Christian Mom

His Mercies are New Every Morning

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Guilt.

There is an appropriate time and place for guilt.  When we have done wrong, that sense of guilt can be God-given and God-honoring if we respond rightly.  If we are Christians, the Holy Spirit convicts us for the purpose of repentance, restoration, and redemption.

We repent, God forgives, we move on … it is that simple.

As far as the east is from the west,
So far has He removed our transgressions from us.
Psalm 103:12

For many of us, however, it isn’t always that simple.  Some of us walk our journeys with the weight of guilt and shame bundled in heavy sacks across our shoulders.  It impacts every step we take.  It clouds every thought.  It makes the day to day tasks even more exhausting.  It is a brutal way to live.

Sometimes people speak highly of us and while we are appreciative of the kind words, inwardly we cringe and think, ‘Oh, if they only knew.’

How often have we said or heard another woman say, ‘I should have handled that differently’ or ‘I should have made a different decision’ or ‘Maybe I should have done this instead’ or ‘If only I had …’?

How many of us build walls and hide ourselves from people around us as a result?

Probably more than we realize.

I’ve been pondering and working through these thoughts for years but more intensely over the last few weeks as I have been entrenched in an ugly battle with anxiety and fear.  The kind that awakens the old gremlins in my stomach so they start tearing me apart as though they are trying to escape.  The kind of battles that refuse to let me sleep as my brain relentlessly recounts all the times I have messed something up.  The kind that make me afraid to write because I feel like a sham.  The kind that makes me afraid to talk with people because I feel worthless.  The kind that drives me into the deepest recesses of my mind so I can hide from everything.

This is me.  This is the battle I have been fighting my entire life.

Every decision in my life has been made out of fear.  Every decision I have avoided making has been due to fear.  Literally every step in my life has been dictated by fear.

That much fear cultivates the soil perfectly for guilt seeds to thrive.

Those guilt seeds, in a sensitive-natured person like myself, quickly become an overgrown weedy patch of shame … which, in turn, triggers a whole lot more anxiety and fear.

Talk about a nasty cycle.

I have a series I’ve been contemplating writing that would highlight the lessons God is teaching me through all of this … but for today, I want to share only a few thoughts that might be useful for someone else.

Sometimes we carry guilt simply because our perspective of a situation is wrong.

Sometimes we carry guilt for sins not confessed.

Sometimes we carry guilt for sins confessed but our pride refuses to release.

Let me share a personal example as an illustration …

When my son was diagnosed with autism years ago, there were still articles and people around that blamed the mother for autism.  ‘Refrigerator Mother’ was still a relatively common term.  There were (and are) still plenty of articles and people around who will blame a mother if her child doesn’t progress well on the autism journey.

I carried guilt for years that my son’s autism was my fault.  I carried guilt for years that the severity of my son’s autism was my fault. That guilt I carried never allowed me to simply grieve the diagnosis so we could live the life we had been given.

Logically I can understand that I did not cause my son’s autism.  But the guilt I carried, compounded by my fearful/selfish nature and other difficult life circumstances, caused me to make decisions (or avoid making decisions) that may have impacted my son’s autism journey.

To carry guilt that my son has autism is foolish.  That is a guilt that was never mine to carry.

However, I am responsible for what I did after the diagnosis … and yes, I do tend to carry a lot of guilt because I know I could have handled things better.  It took years for me to learn how to be his mother and love him well.  We have grown up together in many ways.

Now, to confess poor decisions from the past before the Lord is wise and the correct thing to do.  To continually beat myself up over past poor decisions is foolish and is mostly likely a sign of pride.

Here is another example …

My attends a private autism school while I homeschool his siblings.  I used to struggle with guilt that I was sending him away even though I knew he needed the resources that a specialized school could provide and I needed those resources as well.  This was a misplaced guilt.

However, if I don’t attend meetings or implement behavioral strategies at home, then guilt would be valid.  But sending him to an environment where he can best learn and then investing that time into his siblings is not a valid occasion for guilt.

Does that make sense?

Lamentations 3 has been a source of encouragement to me on this journey and I want to share it here so these beautiful words of hope might encourage someone else.

Remember my affliction and my wandering, the wormwood and bitterness. 
Surely my soul remembers and is bowed down within me.
This I recall to my mind, therefore I have hope.
The Lord’s lovingkindnesses indeed never cease,
For His compassions never fail.
They are new every morning; Great is Your faithfulness.
“The Lord is my portion,” says my soul,“Therefore I have hope in Him.”
The Lord is good to those who wait for Him, to the person who seeks Him.
It is good that he waits silently for the salvation of the Lord.
Lamentations 3:19-26

 

It is important to spend time with the Lord concerning issues that invite a sense of guilt or shame.  Sometimes it is even helpful to talk them through with a wise and trustworthy counselor, Pastor, or friend who can share insight that we may not see.  Where there is sin to be confessed, we absolutely need to do so and then leave it at the cross.  If the sense of guilt or shame is not rooted in sin, then we need to learn to speak truth into the lies and walk freely.

It is imperative to learn how to discern between God-given guilt due to sin and our human tendency to feel of guilt/shame concerning issues that have nothing to do with sin.

However, in each and every case, we need to remember that the Lord’s lovingkindness never ceases and His mercies are new every morning.

Every day is a new opportunity to make wise decisions.

Every day is a new opportunity to do the right thing.

Every day is a new opportunity to choose not to define our lives by misplaced guilt and shame from the past but to find our identity in Christ alone.

Great is His faithfulness!

He Knows My Name

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Hagar, the slave of Sarah and the mother of Abraham’s son, Ishmael, sat alone, forgotten, and rejected in a desert place, waiting for her son and then herself to die.  God heard their cries and had compassion on them.  An angel appeared to her and promised that Ishmael would live and that God would make of him a great nation.  Then he opened her eyes to a nearby well of water and the Bible tells us that God was with Ishmael as he grew.  (Genesis 21:8-21)

She was an unwanted and rejected slave … but God knew her name.

Rahab, a prostitute who lived in Jericho hid the two Hebrew spies from certain death and then helped them escape safely.  Her life and the lives of her families were saved as a result and she was included in the line of Christ. (Joshua 2:1-24)

She was a prostitute, a harlot … but God knew her name.

The poor widow was desperate as her two sons were about to be sold into slavery to cover a payment of debt.  She cried out to the Prophet Elisha for help and God used him to provide miraculous means to cover those debts.  (2 Kings 4:1-7)

She was a poor, indebted widow … but God knew her name.

The woman at the well, who came to draw her water alone because of the shame of her her broken life, was the reason Jesus needed to pass through Samaria.   Most Jewish men would not have given her a passing glance but Jesus sought her out and as a result, many from her town believed in Christ. (John 4)

She lived a broken, promiscuous life … but God knew her name.

Because God knew each of their names, their lives were forever changed.

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“Are not five sparrows sold for two cents? Yet not one of them is forgotten before God. Indeed, the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Do not fear; you are more valuable than many sparrows.”
Luke 12:6,7

 

 

 

 

He knows my name.

Such beautiful words to ponder!

He knows my name.

God, the Creator of this world and everything within it, the God of Abraham, Jacob, and Isaac, I Am …

He knows my name.

Me.  The youngest of three children.  The quietest and the least of these … He knows my name.

Me.  The one who was not the first choice, nor the second, nor the third … but rather chosen as a last resort.  Not wanted nor especially loved … He knows my name.

Me.  The one who remains most often in seclusion as a caregiver, usually in the background, relatively invisible and unseen … He knows my name.

An absolute nobody from the middle of nowhere.

He knows my name.

Because of that, my life has been forever changed too.

“O Lord You have searched me and known me!”
Psalm 139:1

 

What a amazing God is this who looks upon the ones the world often casts aside and chooses them for His own!  What a debt of gratitude I owe and how my spirit longs to live in such a way to reflect His amazing love to others.

There is no one like Him.

“There is none like You, O Lord;
You are great, and great is Your name in might.”
Jeremiah 10:6

 

 

 

 

 

Be Still My Soul

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Are you facing a situation where you felt truly defeated and maybe even a bit hopeless?

Day after day … month after month … year after year …

You have prayed, wept, read and applied the truth in God’s word, dealt with your own sin and shortcomings, sought Godly counsel, and applied said counsel time and time again…

And while God has changed you in the process and the gratitude within you cannot be feigned, you find the burden of the situation continuing to bring sorrow after sorrow.

Hopelessness begins to settle over your heart like a dark cloud and the tears in your eyes like its teetering raindrops.

What hope have we as believers when the trials of life seem overwhelming?  What should our response be as followers of the Christ who Himself bore sorrow after sorrow on our behalf?

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I stared at the waters as I walked alongside the lake near my home.  The clouds overhead were gray and dense as their rain droplets threatened to fall.  To a certain degree, my thoughts were just as heavy and pensive as I pondered and prayed and yet, I couldn’t help but notice the peaceful stillness of the water beside me.

A familiar passage of Scripture stirred in my heart and I began to softly murmur the words King David penned so long ago in what we now know as Psalm 23 …

“He makes me lie down in green pastures;
He leads me beside quiet waters.
He restores my soul;
He guides me in the paths of righteousness
For His name’s sake.”

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I gazed over the stillness of the lake as the words, “He leads me beside the quiet waters. He restores my soul.” echoed as a gentle and grounding reminder to look to Him for strength for each challenge,
healing for each sorrow, and rest for the weariness.

 

 

As I continued along, an old hymn rose from the memories of my past and awoke a melody in my spirit as some of the words whispered through my mind …

“Be still, my soul: the Lord is on your side;
bear patiently the cross of grief or pain;
leave to your God to order and provide;
in ev’ry change he faithful will remain.
Be still, my soul: your best, your heav’nly Friend
through thorny ways leads to a joyful end.”

Sometimes I love when the Lord does this and sometimes … I am not as pleased.

I want Him to do something.  I am weary of this situation in my life and I am weary of walking through it alone.  This time as I prayed, I wanted a firm reassurance that He was going to do something.  I wanted a sign from heaven that my life would somehow become easier.

Instead, I heard, ‘Be still.’

I heard, ‘Bear patiently the cross of grief and pain.’

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Tiny raindrops began to fall from the sky as my walk was nearing the end.  Whether my face was damp from those raindrops or the ones from my eyes, I do not know.

But perhaps you will read with me another verse from this hymn and consider how these words point us to our true hope in the storms of life …

 “Be still, my soul: your God will undertake
to guide the future as he has the past.
Your hope, your confidence let nothing shake;
all now mysterious shall be bright at last.
Be still, my soul: the waves and winds still know
his voice who ruled them while he dwelt below.”

Not much is known of the writer of this hymn, aside from her name, that she was born in 1697, and that she seemed to have lived a mostly solitary life in a religious convent. These words, her only hymn to be translated into the English language, remind us to focus our minds and hearts on the God who has proven Himself faithful in the past and who continues to guide us in all of our tomorrows.  We are reminded to let nothing in this life shake our confidence, and yes, even our hope, in His love and care.

Even when we do not understand, He is good.

Be still my soul.

 

Sometimes we want things we were not meant to have.
Because He loves us, the Father says no.
Faith is willing not to have what God is not willing to give.
Furthermore, faith does not insist upon an explanation.
It is enough to know His promises to give what is good – 
He knows so much more about us than we do.
~Elisabeth Elliott~

 

 

*Be Still my Soul ~ written by Kathrina von Schlegel (hymnary.org)

A Single Thread in the Greatest Tapestry of All

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As a young girl, I loved to do embroidery and cross-stitch. There was something  exhilarating about creating a design from thin pieces of string, a needle, and material.  To this day, though I rarely do any sort of crafting myself, I find myself drawn to the beauty of art created by thread.  The details a true artist can make come alive and the stories that can be told through this exquisite art form are mesmerizing.

Now, here is something I’ve been thinking on lately … when I look upon a tapestry and observe the picture or story being presented, I always notice the use of color and I usually notice the various stitching utilized.  But I never pay particular attention to any one thread or string used.  The story and the beauty of the piece will cause me to search for details about the creator and ponder the skill they possess.  But never do I ponder or seek information about one particular piece of thread that is used in the overall design.

I have yet to point to an individual thread and say, “Wow! That piece of thread is amazing!  Look how it sewed itself into the material!”

No, I will look at the tapestry and say, “The creator of this piece must possess exceptional skill to create such beauty with simple pieces of thread.”

I believe I can say with confidence that neither does a single thread draw attention to itself nor claim the glory for the masterpiece.

The creator receives the glory … not the thread.

Without the artist, the thread can do nothing.

 

blue blur close up craft

Photo by Fancycrave.com on Pexels.com

 

When my first born began to exhibit significant developmental delays many years ago and received the diagnosis of autism, I prayed constantly for his healing.  I sang praise songs, I spoke verses over him, and I was convinced that I knew the will of God for him.  We certainly were not to be ‘held back’ with the diagnosis of severe autism and I could not see how anything less than a full healing could possibly be the will of God.

Over the years, the severity of his autism continued to grow and significantly impact not only his life, but my own and the rest of our family.  Despite all I tried to do to ‘fix’ his symptoms, little progress was made and the journey grew incredibly hard and isolating.  Family and friends could not relate or understand this reality and I began to hide as I grew discouraged and overwhelmed with a sense of failure.

“Did I not have enough faith?”
“Did I not do enough?”
“Is the severity and impact of my son’s diagnosis all my fault?”

I truly believed it was.

It was when I reached the very end of trying to weave my own version of our story that the Lord picked up the threads.

“My life is but a weaving between my God and me. 
I cannot choose the colors, He weaveth constantly.

‘Oft times He weaveth sorrow; And I in foolish pride
Forget He sees the upper, and I the under side.”

 

The journey since then has been considerably different.  The Lord has often done what I could not.  He has opened doors that were formerly closed, however, He has also allowed others to remain closed.  My son is not ‘healed’ of  autism and yet, he has grown.  The Lord has walked me personally through many steps of spiritual maturity and growth and, as a result, He has allowed me the privilege to teach those same lessons to my children.  Not because He cured my son of autism … but because He is working through my son and his autism.  The difficulties, the hard parts, the dependence on One greater than ourselves … these are the very things that cause us to grow, to change, to look continually towards the Savior.

Often, given the nature of my life and the lack of impact I feel I have in my church and community, I feel insignificant.  I feel like I haven’t done enough … or that I am not good enough.  I believe the story and testimony of another must be of more value than my own.

However, I’ve come to view life as a series of threads that God is weaving into a masterpiece tapestry that He has been crafting since Genesis 1:1.  The thread of one is not greater or of more value than another.  Rather, each become intricately linked together as the Father weaves a story that, for now, we can only partially see.

Remembering that the one to receives the glory is not the single thread, but the Creator of the tapestry.

For the thread, without Him, can do nothing.

Not ’til the loom is silent and the shuttles cease to fly
Will God unroll the canvas and reveal the reasons why

The dark threads are as needful in the weaver’s skillful hand
As the threads of gold and silver in the pattern He has planned.

 

My son woke early one morning this week, upset and out of sorts.  I startled awake and quickly clambered out of bed, wrenching the very knee I just had surgery on.  I limped about, feeling a bit discouraged as I pondered the reality of this life.  But as I helped my son get ready for his day, I began singing softly to myself, without much thought of the song that left my lips.

There is power in the name of Jesus
There is power in the name of Jesus
There is power in the name of Jesus

To break every chain
Break every chain
Break every chain

Suddenly my son locked his eyes on mine and my mostly non-verbal son said one word… ‘Swing.’ 

Everything stopped in that moment as the significance of that one word rolled over me.

One year ago I sat outside on our porch swing with my son as we waited for electricity to be restored after a storm.  I remember it was such a difficult time as I sang those very words to my son just before the Lord led me to present the gospel and his need of a Savior.

One year ago, I sat on the swing and led my son to Jesus.

The memory of that unbelievable moment still fills me with wonder because at one time, it seemed an impossibility.

As I recollected this, our eyes remained locked together as I said, “Yes, you remember that I sang that song to you as we sat on the swing and that was when you asked Jesus into your heart.  You remember that?”

His eyes remained on mine … and he smiled.

 

He knows, He loves, He cares;
Nothing this truth can dim.

He gives the very best to those
Who leave the choice to Him.
(The Tapestry Poem by Corrie ten Boom)

 

You know, I don’t know how different our lives might be had God answered my prayers the way I wanted Him to many years ago.  But this journey has taught me that my story is not mine alone.  The thread of my life is not mine alone to determine the course.  When left in the hand of the Father, the thread learns to actively follow where it is led and in His hands, I have found, is no better place to be.

Some day, we will get to hear the story in its entirety and see the tapestry complete … and then we’ll understand.

For now, I am content to trust Him and follow where He leads.

A single thread in the greatest tapestry of all.

accessory bobbin close up clothing

Photo by Fancycrave.com on Pexels.com

 

Summer Writing

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Summer.

Thoughts of summer tend to inspire all kinds of images, memories, dreams, and plans.

Just this morning, while the rest of my family slumbered peacefully as I weeded flower beds outside, I was reminded of my own childhood summers.  I would often sleep in and when I finally stumbled down the stairs, the house would be quiet … my mother no where to be seen.  Yet, all I had to do was look out the back patio door and there I would usually find her, bent over, pulling weeds from the garden.  Back then I thought that the most terrible thing … working outside in the garden during those lazy early summer mornings.

Now, I see it differently.

I couldn’t wait to get outside this morning and even though I was quite weary and the temperatures already warm, I eagerly embraced the task of weeding my own flower beds.

Time has a way of adjusting our perspectives, doesn’t it?

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I’ve been thinking about perspectives quite a bit lately.  And writing.

Summer too.  Oh, and homeschooling.  Autism.  Family.  Relationships.  Personalities.

Children.  Hurt feelings.  Misunderstandings and feeling left out.  Faith.

The current culture.  The future.

So basically … life.

My oldest son, who is 18 and has severe autism, is currently on break from school.  There are those who are critical of this kind of honesty, but I can readily admit these are some of the most challenging days of the year for me personally.  When he is home, my radar is on 24/7 and it doesn’t take long for me to experience a certain level of burn-out as he begins to break down from the extended break in his routine.

It is a balancing act trying to keep him busy and productive without overstimulating him with too much activity, changes, and demands.  What an entire team of professionals do during a single day cannot be replicated by one weary mother who is balancing some extreme autistic behaviors, the needs of other children, and many diverse tasks and responsibilities.

During this burning-out phase, parts of my brain tend to slow or even shut down so that other parts can continue to function.  My thinking and overall reaction time slows, while my stress response actually quickens.  I sleep more but never feel rested.  I enter the familiar realm of survival.

It is what it is.

Typically in the days before I begin burning out, I write more.  I share little stories or the day’s events on social media.  I take more pictures.  It is a desperate attempt to reach out and connect because I am always afraid of getting lost in this world of survival.  I focus and share on the positives, wanting others to see and experience the smallest of steps of our journey.  Then suddenly, a switch flips and everything changes.

There is a hazy fog that fills me until I can only see the very next step ahead of me…

And sometimes not even that.

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This morning, I stepped outside into the quiet morning air with my coffee in one hand and my gardening gloves in the other.  I pushed the wheelbarrow over and then slowly, methodically began to weed my flower bed.  I would stop to sip my coffee and look around me before reaching back down for another invasive weed.  I contemplated both the beauty of the flowers and the quiet … and the One who created it all … and what all influences our perceptions.

When I was young, weeding a garden in the early morning hours when I could be sleeping, was unthinkable.  Now, it is a time to gather strength.  A time to be alone in the silence and talk with my Savior.  A time to listen to His instruction.

My perception of pulling weeds, and pretty much everything else, has changed over time.  The way I understand life and perceive it have altered considerably through life experiences, a deepening walk with God, a transforming worldview based on the truth of Scripture, trials, and the resulting maturity.

There is little that I see the same as when I was a child.

As it should be.

The difficulties of my youth, the things I cried into my pillow about, now seem less significant in the light of more recent heartaches.

Yet, to the naive child I was, those heartaches were deep and real.  I would never go back to that child and tell her that her tears were silly.  I would never tell her other people’s problems are more important than hers.  No, if I could go back, I would wipe her tears, teach her more about the Savior, walk with her through the heartaches, talk to her about making wise decisions, and then encourage her to see and reach out to the heartaches around her.

To the young woman who was so desperate to be loved that she hinged her entire identity on it, I would never dismiss her fears.  I would wrap my arms around her and direct her back to the One whose very love redeemed her and fills her life with more purpose and identity that she could possibly imagine.  I would encourage her to deepen and strengthen her walk with Christ before even considering dating or marriage.  I would caution her to seek Christ first and to make wise decisions.

To the married woman in a broken relationship, longing for a baby of her own, I would never make light of her desire for motherhood or the brokenness she was experiencing.  I would sit beside her, wipe away her tears, pray with her, and encourage her to love the children that are already in her life.  Invest in them, trust the Lord for her own future, learn the process of contentment, make wise decisions, and above all else, look to Christ first in all things.

You see, hindsight makes me look at all the various difficult seasons in my life very differently.  Because of the journey I have been on and the countless ways I have see God work on my behalf over many years, I understand things differently now.  But, I had to walk through all the very real and very hard things to learn this about Him.  The child I was could never begin to understand what I know now … nor could the woman I was five years ago.

My perception has changed and therefore how I respond to life has changed.

“When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put the ways of childhood behind me.”
1 Corinthians 13:11

One time I was asked by a person in ministry, who was walking through a very hard season in life, how I handle it when people complain to me about things that seem trivial in comparison to my journey.  Does it bother me?  I thought for a moment and then answered honestly that it used to bother me.  When a young mother would complain about her baby waking in the night or how tired she was, my insides would scoff as I thought about the years of sleep deprivation I have experienced …

But then I grew up.

I matured in my faith and I began to recognize the purpose of my trials and the strength of my Savior.  He developed in me an empathy and deep compassion for people and more than anything, this has deepened into a desire to be an encouragement to others.

So now when a young mother mentions how tired she is and then apologizes as she realizes how weary I am, I try to be quick to reassure her.  Her fatigue is very real.  Just because I am weary from years and years of sleep deprivation, does not make her any less weary.  It doesn’t make her fatigue any less important.  I always try to validate her and then encourage her that it is simply part of the journey and the Lord who walks with her can be her source of strength on the most weary of days and nights.  I want her to look to Jesus in the difficult times, as well as, the good.

Why else has God brought me through all these years if not to point others to Him?

A young mother’s perception of the early days of motherhood will adjust and change over time.  The present season we are in is usually the hardest season because we are learning and growing just as our children are.

The same is true for our fellow believers who are walking through life, with difficulties big or small.  I don’t get to determine the size of someone’s struggle or trial … I do not know their life experiences nor the depth of their faith.  I do not know know how they perceive life and I cannot expect them to view their difficulty through the same perception I have.  I can only love them, point them to Jesus, speak the truth from Scriptures, challenge them to make wise decisions, and pray that their faith would grow as they walk through whatever season of difficulty they are facing.

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As I pulled the weeds from my garden this morning, I asked the Father to pull the weeds of sin from my own life and to continue to grow and strengthen me even as the hazy fog of survival mode threatens to overwhelm me.  All I could hear in the silence was to continue to look to Him in all things, practice contentment, make wise decisions, show myself some grace, and write … write what I have learned and trust to be true.

The truths that strengthen me during some of the most wearying days of the year.

So, I offer to you my summer writing … because of Him.

 

 

 

 

Trust

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I heard the first sniffle but decided to ignore it.

As well as the second … and the third.

These sniffles are often a precursor to an explosion but I was hoping that wouldn’t be the case this time.

It was late.  I was tired.

I didn’t want to do this.

In fact, I said that to my son … “Please, let’s not do this tonight.”

But, for some reason, the computer he was using would not connect to the internet, which meant he could not watch the YouTube videos he fixates on.

Which means … his button got pushed.

And before long, those sniffles led to the explosion I feared … an especially ugly one.

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I am not especially skilled in technology but over the years, since I have a son with autism who is obsessed with technology, I have gained a certain amount of knowledge.  Given some time, I can usually problem-solve and determine if it is a problem I can fix, if I need to call tech support, or if I actually need to take the computer somewhere for service.

On this night I struggled to problem solve but found it impossible given the behaviors and noise level.  My ears were ringing from the noise, my body fatigued from the day, and my head aching from the unintentional blow to the face when I got in the way of a flying elbow.

I was sure it might be an easy fix but I just could not figure it out and given my son’s loud behaviors, I couldn’t risk calling tech support for guidance.

I tried to calm my son.  I tried to explain that if he would just calm down, I could call and get help but as long as he screamed, I was not able to call.

I couldn’t begin to fix the problem as long as he continued in his behaviors.

He raged on.

He asked for ‘Internet’ over and over and over again.

But he would not do what was needed in order for me to address the problem.

I tried explaining that only that one computer wouldn’t connect to the internet.  He still had his I Pad and he could use my lap top.  There were options.

But he would not listen to the other options available to him.

He was just too angry to listen.  Too determined to have things be a certain way.

Finally, I sent him to his ‘calm-down’ chair.  It is simply a set place to get himself together … calm down … get behaviors under control.

When he finally reached a point of hovering just under the crisis line, I sank into my own ‘calming down’ spot and began to plead with the Lord.  “Please Lord, I can’t do this again.  Could you just make that computer work so we could have peace tonight?”

Oh how I long for peace.

But I’ve been down this road before and I know that God doesn’t smooth the way out for me very often.  Usually there is something to learn … something for me to teach my son … a connection that needs made … a skill to develop.

So, I followed up my plea with, “But Lord, if that peace and an easy answer isn’t what you have for us tonight, then please guide me in what to do … and provide the grace and strength that is needed.”

Because I was fresh out.

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My son stayed just below the crisis point but still fixated on the uncooperative computer.

I mostly stayed silent because I knew he wasn’t ready to listen.

But I watched and waited … wondering how the night would play out and mentally steeling myself for a disrupted night of sleep.

He finally reached a point of coping by accepting my computer as a temporary replacement.  I placed it beside his computer so he could still sit at his desk and watch his videos.

Yes, he was coping with the situation … but he was still obsessing.

Trying to control and determined how things should be … but not trusting.

Not trusting the woman who protects and looks out for him every moment of the day.

Not trusting the one who has guided him through many a trial and challenge.

Not trusting the one who loves him most dearly.

Choosing to rage and stomp in anger … instead of trusting.

As a mother who is generally patient and compassionate, it was enough to irritate me.

“Honestly,” I told the Lord, “if he would just listen and trust me, life wouldn’t have to be this stressful.”

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My son has autism and his obsessive, controlling nature is part of it … but it is also part of his sin nature.  He is determined for things to be a certain way.  He is also very smart and able to learn … but we still have to walk through these behaviors almost every time something happens to disrupt his sense of control.

As his mother, I long for him to simply turn to me and allow me to walk him through the challenges of this life without all the drama and anger.  I love this young man and I work constantly to teach him the needed skills to live the freest and fullest life possible.

His autism is not his greatest obstacle … his anger and need for control is.

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Friend, you likely do not have autism, but I wonder if you can relate to my son’s struggle?

I know I can.

I want life to be a certain way.  To look a certain way.

There are certain things that I want to be in place so I feel safe and loved.

I don’t like disruptions and truthfully, I really hate it when I am reminded that I am not in control.

However, how we respond in the challenges, disruptions, and crises of life is a pretty clear indicator of our level of trust in the Lord.

Are our responses similar to those of my son?  Do we fly into an immediate rage and stomp about in anger?  Do we panic and assume the worst is about to happen?  Do we seek control over others and the situation?  Do we rant and destroy others with our tongues in this place of anger or fear?

As our Father in heaven watches, what do our responses to these temporal situations tell Him?  I wonder if He feels the same frustration I sometimes feel with my son?

The same grief as I watch him struggle with the same thing over and over?

The same desire to see freedom and growth?

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I have spent a lot of time over the years pondering my relationship with my son and my relationship with God the Father.  But this week, I considered how deeply I long for my son to trust me fully.  To rest in my care and guidance.  And I had to ask myself, how much more does God the Father desire for me to trust Him in all things?  To rest in His sovereign care and guidance?

I work to be a good and Godly mother to my children but my best efforts will always be tarnished by sin.  But God’s love is holy and pure, untouched by sin.

“If you then, being evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give what is good to those who ask him!”
Matthew 7:11

My thoughts on this topic are still developing so I am sure what I have written is a bit jumbled.  But I will share anyways because I wonder if this line of thought might also be helpful for someone else?  Maybe it would be helpful to consider how you respond when life gets disrupted and seems to spin out of your control?  Perhaps it would be good to ask the Lord how responsive you are to His leading and discipline?  How obedient to His call?  How trusting of His guidance and plans for your life?

What a gracious and long-suffering Father He is.

 

 

How Can It Be A ‘Good Friday’?

/ walkingthisjourneysite / 1 Comment

“One day when Heaven Was filled with His praises,
One day when sin was As black as could be,
Jesus came forth To be born of a virgin,
Dwelt among men, my example is He!”

 

It is has been an almost unparalleled season of trial.

So much so that our beloved Easter season is upon us and I am completely unprepared.

I have nothing to give my children, true, but even more than that …

my heart hasn’t felt prepared.

I haven’t done the reading I typically do.

I haven’t thought about the days leading up to Christ death.

I simply have not prepared my heart as I tend to do during this season.

By yesterday, as I stumbled through the day on two hours of sleep, kept after my 18 year old son with autism who seems to have reengaged in behaviors from his younger years during this spring break, and did all the work a mother needs to do whether she is sleep-deprived or not, I felt crushed beneath the weight of the load.  I have felt this way for months but this week has felt too much.

I went to bed feeling somewhat defeated.

Such is the case when the trials of life are of the long-term variety and your journey tends to be one of isolation and loneliness.

Sometimes your body just begins to break down and your spirit groans within you.

Sometimes you just lay in your bed too weary to weep, too broken to speak, yet too overwhelmed to sleep.

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“…He withdrew from them about a stone’s throw, and He knelt down and began to pray, saying, “Father, if You are willing, remove this cup from Me, yet not My will, but Yours be done.” Now an angel from heaven appeared and strengthened Him. And being in agony He was praying very fervently; and His sweat became like drops of blood, falling down upon the ground.”  Luke 22:41-44

 

After a somewhat challenging night of sleep, I woke this morning and was immediately reminded that it was Good Friday.

The day we Christians observe the sacrifice and overwhelming love of our Savior.

When He, after a lonely night of agonizing prayer to God the Father, He submitted His will and prepared to lay down His life … for mine.

And yours.

How can this Friday possibly be considered ‘good’?

Propelling my exhausted body off the couch at the insistence of my dog who wanted to go outside, I began to make my way through the house, letting her out, making coffee, and trying to wake fully.

When I did, I saw the beauty of sunshine.

I saw green grass and yellow forsythias blooming.

I saw trees filled with the promise of spring as buds filled their branches.

I saw new life.

And I began to ponder this day in history.

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“One day they led Him up Calvary’s mountain,
One day they nailed Him to die on the tree;
Suffering anguish, despised and rejected:
Bearing our sins, my Redeemer is He!

 

Sometimes I wonder what Jesus was thinking as He stood before Pilate and Herod.  When He was struck and beaten, scorned and reviled, mocked and stripped?

How did He endure such torment and torture?

When He fell beneath the weight of the cross on the way to Golgotha, was Heaven on His mind?  Or was it the reason for his sacrifice?

The creation that He came to redeem.

When He laid down on the cross, holding still as the soldiers nailed him fast …

When they hoisted the cross into the air, jolting his already broken body …

As He struggled to breathe while listening to the crowd mock and jeer …

Feeling a separation from His Father for the first time …

And all the darkness rejoicing to see the One they hated suffer …

Was He thinking, “One day, a child is going to cry out for forgiveness and because of this day, I will be able to forgive her and call her my own.”?

“One day that child of Mine will face incredible heartache and grief and will want to give up but because of what I am enduring, I will be able to help her endure.”

“One day she will feel broken but because of my brokenness, she will be healed.”

“And one day I will bring her home with Me to heaven and I will wipe away all her tears because sin will no longer touch her life.”

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“It was now about the sixth hour, and darkness fell over the whole land until the ninth hour, because the sun was obscured; and the veil of the temple was torn in two.  And Jesus, crying out with a loud voice, said, “Father, into Your hands, I commit My Spirit.” Having said this, He breathed His last.”  Luke 23:44-46

 

Have you ever wondered what all transpired in the time after Jesus spoke those words and in the days following?

The immense grief and fear of His followers as they cared for his broken body and placed Him in a borrowed tomb?

The awed silence in Heaven as the angels waited and watched?

The laughter and wicked rejoicing from all the powers of darkness and hell?

Sometimes this is what life feels like to us too.

Times of grief … times of waiting … times of uncertainty … times of silence while the wicked rejoice and seemingly thrive.

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“One day the grave Could conceal Him no longer,
One day the stone rolled away from the door;
Then He arose, over death He had conquered;
Now is ascended, my Lord evermore!”

 

I like to ponder that moment in heaven when God the Father told the angels it was time.

After three days of silence while watching the masses of hell scream in victory, it was time for the true Victor to rise.

The earth shook and the massive stone was rolled away as Jesus Christ broke free from the cruel clutches of death and stood at the door of His tomb … no longer in His broken earthly body, but standing tall as the risen and holy Son of God.

The quiet of heaven must have broken forth with glorious song as the powers darkness and hell now watched in stunned silence.

And then days later, that same Jesus, who had come to this earth as a baby, lived, loved, and served before dying an agonizing death on the cross, rose into the heavens taking His rightful place beside His Father.

The Lamb.

The Sacrifice.

Our Redeemer.

The One who paid the penalty of sin and death so we don’t have to.

The One who defeated sin and stands before the Father making intercession for us.

The One who is well-acquainted with grief and who helps us bear our sorrows.

Because He lives, we can face tomorrow with confidence, peace, and joy, knowing we are secure in Him.

It is a Good Friday indeed.

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“One day the trumpet will sound for His coming,
One day the skies with His glory will shine;
Wonderful day, my beloved One bringing;
Glorious Savior, this Jesus is mine!

Living, He loved me; dying, He saved me;
Buried, He carried my sins far away;
Rising He justified freely forever:
One day He’s coming– O glorious day!”

  ~One Day written by J.Wilbur Chapman (1910)~

beach clouds dawn dusk

Photo by Josh Sorenson on Pexels.com

~ A Girl, A Dress, and Jesus ~

/ walkingthisjourneysite / 2 Comments

My niece is getting married this summer and she has asked my 13 (soon to be 14) year old daughter, MB, to be her junior bridesmaid.  I am so excited this precious niece of mine is marrying such a wonderful man, but what makes it all even sweeter is having my daughter invited to be a part of the ceremony.

The wedding plans are being pulled together in a relatively short period of time and finding a dress for my daughter did not seem to be that difficult of a challenge, especially in comparison to finding a venue, the bride’s dress, or a caterer.  The fact that my niece lives a few hours away and is only able to visit home on occasional weekends, pushed the search for a bridesmaid dress lower and lower on the to-do list.

We finally found an open window with my niece (and Grandma) to visit our only local bridal store (local for us means a 45 minute drive) on a Sunday afternoon in the midst of an exceptionally busy weekend, which had left my ‘shopping-intolerant’ daughter already exhausted.

We met our consultant, ‘Cricket’ (Isn’t that the most fun name??), and began looking through the fairly small selection of junior bridesmaid dresses and picking out a few for MB to try on.  One, in particular, we were hoping would work because it was similar to what another attendant would be wearing and we knew it could be ordered in time in the color we needed.  Each dress was quickly dismissed by my daughter for simply not fitting her petite frame well or feeling very uncomfortable.

Except one.

Cricket brought a dress to the fitting room that I had eyed earlier but which had been dismissed because of its vibrant design. She suggested my daughter try it as she assured us that it could be ordered in the mint green color our bride desired.  MB tried it on, slowly opened the dressing room door, and there she stood with the first smile of the appointment!  She loved this dress and we loved it on her — it was absolutely perfect!

We were sure this was ‘the one.’

Then Cricket cautioned us not to get too excited because said she needed to make sure it could be ordered in time for the quickly approaching June wedding.  All of our hearts sank as she came back, shaking her head, and informing us that it was absolutely impossible to get this dress in time.  The soonest it would arrive in the needed mint green was a full month AFTER the wedding.  We were so disappointed and I watched my daughter wilt as she tried on more dresses, wanting to please everyone, but feeling dreadfully uncomfortable.  That unattainable dress was the only one she liked and felt comfortable in … the only one that was guaranteed to arrive in time was the one she hated most of all and felt the most uncomfortable in.

Finally, I called a halt.  I suggested that we stop for the day and that we would come back another day, just my daughter and I.  Our consultant agreed and told me to call and make an appointment with her … she insisted she would be able to find something.

I made an appointment for the following Saturday and tried not to think too much about it.  I saw the selection and knew we didn’t have a lot of options.  I checked local department stores, but none seemed to carry anything remotely appropriate for the wedding.  I kept praying about it and finally, Saturday morning, I asked the Lord to somehow provide a way for my daughter to get the dress she loved in the mint green color, despite the clear impossibilities, or if not that one, to provide another dress that she would love and be just as comfortable in.  I just wanted her to feel comfortable, beautiful, and wrapped in love for this very special day.  We all did.

We arrived a little before 4:00 for our appointment, only to learn that our appointment was actually scheduled for 4:30 and our consultant was working with a bride.  The lady at the front desk said that if we didn’t want to wait, other consultants were available and even though my time-efficiency instinct started to kick in, I felt deep inside that we needed to wait for Cricket.  So I told her we would wait and simply look around, which I did with a reluctant daughter in tow.  I finally drew out of her that she had convinced herself that she needed to get that one dress that we knew would arrive on time, even if she hated it for herself.

We only had to wait a few minutes before our consultant successfully sold her bride a lovely wedding dress and was ready for us.  We did decide to try that hated dress on once more in a bigger size, as well as, another one that I had found.  She started with the second dress and liked it but before we could celebrate, Cricket warned us that this dress probably wouldn’t arrive on time for the June wedding either.  So, with a heavy heart, I asked my daughter to try on the first dress … the hated one.

She tried it on and we helped zipper the back only to discover it was a size too big so Cricket decided to have her try on a smaller size  … a size six. As we waited for her to bring it to us, I watched with sadness as my daughter squirmed and itched and pulled at her dress.  I knew that the size six would not feel any more comfortable for her and that she was miserable in the dress.  But I also knew that given the time restraints, at the present time, it seemed our only option.

My heart cried out to the Lord to do something for her because I felt powerless.

Cricket brought her the dress in a size 6 and as my daughter was changing, she told me that she wanted to go grab another dress.  She said it was a really cute dress, it was actually in the mint green color we needed, and it was a size 6 … just like the dress my girl was trying on.

So she went to get it while I waited and hoped for a miracle.

And then she returned,  carrying a lovely, mint green, flowing dress …

the VERY DRESS my daughter had tried on the week before and LOVED!

The very dress we were told could never arrive in time for our June wedding.

Right there in front of me.

I am sure my jaw hit the floor as I exclaimed to the consultant that it was the same dress … the one we wanted so badly from the week before.  She looked at it again and her eyes widened before getting all excited herself.   She shared with me that this particular dress had been driving her crazy all day because it had been hanging by itself in the wrong section and every time she walked by it, she noticed it but she never had time to put it away.  Because she saw it all day and because it bothered her all day, it came to mind as she was helping us.

She then said in a hushed, awe-filled voice, “I think it must have been set aside in the wrong place because this dress was meant for Mary Beth.  It was just waiting for her to get here.”

I smiled as I remembered my cry to the Lord that morning and simply said, “Oh, I know it was.”

My daughter, completely unaware of what was transpiring outside her door, slowly opened it and asked if I could zipper the back.  I refused and told her that we had another dress to try on first and moved aside so she could see the dress Cricket was holding … oh, her face was pure delight as she immediately recognized it!

The next time she opened the door, her face was glowing and her trademark smile was back in place.  Cricket told her she looked beautiful and she glowed even more.  Cricket gave the dress a going over and while it was a little too big, she felt sure it could easily be altered to fit MB’s petite frame.

This dress, the only dress my daughter loved and which had been absolutely unavailable to us just a week before, arrived at the bridal store in the days between our first and second appointments … in the very color we needed.  Then on Saturday, it was misplaced and set apart in a section that caught Cricket’s attention all day until the very moment when she was drawn to it for Mary Beth.  The right color … an easily alterable size … the perfect dress.

Usually these dresses have to be ordered but Cricket said that this dress was meant for Mary Beth so she sold it to us, right off the rack.  It was even on sale!

As we walked towards the counter, all of us smiling and in complete awe of what had just transpired, my niece sent me a text asking how the dress search was going. We all stopped in the middle of the store as I texted her the picture I had taken of my daughter wearing the beautiful dress with a delighted smile to match … it was such a wonderful moment of shared joy between all of us.

At 4:31, one minute after our scheduled appointment time, I walked out of the store with the perfect dress in one arm and my other arm wrapped around my sweet daughter.  As the doors fell shut behind us, I said softly into her ear, “Oh my darling, do you have any idea how much Jesus must love you?”

She simply gave her little giggle, smiled her most beautiful smile, and said “Yes, I think so.”

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Life is hard.  Many of us fight incredibly battles every day and the journey can be wearisome.  I know there is often a temptation to doubt God, be disappointed in the continual hardships, and maybe even give in to despair.  But this is the beauty of a journey with Christ … even when the path is hard, He is caring and providing for us.  Maybe not always in the way we want or think we need … but He is always at work on our behalf.

He loves us so deeply, even if we aren’t always aware of it.

Sometimes it is a friend offering to bring a meal when she learns you are sick.

Sometimes it is a card in the mail or maybe a phone call.

Sometimes it is the lovely bloom of the first flowers of spring after a long, hard winter.

And sometimes, it is the perfect junior bridesmaid dress … in mint green.

 

The Pathway of Shingles

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Shingles

Once upon a time I thought shingles were only the things that covered house roofs.

They say ignorance is bliss …

In this case, I am inclined to agree.

The Facts

Not only did I not understand much about Shingles, I am learning that most people are similarly ignorant and have plenty of false ideas.  So, let me enlighten you without the pain of going through it yourself.

See the kind of friend I can be?

Shingles is a viral infection that causes a painful rash (although the rash was the LEAST of my pain). It is caused by the varicella-zoster virus, which is also what causes chicken-pox.  After you’ve had chicken pox, the virus lies inactive in nerve tissue near your spinal cord and brain.  Years later, the virus may reactivate as shingles and when it does, it travels along nerve pathways to the skin – causing blisters.

Shingles generally affects a relatively small part of one side of your body.  Often it presents as a single stripe of blisters that wrap around one side of the torso – but this was not my experience.

Signs and symptoms of Shingles may include:
– Pain, burning, numbness, or tingling
– Sensitivity to touch
– A red rash that begins a few days after the pain
– Fluid-filled blisters that pop and then crust over
– Itching

Some people may also experience:
– Fever
– Headache
– Sensitivity to light
– Fatigue

The actual cause of Shingles is unknown, although there are many theories.  Stress is commonly considered a possible trigger but typically, Shingles seems most likely to show up as the body ages and the immune system becomes weakened due to various circumstances.  Typically it is seen more often in adult over age 60 but I just turned 46 and I know of others who had shingles at even younger ages.

How the virus affects people is very different.  Sometimes folks get a light touch and they only have a few itchy spots, which seem to resolve fairly quickly.  Others develop pain and numbness, as opposed to itchiness, which lasts for weeks.  Some get it quite severely and it can takes months to heal.   I have found those who have experienced Shingles for themselves (or walked through it with a loved one) and have known the pain it can bring are the most sympathetic and compassionate.

Here is a big question that I have addressed many times in the last couple of weeks …

“Is Shingles contagious?” or the other version … “Where did you get it from?”

So, here is the simple answer – No, Shingles itself is not contagious.  I did not ‘catch’ it from anyone.  It was my own dormant virus that reared its ugly head for whatever reason.  If you have had chicken pox or the chicken pox vaccine, you have no reason to fear anyone who has Shingles.  You will not catch Shingles from them.

However, that being said … if you have NEVER had chicken pox and are NOT vaccinated, then you could potentially catch chicken pox from someone who has Shingles because it is the same virus.  Now, it wouldn’t be easy.  My Doctor assured me that someone would actually have to touch the blisters when they are in the contagious stage and then bring their hand to their face and breathe it in in order to catch chicken pox from a case of Shingles.

Can I just say … ?  If someone has Shingles blisters, they would appreciate if you stay far away from their blisters.  They really don’t want to be touched anywhere … let alone anywhere near their blisters.

If you do develop Shingles, be considerate and aware of those around you who may be vulnerable (especially pregnant Mommas and babies).  You obviously want to be careful and take certain precautions.  I will share later how I handled this.

For more information regarding the facts of Shingles, there is a plethora of material online.  Some of this information that I have shared here can be found at http://www.mayoclinic.org …. but I read from numerous other sources as well.

My Experience

It has been almost three weeks since I woke on a Monday morning with a random ache in my shoulder.  I thought I must have slept on it wrong so I ignored it and continued on my day, which happened to include a physical with my doctor.  We discussed many things, including the torn meniscus in my knee and the ongoing pain in my other shoulder so I didn’t bother mentioning the new pain in my right shoulder.  By that evening, I was in the most intense pain of my life … comparable only to labor and childbirth.  I tossed and turned all night as my shoulder throbbed relentlessly.  This dreadful pain, along with a low-grade fever and sickness, continued into Tuesday night and Wednesday.  I was as close as I have ever been to going to an Emergency Room … but I stoically hid the pain and waited until I could see my own Doctor Wednesday afternoon.

By that point, I was also experiencing pain in my ribs and down my arm with an odd numbness that traveled down into my hand, affecting my ring and pinky fingers.  I also began to notice some random red spots on my wrist, hand, and fingers.   Truthfully, I was getting a little frightened because I had no idea what was wrong.

When I talked with the nurse and shared the level of pain I was experiencing, along with the numbness, which only was affecting my right side, she began to get suspicious.  When I showed her the spots, she drew a breath and said, “Oh no.  This is looking like Shingles!”

My Doctor confirmed it to be so.

We spent some time discussing it and she settled a lot of my concerns.  She prescribed an anti-viral medication and heavy painkillers.  I expressed my concern about my plans for the next couple of days and the potential of being around babies and possible unvaccinated children, so we agreed that it would be best if I stayed home for a few days.  She cleared me to attend church on Sunday because of the medication I was on and the precautions she knew I would take.

Truthfully, I figured I would easily fight this virus and rebound quickly.

I was wrong.

The rash eventually covered my right hand, fingers, wrist, and all the way up past my elbow.  I also had a few spots under my arm.  My fingers swelled and I was unable to bend or move them for several days.  Even with the medication, the rash continued to spread until Saturday.  It was bright red and blistery raw.

The pain, which compared to labor and childbirth Monday and Tuesday, settled into a state of constant, intense toothache-type pain for the next several days after that.  It affected my jaw, my shoulder, my elbow, my wrist and hand, and even down into my ribs.  The pain medication made it somewhat tolerable but it was never bearable.  The hypersensitivity was unbelievable and even now, after almost three weeks, I can still barely handle anything touching the inside of my hand or the lateral portion of my arm and elbow.

The level of pain was surprising but even more so was the fatigue.  I have been experiencing a flu-like fatigue this entire time.  I have lived with severe fatigue for years due to the sleep issues my son with autism has experienced, but it has always been my nature to muscle through and keep going.  I couldn’t do that now.  My body routinely crashed through the day and I barely made it from one nap to another.  Even now, I can barely make it through a day without a nap and my activity level is well below my normal.

At this point, 2 1/2 weeks after the first spots, I think the rash is fading nicely.  My hand, wrist, and elbow continue to be the most noticeable when it comes to where the rash was and that skin will likely take the longest to heal.

I took the entire prescription of anti-viral medication, and have steadily been taking Ibuprofen and the prescription pain medication (this was only at night).  I began taking high doses of Vit. C in an effort to boost my immune system (this is when the rash stopped spreading) … and just yesterday I added Lisine and B-12 to my arsenal.  I also gingerly applied liquid Magnesium to my elbow and wrist and between the three of these gems, I began to experience my first bit of relief from the pain.

I have had very limited use of my dominant right hand and arm for this entire time but each day I try to use it a bit more, even though it still is difficult.  I can’t hold anything in my hand and it is still uncomfortable to use my fingers.  Holding a pen or pencil and trying to write is futile.  Beside the pain and continuing tingling numbness, my writing is horrendous.  Driving is uncomfortable, as is almost every other task you can imagine.  I have figured out how to use a hair dryer and gingerly (and painfully) apply eye make up … but the curling iron is still impossible.

For the first two weeks, I carefully avoided anyone I thought might be vulnerable and even then, I wore long sleeves to cover most of the rash.  If I left the house, I used first aid gauze to carefully wrap my hand.  Then I mostly kept my hand in my coat pocket.  These measures were largely for the benefit of others, but it was also a good way to protect my entire side from being jostled or touched.

At this point, I still tend to keep my right side protected as much as possible … even though the pain is starting to ease, my body is still very hypersensitive and uncomfortable.

So for now, I think I am starting to see a faint light at the end of this tunnel even though I still have limited use of my hand and considerable discomfort and fatigue as my body continues to battle this virus.

More than anything, this has filled me with so much compassion for those who battle with long-term significant health issues and pain.  These last few months, and these last weeks especially, have taken their toll on me.  I feel so deeply for those who deal with much greater health concerns.

The Lord has been so good.

I despise Shingles but I love the One who has been faithfully walking beside me through this journey, like He has all the rest.

Finding Rest in the Lonely Journey

/ walkingthisjourneysite / 2 Comments

If the Lord sets you to guard a lonely post in perfect stillness from all active work, you ought to be just as content as to be in the midst of the active warfare.  It is no virtue to love the Master’s work better than the Master’s will.
Hannah Whitall Smith

 

It’s been awhile since I have written here because my life has been a whirlwind for the last several months.  A whirlwind of challenge after challenge and while I do have blog posts started and others floating around in my mind, this really isn’t one of them.

One thing I have learned about myself is that I have thinking seasons when I am battling through the challenges of life and learning about God and His ways and then I enter processing seasons when I can articulate those musings in writing.

This season of challenge started last fall when my son with autism entered one of his more difficult times of intense anxiety and anger.  Coping with that personally, while desperately trying to help him, homeschooling my other children, teaching a homeschool co-op class, and trying to keep everything as stable as possible for my family as a whole, took a serious toll on me.  Those I turned to for help didn’t seem to understand the depth of the struggle so I worked through it alone, realizing the greatest loneliness of my life.

In November, I injured my knee and that, compounded with a shoulder injury that happened in August when my 200+ lb son had a massive meltdown on one of our walks, and a strong negative reaction to medication I was taking, knocked me down even more.  Physically, I have always been very strong and able to withstand and rebound from almost anything, but this time, I found myself in constant pain and not recovering well at all.

December eventually brought relief for my son as his doctor added a new anxiety medicine and he began to smile once more.  What a blessed reprieve that was for everyone and I found my own spirits lifting somewhat as a result of not dealing with his intense anger issues day after day.

January and February were filled with school closings and delays for my oldest son and this created a fair amount of disruption and schedule changes for him, my other children’s homeschooling and co-op, and for me as I had to cancel quite a bit on my calendar and work in my cleaning jobs days when I could.

When I accepted that the knee pain was not going away and was limiting what I could do, I visited my doctor and learned that a ligament was stretched and inflammed and the meniscus were likely torn.  This led to wearing a knee brace and taking inflammatory medication for two weeks, which helped the inflammed ligament but not the torn meniscus.  I found this out the hard way when I was walking across the parking lot of our local grocery store and my leg completely gave out and cramped up so badly, I couldn’t move or put any weight on it.  I had to call my husband to come pick me up, drive me back across the parking lot to my van so I could drive it back home (using my right, uninjured knee of course).  I was completely incapacitated for a couple of days and could only move around using crutches and eventually a cane.  I eventually saw an orthopedic doctor who gave me a cortisone shot, which provided significant relief allowing me to cautiously return to most of my activities, including regular exercise.

When I went in for my physical earlier this week, my doctor and I discussed the likelihood of future surgery for my knee and she determined that my left shoulder has a strained and inflammed rotator cuff.  I didn’t bother to mention the discomfort I woke up with in my right shoulder because I figured I had only slept on it wrong and it would soon work itself out.

Boy, was I wrong!

By that evening, I was in agony.  A throbbing pain in my right shoulder that kept me awake all night as I struggled in vain to find a position that would allow me enough comfort to rest.  In the morning, I didn’t say anything to anyone but silently dealt with the pain as I got my son with autism off to school, my other children started on their day, and prepared to finally be able to attend a ladies Bible study at our church.  I felt very rough but figured the pain in my shoulder would eventually have to ease.  I was only at Bible study a short time before I received a text that I was needed at home so I swallowed my disappointment and left.  I am so glad I did.  The pain in my shoulder began to spread down my arm and throughout my right side, as my fingers tingled and grew numb.  By that evening, I noticed a couple of odd spots on my wrist and hand and experienced some of the most intense pain of my life, while my body responded with a low-grade fever.

To my dismay, the next day I was diagnosed with shingles.  A illness I had previously believed only affected folks much older than I.  My family was very surprised when I shared this news and admitted to how much pain I was in but now they have watched the rash/blisters spread and seen my lips whiten with pain when I attempt to do certain tasks.  They are stepping up to help as much as possible.

So, here I am this morning … the shingles have not responded to the medication as I had hoped and I am still in significant discomfort.  My right hand (and arm up to my elbow) is covered in a painful rash and only my index finger tip has been spared, allowing me to slowly peck away at these words.  My shoulder and ribs still ache from the pain but thankfully, it is nothing like it was earlier this week. I am exhausted from the toll this illness has taken on me, as well as, from my own sleep disturbances and those of my son.

However, what I have learned from each ugly battle of this long season of trial more than makes up for any hardship.  The Lord has been so gracious every step of the way and I have learned more from Him than ever before.  It has been a journey of settling into my own identity, following His voice, letting go of the past, walking in Truth, and practicing contentment in every circumstance.  As a result, I feel more loved and cared for by Him than ever before, which allows me to love and care for others more freely than ever before.  My relationship with my children, most especially, has blossomed even more abundantly.

I have learned the beautiful gift of prayer and surrender.  I have learned that it is a privilege to lift the names and burdens of others to this Shepherd who walks with me and, as a result of my own trials, I have learned a greater compassion for those who suffer far more than I.

I have also learned that I have nothing to prove and it is okay to walk alone.

It has been a lonely journey but, through it all, I have learned to rest.

To rest physically with awareness of my own needs…

To rest inwardly with the practice of contentment in all things…

And ultimately, to rest fully in the safety of my Savior’s love.

 

“Contentment, then, is the product of a heart resting in God.  It is the soul’s enjoyment of that peace that passes all understanding.  It is the outcome of my will being brought into subjection to the Divine will.  It is the blessed assurance that God does all things well, and is, even now, making all things work together for my ultimate good.”
A.W. Pink