When My Tomorrows are too heavy!

 

I am worn out, O Lord; have pity on me! 

Give me strength; 

I am completely exhausted.

 Psalm 6:2

   We have such good news. Our daughter is engaged and getting married in 7 months. I am both thrilled and overwhelmed. Not by the planning, not by the groom or the timing, but by the fact that I just don't know how I am going to handle it physically. I want so much to do it all and be involved in everything in every way...but unless God lends a miraculous hand that will not be possible. It is so easy to get wrapped up in worry about what I won't be able to do tomorrow. It is so easy to be burdened today about what I think I won't be able to enjoy tomorrow. There is so much I would do if I were healthy. We are creative, Mikaela and I would hand make many things. We would save money by doing the cooking ourselves. But I know I can't do that. They have no money for caterers, and our bank account is in the negative just trying to keep our kids in college, in clothes, and fed. My body begins to feel heavier. I fret. Yep, I like that word, Fret. It's less damning than the word worry isn't it? So lets call it fretting. Well I'm fretting because I don't think I can handle it. How in the world can I not handle my own daughter's wedding? I'm such a loser. Will I sit to the side like some wilted useless flower, people glancing at me with piteous expressions of concern and  distaste. What is the color of a wilted flower? Maybe I should buy a m.o.b. dress in that color, just get right to the point and get it over with. His family wants to cook for 400 people, I suggest snacks for 50. They may want a typical Quechua wedding, a three day celebration, I want two hours. ( Yes, the groom is Quechua, an Andean Indian) My friends have all offered to help. Can I get organized enough with all my brain fog to even know what to ask of them? The idea of asking and even receiving help lays heavy on my spirit. Why?  I'm fretting again.

 “Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life,

 what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear.

 But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, 

and all these things will be given to you as well. 

                        Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself."
                                                                  Matthew 6:25f

     Does Jesus really mean what he says? If so why do I not take heed more consistently? If I trust Him, then I will not worry about tomorrow. He will take care of tomorrow if I am seeking His Kingship in my life today. Seek ye first the kingdom of heaven means to seek to live under his authority. So as I do this today he will take care of my tomorrow, no questions asked, "punto final". Give it up Debra. Tomorrow is not yours to worry about. God really does have control and he will take care of me, and my daughter and the wedding and the guests... I don't know how, but I don't have to know because he does. 

     Deep breath. I am already beginning to feel my wilted faith grow strong again just in reminding myself that Jesus means what he says.

         "You, Lord, are all I have, and you give me all I need; my future is in your hands." Psalm16:5 


  At this point in my life, as soon as I speak the truth into my own life I can to let go and let God. I have lived in worry and it never made any positive effect on the thing which I worried about. . But the daily pain and exhaustion often dredges up that old worry paradigm that I used to live by. In reality it is that very pain that has taught me that what Jesus says he really means. I can trust him, and I never need to add a "but" when I claim his providence for my tomorrow. Today I seek His face. Today he reminds me that tomorrow is not mine. But today is. I may be feeling really bad today, my legs weak under the strain of the pain, my heart beats fast rushing the blood to my already throbbing head. I will accomplish very little today but I can thank him, I can worship him, I can read His word and be strengthened in it. Pain no longer has the privilege of being a thief in my life, because I trust in Him. Peace. Trust brings peace in the pain, in the exhaustion, even in the uncertainties of my life.
Today  my trust muscle had a pretty big work out, and it paid off. I am at peace with myself and with the wedding. 

            "She is strong and respected and not afraid of the future." Proverbs 31:25

Jesus, alive and present in a mama and son's life.

“Put your finger here; see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it into my side. Stop doubting and believe.” Jn 20:27.

Easter always reminds me of how alive my Jesus still is today. I think that folks forget that when Jesus rose from the dead he rose body, spirit, mind, and soul. He walked in earthly feet, he picked up his bread and fish with physical hands and ate them with his physical mouth, just as you and I do.  Mary hugged him to her, Thomas placed his own hands into the nail torn hands and feet of his Lord. When Jesus was taken up into the clouds, He did so body, spirit, mind and soul. He never shucked off his outer physical earthly being. So he most likely is sitting besides his father in bodily form. Why does this mean so much to me? Well, I find that knowing he is still physically present gives me a special kind of human comfort more than that of the image of His Spirit does. But let me tell you the story that got me thinking about His physical being.

Carlos, the day he won my heart! His first day with us.

I was sitting on the edge of the hospital bed, with my elbows digging into my knees, watching my new little son fight for his little life. We had named him Carlos after his Papaw. Our little boy had been placed in our hands with the warning, "here's your baby, but he's very sick so you need to take him immediately to the Emergency room." He was 3 months old and wieghed only 5 lbs. This was back in 1990, Brazil, in Curitiba, Parana, two states north of our home in the South of Brazil. In Brazil, Brazilians always have first choice to adopt over foreigners. We had left our names at an orphanage near there and were soon offered the privilege of adopting this little guy, because all the Brazilians on the list did not want him because he was not perfect. He had been born with no right hand. When they asked us if this would be a problem, we simply said, "no, we already know he's ours!" 


Three months back, during a prayer time, I asked God to prepare my heart for any child he would give us.  Suddenly I heard His voice without hearing a whisper, " Will you be willing to adopt a handicapped child?" I had never actually thought about it. But I knew if God had chosen a child with a disability for us, then I knew he would help us parent him/her. My husband felt the same way. As the coming months passed we both began thinking that maybe God was just doing a heart check, proving us our commitment.  3 months later,  We received the call about this 3 month old little baby that had been dropped off at the orphanage by the judge. ( yes, God had spoken to me about the same time as his birth). As we drove up to Curitiba, we questioned why in the world God thought we needed to be prepared to accept a son with such a small disability. Little did we know!


So here I sat, frightened, stressed, and hopeless to do anything to save this little guy. But he was mine and I loved him with all my heart. I had been watching the saline solution drip into the vein on his head, counting them, every drop. The drip system was the old kind that the nurse had to adjust constantly because it would slow down. I knew his life depended on that drip. He no longer was given a bottle because everything that went in came out quickly and explosively. He was not absorbing any nutrients, and the pediatric gastroenterologist was off at a conference so they couldn't give anything more than a drip of saline solution to keep him alive until she returned. I had called the nurse in repeatedly to adjust the drip. It didn't seem to ever drip fast enough. This last time she had stormed out of the room growling behind her, "Do not call me again, its dripping fast enough.. You are just worrying way too much.  Stop bothering me!" I was furious. I was hurt, I was scared.  I could literally see his life seep slowly out of his little malnourished body.  I began to cry uncontrollably. My shoulders shook, and I tried to hug myself to still.  I cried out audibly in a desperate raspy voice, "God help me!" An uncanny silence filled the room, filled my soul. The bed dipped a bit beside me, my body warmed on that side and I could feel a strong arm curve around my shoulders. I leaned into the warmth of His body. I quietened. I knew it was myLord. He said to my heart, " I am with you, it will be alright". I felt no need to ask a thing of him, I just needed my Lord there, physically present, holding me, calming my distressed heart. We sat in this warm embrace for a long time. I don't know when He left, but when I looked up toward the window, the sun was already perched in blue. 


My little guy looked grey. I breathed deeply and went in search of real help.  I felt empowered. I tracked down the pediatrician and with more confidence than I've ever had before or since. I told him that this little guy was my son, that I knew that he and the nurses thought that he would die one way or anther. and weren't giving him the attention he needed. I told him that God had given me this son, whether for just a day or two, or for a life time, and I was going to fight for his little life with every thing I had in me and I needed them to fight with me. And things changed. Carlos was weighed again, the first time in 3 days. He had gone down to 2.5 lbs from the 5 lbs he came in with. The real fight for Carlinhos's life was on and the entire staff were now on board.

Carlos is now 21 years old and plays for his college soccer team. Having only one hand has never slowed him down one bit at least until now. He would give anything to be in the Armed forces, or serve in the field as a cop. There are no openings for someone with only one hand. He's devastated and lost as what to do with his life. I know that God has a special plan for his life, and when he slows down and listens, he's going to hear what God has purposed for him, and find great meaning in life, one that will give him all the excitement he requires of life!

So, I shared this very long story to remind you, that Jesus is alive body, spirit, mind and soul. And in that he can comfort us as we need to be comforted, encourage and challenge us in our human state. He is alive, really alive!

Carlos playing soccer

Carlos, age 3 months in the hospital

The poetry of Travel, but maybe not

Driving swiftly through the plains outside Bogota then  painfully and slowly winding up and down Andean Mountain roads, my mind becomes pressed to the horizon. The mountain peaks pierce the sky; a nose, an elbow, chins and  young perky tits. I laugh. I know the last description makes minds shift uncomfortably, but let's be honest, all human beings have them, whether they are sizable or not. They are the source of nourishment for one just out of the womb, so important, givers of life!!!So say it, "Tits! breasts! Boobs! chachas! Don't you feel just a little better? So stop interrupting me with your uncomfortable inward reactions to my poetry!! . I must poetisize on. ( You say that's not a word? )

The further we head out of the mega city the more open the face, more amiable the smile of those on the side of the road. City and Cement are behind us. My back pain has me stretched out on the back
seat, with my feet propped above the car window. My view now is of sky, white with clouds, cotton and fuzz. From the front seat their conversation drifts back to me. Gringo and indigenous, share thoughts, share lives, share impressions of the drive. Passing under on overhang called the Devil's nose, our friend speaks of this place as having many demons as its residents. More man chatter. Questions, misinterpretations, guffaws.

We slow to a crawl up a steep incline behind a slow truck. I sit up for a bit to see roadside stands filled with brown zapote ( http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Manilkara_zapota) cut in half bearing their bright orange flesh. Mangoes and papayas hang along side them just as intensively orange and ripe.

As we approach a small town the motorcycle to truck ratio increases, A small ranchero, ranch style house painted daffodil yellow brightens the solemn features of the grey old man that stands out front purposelessly watching the traffic go by in a haze of diesel fumes. Windows rolled down, humid, wet,  tired, sticky hair on neck, in face, all over the place. Tall green bamboo mark cool river's edge.
Clouds begin to bully the setting sun from its last appearance. Peacocks tied to an umbrella table along side the road. WHAT? I didn't get why peacocks either! Were they for sale?...we drive on.

Front seat conversation drifts to hunting, poison frogs, arrows and Chiguiro ( http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chiguiro ) for dinner.  Don't forget to cut out the part of meat that has the poison in it before you cook it. This leads to a tale of a man who kills son with poison arrow when drunk, took 20 minutes for son to die.  Which leads to talk of his own cow being poisoned with frog venom but was cured with human urine. What? yeuk, maybe I don't want to listen in to the man talk from the front seat.

The mountains raise again, shacks tiptoe on the precipice of deep gullies. Jeeps piled high with plantains, people and live animals. That means we are nearing Pereira. From the front seat we are given a lesson in plantain farming. It takes 9 months for a plantain palm to bear its bounty. I think I remember that in the villages around Mount Kilimanjaro, women would plant them when they became pregnant, to help them keep track of their pregnancy. The present and past collide in the most unusual ways at times.

Clouds lower their powdery paws upon the mountain around us. Darkness soon follows and a humid chill fills my bones. We are at the peak, and we wait, and wait and wait for hours as the heavy night truck traffic shares one lane with us after the most recent mud slide. Boulders mark a muddy path down the mountain near us.

Late, tired,  damp we arrive at our destination. The house awakes my memory though my body may already be in slumber. The floor under my feet, the same as our Moshi house, so long ago in Africa. The constant whir of the fan over head as I sleep, brings me into dreams of childhood, and Land Rovers, long dusty trips, and stewed plantains.

I wake hot, salty damp skin, night clothes clinging. This morning will wake my ears to words, nasal, , quick tongues to my deaf ears. Epena, Chami, Katio so little tie the three together yet to hearing they are but one. Linguists amaze me! Indigneous languages confuse this old worn out mind. Am I really to learn yet 4th new language at this foggy old brain? In all honesty I doubt I'll get very far!

Our indigenous friend joins us rested. Breakfast's story is of the boy born from the calf of a man, a ladder to heaven, flying, and a people who eat only steam because they have no place in their body to evacuate. Oh boy, this is going to be a long day, but a good one !!! Saca Buma!! 

What is the color of waiting?

   My shoulders sag under the weight of this helmet of metal I wear. But most days its the darkness within the helmet that bothers me most. Lost within the walls of this headpiece are some names of people I know well, most of my Spanish verb conjugations, and numbers, lots of numbers. It is also where phrases get jumbled and words get reversed. One bad egg is better than 3 in a bush right? Once in a while these things bounce into view, but not usually when I need them. ha.

   I only have a small slit to peer through in this head gear. It can make me want to scream, "I can't see where I'm going!!! Help me God I'm blind!!!" But usually God uses my limited view to focus my attention on the right things. It doesn't matter that she has blue hair and wears culottes; she's lived to that age where she should be able to wear whatever she wants! So his underwear shows? Who cares, its just white cotton! So what if the guy about to dive in is wearing a tight white see through speedo, its only...oh wait, that does bother me...somethings I can't focus beyond. Why is it so hard to keep your eyes off such shockingly gross displays? But seriously, God uses my pain to focus my attention on what really matters.

   At this point God is focusing the lens of my life on Him alone! I know that isn't anything shocking. Isn't that what our attention is always supposed to be focused on? Lately my exhaustion level  paired with back pain has been so that I can't do anything much at all. Not even ministry. I'm not getting much done around the house either. After much navel gazing, God is forcing me to focus away from the lint for a while.  I don't feel useful. I don't feel like I'm able to live purposefully, or be of any great help to anyone else. What's the use of me? I'm living without living? I'm apparently good for nothin!

And God said, "JUST WAIT!"

Well that's easier said than done!!!

   I've been reading Waiting on God, by Andrew Murray.

     "We are so accustomed to judge of God and His work in us by what we feel, that the great probability is that when we begin more to cultivate the waiting on Him, we shall be discouraged, because we do not find any special blessing from it."

And that is where I often find myself.  Murray says further,

"...if it be true that our highest blessedness in in having as much of God as we can; if it be true that Christ has redeemed us wholly for God, and made a life of continual abiding in His presence possible, nothing less ought to satisfy than to be eery breathing this blessed atmosphere, " I wait on Thee."

   If I cannot serve another, what am I worth? Much of my life has been painted with the bright strokes of service. Each stroke was done with a strong hand, guided by the Artist of Creation I hope. I have waited little in choosing each touch of mauve, ocher, or maple. They seemed to be obvious color choices at the time. But now I sit with my brush, and nothing moves me. So God says "Wait!"

   How am I to know what my finished portrait is to look like, if I do not know what my maker intended? How can I even imagine what my maker intended if I do not know him better?  This suit of Armour may be extra restrictive today, but I can still see God. I can see Him in His word, in the rain that falls and nourishes the flowers outside my window, I can see Him through the eyes of many great men and women of God who have experienced him and written beautiful works about who he is. I can meet him in mediation and prayer. I can sense him in the quiet of the room.  I can do this all day long. I have enforced "be still" time.

   Why have I always held service to others as the best service to give my God? He has stripped even this good from my life on many days, so that my service will be to Him alone, through love, adoration, and worship, through spending time in his word, and with his people of old. If I can do no good for anyone around me, is this enough that I give my time to him, waiting on him for the next brush stroke of color? I Wonder what the color of Waiting will turn out to be. If I give the waiting the value its due, maybe it will be a peaceful blue that back-lights my life.

'Be strong, and let your heart take courage, all ye that wait for the Lord'  Psalm 31:24  Even the psalmist knew how hard it is to wait. We need strength and courage to do it!

Starting out and what really doesn't matter!

Did you notice I have capitalized random words on this page. Maybe you noticed that I spelled Armour with a u, the British spelling? (a hold over from my early education in Africa) Well, My husband pointed it out immediately. Before I started having Chronic pain, this would have bothered me and been immediately corrected. Now, I don't care. So what? So it will probably always be there. I've rearranged my priorities, and getting every thing right is no longer one of those top priorities. Pain will do that to you. Age will sometimes do that to you as well I think. Have you ever had your child ask you, "You are not going out like that are you?" I'm not a slouch, I do care about how I look, but I'm obviously not always up to snuff.  If you pay close attention to me, you can probably begin to figure out how high my pain is or at least how well I'm managing it by how I appear in public. Are my clothes nicely ironed, coordinated and matched with appropriate footwear? Then Its a pretty good day. Are my clothes comfy looking but a bit crumpled, maybe have a recent coffee stain on the front of my shirt, and paired with my old tennis shoes? Then most likely I'm not doing that good, despite the smile on my face. Now if I show up in my fuzzy red crocks that are 2 sizes too big and are half chewed up by my beagle, then its probably a really bad day! Believe me, It happens!!

I titled my blog "Living Life in a suit of Armour" because that is what it feels like to live with chronic pain. Its weighty and uncomfortable, makes it hard to move, and it makes you feel very unpretty!! Ok, so my spell checker says that unpretty isn't a word. Well it is now. Wearing this suit of armour is for the birds, but it has developed me into a much stronger, compassionate, empathetic person than I would have been if I had never had it placed on me. I hope to share here, some of those strengthening moments, some of those overwhelming moments, and most of all, How God is using even this to bring Him glory.