scriptures on the subject, coming to some initial conclusions. My rudimentary understanding at the time was to do not what I considered laborious and to invest instead into what I considered restful. I smile to remember that grocery shopping was a particular enjoyment for me at that time and a regular Sabbath occupation. I did not relegate Sabbath to a particular day, as I was working in a hospital that required me to be on duty on various days, weekends included. Actually, my Sabbath was usually not on a weekend at all but any day I could pull away from the crowd and build my reserve of soulful rest. Such has the pattern continued, uninterrupted by much change, for almost a decade, until now.

I will lay credit for this resurgence of study, almost solely, at the instrument of late author, Grace Livingston Hill. A writer from the early 1900's, she penned stories that couched Bible messages worked out in the lives of her characters, addressed current social problems and cast vision for a Godly life. Sabbath observance was a frequent topic her characters wrestled with, either in the aim to observe it amidst opposition or in the quandaries of why to observe it at all for those who did not. Nearly a century after those stories were published, in a culture that externally is far removed, I am urged on to a deeper understanding.