My security has been threatened recently from many fronts. My job situation in the spring is up in the air with no safety nets surviving the storm of economics and my insane schedule. My health has thrown me a few curve balls that I'm somewhat managing. "Bob" is probably getting annoyed with my emotional swings, although he's being quite the trooper about it. I was shown some very powerful examples of how I may not be the personality type I thought I was--which may not mean anything to most people, but when it places me in a category that I don't find flattering in people, it was rather shattering. Add in the usual stress of two jobs, big projects lying uncompleted, and a cat who apparently feels a little abandoned himself, and I'm reeling.
Losing my good grip on my identity was probably the hardest blow. It's helping to illuminate some issues I've been having with adjusting to being with Bob, so that does have a solid benefit. My independent and co-dependent issues have been clashing hard. I work very well on my own--the flexibility of having little "overhead direction" allows my creative side the room it needs to roam about and still get things done, even if they are done differently than other people would do them. Being part of a couple, adjusting to nearly constant compromise, collaboration, and teamwork, has been very challenging. I love having someone to share things with, who can and will help, but it's hard dealing with not having as much "creative license" as I'm used to. It's hard to figure out when I need to push for more equality and when I need to just pick up the slack (because it's usually me who perceives there is slack, anyway, whether there is or not). It goes back to the issue of before--having needs and wants, not sharing them, and then getting upset/angry/worried/scared when they're not met.
When I'm feeling insecure, though, what do I do? Lately, eat chocolate, cry on people, and contemplate ways I can escape from everything and be safe (albeit alone and lonely). After a little while, I get distracted, the feelings fade, and I'm back to pushing through the week, encounter high stress...and then the cycle starts all over again.
What I'm doing is literally insane. I'm doing the same thing, treading water, and expecting it to eventually solve the problem (considering the currents I'm caught in, that's not going to happen). I'm subjecting the people around me to torrents of emotion that probably make less sense than a week of severe PMS (and no, I'm not hormonal that I know of). This is not a recipe for anything more than mere survival and testing the perseverence of the people around me.
My big problem is that I am avoiding the giant lifesaver in front of me, one I've known about this whole time, that has been willing and able to carry me through the seas and onto dry land again. Why I've avoided it, I'm not exactly sure. Maybe because it's not as tangible as the sea I know so well. Maybe because I'm stubbornly believing I can get through this through dry humor and patience; I don't want to admit I need more help after everything I've already taken. Maybe because I'm afraid of what it'll cost to take the way out. I may be forced to change, to give up some things I want so badly to stay in my life.
Could I still make it through the next two months without the lifesaver? It's possible, but given where I'm at, I'm not sure I can last that long. I'm almost positive my friends and family won't last that long. It's time for me to swallow my pride (that I can survive anything), take a chance on the safest bet around, and let God save me again. He made me. He gets it. He doesn't mind my insanity. He'll listen and give me peace again.
So, okay, God. Stick on the water wings. I'll wear them with pride. My Daddy bought them for me. :)
Showing posts with label healing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label healing. Show all posts
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Don't walk--laugh it off.
I arrived at the university thirty minutes early for my class, plenty of time to snarf down a yogurt, print off my grading sheets for speeches, change shoes, and apply the bare minimum make-up for a professional look. After dumping everything onto my office table, I shoved the rubber doorstop under the corner of the door and ran down the hall to collect my printing rubrics. When I returned to my office, the doorstop was sitting quietly in the middle of the hallway, looking lost but unperturbed about it. My door was shut. My office door automatically locks. My keys were on the table.
Locking myself out of my office wasn't that huge of a deal. All I'd have to do is go to the department office and borrow the spare key. Today, however, was the day that the secretary wasn't there at 8am like she usually was. Public Safety officers could unlock the door for me, but there would be no way they'd get there in time for my morning class. I had no pen, no make-up, no stopwatch, and my purple toenails poked out of black Old Navy flip-flops. Hardly a good match to black dress slacks. I tried waiting as long as I could for the secretary, but with only five minutes left before class and a dozen nervous speakers waiting for me, I had to go. I borrowed a pen and stopwatch from another professor then went to class. I apologized profusely for my appearance--especially given that in the previous class period I had given these students a lecture on how important it was to be prepared and professional-looking. We had a laugh about it and everything was righted after class. For a few hours.
When I arrived at a high school around lunchtime to teach my class, I kept on my dressy shoes from the morning. It was a little difficult navigating the gravel lot in clunky heels, but I made it fine and began my trek around the wood-floor gym to the tiny classroom I taught in. About half-way through my walk, I noticed how incredibly shiny the floor seemed since the last time I was there...a second before my no-traction heels slipped in opposite directions in the wax and I fell. My knees bent as I did the splits, throwing most of my weight onto my left hip, knee, and twisted ankle. I have a phobia of falling. I hate it with a passion and don't even enjoy amusement park rides that "fall" much anymore. This fall only reinforced those fears--I did some damage. Thanks to God, I didn't break anything, but my knee and ankle were already swelling and my hip protested any move I made. I hobbled to my feet (still in the heels--I have a death wish, I suppose) and made my way to the classroom.
I somehow made it through class and stopped at home for an ace bandage for the ankle (I have yet to find a good way to do this for my knee/hip--if you know or have a good diagram, fill me in!). The pain wasn't really bad until a few hours later when I had driven three more times, ran two errands, and taught another two-hour class. By the time I was off to Wal-Mart to pick up food and a few necessities, the throbbing had triggered my fibromyalgia. I popped a heavy-duty painkiller on an empty stomach (a sign of how irrational I get when in pain--Heaven help me if I end up pregnant someday) and propped up my swollen leg on the table. Near the end of the night, I ended up having some hilarious girl talk with several good friends that ended up distracting me from the pain. After that, it was sore, but remembering some of the comments had me in giggles again and I didn't feel as bad.
I know it's incredibly cliche, but laughter is good medicine for both the body and the mind. I could have been angry, irritated, or embarrassed to the point of tears over being so unprepared for class. I could have been wallowing in despair and mopey grumpiness over not being able to walk or sit comfortably anymore. Instead, I was able to shake off the foreboding feelings and relax a little. The leg will mend (and it could have been my right and I would be stuck not being able to drive--there's a blessing in this fall already). I have an excuse to wear flip-flops to class for days. My students are playing nice because they know I'm hurting. Yet another instance of locking myself out will play out nicely in my humorous memoirs one day. It's all good.
So, to encourage you to laugh off something that's niggling at you, I'll close with some corny jokes told by my friends last night:
Q: Why did the chocolate-chip cookie go see the doctor?
A: He felt crumby.
Q: How do you make a tissue dance?
A: You put a little boogie in it.
Q: If you are an American going to church and an American coming home from church, what are you when you are getting ready for church?
A: Russian.
Ok, so these may be more groaners than side-splitters for you (or your seven-year-old). Sometimes, though, when you really need a laugh, the absurd works. Monty Python proves that.
Locking myself out of my office wasn't that huge of a deal. All I'd have to do is go to the department office and borrow the spare key. Today, however, was the day that the secretary wasn't there at 8am like she usually was. Public Safety officers could unlock the door for me, but there would be no way they'd get there in time for my morning class. I had no pen, no make-up, no stopwatch, and my purple toenails poked out of black Old Navy flip-flops. Hardly a good match to black dress slacks. I tried waiting as long as I could for the secretary, but with only five minutes left before class and a dozen nervous speakers waiting for me, I had to go. I borrowed a pen and stopwatch from another professor then went to class. I apologized profusely for my appearance--especially given that in the previous class period I had given these students a lecture on how important it was to be prepared and professional-looking. We had a laugh about it and everything was righted after class. For a few hours.
When I arrived at a high school around lunchtime to teach my class, I kept on my dressy shoes from the morning. It was a little difficult navigating the gravel lot in clunky heels, but I made it fine and began my trek around the wood-floor gym to the tiny classroom I taught in. About half-way through my walk, I noticed how incredibly shiny the floor seemed since the last time I was there...a second before my no-traction heels slipped in opposite directions in the wax and I fell. My knees bent as I did the splits, throwing most of my weight onto my left hip, knee, and twisted ankle. I have a phobia of falling. I hate it with a passion and don't even enjoy amusement park rides that "fall" much anymore. This fall only reinforced those fears--I did some damage. Thanks to God, I didn't break anything, but my knee and ankle were already swelling and my hip protested any move I made. I hobbled to my feet (still in the heels--I have a death wish, I suppose) and made my way to the classroom.
I somehow made it through class and stopped at home for an ace bandage for the ankle (I have yet to find a good way to do this for my knee/hip--if you know or have a good diagram, fill me in!). The pain wasn't really bad until a few hours later when I had driven three more times, ran two errands, and taught another two-hour class. By the time I was off to Wal-Mart to pick up food and a few necessities, the throbbing had triggered my fibromyalgia. I popped a heavy-duty painkiller on an empty stomach (a sign of how irrational I get when in pain--Heaven help me if I end up pregnant someday) and propped up my swollen leg on the table. Near the end of the night, I ended up having some hilarious girl talk with several good friends that ended up distracting me from the pain. After that, it was sore, but remembering some of the comments had me in giggles again and I didn't feel as bad.
I know it's incredibly cliche, but laughter is good medicine for both the body and the mind. I could have been angry, irritated, or embarrassed to the point of tears over being so unprepared for class. I could have been wallowing in despair and mopey grumpiness over not being able to walk or sit comfortably anymore. Instead, I was able to shake off the foreboding feelings and relax a little. The leg will mend (and it could have been my right and I would be stuck not being able to drive--there's a blessing in this fall already). I have an excuse to wear flip-flops to class for days. My students are playing nice because they know I'm hurting. Yet another instance of locking myself out will play out nicely in my humorous memoirs one day. It's all good.
So, to encourage you to laugh off something that's niggling at you, I'll close with some corny jokes told by my friends last night:
Q: Why did the chocolate-chip cookie go see the doctor?
A: He felt crumby.
Q: How do you make a tissue dance?
A: You put a little boogie in it.
Q: If you are an American going to church and an American coming home from church, what are you when you are getting ready for church?
A: Russian.
Ok, so these may be more groaners than side-splitters for you (or your seven-year-old). Sometimes, though, when you really need a laugh, the absurd works. Monty Python proves that.
Saturday, June 26, 2010
Passionate Devotion
It's no secret to those who get to be around me for even just a short while that I'm a very passionate person. I love a lot of things, and I pour myself into them. My time, money, energy, creativity...you name it, it's in there.
I adopt a church family and suddenly I'm there all the time, taking care of babies, baking pies, dashing off trays of danishes, crooning worship songs, and catching fly softballs (well, I try, anyway). I take on teaching classes and I'm bringing in treats, buying DVDs of documentaries to show (Netflix isn't that reliable around here), and even agreeing to meet with students on the weekends or talk them through tough paper problems in the late evening hours (I've stopped the 1am conferences mostly out of respect to a promise I made to a friend about erecting and policing boundaries). As a babysitter, I can't leave a sink full of nasty dirty dishes behind, even though I didn't contribute to them while making the kids' dinner. I've even scrubbed tile grout on my hands and knees while the children were sleeping because it needed to be done. Passion...and insanity..are intrinsic to who I am as a person.
This goes double for me in relationships. I pour who I am into my serious relationships. I call, send texts, write emails and mail off cards (just don't expect one on the "normal" days, like birthdays or anniversaries, because I can't seem to remember those obvious ones). The investment I make into these relationships involves money, energy, and an extreme amount of time and caring. I give people my heart as though it was that crappy tootsie-roll wannabe candy people on floats throw out during homecoming parades--with near-complete abandon and way too much trust. It's no wonder, then, that my heart ends up trampled and damaged on a fairly regular basis. I want to believe people will treat me the way I treat them...and since we're all humans, it's going to involve mistakes and disappointments. Lately I've been learning that someone I gave my heart to really didn't deserve it...and the consequences for this choice are still somewhat affecting me.
The simple solution, at least for future avoidance of this painful problem, seems to be to just guard my heart with jealous abandon and stop giving it away. In fact, it's even Biblical--we are supposed to guard our hearts so that we aren't influenced by Satan's attacks and seductive promises.
Still, for me to not invest myself in something I care deeply about, whether it be my career, my friends, my family, my faith, my relationships...it's just not me. God created me to be a person who loves, and loves deeply. Guarding my heart is fine, but closing it off to where I don't give of myself anymore...that's not an option.
So what am I supposed to do with this incredible spirit of devotion and passion within me? If I trust other people with it, I get hurt. If I trust only myself with it, I lose the blessings I receive from my successful interactions with others...and I waste the gift that it is. It rots on a shelf, the opportunities for sharing long gone and now nobody can receive anything beneficial from it. There doesn't seem to be a safe path...or is there?
Enter God. It seems so obvious, but it is also what I forget the most. God is more wise, powerful, loving, and gracious than anyone or anything in the universe and beyond. He sacrificed so much for me so I could have this relationship with Him. He wants my heart, my passion, my devotion, and it's not a fallible human relationship on His end. He will NEVER mistreat or mishandle the gift of my love and devotion...and the benefits of giving everything to Him are unending and truly amazing. God will guide me through the brambles of life, showing me where and whom I need to love...even if it may hurt. No matter what, God will always love me. I need to say that again. No matter what, God will always love me. If He is holding my hand, I can make it through the pain and strife in this frail human life. He's never going to let me down, betray me, or suddenly decide that He just doesn't have feelings for me anymore. I'm safe with Him. I can trust Him.
I've had a burning desire for nearly all of my life to be a wife and a mother. I know God has given me the ability and temperament to be pretty darn good at both. For right now, though, I'm accepting that it's just not God's plan. He has things for me to do that I can do better as a single woman. All my projects, the ministries I'm involved in, the jobs I hold that help so many people--they all need time and attention that I would have to (and want to) give to a husband/family. In a way, it's hard for me to do this, give up fighting for this dream. In another way...it's incredibly freeing. The guilt, confusion, pain, and disappointment that comes with shattered dreams is only hindering me in what is a truly joyful existence. Instead of jealousy watching my married friends be held and loved by their husbands, I will be happy for them...and happy that I don't have to deal with twice the laundry and weird video game obsessions. If God grants my dream someday, I will joyfully accept the glass slipper and cry tears of happiness down the aisle. If not...then I will joyfully accept my independence and relax with a "perfect" husband that no mortal man can ever compete with.
So today I will use my passionate devotion to work on a few projects for my church, perhaps revise more of my novel, and maybe even finish the final storyboards for a children's book or two (and, of course, finish my grading/teaching prep for the week). Watch out, world...I'm going to love you. :)
Kind of like the chemical composition of some processed food...only I don't think I cause cancer.
I adopt a church family and suddenly I'm there all the time, taking care of babies, baking pies, dashing off trays of danishes, crooning worship songs, and catching fly softballs (well, I try, anyway). I take on teaching classes and I'm bringing in treats, buying DVDs of documentaries to show (Netflix isn't that reliable around here), and even agreeing to meet with students on the weekends or talk them through tough paper problems in the late evening hours (I've stopped the 1am conferences mostly out of respect to a promise I made to a friend about erecting and policing boundaries). As a babysitter, I can't leave a sink full of nasty dirty dishes behind, even though I didn't contribute to them while making the kids' dinner. I've even scrubbed tile grout on my hands and knees while the children were sleeping because it needed to be done. Passion...and insanity..are intrinsic to who I am as a person.
This goes double for me in relationships. I pour who I am into my serious relationships. I call, send texts, write emails and mail off cards (just don't expect one on the "normal" days, like birthdays or anniversaries, because I can't seem to remember those obvious ones). The investment I make into these relationships involves money, energy, and an extreme amount of time and caring. I give people my heart as though it was that crappy tootsie-roll wannabe candy people on floats throw out during homecoming parades--with near-complete abandon and way too much trust. It's no wonder, then, that my heart ends up trampled and damaged on a fairly regular basis. I want to believe people will treat me the way I treat them...and since we're all humans, it's going to involve mistakes and disappointments. Lately I've been learning that someone I gave my heart to really didn't deserve it...and the consequences for this choice are still somewhat affecting me.
We're going to need to buy stock in Scotch tape on this one, folks....
The simple solution, at least for future avoidance of this painful problem, seems to be to just guard my heart with jealous abandon and stop giving it away. In fact, it's even Biblical--we are supposed to guard our hearts so that we aren't influenced by Satan's attacks and seductive promises.
Not too bad of a job, but even the National Guard gets a day off once in a while.
Still, for me to not invest myself in something I care deeply about, whether it be my career, my friends, my family, my faith, my relationships...it's just not me. God created me to be a person who loves, and loves deeply. Guarding my heart is fine, but closing it off to where I don't give of myself anymore...that's not an option.
So what am I supposed to do with this incredible spirit of devotion and passion within me? If I trust other people with it, I get hurt. If I trust only myself with it, I lose the blessings I receive from my successful interactions with others...and I waste the gift that it is. It rots on a shelf, the opportunities for sharing long gone and now nobody can receive anything beneficial from it. There doesn't seem to be a safe path...or is there?
Enter God. It seems so obvious, but it is also what I forget the most. God is more wise, powerful, loving, and gracious than anyone or anything in the universe and beyond. He sacrificed so much for me so I could have this relationship with Him. He wants my heart, my passion, my devotion, and it's not a fallible human relationship on His end. He will NEVER mistreat or mishandle the gift of my love and devotion...and the benefits of giving everything to Him are unending and truly amazing. God will guide me through the brambles of life, showing me where and whom I need to love...even if it may hurt. No matter what, God will always love me. I need to say that again. No matter what, God will always love me. If He is holding my hand, I can make it through the pain and strife in this frail human life. He's never going to let me down, betray me, or suddenly decide that He just doesn't have feelings for me anymore. I'm safe with Him. I can trust Him.
For once, there won't even be the awkwardness that always comes with my gigantic-sized hands--everything fits perfectly. Now if this could only translate to when I go shoe shopping....
I've had a burning desire for nearly all of my life to be a wife and a mother. I know God has given me the ability and temperament to be pretty darn good at both. For right now, though, I'm accepting that it's just not God's plan. He has things for me to do that I can do better as a single woman. All my projects, the ministries I'm involved in, the jobs I hold that help so many people--they all need time and attention that I would have to (and want to) give to a husband/family. In a way, it's hard for me to do this, give up fighting for this dream. In another way...it's incredibly freeing. The guilt, confusion, pain, and disappointment that comes with shattered dreams is only hindering me in what is a truly joyful existence. Instead of jealousy watching my married friends be held and loved by their husbands, I will be happy for them...and happy that I don't have to deal with twice the laundry and weird video game obsessions. If God grants my dream someday, I will joyfully accept the glass slipper and cry tears of happiness down the aisle. If not...then I will joyfully accept my independence and relax with a "perfect" husband that no mortal man can ever compete with.
So today I will use my passionate devotion to work on a few projects for my church, perhaps revise more of my novel, and maybe even finish the final storyboards for a children's book or two (and, of course, finish my grading/teaching prep for the week). Watch out, world...I'm going to love you. :)
Saturday, May 22, 2010
The 25th Letter
I think God must think Himself to be one heck of a preschool teacher. I mean, He's the Lord of millions of humans who flat-out don't listen, can't survive on their own, and usually end up making messes of EVERYTHING. We get fingerpaint all over the walls, cost a fortune (or your son's life), and consistently forget at times to think of others besides ourselves. We don't always play well with the other kids, and while we still have innocence, it's not always the kind that we truly need to preserve.
My behavior at times over the past week has been much of that of a two-year-old (although I refuse to have a full-on temper tantrum on the floor--my knees won't take the beating anymore). I keep asking God, "Why?" I know He has a reason--adults *always* have a reason, even if they don't know it. A lot of things have fallen apart lately. My jobs are shaky at best, lowering my contract work to half. My heart has been broken by a man I loved. I spent two sleepless nights crying, then staring into the darkness chanting that infamous 25th letter of the alphabet. I've told friends that if I could see some sort of purpose, some sort of reason, some sort of light at the end, that it wouldn't be so bad.
Truth is, while I'm grabbing onto things that may be the very reasons I seek, it doesn't change the facts that I still have to grieve for my lost love and be a lot more financially cautious. There are still consequences for my choices and the choices of others. No man is an island--we all affect each other in ways that may ripple out to be huge blessings...or disasters.
I'm still not sure what God's trying to tell me through this rough patch, but I have suspected a few messages and reminders so far. First, I'm turning to God more than I ever have...not quite enough, but it's definitely a big change in instinctual behavior for me. Instead of isolating myself, which provides just the darkness necessary for brooding, depression, and self-hatred to grow, I've been pushing myself (and letting others push me) into the light. I've joined the church's recreational softball league despite having no athletic talent in that area. I'm conditioning my long-neglected voice and filling in as a substitute on the praise and worship team. I'm seriously considering beginning a PhD program next fall...something I've never really considered pursuing again. I'm starting new projects with friends and have even stumbled into a surprise babysitting job for a family I love. All these things probably wouldn't have happened if it hadn't been for losing my job security and my boyfriend.
I will still be cautious, trying not to take on too much as I so often do (and, as keeping busy helps me work through pain and sadness, it's incredibly tempting). God needs me to rest a little more this summer, take care of myself, and really focus in on my relationship with Him. Eventually God will bring me my heart's desire, if it is His will. It's about being patient and believing.
I'm still tempted to say, "NO! I no wanna! Gimme now!" I think God's had enough of rolling his eyes at me for now, though. :)
My behavior at times over the past week has been much of that of a two-year-old (although I refuse to have a full-on temper tantrum on the floor--my knees won't take the beating anymore). I keep asking God, "Why?" I know He has a reason--adults *always* have a reason, even if they don't know it. A lot of things have fallen apart lately. My jobs are shaky at best, lowering my contract work to half. My heart has been broken by a man I loved. I spent two sleepless nights crying, then staring into the darkness chanting that infamous 25th letter of the alphabet. I've told friends that if I could see some sort of purpose, some sort of reason, some sort of light at the end, that it wouldn't be so bad.
Truth is, while I'm grabbing onto things that may be the very reasons I seek, it doesn't change the facts that I still have to grieve for my lost love and be a lot more financially cautious. There are still consequences for my choices and the choices of others. No man is an island--we all affect each other in ways that may ripple out to be huge blessings...or disasters.
I'm still not sure what God's trying to tell me through this rough patch, but I have suspected a few messages and reminders so far. First, I'm turning to God more than I ever have...not quite enough, but it's definitely a big change in instinctual behavior for me. Instead of isolating myself, which provides just the darkness necessary for brooding, depression, and self-hatred to grow, I've been pushing myself (and letting others push me) into the light. I've joined the church's recreational softball league despite having no athletic talent in that area. I'm conditioning my long-neglected voice and filling in as a substitute on the praise and worship team. I'm seriously considering beginning a PhD program next fall...something I've never really considered pursuing again. I'm starting new projects with friends and have even stumbled into a surprise babysitting job for a family I love. All these things probably wouldn't have happened if it hadn't been for losing my job security and my boyfriend.
I will still be cautious, trying not to take on too much as I so often do (and, as keeping busy helps me work through pain and sadness, it's incredibly tempting). God needs me to rest a little more this summer, take care of myself, and really focus in on my relationship with Him. Eventually God will bring me my heart's desire, if it is His will. It's about being patient and believing.
I'm still tempted to say, "NO! I no wanna! Gimme now!" I think God's had enough of rolling his eyes at me for now, though. :)
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
True Relaxation: God Can Use You Anywhere!
Too many times in my life I feel like a toddler following my mother around the house, asking a single question in response to her every word. “Why?” Lately I’ve been doing that to God. Why haven’t you given me a sign as to my future? Why have you given me the struggles that I have? Why have you healed others but not me? As of this morning, I have an answer.
Living with a disease like fibromyalgia is a study in patience and perseverance. Everything could cause pain, but not everything will all of the time. It’s so full of variables and unexplained phenomena that I’m constantly on my toes. Will I be able to climb the stairs today? Will sitting in my office chair suddenly cause stabs of pain in my hips? Will I get a migraine or not? There are no definite answers, no good “preventative” treatments, at least not for me. There is just my willpower that will breathe through the pain and the prescription narcotics for when it’s too much for me to bear. One thing does help: massage therapy. Going once a week to have these talented women work out my knotted muscles and address the misfiring nerves actually makes each week more livable.
Still, I wondered why God hadn’t healed me. I accepted long ago that there was a reason for this, but we all know how that goes. Without knowing what that “reason” might be, it doesn’t mean as much. Yes, I have developed a great friendship with the two therapists I work with, but is that all?
No.
Today my session ran a little late (my shoulders were tighter than expected). I dressed in a hurry, worrying about the delay causing a problem for the next client waiting for her treatment. The waiting room was a little more crowded than usual, two women waiting on the couch. I usually would have not taken as much time getting out of there, and even offered to call back later to reschedule for next week. God wanted me to stay, though, and the therapist held me off for a few moments, comparing schedules and getting me my requisite post-massage glass of water. I was about to leave when one of the women burst into tears. Turns out that her quiet phone call in the waiting room was to a sibling concerning their sister—who had been told that depending on the surgery today, she would either survive her cancer for three weeks or three months. Ordinarily, sympathetic looks would be all that I could offer—the sobbing redhead was a stranger to me. A fellow client, but no real connection. God didn’t agree.
Before I knew it I was ministering to the woman, telling her my aunt’s story of a miraculous healing from cancer just about ten years ago. “God healed her. She had faith that she would survive, and in six months there was no trace of the cancers whatsoever—and the doctors still can’t figure it out.” Just this past March we had another scare with my aunt. There was a possibility that her brain tumor, surgically removed back in the 1970s, had grown back as her eyesight was once again diminishing. A specialist in Chicago stood dumbfounded as for no “medical” reason, the disruption in sight had disappeared and there was no trace of that looming tumor.
The crying woman gave me a big hug as she left, and later asked me in the parking lot for my name and phone number so I could try to get her family in contact with my aunt. “Thank you so much for sharing that,” she said while wiping her eyes. “It’s exactly what we’ve been needing.”
If I hadn’t been diagnosed with fibromyalgia two years ago, I never would have started getting massages. If I hadn’t build up such a great relationship with the therapists, I never would have seen them this often. If I hadn’t been slammed this week with responsibilities, I never would have made my appointment for this morning. That I met this woman in such great need, my story the exact balm necessary, can only be explained by the hand of God.
When it comes to accepting “there must be a reason” philosophies, leaving our faith in God for Him to show us in His time, be prepared for a wonderful and amazing experience. It may take months, years, or even decades, but everything will come together for His glory. Praise God, our Heavenly Father, in His infinite wisdom and grace.
Living with a disease like fibromyalgia is a study in patience and perseverance. Everything could cause pain, but not everything will all of the time. It’s so full of variables and unexplained phenomena that I’m constantly on my toes. Will I be able to climb the stairs today? Will sitting in my office chair suddenly cause stabs of pain in my hips? Will I get a migraine or not? There are no definite answers, no good “preventative” treatments, at least not for me. There is just my willpower that will breathe through the pain and the prescription narcotics for when it’s too much for me to bear. One thing does help: massage therapy. Going once a week to have these talented women work out my knotted muscles and address the misfiring nerves actually makes each week more livable.
Still, I wondered why God hadn’t healed me. I accepted long ago that there was a reason for this, but we all know how that goes. Without knowing what that “reason” might be, it doesn’t mean as much. Yes, I have developed a great friendship with the two therapists I work with, but is that all?
No.
Today my session ran a little late (my shoulders were tighter than expected). I dressed in a hurry, worrying about the delay causing a problem for the next client waiting for her treatment. The waiting room was a little more crowded than usual, two women waiting on the couch. I usually would have not taken as much time getting out of there, and even offered to call back later to reschedule for next week. God wanted me to stay, though, and the therapist held me off for a few moments, comparing schedules and getting me my requisite post-massage glass of water. I was about to leave when one of the women burst into tears. Turns out that her quiet phone call in the waiting room was to a sibling concerning their sister—who had been told that depending on the surgery today, she would either survive her cancer for three weeks or three months. Ordinarily, sympathetic looks would be all that I could offer—the sobbing redhead was a stranger to me. A fellow client, but no real connection. God didn’t agree.
Before I knew it I was ministering to the woman, telling her my aunt’s story of a miraculous healing from cancer just about ten years ago. “God healed her. She had faith that she would survive, and in six months there was no trace of the cancers whatsoever—and the doctors still can’t figure it out.” Just this past March we had another scare with my aunt. There was a possibility that her brain tumor, surgically removed back in the 1970s, had grown back as her eyesight was once again diminishing. A specialist in Chicago stood dumbfounded as for no “medical” reason, the disruption in sight had disappeared and there was no trace of that looming tumor.
The crying woman gave me a big hug as she left, and later asked me in the parking lot for my name and phone number so I could try to get her family in contact with my aunt. “Thank you so much for sharing that,” she said while wiping her eyes. “It’s exactly what we’ve been needing.”
If I hadn’t been diagnosed with fibromyalgia two years ago, I never would have started getting massages. If I hadn’t build up such a great relationship with the therapists, I never would have seen them this often. If I hadn’t been slammed this week with responsibilities, I never would have made my appointment for this morning. That I met this woman in such great need, my story the exact balm necessary, can only be explained by the hand of God.
When it comes to accepting “there must be a reason” philosophies, leaving our faith in God for Him to show us in His time, be prepared for a wonderful and amazing experience. It may take months, years, or even decades, but everything will come together for His glory. Praise God, our Heavenly Father, in His infinite wisdom and grace.
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