Another New Beginning

Before I pushed the brew button on my coffee pot this morning, I called my friend, Paige. We talked at length while the warm substance awakened clear thought.

Paige encouraged me months ago to submit some of my devotional writings to an online ministry. I never did. So she got after me again a few weeks back.  This time, I determined to submit two writings before night fall. Before I crawled out of bed this morning, I received notification that one of my writings will be posted tomorrow at:

 

www.restministries.com

and

www.chronicpaindevotions.com !!

 

Thus the call to Paige.

A door closed three weeks ago. I'd taught voice and piano in the afternoons at a school for almost ten years. But when my third surgery in ten months interrupted this semester I knew I didn't make sense to go back. Walking away from student relationships I've held dear spawned feelings of loss I haven't processed in years.

But I knew it was time. Time to write. Time to pursue my hearts desire;  to make a difference with words and music.

And today a window of opportunity opened. And since closed doors don't always lead to open windows in three weeks time, I'm grateful for the encouragement.

The sadness of last week dissipated into hope.

He turned my mourning into dancing. (Ps. 30: 11) Has He done that for you lately? Have you seen Him open a window when He allowed a door to close?

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Digging Deep Against Discrimination

I drank coffee at my kitchen table because it's too cold to enjoy the screened in porch. Heavy with thought, I slowly awoke and decided to write. But even now, an hour later, a myriad of thoughts shuffle around in my brain and I struggle for focus.

My mother and I entered an elevator two weeks ago with a mom pushing a wheelchair that held a handicapped child. As we stood in line to check in for our doctor appointments her son communicated his intrigue with my knee scooter in a way only his mother could understand. But while I paid for my visit, the woman bluntly told my mom, "If anyone ever said something bad about this child, I would hurt them."

In the past two months, my family has faced discrimination due to our mitochondrial (genetic) disease in ways never before experienced. I've prayed. Forgiven. Trusted. And prayed some more. But just last night I spoke with  one of my boys and knew the weight of it all still lingers.

I'm not out to hurt anyone. But it's not easy to keep a clear mind when the world (and even fellow believers) can't stop long enough to embrace our brokenness as God's divine plan. One we can not control.

When I can't drive, can't move forward with ease, and require more rest than activity, I've discovered beauty in the simplest places. I've learned the quiet whisper of God's love to be all the validation needed to keep going. I don't live in that place every day. But only through challenge have I been forced to rely on more than myself. To dig deep into the depths of the divine.

How have you dealt with discrimination due to your illness? Or the illness of a child? How has your faith helped you rise above bitterness and respond with love?

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A Time to Grieve

I just stood up from my kitchen table with coffee in hand and rolled to my bed where my lap top sits. I've been struggling to find my "Inner Susan" for days and something clicked; something said, "Just do it."

So I'll write. About grief... the monkey that has chased my tail since my first husband died almost seventeen years ago now. Because I fell apart last Saturday, wept to exhaustion, and have struggled to feel normal ever since.

My surgery recovery is going well. The pain controlled without narcotics. So I've even dressed several times and worn earrings and I'm not even three weeks post op.

But limitations abound. And while a few family issues have also burdened my mother's heart, I grieve the loss of normal living.

Whatever that is.

I often write about what gives me hope and joy. What keeps my faith alive. But today I remember grief. The solemn heaviness that's very much a part of living.

October used to spawn difficult memories since my first spouse died on November 3rd, 1996. The month, punctuated by birthdays and his decline, stirred emotion for years. As changing colors gave way to bare trees, I relived his last days with clarity. And grieved.

Perhaps I still need a good October cry even though the memories don't dwell in me with the same intensity. Or maybe three surgeries in ten months warrant a weepy afternoon. Or maybe living in the fullness of joy demands a sacred journey through the reality of loss.

I don't know why I've struggled lately. But I know even Jesus wept. One afternoon. Right before he raised his friend from the dead.

So I will own the sadness yet seek joy... because God is working every day, every minute, every second, making Beautiful Things out of us.

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Lily, My King Charles Cavalier Therapist

I birthed this blog only days before my third major surgery of the year. So it's taken some time to awaken my writer. But Lily, my mom's King Charles Cavalier, interrupted coffee time this morning when she noticed the cat sunning on the back porch. Her brown pleading eyes begged for an open door. I consented only to watch her race from the back yard to the front and to the back again. When I called out the front door one last frantic time, she sauntered through the house having entered the back door, wet, from crossing the creek.

Home alone, I scooted to the laundry room in search of a dog towel. It was then I decided I don't need visiting nurse to offer in home therapy. I just need Lily dog. When I've lounged on mom's bed longer than she can handle, she yips and barks at me till I get up. Most of the time she wants me to let her out the back door where she barks bold and loud, clearing the space of unwelcome critters. Other times I think she just wants me out of bed.

I don't give in all the time. I just had an ankle reconstruction five days ago. This girl deserves some rest. But I love how she can reach a place no therapist goes. I love how she cuddles at times and then pushes me at others, keeping me from staying too long in the mental never-never land I visit after swallowing pain meds. 

It's been a little harder to write this go round even though this recovery seems easier than my left ankle reconstruction ten months ago. I lay in bed, sink into myself, and detach from community.

But then Lily dog nudges me. She reminds me it's worth maneuvering onto the scooter even if just for one spin around the house. Even to just let her out to roam free for a while.

When tired, worn out, and  hardly able to take care of ourselves, it's easy to detach. Do you have a Lily dog in your life? A person, animal, or child that keeps you going when you want to cave in? It's just another way God intervenes with His creation and keeps us on track; straight on the journey to more of him.

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Birthing a Blog

Warm coffee counters the chill in the air as I write from my screened in porch. Clutter from our Monday basement flood leaves me thankful for the outdoor respite. Soothing sounds of nature begin my day with peace even though workmen pound gutters into the roofline all around.

Progress continues even though only three days of mobility lie ahead before I offer myself once again to the surgical altar and awake to six weeks no weight bearing.

Recent memories from my left ankle reconstruction and back fusion remind me that pain, exhaustion, and isolation await. But a divine rest in the process can also be mine if I'll offer the time as a sacrifice.

Since this will be my third orthopedic surgical procedure in ten months and my fifth in four years, I've lived a lot of recovery. Heavy fatigue from the confines of mitochondrial disease only complicates whatever healing process I go through. But the more I accept what this life has allowed, the more I understand how the simple quiet offers ample opportunity to engage the divine in ways many never stop long enough to embrace.

And so I write. I share my hope; the faith that is mine after facing widowhood, single parenting, and now a neuromuscular disease.

Our Sunday sermon closed with this scripture, "And the God of all grace, who called you to his eternal glory in Christ, after you have suffered a little while, will himself restore you and make you strong, firm and steadfast." (1 Pet. 5: 10)

Suffering comes on many levels. And that "little while" can refer to days, months, or even a lifetime. But restoration is ours. God longs to make us strong, firm, and steadfast. Not simply broken by life's unexpected hardships.

So while our "enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour" (1 Pet. 5: 8) with whispers of doubt and fear, I write to remind myself of the hope that is ours in Christ.

No matter the hardship. No matter the pain. No matter the suffering. His love is the constant.

So welcome to Coffee, Faith, and Chronic Disease... where I wake my faith as caffeine flows through my veins, preparing to face another challenged day.

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