My heart breaks… even as I’m thankful
I wrote last week about my friend, Mandy, and her illness. They did diagnose her with MS this week, and they began a steroid IV treatment Sunday evening. Her strength and coordination improved, as did her general alertness. There are, however, things that haven’t improved… things that concern us. 
Two weeks ago, my Mandy was the news editor of the fifth largest newspaper in the state of Louisiana. And she was really good at it. Today, she’s having difficulty completing a worksheet that most first graders could complete with ease. It’s startling and shocking.
It hurts my heart.
Now, MS is a notoriously tricky disease to deal with because it affects each person differently. My friend, Mika, has responded well to the MS drug therapies. Mike’s mom didn’t have those therapies as an option when she was diagnosed with MS.
We want the very best for Mandy. We love her unfailingly. I know Mike must be thinking about his mom a lot these days. I know we’re both thinking that we want things to turn out differently for Mandy.
I keep thinking about the similarities between Mike’s dad and Josh, men who now share a similar path. Mike’s dad is hands down the most compassionate individual I have ever met. He nurtured and carried for Lillie (Eliza’s named after her paternal grandmother) even when Lillie was angry and upset and unhappy to be cared for at all.
Josh talks about reading that MS patients are often angry with their caregivers. I saw that in Lillie. I want to tell Josh that won’t happen, but I don’t believe that. Josh is like Jerry in more ways that he knows. He’s more prepared for this journey than he thinks, though I surely understand his fears. I can’t bring myself to tell him that God won’t give him more than he can handle. It feels patronizing even if it is what I believe.
This is hard for everyone. Mandy’s mom is caring for little Olivia, who has to miss her mommy and daddy. Mandy’s mom has to be frightened for her daughter, for both of her precious little girls. Josh is missing his Mandy, even while she lies in the room with him. Everyone in this hurts.
I’m leaving work early tomorrow and flying back to spend the weekend. My friend, Linda, will pick me up at the airport, regardless of how long my layover in Houston ends up being (I always get stuck in Houston). She’ll drive me to the hospital where I will most likely stay all weekend.
Me being at the hospital with Mandy will allow Josh to go home and rest and play with Olivia.
I’m so thankful for the opportunity to go. I know it will be hard to be there, hard to leave. But I’m grateful to have easily found a workable flight, to have tax money coming in to cover the flight, to have a husband who cares about this enough to send me away for the weekend.
I am thankful that I am far enough removed from my period of doubt that I can say, even in this uncertainty, that I trust in my God to provide, to care for us all.
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If ifs and buts were candy and nuts…
… oh, what a beautiful day we’d have.
My mom used to say that to me all the time when I was a kid. I hated that phrase. Still don’t love it, quite frankly. But I was thinking on the way home from work recently about how groovy it would be if life - or even just some days of life - were like a children’s song or show. (Yeah, we were listening to Laurie Berkner at the time. What of it? I love her with a passion usually reserved for tacky tv.)
I’ve got a magic box
With twenty-seven locks
And inside I keep all my secrets
I pretend that it’s closed so nobody knows
When I get inside and go for a ride
that I can fly higher than everything
Just watch me now, I’ll show you how
My magic box has wings
And I can fly higher than everything
Get a smile on my face
I’m a rocket ship in space
I can do anything
‘Cause my magic box has wings…
Berkner’s “Magic Box” makes me think about what would be in my own magic box. The quick answer, I’m pretty sure, is that it would let me take a nap, undisturbed, whenever I wanted.
But really, if I had a magic box, what would be in it? What would it allow me to do? What would it look like?
The Sunday School answer, of course, would be that God was my magic box, that God was in it and around it, that He WAS the box. But in reality, I don’t know. My mother’s box would be that box. She has the most amazing, unwavering, unquestioning faith. Me? I’ve got some questioning … and some days, some wavering. And I’m way short on amazing. The idea that God could be all that was in my box is a little overwhelming. Maybe I want more in my box.
I know that my God is big enough to be my safe place, that His arms are open wide to me any time I venture toward Him. I’m doing a lot more praying these days (which is really good for me … prayer was the strongest aspect of my Christian life before we moved, but my Florida prayer life has been lacking).
I’m trying to find that safe, comfortable place of conversation with God that I had lost after we moved. But that place wouldn’t be my magic box. I’m pretty sure when my magic box opened, I would be at the beach. The sun would be warm but not burning (I burn easy)… there would be a gentle breeze off the ocean… the water would be warm.
Though my relaitonship with Christ hasn’t been all that amazing these last few years - of my doing, of course, not His - I am more aware of Him on the beach than anywhere else. I am amazed at the precision of His work… the tiny details on a seashell, the way the salt works in the water for the sea creatures. As I let the sand drain through my fingers, I think about how very many people He has loved through the years.
I watch the birds (I’m scared of birds… I keep a close eye on them at the beach) and think about how God created them, each one of them. 
We saw blue jellyfish once, and while I know their stings are more painful than that of clear jellyfish, I was entranced by them. They were this electric blue. What made God think that a startlingly beautiful shade of blue should be given to a creature that spends its time under the water?
He made all of these intricate choices, these beautiful, amazing designs. And if He put that much time and thought and love into something like a grain of sand or a bird or a jellyfish or a seashell, how much more spectacular am I in His eyes? And, if I’m honest, how much more spectacular should I be in my own eyes?
Maybe God is in my magic box after all… just not in the form I’d expected. Maybe I should stop looking for God in the same old ways and start being willing to see Him in forms I don’t expect.
Tagged with: beach • Faith • God • Laurie Berkner • magic box
The lessons I learn on my lunch break…
In my house, I’m the only one going to work or school during the Christmas break. It’s not easy… for me or Mike. And poor Mike, Eliza’s been working on everyone’s last nerve lately.
Before I tell the whole story, you should know a few things…
In general, Mike and I are really easy parents. We’re generally honest with both kids. We’re generally laid back. We want home to be fun and happy and easy. We kinda roll with the punches. We don’t give the kids chores. I think they should help because they live here not because we offer them money. We don’t doll out harsh punishments. We never spank (do what you will… I’m not criticizing people’s choices, just saying that’s what our choice is).
And periodically, both kids push. They push those vague and shapeless limits and boundaries, and we lay down the law and no one likes it, and eventually whichever kid is in question shapes up & we go back to having fun. And sure, one theory is that we should just keep things strict and we wouldn’t have the pushing. But we’ll risk it.
So Eliza’s been pushing. Yesterday, I told her that if she could meet my criteria (without throwing a fit… minding me and Mike… generally being nice) for two entire days, she could have new bubbles. Baby has been asking for new bubbles for forever. If she can make it an entire week, we’ll take the kids to this fun zone thingy she wants to go to because her friend at school goes.
You with me? Here’s my actual story.
Since Mike’s here with pushy Eliza and video game Griff, I came home today for lunch just to give him a snippet of grown-up talk. He had asked Eliza to pick up the Clue sheets she had torn off the pad and strewn across the room. She wasn’t so much doing it, but she wasn’t throwing a fit, either.
She came and sat by me at the kitchen counter and we talked, and I asked her to go do that for her daddy. I reminded her of the bubbles. She slid off the kitchen stool and went into the front room and did as she was asked. I could hear her begin to whimper.
By the time she finished, she was crying. But it wasn’t that fit-throwing screaming angry cry. It was a calmer, more resigned cry. She curled up on the sofa, and I covered her with a blanket. I told her how proud I was of her, of how she made the right choice even though it was difficult. And before I left to return to work, I turned on Eliza shows and told her she could rest a while. (Mike later said she watched one show and popped up, happy as can be.)
As I drove back to work, I was thinking about how she learned a valuable lesson… and I realized that I did, too.
How many times do we have choices we know we need to make because they are - really and truly - the right choices for our lives? How many times have we felt like God was leading us in one direction when we wanted to go in another… or not go anywhere at all?
Our move here to Florida was so difficult (frankly, I wonder when I’m going to stop thinking that… if I’m being overly dramatic… I mean, Eliza’s not a drama queen by accident), and yet it was right for our family. Just like Eliza’s working toward new bubbles, I was working toward a life free of that unrelenting stress and hatred and fear that had begun to consume us.
And for a while I just screamed at God when I thought about it. But then, it became less of an angry cry and more of a pitiful whimper. The cry of acceptance, a cry of sad pain, the cry of choice.
This last year for me wasn’t one of screaming anger (2007 was so not my year), but one of whimpering sadness. I felt like I was so much stronger most days but then some days, I felt that cry of loneliness and missing well up inside of me. I’m hoping that 2008 was my year of lying on the sofa and accepting.
My hope… no, my prayer… is that 2009 is my year of hopping up and finding that happiness. Of course, that said, I still believe that happiness is fleeting. It’s why I’m chasing contentment.
Maybe, though, by chasing contentment, I will find that content is my definition of happy.
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My New 101 Things List
Several years ago, I posted a list of 101 things for me to do in 1001 days. It’s part of the Day Zero project. At the time I wrote the list, I had no idea we would move across the country and have our lives turned upside down before my 1001 days were finished.
I know that lists are good (I love a list) and that goals are important (it’s been a really, really long time since I had definable personal goals). But I also know that God is the only one who knows my future and how my life will proceed.
“Give your entire attention to what God is doing right now, and don’t get worked up about what may or may not happen tomorrow. God will help you deal with whatever hard things come up when the time comes.” Matthew 6:34 The Message
I’m making a new list, and I’m excited about the possibilities on this list. But I’m also mindful of the fact that my life could change at any given moment and the goals on the list might cease to be feasible. And I’m okay with that. I’ve discovered that I really do trust the Lord to provide and that it really is okay to give Him the control.
“I’ll show up and take care of you as I promised and bring you back home. I know what I’m doing. I have it all planned out - plans to take care of you, not abandon you, plans to give you the future you hope for. When you call on me, when you come and pray to me, I’ll listen. When you come looking for me, you’ll find me.” Jeremiah 29:10-12 The Message
I’ll be interested to see, in 1001 days, how my plan merged and diverged from God’s plan.
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Oh, so thankful…
I’ve been very stressed lately about the big test at work, partially because I didn’t want to owe the company the $105 if I failed and partially because I didn’t want people to know I had failed. I know that’s petty, but the particular position I’m in now requires that the kids I work with believe that I know what I’m doing. And it was important to me to pass.
And I did, which was super.
But what was better was how sweet and encouraging everyone was to me. I was quite touched. I’m in a very secular environment (one of my closest friends at work is an aethist), and there’s a lot of negativity that comes from the job itself. So it was really quite lovely to have so many people being so encouraging.
It’s been an encouraging week, I suppose, in odd ways. When I did my meme earlier in the week, one of the questions was to name seven things I do now that I know Jesus really loves me. I hesitated initially, thinking ‘I’m probably not the best one to answer this now. We don’t have a church. I don’t read my Bible as often as I’d like… blah, blah, blah.’
But when I started my list, I found that it was pretty easy to come up with ways that my life is created around the believe that Jesus Loves Me and that I am a child of God. Love and kindness and consideration and tenderness. All seven of my answers came quickly and easily. And I was relieved to see that, to feel all of those aspects of life with Christ.
It reminds me that our lives - my life - is on more stable ground now than a few years ago when we were new to Florida. This life isn’t perfect, and there are still things I could like to change. But when I look at the fundamentals of what is important to me, we have those things in spades.
And I am blessed. I’m hopeful that maybe part of why people are so kind and encouraging to me at work is because I am kind and encouraging first. I want people to see something different in me so that when they ask about it, I have the opportunity to share about how Jesus does love me.
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