An End of Week Reminder for a Heavy Hearted Blonde

While I've already indulged in my share of morning coffee, I don't feel human yet. So I'm abandoning my humorous plot line and caving to harsh reality.

No matter how I spin it, life is just hard some times.

You get it, don't you. The heaviness that grabs hold and weighs down the strongest of hearts. Everyday, a myriad of souls are dunked in challenges they cannot possibly manage on their own.

Sometimes we see their stories in the news. Sometimes they pop up on Facebook. Some days, however, it's our dear friend, our neighbor, our Bible study sister, or another in a circle of influence who might not be able to breathe for a day without a hug, a meal, or a quiet reminder that they are not alone.

Perhaps the murders of Bud and June Runion sparked my current state of mind. Faithful stewards, searching to fulfill a dream, walked straight into a trap. They entered heaven, but grieving hearts abound right here in the county I call home.


My Wednesday night crime TV pals, Lu and Bonnie, continue to live with the daily struggles of ALS as Bonnie's body fades towards eternity. Slowly. Ever so slowly. Requiring an enduring patience for both the patient and the caregiver.

In light of those struggles, ankle weakness from a bruised peroneal nerve seems small. Yet it undid me for a time yesterday and I'm not sure I've totally recovered. Tired of jerry-rigging my joints, I curled up in my van after an uncomfortable doctor's visit and cried. Seriously. In the parking lot in the back of my van.

"I remember my affliction and my wandering, the bitterness and the gall. I well remember them, and my soul is downcast within me. Yet this I call to mind and therefore I have hope: Because of the Lord's great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness." (Lamentations 3 :19 -23)

I wrote a song to those lyrics a few years ago and will close with a rough recording. I washed my hair and tried to balance the piano and voice. But it's still rather home made. 

No matter, it's still the only answer for the end of a long week.

 

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A Sunny Day Moment in Winter's Lair

Morning coffee raises my body temperature while I dress and get ready. So the reality of cold doesn't settle in until I step out for the day.

But I can already tell an outside chill has returned. I noticed it in the middle of the night when I got up to potty. Anxious for warmth, I dove back under my covers. 

Earlier this week, however, spring visited. For just a few days. But the reminder of almost seventy degree temps gave me a boost till the daffodils peak through the ground. 

After teaching two voice lessons on the unseasonably warm day, I stopped by the grocery store. Bags of bird seed filled boxes by the entrance. Thankful for the reminder, I tossed one in my cart.

For years I assumed a bird feeder outside our kitchen window didn't work. When something nudged me to try it again last fall, I realized my error. Soon birds lingered on its perches, taking turns for their fill. But we ran out of birdseed and I'd forgotten to buy some for months. 

Once home, I rode up and down my stair chair till all the groceries  were spread on my kitchen floor. Then I headed out to feed the birds. The metal bird feeder lid slid off easily and I filled it to the top. When I was done, I slid the lid back in place, lifted the handle, and started towards the hook screwed into the ceiling.

Halfway to the railing, however, the long bottom container slipped out from the lid and landed with a thunk on the porch. Bird seed flew all over.

It took a minute, but I finally realized the contraption wasn't broken. I hadn't attached the lid correctly, leaving it loose from the container. No wonder it fell.

I found my small, pink plastic broom and dust pan and tried to clean the mess. Some of the seed went back into the feeder while a good heaping fell through the porch planks - leaving me curious what will grow underneath this spring.

I reattached the lid and hung it high on the metal hook. Then I sat down in defeat, with my back against a window and my feet propped on a railing only a few feet away. 

Sprawled across the porch, I closed my eyes and basked in the warm afternoon sun. For a moment, it was spring. Not winter. A perfect temp with no bugs. And the birds were fed.

I couldn't stay outside for long. But I lingered enough to relish the quiet calm that filled me. The unexpected spill forced surrender. And I was settled in the warmth of God's Son.

As my two hours of voice lessons came to a close this morning, Sue, Judy, and I sang through a song from their choir repertoire one last time. It's a favorite of mine from long ago. We sang it more than once in our church choir when I was in high school.

It doesn't last much longer than the five minutes I spent loitering on our porch. But the emotions that stir are very similar to what I felt as my body soaked in the outside beauty earlier this week:

"Oh Lord my God, the majesty and glory of your name, transcends the earth and fills the heavens..." (Fettke)
 




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An Evening with Pastor Samuel Lamb

I read an online article this week about the merits of drinking water first thing in the morning... and then waiting 45 minutes before ingesting anything else.

What? No coffee for 45 minutes? 

I gave it a shot yesterday and quickly decided to try other holistic approaches to my health.  

Long live morning coffee!!

Not long after enjoy morning coffee, however, I continue to down a big glass of power juice and enjoy the benefits of increased energy. In between voice and piano lessons, I've climbed to our upstairs bedroom, stretched out on our new bed, and worked on my book. A thousand words a day. At least, that's the goal.

The book I'm working on chronicles my recent journey through brokenness. I share past stories mingled with recent realities. As a result, I've spent hours rehearsing the two weeks Jason and I spent in China, smuggling Bibles this week and last. 

It was crazy. A life changing experience. 

Reliving the adventure that took place almost twenty-five years ago now has taken me far from the confines of my current illness. I couldn't begin to undertake such an assignment now with my unsteady legs, but remembering - in vivid detail - that I once did something as outrageous as smuggling Bibles has left me smiling on several occasions.

Remembering. It's a most powerful tool.

The more I wrote, the more the memories came alive, especially our last stop before heading home.

After lugging at least ten fully packed bags of Bibles further into China, Jason and I flew to Guangzhou to meet up with our team. After site-seeing a few days, we snuck down a dark alley one evening to attend an underground church. 

There we met Pastor Samuel Lamb. 

I'm not sure I fully appreciated the encounter until just this week, when I searched his name on the web and read several stories about his life. I knew he'd been tortured and imprisoned for his faith. I knew his life was always in danger as an outspoken Christian in a communist country.  

But I didn't fully appreciate his comfort with persecution until I read several accounts of his life. All of them quoted his motto: More persecution, more growing. 

Even now as I type, I 'm overcome with conviction. Not the guilt driven, "I'm such a bad sinner," type. But rather, the overwhelming sense that I desire comfort over growth; physical healing over spiritual wholeness; crime TV over the Word of God... when there's simply so much more of God to know, enjoy, and radiate on this earth.

We're experiencing the birth pains of persecution in our country. Our expressions of faith are being censored. Our values undermined. 

Pastor Samuel Lamb would say that's a good thing. And perhaps he would say any trial, whether physical, emotional, or monetary is a blessing from God to keep us close to the cross. 

It's uncomfortable to write. Because I like my cozy home. My colorful clothes. My highlighted hair. And even health insurance.

But as I wrote about our visit with Pastor Samuel Lamb this week, I was convicted again to run after God with everything I am - even if on wobbly legs. 

Because one day, long ago, I actually met him. Perhaps even for such a time as now. 

Pregnant 21 year old Susan and Pastor Samuel Lamb

 
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Simply Surreal and the Brand New Day

When I ran into my friend, Somer, at church Wednesday night, we both agreed it was too cold to meet for coffee the following morning. An arctic blast has altered the temperature outside just as much as the end of the holiday season has changed the activity level in my home.

The kids are gone. Lessons are cranking up. Downton Abbey Season 5 has begun. And my favorite "who done it" shows - Castle, NCIS, Blue Bloods & Forever - are back on with new episodes.

I'm resting more which makes me stronger. And I like feeling stronger. But the changes take me miles away from the two week time warp that served as the heart of the holiday season. 

Did we really just celebrate New Year's Eve last week?

It seems impossible. 

But it's true. Just last week, my kiddos and their cousins were coming and going and the house was alive with youthful energy and pizza. But real life beckoned and now both of my boys live on their own. 

An older friend from church once told me she always goes through a re-entry period after being with her kids. I've never forgotten our conversation because it put words to my emotional state when the house empties and the quiet returns. 

This year was a bit more challenging since Nathan graduated and essentially moved out for good. He may be back for a short stint, but definitely not for long. While I celebrated all he's accomplished, I fought mild anxiety as his move out day approached. 

Panic tried to take hold as I lay in bed, knowing my mother role was about to morph again. So I took deep breaths, hoping the cool breeze that flowed through my lips would sooth the inner ache.

When we stopped for lunch after lugging his belongings up to his new abode the next day, however, the weirdness finally overflowed in tears. 

"I'm feeling odd," I blurted to threesome in the booth: Sam, Courtney, and Nathan.

"Is it your legs or the fact I'm moving out?" Nathan bluntly asked. 

"I don't know. It didn't help watching you guys put your dad's drafting table together."

Sam snickered.

"I've held onto that stuff for years, thinking you'd want it one day," I countered, "And now it's that day: The blue chair I bought to make him comfortable the week he died. The dresser he refinished before you were born. And his first drafting table. They're in your new place. And I just feel funny."

With that, real tears flowed long enough to expunge the odd feeling I couldn't shake. No matter how much I try, sometimes it just takes a decent cry.

My boys are now the age their father was when we were dating. So watching them put his belongings together? It was simply surreal. 

But the New Year has dawned. My students are hard at work. And I'm determined to finish my book before summer. 

It's time to look ahead. Not back. To relish growth over reflecting on loss. 

For it's a new day. No matter where you are. It's truly a brand new day. Cherish the surreal. But grab hold of all that is now.

 
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Now Departing the Roller Coaster Holiday Train

I downed the last sip in my coffee cup this morning, glanced at the pile of stuff next to Don's dresser, and realized the hip brace I've been missing was right where I put it three weeks ago - in a plastic grocery bag  next the other leg braces I keep on hand.

When I pulled the brace from the bag, I knew I'd departed the roller coaster holiday train for good.

Just last night, I shed tears over the ups and downs of the season. The ups have been numerous. Overwhelmingly good. But they've all been followed by a physical let down.

It's the way of chronic disease. And in my case, chronic mitochondrial disease.

We spent New Year's Eve with friends in their grandmother's cabin in Blue Ridge, having reserved a room in a motel near by. When we made the plans, I didn't think to ask where the potty was in the cabin, or to make sure the hotel had an elevator if we were on the second floor.

Having downed a big smoothie, a Starbuck's coffee, and a large lemon power aid drink at Wendy's on our drive north, I arrived at the cabin in need of the potty. Several times. And the steep climb up the stairs wore out my legs. They grew stiff and awkward in time.

We laughed a lot. I sang more Broadway tunes in one evening than I have in years. And the Wright's grandma taught us a new card game that she's played since she was ten.

Ringing in the new year with friend's who are missing their mom, wife, and daughter proved very rich indeed. But when I climbed the tall concrete and steel staircase to our motel room one last time, pain shot through my ankle, the likes of which makes me wonder if more surgery remains inevitable.

After breakfast the next morning followed by a two hour drive home, I dove into bed for a nap and never quite brushed off  the residual sluggish feeling. And that's when the tears fell. That's when I explained to Don that for every high I've experienced, I've had to succumb to an inevitable low. A tired exhaustion that requires rest and recovery - and a mental fight against the blues.

Just last weekend, after the big Christmas week push, I spent almost twenty four hours in bed. I would wake, eat a meal, and lay right back down because sitting up took too much effort.

I'm doing much better. My power juice is still making a difference. But as I peruse Facebook and see others on family trips and outings, I mourn my limits.

There. I said it. In the midst of grand celebration, I've mourned my limits.

Life will calm down this week. I'll get back to my manageable routine. And might even find that my power juice combined with appropriate physical exertion will leave me a tad stronger. There's always hope. 

But for those who rode the highs and lows of the roller coaster holiday train with me; for those who fought nagging grief in the midst of celebration... take heart, you're not alone. No matter what FB status' indicate, it's the way of this world.

The struggle is real. The internal fight quite constant. So don't give up. Just step off the holiday roller coaster ride with me and enjoy the simplicity of day to day living - even if in the confines of limitations.

"Lord, you have assigned me my portion and my cup; you have made my lot secure. The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places; surely I have a delightful inheritance." (Ps. 16: 5 - 6)

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