Choosing Life Is Hard And Inconvenient {Part 1}

Social media is interesting because sometimes it's not just entertaining, but it forces you to be exposed to and face some hard things in life whether you were looking to or not.

Yesterday, I was forced to confront (in my mind) two issues, slightly related, and now I feel compelled to unload my thoughts about them, once and for all, damned the consequences. I worry about not pleasing people with my words. I worry about offending someone. And I worry that admitting my own desires makes me look foolish. I'd prefer not to talk about either of these stories, but I can't seem to rest or have peace until I do. At least I hope it brings rest and peace. Anyway, here it goes:

Choosing life is hard and inconvenient no matter what age the person is, born or unborn, but our culture, medical advances and technology allows/forces us to have to play God all the time.

When I was 20 weeks pregnant with Austin, I was forced to make a choice about his life. Do we give him the opportunity to live as long as he can, or do we decide for him that his life is not worth living, that his life would be too inconvenient for us to adapt to, that life would be too hard to accommodate him.

I remember sitting with my husband in the obstetrician's office, the only guy in town who specialized in detailed ultrasounds and complicated pregnancies, and receiving the news that our baby was "incompatible with life" and would either die before he was born, or die within minutes, hours, or days of being born which would probably be true if we did not have the medical advances and technology that we have today.

I was devastated while very human thoughts of "how do I fix/avoid/get out of this" entered my head. The doctor went on to suggest that we terminate the pregnancy and said that he would perform the "procedure". I actually don't ever remember him using the word "abortion". He was very matter of fact and technical. I tried to listen as best I could while trying not to be distracted by all the photos of his own smiling, healthy kids and family he had up on the wall behind him.

(I now know four years later after being a part of several special needs and medically complex support groups, that the "incompatible with life" and "you should terminate" speech is the standard spiel doctors seem to give every pregnant woman if they see any kind of blip or abnormality in the ultrasound. It is a dime a dozen speech, and I should never have felt like I was the only one to ever have heard it.)

I knew what "terminate" meant. And, at first I thought, Yes, we have a way out. But for some reason, I went on to ask the doctor how he would go about terminating the pregnancy. So while I could feel my very alive baby flipping around and kicking me, he described what he would do to kill him. Halfway through, I couldn't take hearing any more. I grabbed a handful of tissues since I was crying, we made apologetic excuses, and practically ran out of the office. We made the decision that giving our baby the opportunity for life was worth the risk of inconveniencing our own, that our life path would forever be changed, it could/would be hard, but somehow, we would overcome and reap whatever benefits placing value on life incurred. We only placed the tiny caveat that if he did not breathe on his own, we would allow him to pass. If he breathed on his own, we would use whatever medical advances and technology was available to allow him a chance at life.

So yesterday, I was very much overcome with those same intense emotions because the Planned Parenthood hearing was apparently going on and news about it kept popping up in my Facebook newsfeed. I made the mistake of clicking on a couple of the posts, and reading some of what both sides were saying. Over the past year, as the exposé videos trickled out, I could not bring myself to watch any of them because the very thought of tearing apart a tiny human just makes me physically sick. I had done the best I could to avoid thinking about this appalling daily act of murder that humanity performs everyday, and I just couldn't let my mind go there. I feel like there is nothing I can do to stop it, so I'd prefer to not think about it. So my posting this today, is my one tiny act of proclaiming abortion's injustice.

As these stories were pushing all the buttons of my emotions, another post came up from a page I had recently begun following. The page was set up by a young mother with a similar story to my own (as I said, these stories are a dime a dozen), where the mother was given the same speech as mentioned above, and had decided to birth the baby anyway. Where her story differs was that instead of seeming to pursue life after the baby was born and breathing, she seemed to have already made concrete plans to let her pass with hospice or palliative care (I'm not sure of the difference). Her baby had to be induced early, and they took her home the next day without any stay in the NICU. At home, she attempted and was successful at nursing the baby, but the baby began having problems so they went to stay at the local hospice in order to determine what to do next.

I was torn between conflicting emotions. First, I was frustrated that she seemed to be misleading all the hundreds of followers reading her page including mom's with children with a similar diagnosis, all praying for her, for a miracle, and offering support if the baby lived through the birth. And she got her miracle, the baby lived! That is what she seemed to be praying and hoping for on the support page. So my thought was the baby should have been taken to the NICU to see what needed to be done to help her thrive. So all I could think was the very condemning and human thought that since she couldn't bring herself to abort the baby, she is still looking for a way out of this very hard and inconvenient life that could be in her future. And then I thought, That's not fair! I want a way out too! (While this is probably not what she is thinking, it's unfortunately what I'm thinking as a bystander. But I'm not walking specifically in her shoes so I have to trust she's making the best decisions under her circumstances.)

So the other human emotion that began to creep in was envy. What?! I seem to be taking a stand for life in this post, and I feel envious that she might take the way out that we didn't have the guts or feel ethically we could take?! But think about it, killing a baby before he is born is murder, but allowing the baby to pass after he is born because of failure to thrive is just the way life is. If he can't eat, he can't eat. It was the perfect way out. (I'll admit I had a big ugly cry while I had these seemingly conflicting thoughts.)

Except it isn't the perfect way out and the decision isn't black and white in today's world. We have so many options now to prolong and extend life because of medical advances, feeding tubes, shunts, stints, vents, etc. How do we decide when to use those measures? Where do we draw the line? Is it only in times of anticipated complete recovery to an independent adult life? Or is it also when sustaining that life is inconvenient and hard for those taking care of that person and hard on the person the measures are taken for?

I was then overcome with these emotions related to decisions people make regarding choosing life after the child is born, especially in the case of severe or potential severe disability or medical complications. Medical advances have taken the once "incompatible with life" statement and made life compatible. A shunt here, a feeding tube there, and a child (or adult for that matter) that wouldn't live past a week, can live an undeterminable amount of years.

So my heart breaks for her that she might believe she can't live life with a disabled child. And my heart breaks for me that sometimes I don't want to live a life with a disabled child either. So while it's easy to talk about choosing life on moral or ethical grounds (in my opinion looking through the lens of Christianity, not killing an unborn child seems fairly black and white in most cases), in reality the consequences of choosing life will be hard and inconvenient and life altering for everyone connected.

I wish we didn't have the technology that forces us to have to make life vs. death decisions. But since we do, how do we support those who do choose life?

Choosing Life is Hard and Inconvenient {Part 2}

Sometimes Social Media is My Life Line

I’ll admit it. As a mom to a medically complex/special needs child, I use social media as a life line, and (ahem) I overshare. I’m not ashamed of it because many times, it has saved my son's life...well...at least my sanity.

For example, at the end of February 2015, we were on our way to Texas with our son Austin for a Selective Percutaneous Myofascial Lengthening (SPML, say that five times) surgery in Galveston. After an eight hour drive from Arizona along I-10 through perfectly nice weather, we ended up in Van Horn, TX for the night. However, upon waking we found we would be driving through one of Texas’ freak winter storms for most of the day when we thought we had only nine or so hours left to get to Galveston according to Google Maps.

I was sitting in the middle row middle seat of our mini van next to my son’s car seat so I could periodically suction his secretions. I had a clear view out the front windshield of a gray, snowy, sleety, and cold highway. I started to panic a little as I realized we had stopped carrying winter gear in our car after we moved to Arizona.

My husband wasn’t helping my state of mind. He kept pointing out stalled vehicles, overturned trucks, and commenting that he kept feeling the car lose traction. We were only going 45 miles an hour and could barely see a few car lengths ahead. I kept my eyes peeled for tail lights in front of us. I also looked up the weather map on my phone to see how much longer we might be driving in this. Yikes!

I put out an APB on my Facebook status:

“We are traveling in the winter storm in Texas on I-10. We are supposed to be in Galveston tonight for evaluation tomorrow and surgery on Wednesday. I’m feeling super nervous because the map says we are driving through rain, sleet and ice for the next 200+ miles. The windshield keeps trying to ice up. We have already passed several recent wrecks and vehicles stranded on side of the road. There is ice on the road. We are driving slow.”

Immediately, comments loaded with prayers and concern were posted. And while comforted by the prayers, I was also comforted by the fact that even if we ended up in an icy ditch, friends out there sort of knew where we were.

Needless to say, we made it to Galveston safely, Austin had his surgery, and I stayed with him when he was admitted to the hospital for two days afterwards. As a mom to a kid whose been in the hospital a few times, I have learned the art of keeping myself entertained. Social media. I depend on everyone else outside of those three walls and a curtain to entertain me. I report on what’s happening with my son, and I live vicariously through other’s posts.

After being discharged from the hospital we had to make that same trek home along I-10. The entire trip included 18 hours of driving. For some reason after 17 hours (not including the stop in Van Horn overnight again), I had a vision of my son’s feeding pump cord still plugged into the hospital room wall! I frantically started looking through his bags, and not finding it checked how much battery was left on the pump. It usually lasted only a couple days after a full charge because he is fed continuously for about 20 hours out of the day. It had one bar left.

My stomach sunk with the realization that until I could get the cord back or a replacement, I would have to bolus an ounce of liquid food into his g-tube every half hour for 20 hours out of 24 hours everyday until we got a cord (he can only tolerate about an ounce at a time without puking). And since I had never tested that way of feeding before, I assumed the worst and figured he wouldn’t tolerate it after a while and would be puking it up anyway. The early stages of panic began.

Then the light bulb came on in my head, and I thought, Facebook! I quickly posted an SOS in one of my special needs moms groups, not really expecting anything but commiserating comments. But, lo and behold within 15 minutes, another mom offered her extra pump cord if I could stop by and pick it up.

“Where!?” I posted, and she quickly replied with her address. I Google mapped it, and it was only 15 minutes off our current route home. Seriously, I kid you not. Son's life saved...sanity saved. It's all the same to me.

Sharing Jesus 'In Spite Of ' Fear {Catanduva 2015: Part 3}

{Catanduva 2015: Part 2}

"I need someone at the eye glasses station," the mission leader called out, "People have started lining up." 

She looked around and realized only she and one other gal were standing there. She thought, Ok, no big deal, I can hand out eye glasses.

But when she crossed the street, she found they didn't need someone to hand out reading glasses and sunglasses, they needed someone to sit under the canopy with an interpreter and present the gospel to the people wanting the free glasses. They started assembling plastic chairs in a circle. Lots of chairs.

What?! Not now. Not today. She wasn't ready!

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Earlier that morning, she had been invited to go door to door with the pastor's wife who also happened to be her sister-in-law. Not ready to speak out loud, she watched in awe and with a little bit of jealousy, as this gal called out to people in their yard, smiled and easily struck up conversations. 

Questions asked. Answers given. The gospel presented. Prayers for salvation lifted up. Prayer requests shared and prayed over. Hugs given. Invitations to the church extended. 

She stood in the background at each home and prayed for the people under her breath, that their hearts would be soft and open, that the enemy would be bound. It was the only thing she felt confident in doing. 

This afternoon, she thought. I'll go door to door. I'll try to speak this afternoon. But as they say, the best laid plans... (or something like that).

So here she was in the afternoon attempting to "boldly" share the gospel with not just one person at a time, but groups of people, sometimes up to 6-8 at a time! This was not what she thought she signed up for. But apparently it was what God was going to ask of her. 

She trudged through the afternoon, not confidently, but obediently, secretly hoping the interpreter was fixing all of her mistakes. She knew she left out parts here and there, but she had to trust the gaps were filled in, if not by the interpreter, then at least by the Holy Spirit!

She usually asked if they knew about the new church building and then she asked for prayer requests. Many who were obviously broken hearted over trials in their lives would become emotional. Her heart could relate to those people. She's experienced brokenness and despair, and she found praying and sharing the gospel with those people seemed almost easy. She felt their need. She felt them seeking assurance.

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A couple days later, she found herself under the canopy again. The groups seemed a little smaller so she thought, I've done this before, this will be easy.

But this day turned out to be more difficult than the previous one. She got in a hurry and rushed through the steps. She stumbled over her words. Her thoughts were not coherent. She lost her place several times. She felt the interpreter was losing patience with her. She was frustrated and just before she let the tears flow, she desperately called someone over to take her place, and then walked quickly away from the booth.

What had happened? Why was today so different? This was too hard. They have asked the wrong person to do this. Someone got their wires crossed.

She sought out the hiding place behind the buildings as she did the other day, but there was already another friend of hers there. She had heard about this friend's boldness in sharing the gospel in the neighborhood the past few days. The thought that she was such a failure compared to this friend was intimidating, but the friend merely patted the dirt and invited her to sit down. Before she knew it, she was confessing all her fears and anxieties about the day to the friend, and the friend calmly prayed with her and assured her that her efforts were not in vain. 

Later she felt led to read the Book of Ruth.

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The next afternoon, she had the opportunity to accompany her son in a group that was going to a "tough" neighborhood. This would be his first door to door experience and she wanted to witness it! The friend from the day before was also coming with the group.

They were told they would just be handing out tracts and inviting people to the church. But as she and her friend rounded a corner, they came upon a woman sitting on the sidewalk. They were advised she was possibly drunk. As the interpreters began to talk to the woman, another woman and two teenage girls joined them. 

Then the interpreters turned to her and her friend and asked if they wanted to say anything. Her friend looked at her and said with a smile, "Do the cube." (The cube was referred to as the "magic cube" because of how it unfolded showing various pictures. At each unfolding, it contained the next step in the plan of salvation.) As horror overtook her, she obediently "did the cube". When she was done, they all stared silently at each other as she was at a loss for what to do next. Her friend whispered to share some scriptures from the Bible, but fear enveloped her, and she looked at the friend pleadingly and asked the friend to do it instead.

What she witnessed next was profound, and something she hopes she will never forget. The friend easily guided the women and girls though the steps of salvation based upon scripture. The women began to ask the friend hard questions about the friend's life to which the friend answered truthfully. They made a heart connection, and tears began to flow from one of the women. Because of the friend's honesty and openness, hearts were softened, prayers for salvation were lifted up, and lives were probably changed.

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Since returning from the trip and as she reflected on these various scenarios, trying to make sense of it all, sorting out her emotions, she realized that there were at least three things she could take away from these experiences.

1. She needed those opportunities of following behind friends that were more experienced and bold. She wasn't sure why she was led to read the Book of Ruth, but she thinks that like Ruth gleaned behind the harvesters who made it easy for her to bring home food, she needed to see her sister-in-law and her friend's examples and have the opportunity to reap along with them as they harvested. 
2. Making a personal heart connection with people seemed to be the key to making sharing the gospel flow more easily. On the first day, when she knew where they were hurting, she could pray and connect with them better. On the second day, when she skipped the conversation part and rushed through the steps, she lost her way.
3. She better be prayed up and in the Word because the enemy was going to make her second guess herself and feel shame and humiliation, if not immediately afterwards, then within hours. Every experience where she had been the one talking had been followed by a torrent of tears and a feeling of remorse. The accuser is very good at his job.

One day Ruth, the Moabite foreigner, said to Naomi, “I’m going to work; I’m going out to glean among the sheaves, following after some harvester who will treat me kindly.”Naomi said, “Go ahead, dear daughter.”And so she set out. She went and started gleaning in a field, following in the wake of the harvesters. Ruth 2 MSG

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"For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God" (Romans 3:23). 

"For the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord" (Romans 6:23) 

"The next day John saw Jesus coming toward him and said, “Look, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world!'" (John 1:29). 

"Jesus answered, 'I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me'" (John 14:6). 

"That if you confess with your mouth, 'Jesus is Lord,' and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved. For it is with your heart that you believe and are justified, and it is with your mouth that you confess and are saved. As the Scripture says, 'Anyone who trusts in him will never be put to shame'" (Romans 10:9-11). 

"And he died for all, that those who live should no longer live for themselves but for him who died for them and was raised again" (2 Corinthians 5:15). 

"Here I am! I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in and eat with him, and he with me" (Revelation 3:20).

Are you a sinner?

Do you want forgiveness of your sins?

Do you believe Jesus Christ died on the cross for you and rose again?

Are you willing to surrender your life to Jesus Christ?

Are  you ready to invite Jesus Christ into your life and into your heart?

"Heavenly Father, I have sinned against you.  I want forgiveness for all my sins.  I believe that Jesus died on the cross for me and rose again.  Father, I give you my life to do with as you wish.  I want Jesus Christ to come into my life and into my heart.  This I ask in Jesus' name.  Amen"

Share Jesus Without Fear, William Fay, published by Broadman & Holman Publishers, Nashville, TN.

The Mary/Martha Tug of War {Catanduva 2015: Part 2}

{Catanduva 2015: Part 1}

Emotionally drained from having been thrown into the fire of evangelizing the day before and feeling somewhat unsuccessful at that, she got up the next morning, dressed in her $5 Goodwill jeans and old gray t-shirt, and determined she would work on the church building that day.

However, those familiar feelings of inadequacy consumed her as she walked around the building site looking for something to do. Not sure of where to jump in, she filled the downtime by taking pictures of everyone else working. Everyone busy. Everyone seeming to have a purpose.

She had traveled halfway across the globe to be a part of this so if she wasn't busy, she or others might question her purpose for being there (or send her out to evangelize - yes, she may have been hiding out that day). But in the end, her fear of failure and not wanting to impose herself on those who didn't seem to need any help kept her desire to work on the building in check. She told herself to be content to keep record of other's endeavors, knowing they would be grateful to see their efforts documented. But still she ached to be assigned a task.

Then finally! Someone asked her to do something. She had a purpose. She would be busy for Jesus today and everybody would see it! (hello pride...) But no sooner had she started working on this project, than she was flocked by others also looking for something to do and a need to feel useful. They asked to help, and soon she felt she should delegate the project to them and walk away.

It was emotionally difficult. She struggled with letting go of the ownership she had already taken for the project and wanting credit for doing something that day vs. giving the project away to others that were obviously feeling the same way she had felt all morning.

Useless.

What a horrible feeling. She wanted to cry so she hid out behind the back buildings. She took out her cell phone, called her husband, and cried on his virtual shoulder. He assured her that she had a purpose, that her traveling there would not be in vain. They talked about what her gifts were, and how she had already started using them. They talked about her ongoing struggle between her desire to be in the limelight and get noticed and credit versus her competing desire to hide in the background and just be a support system to others.

So eventually she changed her attitude. Instead of "doing" for Jesus, she would sit at his feet. She would just be there. She would absorb the experience through others. She would not seek out a job. She would support and document everyone's work. She would listen to their excitement and frustrations. She would encourage their efforts. She would smile when not feeling like smiling. She would submit her will and expectations for that day to perhaps what God willed for her instead.

And she found rest. And joy.

The remainder of the afternoon turned out to be one of the most fun and fulfilling days of the week. She made new friends. She talked, giggled and joked while trying to learn and understand Portuguese. She was just present, listening, smiling, and taking in the experience. She was even offered several opportunities to learn some of the building skills even though her efforts did not achieve the desired results. Everyone was lighthearted. Everyone laughed. She had won the tug of war in her heart today.

The Master said, “Martha, dear Martha, you’re fussing far too much and getting yourself worked up over nothing. One thing only is essential, and Mary has chosen it—it’s the main course, and won’t be taken from her.” Luke 10:38-42 MSG

{Catanduva 2015: Part 3}

An Exercise in Saying Yes {Catanduva 2015: Part 1}

Exhaustion set in as the plane bounced onto the tarmac, wing flaps fully extended, its engines roaring in an effort to slow down the large mass of metal. Her flight time had totaled about 15-16 hours in addition to a previous 6 hour bus ride. She was returning from the opposite side of the equator, from a place called Catanduva, São Paulo, Brazil. Catanduva's winter, similar in temperatures to those in Arizona, was just coming to an end, warm for the most part, downright hot under the sun, with shade offering respite in the afternoon.

This past week. Was it a dream? She experienced it, yet it didn't seem like real life, more like a movie, surreal. Facebook photos and a renewed outlook, the only proof that it had actually occurred.

Ten days ago she traveled to Catanduva with her sixteen year old son and a group of adults from her church. When the mission leader first visited and spoke about the opportunity for their congregation to take part in this mission project in Brazil, her heart beat wildly in her chest; she almost couldn't breathe. She peeked down the row at her teenage son and thought for sure this was an opportunity he needed to experience. With his own expression of desire to possibly go into the ministry someday, she assumed what she was feeling in her body was the call to sign him up. However, a week later, when the feeling didn't go away, and after she asked her husband if he wanted to go, she submitted to the call herself and signed up too.

Their mission: erect a new building for a local church as well as share the gospel with the surrounding community.

• Erect a new building with very little construction skills? No problem. No fear.
• Share the gospel with others when her own life is not the best example of a life continuously rooted in Jesus? That might be a problem. Extreme fear.

The last time she remembered having actually presented the gospel to someone was 25-30 years earlier when she was in high school. At that time, she had been part of a church youth group that stressed evangelism and sharing Christ with others, and while attending the youth group's discipleship studies, she was repeatedly encouraged to share her faith.

She had grown up in a suburban, sheltered environment, accepted Christ into her life at a young age, was surrounded by strong Christian influences, and was easily bold in her faith and sure of her salvation. Life was not difficult, the burden really did seem light.

Until college. Even though she tried to recreate the same environment she had left behind by joining Christian groups and attending church, she just didn't feel a strong connection at first with the Christians on campus. The loneliness from being so far from friends and home led her to hang out with anyone who would accept her into their circle. Her Christian walk became quite "zig-zaggy".

During her first year of college, she was more concerned with her own feelings of acceptance than anyone's spiritual destiny, not speaking of her beliefs with someone unless she was sure they already believed the same. And while she would walk the straight and narrow for a while even if lonely, temptation for friendships and acceptance would take her off the path for a time until she felt compelled to redirect her spiritual life again. This became a habit that continued for years even after she was married, had kids, and good friendships. She used God's grace as a safety net rather than recognizing it as the true gift of salvation and a place to rest.

And while God was patient with her through all those years, perhaps even holding back the dam of consequences that she should have incurred, she felt guilt for the many mistakes she had made along the way. Over time, she felt she wouldn't have much influence if she were to share her faith with someone, telling them they need to turn to God when she could not stay faithful to Him herself. She felt it would be hypocritical, the plank in her own eye was too large for her to remove in order to ever help anyone with the speck in theirs. So as her condemnation for herself increased so did her apathy towards others. They were on their own.

But then God either quit holding back the dam of consequences, or he just got tired of her apathetic attitude. Either way, in recent years, God has allowed more tests and trials than she ever thought she could handle. In the midst of these challenges, she has questioned God, gotten angry at God, cried out to God, begged for mercy from God. She wanted to run or escape, but he wouldn't let her. He continually pursued her until she finally had to give in. She was miserable while she fought, and only experienced peace and freedom once she submitted.

So she said yes to going to Brazil even though she felt she had nothing spiritually to offer. She had no plan for what she would do there, but she went with the attitude that she would say "yes" to whatever someone asked her to do. Secretly she hoped she could just work on the building, and it would all be easy. She was totally ok with that.

But God was not ok with that. The building had plenty of workers. Workers with skill and strength she did not possess. So while she said "yes" to any building opportunity offered such as moving concrete blocks or trying her hand at scattering mud on the wall, to attempting to trowel on the stucco, to standing on a precariously perched scaffold to paint the outside wall of the church, or just sweeping the floor and picking up trash, God also had people ask her to go on prayer walks, share the gospel with groups of people as they came to the free eyeglass station, and walk the streets to share the gospel with people in the neighborhood.

She said "yes" to all of it as best she could. Her personality compels her to let others lead if they seem to have more experience or confidence, but in the end sometimes there just wasn't anyone else around, or she had someone with her that knew about and seemed intent on pushing her to overcome her feelings of inadequacy.

She cannot tell you in numbers how many she lead to Christ or prayed with for healing, for their families, for their financial situations. She cannot tell you why she felt compelled repeatedly to pray specifically for peace and comfort and for the Holy Spirit to rain down his presence among these people.

All she knows is that she had one job to do; the job to submit and say "yes" to God.

{Catanduva 2015: Part 2}

Magical Childhoods, Mommy Moms, and Miracles

I was asked to share some of my story with teenagers this past Wednesday night during their youth group meeting. I was asked to share my perspective of what part Christianity plays in an adult's life.  After praying and asking God what I should talk about, and how deep I should go into my story, I was led to share the following. If you have read other stories in my blog, you know that this is just a glossing over and certainly neither complete nor the end, but I wanted to give them something to relate to, as well as impart the hope the Bible promises. Therefore, I felt led to end on a positive note even though as an adult Christian, I'm not always in a positive place. But maybe, if I assume God impressed upon someone to ask me to do this, the whole point of this exercise was God reminding me of the hope I've experienced and known in the past, and that he has always brought me out of my place of perceived disappointment and despair. I can attest that I am in a positive place right now.

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{Questions for discussion}

Do you ever make plans for next week or next month? Or what about next year? How do you feel when your plans work out? How do you feel when your plans don't work out? Do ever you imagine or dream about what you will be doing as an adult? What life will be like?

{Question to think about}

Have you experienced anything really “hard” where you asked God why? Or got mad at God for allowing it? Or blamed Him for not making it right, or for not fixing things the way you want it?

{Story #1}

Once upon a time there was a little girl with long dark hair and hazel eyes. She had a shy, introverted personality and spent a lot of time in her room alone as a child, reading books and day dreaming.

She lived in a nice house in a quite neighborhood in Texas. She obeyed her parents and got good grades. At six years old, she asked Jesus into her heart and became a Christian. She grew up in the church going to Sunday school, Sunday morning and Sunday night church services, Wednesday night missions groups and later youth group. She understood God loved her as best she could.

This little girl had a best friend. Her friend was friendly and bubbly and pretty. And through the years they talked about everything – especially about BOYS! She can't remember when they didn't talk about boys - boys at church, boys at school, boys in the neighborhood, boys at the mall. They discussed who they wanted to have as a boyfriend, who was cute, who was funny, who may or may not have looked their way that day.

Then one day in 8th grade her best friend got asked out. However, SHE did not. Her best friend began dating, but SHE did not. This made her very sad and she cried a lot. She began to wonder what was wrong with her. Why did God made her this way? Why was she so quiet and shy? Why was she so ugly? Why didn't the boys want to ask her out?

{Questions for discussion}

Where should she have looked to find her worth? Have you ever experienced a desire so strong that it seemed like the end of the world if it didn't happen? What do you guys do when you experience disappointment? If you were her friend, can you think of any Bible verses or stories that might have encouraged her?

{Story #2}

One day in high school a boy asked her out and she finally started dating. This made her happy because she had a plan. She planned that one day she would get married, have two kids, be a stay-at-home mom, and spend all her time being one of those mom's that creates magical experiences all the time for her kids, and they would live happily ever after (this is the kind of mom that she now calls a “mommy” mom or a “gifted” mom).

When she was twenty years old, she married a boy that she was “best friends” with in high school. They lived in Arkansas trying to make ends meet while completing their college degrees. She graduated first while he went to school part time and worked. Then she got a job, and they moved to Oklahoma and bought a house. He then went to school full time to finish his college degree and then went to Law School full time. After he graduated Law School, they moved to Montana.

Finishing school took time and they planned to wait until they were out of school to start having those two kids. So EIGHT years after they were married, and once they both had jobs and had bought their second house, she got pregnant with their first boy. His name was Michael. About two and half years later they had their second boy. His name was Jonathan. And so their family seemed complete. All was going to plan.

EXCEPT. She found working out of the house and being a mom to two small children was extremely difficult. She was not able to create those magical experiences she had planned. There was absolutely NO magic going on when she was torn between tending to her kid's needs and meeting a work deadline. AND, she found out she was NOT a “gifted” mom. She didn't really enjoy hanging out with just kids all day. Her husband worked a lot, and she missed having a friend. She was tired and frustrated, and again, she became very sad and cried a lot. She didn't want to work anymore. She didn't feel like parenting anymore. And she was lonely.

Again she questioned God. Why did he make her this way? Why couldn't she love being a mom? Why did she have to work? Why couldn't she make a close friend? What was wrong with her?

{Questions for discussion}

Is she allowed to question God? What should you do if you feel depressed and sad? If you were her friend, can you think of any Bible verses or stories that might encourage her?

{Story #3}

Eventually, she got to cut back on the hours at her job, she made friends with other moms by spending more time at the school, and her kids were growing up and participating in all kinds of activities. She learned the trick to creating a SOMEWHAT magical childhood for her kids was to become best friends with another mom who was a REAL “mommy” mom. This other mom had great ideas, and all she had to do was find out when and where, and show up. This other mom was also good at making friends and soon she had a group of friends that she could hang out with. Life finally seemed fun now. AND easier.

Her kids were now around 9 and 7 years old, and she and her husband let her husband's brother and fiance come live with them. As an introvert, it used up all her energy having other people in her house all the time. So she was looking forward to when they were going to move out. However, the week before they were supposed to leave, her husband had a knee injury, her father-in-law died from a heart attack, and the rest of her husband's family, his mom and brothers and sister, moved in with them for several months. Her husband ended up having ACL surgery from the knee injury, got blood clots in his lungs after the surgery, and almost died. They also experienced two more deaths of close family members that year. She got REALLY mad at God for a while for letting all these things happen, but with time, she was finally able to be ok with everything and move on.

{Questions for discussion}

Should she have gotten mad at God? Does God still love us if we get mad at Him? If you were her friend, can you think of any Bible verses or stories that might encourage her?

{Story #4}

In 2010 they decided life was good again, and they would try for a girl. She was almost 40, so in their minds, it was now or never! By May she was pregnant and the whole family was very excited. However, in September, through ultrasound, they found out the baby had a severe brain malformation and that he had several other birth defects. They were told ALL the terrible things that might be wrong with the baby. They were told the baby would die sooner or later, or would suffer a lot if the baby lived. They were told they should KILL the baby.

She was very scared and VERY sad. This time though, instead of questioning God or getting mad, she did something else. She wrote what she did in her blog a month after the ultrasound:

“That night on September 8, 2010, I cried.  I mourned my expectations of a normal baby.  Throughout the night, I gave the baby to God, the Creator of the baby - the One who forms in the womb.  I asked Jesus to hold my baby in His arms; to comfort and protect him.  I confessed my guilt and fears - guilt over considering aborting, guilt over wanting God to take the baby if he was going to struggle to live on earth, and fears of the baby dying.  I asked for love and strength to take care of a disabled child who might not be able to return the love.  And then I prayed for a miracle. 

I had swallowed my pride earlier that evening and asked my husband if I could ask for prayer on Facebook.  My husband had already called the church for prayer earlier too.  Beginning that night, after crying and praying, I began to feel peace.  I felt it had to be the Body of Christ praying for us.  I had never truly felt that before - the peace that passes understanding.”

{Questions for discussion}

How did she react differently this time when she got bad news? How could she feel peace when facing something so hard? How can YOU face hard things in YOUR future?

----------

The following are the three scripture passages I shared with the group:

Psalm 139:13-16 The Message (MSG) (David describing how God knows him) 

13-16 Oh yes, you shaped me first inside, then out;
    you formed me in my mother’s womb.
I thank you, High God—you’re breathtaking!
    Body and soul, I am marvelously made!
    I worship in adoration—what a creation!
You know me inside and out,
    you know every bone in my body;
You know exactly how I was made, bit by bit,
    how I was sculpted from nothing into something.
Like an open book, you watched me grow from conception to birth;
    all the stages of my life were spread out before you,
The days of my life all prepared
    before I’d even lived one day.

2 Corinthians 12:7-10 The Message (MSG) (Paul talking about his “thorn in his flesh” after God gave him revelations that could have resulted in pride) 

7-10 Because of the extravagance of those revelations, and so I wouldn’t get a big head, I was given the gift of a handicap to keep me in constant touch with my limitations. Satan’s angel did his best to get me down; what he in fact did was push me to my knees. No danger then of walking around high and mighty! At first I didn’t think of it as a gift, and begged God to remove it. Three times I did that, and then he told me,

My grace is enough; it’s all you need.
My strength comes into its own in your weakness.

Once I heard that, I was glad to let it happen. I quit focusing on the handicap and began appreciating the gift. It was a case of Christ’s strength moving in on my weakness. Now I take limitations in stride, and with good cheer, these limitations that cut me down to size—abuse, accidents, opposition, bad breaks. I just let Christ take over! And so the weaker I get, the stronger I become. 

Isaiah 40:27-31 The Message (MSG) (Isaiah speaking to exiled Israelites when they thought God had given up on them or forgotten about them) 

27-31 Why would you ever complain, O Jacob,
    or, whine, Israel, saying,
“God has lost track of me.
    He doesn’t care what happens to me”?
Don’t you know anything? Haven’t you been listening?
God doesn’t come and go. God lasts.
    He’s Creator of all you can see or imagine.
He doesn’t get tired out, doesn’t pause to catch his breath.
    And he knows everything, inside and out.
He energizes those who get tired,
    gives fresh strength to dropouts.
For even young people tire and drop out,
    young folk in their prime stumble and fall.
But those who wait upon God get fresh strength.
    They spread their wings and soar like eagles,
They run and don’t get tired,
    they walk and don’t lag behind.

Freedom is Slavery

"Winston, sitting in a blissful dream, paid no attention as his glass was filled up. He was not running or cheering any longer. He was back in the Ministry of Love, with everything forgiven, his soul white as snow. He was in the public dock, confessing everything, implicating everybody. He was walking down the white-tiled corridor, with the feeling of walking in sunlight, and an armed guard at his back. The longhoped-for bullet was entering his brain. 

He gazed up at the enormous face. Forty years it had taken him to learn what kind of smile was hidden beneath the dark moustache. O cruel, needless misunderstanding! O stubborn, self-willed exile from the loving breast! Two gin-scented tears trickled down the sides of his nose. But it was all right, everything was all right, the struggle was finished. He had won the victory over himself. He loved Big Brother."

She reaches out her hand and pushes the power button on the audio system in the minivan while the final words of George Orwell's 1984 still linger in the air. Sitting in silence, she holds her breath while she tries to process her thoughts.

Could God use a supposed atheist's political thriller to reach me? To illustrate His jealousy for me? To give me clarity about His nature and desire for me? To help me discover the spiritual freedom I've been searching for?

----------

She started listening to the audio recording of the novel about a month and a half ago during the two hour round trip drive to the Foundation for Blind Children.

Her 15 year old high schooler had suggested she read it as he was also reading it for class. She's not sure what his motive was for wanting her to read 1984, but she does know he has strong moral convictions and political opinions, and he hates she claims not to care about what is going on in the world, she says she would rather be uninformed, and she declares she has enough to deal with in her own life and can't do anything about the rest of the world anyway. She chalks his disapproval up to his idealism or naiveté; he still thinks he can change the world because he has little experience of how life can cruelly change him.

Based upon some vague idea of what she thought the book was about, it began somewhat as expected with the main character, Winston, struggling with his rebellious thoughts against the government and seeking to record them in a journal. She relates somewhat to this since she has done the same with her own rebellious thoughts and questions about God. The novel sounds instantly familiar, and she starts listening to the book through the filter of her own spiritual struggle with God rather than identifying with the main character's thoughts of resistance against an earthly government. 

As the novel plays out, there are several other events, themes or ideas that seem relatable to her spiritual struggle, and she contemplates their relevance or similarity to ideas or teachings in the Bible**. Specifically, she can't quit thinking about Freedom is Slavery and the fact that a party member must love Big Brother before they would be allowed to die.

She shocks herself with the following thoughts:

God is Big Brother. His kingdom is totalitarian. He commands submission. He commands worship for Him only. He commands love for Him first before all others. He promises freedom and a new life. I must love Him before I can "die". How do I know if I love Him? Is it a feeling? Is it just an acknowledgement and repeated mantra? Can it be a feeling? 

She really wants it to be a feeling. She wants to experience Winston's blissful dream, the moment she can be unaware of all hardships and only in tune with love for God. She aches for the aforementioned longhoped-for bullet to the brain.

Like Winston, her circumstances and emotions have led her to become desperate for an escape. Like Winston, loving and being loved by another human is not enough; two flawed beings will always find a way to disappoint each other whether intentional or not. Like Winston, she yearns for freedom. Like Winston, she is becoming aware that freedom might have a different definition than what she assumed. Like Winston, her flesh rebels against the Authority. Like Winston, she can only see what the Authority appears to be taking away. Like Winston, the choice is being made for her.

Freedom is Slavery. To obtain freedom, she must choose slavery. But that goes against logic; it's doublethink.

Have human attempts at totalitarian governments resulting in evil atrocities caused me to think that there cannot be a supernatural totalitarian kingdom that results in perfection and love? What if God/Christ is the perfect Big Brother? What if His totalitarian kingdom could actually produce peace and freedom for me if I could just submit to His will? My flesh rebels against God like Winston rebels against Big Brother. How do I fight the cravings of the flesh and submit to God's will? 

As she ponders these questions, a quiet voice whispers to her heart.

*Disclaimer: This story is about the effect a literary work of art made on the reader/writer. It is not meant to be a theological dissertation nor an analytical book review, but another glimpse into the writer's spiritual journey and her relationship to God at this time in her life. Please no haters if her words offend your ideas about Christianity or if, to you, they are completely off base. She realizes she could be wrong, but fortunately or unfortunately, this is how God is having church with her today.

**Thought Police and Big Brother is Watching You, doublethink, thoughtcrime, Two Minutes Hate, torture, physical suffering, mind control, brainwashing, and indoctrination, no family loyalties allowed, War is Peace, Freedom is Slavery, Ignorance is Strength, Must love Big Brother before death

The Hike

Even though her calves are burning, and her desire is somewhat nonexistent, she pushes on, takes forks she’s never taken, gets a little lost and ends up in an area she hasn’t hiked before. She only planned an hour, but it takes her at least an hour and half because of the detour.

She has learned to enjoy hiking in the desert mountain preserves. It has become something she usually looks forward to. Time to herself, time outside, time to think, time to be quiet. 

About a year before, she began driving her youngest son 3-4 days a week to a preschool for blind children. And while the drive forced her to get out of the house, a blessing in itself, it also meant she would be on the highway for an hour every morning and every afternoon. And since she couldn't bring herself to drive an additional two hours all the way home and back to school after dropping him off, she decided to investigate ways to spend her time on that side of town.

At first, she went to McDonalds, or Starbucks or Chick-fil-A, but usually McDonalds, buy something that wasn't good for her and use their air conditioning and free wifi. But after a while, her waistline protested. Or her clothes did. Anyway, it wasn't working out.

She also tried shopping. Not go-to-the-store-because-you-have-a-list-and-need-something shopping, but go-to-the-store-and-browse-to-see-what-you-need shopping. Target, Costco, the mall, etc....all within a 10 minute drive of the school, and she could always find something she needed. This time, however, it wasn't her waistline protesting, but her bank account. (Although, there are definitely some tasty eats in those places so maybe the waistline was making noise too).

Forced to start looking for free, low calorie things to do, she began to split her time between public parks and public libraries depending on the weather and her mood. Both had things going for them. The parks had shade or sun and the sounds of nature, a cooling breeze or warm heat during certain months, an opportunity to hike up a trail or take a nap under a tree. The library had free air conditioning, free wifi, usually a quiet atmosphere (depending on if there was a children's book reading there on that day or not which usually resulted in screaming and crying children for about an hour before it started), and clean bathrooms. Sometimes she did both in one day.

On this particular morning, she decided to hike for an hour and end with a trip to the library. The sky was blue, the air warm and cool at the same time, morning temperatures ambient, literally perfect conditions.

As she climbed out of the car after luckily scoring one of the few remaining parking spaces, she could tell the hike was not going to be easy. It had been a while, and her legs were being lazy. She even struggled to convince her mind it was a good idea. She rubbed a little sunscreen on her neck and chest, put on sunglasses (she had accidentally left her hat at home), grabbed her bottle of lukewarm "iced" tea and phone, checked to make sure her valuables were at least underneath something, and closed the car door. She pressed the lock button on her key fob twice to make the car horn honk, ensuring it was locked.

She put her keys in her left pocket and her phone in her right. She carried her tea bottle with two fingers from her right hand and headed to the path leading to the trail. No earphones, no music, no audio book. Just the sound of her feet on the rocks and dirt.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. She loves the methodic sound of her shoes on the gravel, the scratching scurry of a lizard across her path, the panicked rustle of birds in the scrubby shrubs, the occasional sound of voices in the distance assuring her while she is alone, she is not alone. 

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. She knows as she walks on this rough, loose, uneven gravel, and in other places over the hard, weathered, tilted sharp bed rock that her balance is being improved. She pays attention to how her body responds to the misstep of a foot or the slight twisting of an ankle as her system accommodates the terrain. She might be sore the first few days back, but her body will recover and be stronger the more consistently she returns. All the little turns and twists in her feet translate up her body working minute muscles here and there. Everything working together to keep her on her feet.

She has a preference for this particular desert mountain preserve. She feels strangely safe here over other places. She can be alone and not see anyone for most of the hike even though the parking lot is full. She has felt calm and happy here, as well as sad or angry. She has felt peace that can't be understood, and she has worked through raging emotions. She has confronted God here. And He has confronted her.

She thinks about how this past year her life has been a series of rough and tumble missteps, how she has tripped and recovered over and over again. Her ability to regain her emotional balance improving with time and practice. While not knowing when the next patch of gravel might slide out from under her or a sharp rock might throw her off her path, she feels more confident now than before that she might be ok.

Her First Two Pregnancies {Choosing Life: Chapter 2}

{Choosing Life: Chapter 1}

She already had two amazing and beautiful boys, ages 10 and 8. Both boy’s genders were surprises since she and her husband chose to wait until they were born to find out their sex. And each one, of course, had their own unique birth story.

After an uneventful pregnancy, the only glitch having been diagnosed with gestational diabetes (probably resulting from eating a large bag of Starbursts on the way to the clinic for the test), her firstborn, Michael, decided astonishingly to be born on his due date.

She and her husband had settled in for an evening of movie watching. Having had random contractions all week and being that it was the night before the baby’s due date, she had chosen to lay on the couch with a towel underneath her, just in case.

Her husband pushed play on the DVD player, and they were both thrown into the midst of Saving Private Ryan’s depiction of D-Day. And although the gun shots were loud and intense in the middle of the beach storming scene, they both heard an audible pop that seemed to come from behind them or across the room. She raised herself up on her elbows to see what the sound was and realized her water had broken!

As she sat on the toilet, trying to talk to her nurse midwife on the phone, she was told to come in when she couldn’t talk through the pain. They left almost immediately especially since they also lived 45 miles away from the hospital. She sat on towels as her husband sped down the highway, breathing through the pain with every bump in the road and every contraction. She had planned ahead to have an unmedicated birth only because her friend had done it, and she wanted to see if she could do it too. She can be competitive.

They were ushered into the largest birth room, and she proceeded with various activities to help distract and alleviate pain. She went to the bathroom, they did laps in the hallway, she took a warm shower, she rocked in the rocking chair. These kept her busy until the pain became overwhelming. Soon, as she was moaning to herself, hunched over in the rocking chair, she overheard her midwife tell the nurse-in-training that she was in transition.

Transition hurt. And it was surreal. Eventually, the midwife had her climb onto the table so they could check the baby’s progress. Thankfully it was time. Since she chose a natural birth, she had no IV’s, only a monitor around her belly to listen to the baby’s heart.

The room was full of attendants waiting on the arrival of this new little human. She remembers noticing all the random day to day discussions going on around her between agonizing pushes as if they were all sitting in her living room, just hanging out. She kept pushing as instructed, getting tired, but the baby still wouldn’t come out, its head stuck crowning for 25 minutes.

While some of the nurses and attendants seemed to become a little anxious, her nurse midwife assured her everything was okay because the baby’s heart rate was still normal. But not wanting to risk the child being stuck any longer, the midwife finally gave her what was supposed to be a tiny episiotomy. Ouch! Not realizing she didn’t need to push as hard anymore, the last push resulted in a nice 3rd degree tear and an 8 pound 5 ounce, black haired, red faced quiet baby boy. She was amazed it only took 4 hours from the time they first arrived to the hospital.

Having experienced a natural childbirth for all it’s worth, she gave in to her curiosity to see what a medicated childbirth was like with her 2nd child, Jonathan. However, this pregnancy felt very different, and while she doesn’t remember having any diagnoses of something like gestational diabetes again, she often referred to the baby as the anti-Michael. This child just seemed ready to break out, moving more and kicking harder. The baby’s hormones collided with her own causing her to feel depressed and anxious, miserable. She was given an anti-depressant during the last month, but when the due date arrived and the baby didn’t seem to care, she cried on her nurse midwife’s shoulder believing she couldn’t survive one more day.

Having compassion, the midwife met her at the hospital and broke her water. Being induced caused the pain to come on much more quickly and intensely than she remembered when it happened naturally. She couldn’t wait to get an epidural and spent the whole pain free time sleeping. When she woke up, the epidural had almost worn off, and it was time to push.

Again, she had to receive an episiotomy since the scar tissue from the last one wouldn’t let the baby through. And again, she had a lovely 3rd degree tear. But in spite of all this, she got to experience a most amazing national geographic moment. After they put the screaming red faced, blond headed, 7 pound 9 ounce baby boy on her chest, he wiggled and rooted around to nurse almost immediately. With this baby, both she and her husband felt their family was complete.

{Choosing Life: Chapter 3}

A Sunday Worth Repeating

Grinning toddler
Abundant sunshine
Cool breeze
Shaded sidewalk
Welcoming church

Worship music
Contemplative offering
Hushed prayer
Heart-full tears
Invitational message

Peaceful landscape
Reflective surface
Dappled light
Dancing pool-cleaner
Warmed skin

Resting child
Outdoor nap
Effective swallowing
Suspended seizures
Joyful laughter

Family dinner
Grilled steak
Spicy potatoes
Talkative teens
Full bellies

Soft touch
Gentle caress
Smiling eyes
Loving heart
Fulfilled desires

A Heart Cries Out

She can feel the heat rise into her face and her eyes grow hot with moisture. Her nose suddenly feels warm and the edges of her mouth turn down on their own, quivering as she fights against the oncoming tears, bursting into sobs. Balling up her fists, she pounds the mattress, kicking and screaming. Her dark wavy hair spills across the pillow as she buries her face trying to muffle the sounds. Her heart feels like its going to explode. She wishes it would.

She deprives herself of oxygen as she smothers her cries in the pillow, her breathing slowing and getting deeper. She begins to calm and imagines herself suffocating. But her body won't let her. At the last second, her head turns and she gulps in deep breaths of the cool room air.

A two year old's tantrum performed by a 43 year old on and off for the past seven years.

And now she's tired - tired of fighting with God, tired of questioning, tired of analyzing. She's reached a cross roads of sorts. She's either going to back down and embrace the faith of her youth, no questions asked, or she's going to have to chuck it all. She can't keep saying she believes something and then turn around and constantly question what she says she believes.

She wants assurance, truth, and freedom.

She craves rest, purpose, and fulfillment.

-------------------------------------------

The overwhelming tiredness began about seven years ago when life really began to get real. All of a sudden life didn't seem mundane or easy anymore, it began to get hard: medical emergencies, surgeries, illnesses, and death. Bad news after bad news. She realized her life was not "blessed" anymore in the manner she thought she understood being "blessed".

During this time she gave in to her emotions as they seemed to be her reality. She started reevaluating everything she had believed, having a crisis of faith over and over again.

She got on and off antidepressants.

In the beginning, she would get long periods of respite where she thought she had it all back under control and was living peacefully again, "blessed" again. Then something else would happen, and over time, she would get glimpses of what she perceived to be the end of the quest only to be driven back when shaken. Every time she thought she got her beliefs sorted out, something else would happen to her, to someone else, or just in the world in general that caused another emotional upset and the questioning would start all over.

She spent hours praying and searching the Bible for answers, listening to podcasts on every conceivable spiritual subject, questioning and being mad and distrustful of God. She looked outside her faith at times, querying those who were not "believers", and imagined what it would be like not to live under or have to abide by, what she perceived as, "all the rules", really just asking the question, "What's' the point?".

During the most intense crying binges and moments of despair, her emotions convinced her that she truly wanted to end things (even though she didn't think she would ever have the guts to actually do anything about it). She played with the idea, got comfortable with the thoughts, considered what her kid's lives might be without her.

The thoughts of the kids struggling because of her actions were probably the best deterrent.

She got counseling, she read books, she listened to more unsolicited advice than she ever asked for or wanted. She wasn't asking for anyone to fix her, but she knew she didn't want to experience this anymore, this wallowing in self pity, begging for relief, constantly considering an escape.

-------------------------------------------

Off to her right in her peripheral vision, He sits in darkness surrounded by a red glow. She can't see His face, and she doesn't want to. Vaguely she senses His throne; His feet and robes shadowed in a black and red haze. These are not the colors she would have associated with Him, but they are the colors He is using to reveal Himself to her now. Every now and then she wonders if she should turn and try to look at Him, seek His face, but she can't bring herself to give up what she currently has which feels like the shelter of anonymity.

She just couldn't live the way she was living anymore  - without joy, always anxious, relentlessly questioning, miserable. Something had to give. She needed to choose between going all in or just walking away, and since walking away would entail continuing the exhausting search for something unknown, she chose what has now become the path of least resistance; she's just too tired to search anymore. She has made what she hopes to be, a life changing decision. She has decided she is not going to question or fight anymore. She threw in the proverbial towel and surrendered her soul again to this Person sitting in a fog on a throne whom she realizes now she doesn't know very well after all. Her ideas about being "blessed" and assumptions about His role in her life will need to be redefined.

He has given her a strange tool to deal with the emotions that attack her periodically, the emotions that flare up when something goes wrong, or someone says something that sort of pricks her ears and offends her, or when random questioning thoughts pop up in her mind for no reason.

This tool might be considered more in line with an image. When these annoying things occur, she immediately, if she is paying attention, pushes them to the right of her vision at the feet of this Person on the throne. These things appeared as boxes. But as she kept pushing them to her side, she could sense them stacking up higher and higher. She began to fear they might eventually come tumbling down on top of her, burying her with a renewed sense of despair.

During one of these fearful visions of being buried by things that she was trying to overcome, a dark small hole formed in the ground and the boxes began dropping one by one into the hole until they disappeared. The relief that accompanied this minor revision to the image was huge, and over time this small hole became a chasm that was large enough to swallow all of her problems.

She wondered at one point why this image was off to the side instead of in front of her. But as she looked ahead and didn't focus on her peripheral vision, she realized that the path in front of her was wide and open, light blue with sunshine overhead, a rainbowy peaceful aura hovering in the distance. She could freely advance forward without the sight of the burdens or chasm in her way.

-------------------------------------------

The night feels unusually dark and quiet. Awake and unable to sleep, she lies alone on the couch in the living room. Creeping out of the corners of her mind, the old emotions and thoughts try to revisit. Her mind is instantly on alert, fearful they are going to overwhelm her. She begins to struggle with them, fighting to keep the vision alive which she was given to deal with these types of attacks.

The emotions evolve into a large steel heavy mass in front of her. She can't move it! She pushes with all her might trying to shove it into the chasm. Finally, in desperation, she cries out for help!

All of a sudden the mass changes form and becomes round like a wrecking ball. Although remaining steel and heavy, if she really puts her shoulder and body into it, she can get it to budge. It gradually starts moving and rolling towards the large hole. The movement is loud and grating, but she finally pushes it in!

As it falls, she realizes the colors around the throne have changed from the eerie black and red to a bland beige. The haze is gone; shapes are sharper. While she still refrains from looking into His face, she senses that He is not as hidden as before...

Dusty Gray: The Color of Death

Stoically she talked to him, quietly calling his name, one hand protecting his leg from crashing onto the wheelchair footrest, the other stabilizing his jerking head against the headrest.

Internally horrified, she watched as death passed over him, the shadow sneering as the seizure kept him from getting a breath, the little boy's skin turning dusty gray.

During the entire episode, she remained outwardly calm and looked as though she were just watching the clock tick. The preschool teacher who had run in a panic to get the school nurse remarked that she wished she could stay so calm.

The mom almost wishes she didn't look so calm. She realizes what her lack of immediate emotion must look like to others.

Does she even care?

Does she have a heart?

In private she allows her emotions to consume her and her heart to break - she cries, she pounds the pillow, she kicks the mattress, she begs God, she hides in her closet, she screams.

However, in public her mind often protects her heart (and surrounding onlookers) by employing a self defense mechanism that keeps her from expressing emotion and drawing too much attention to the situation. She will have an almost out of body experience where, from a distance, she watches events as if they are happening to someone else, and up close, she goes through the motions dealing with the issue like a puppet.

A puppet who saw dusty gray.

Reasons Not to Hope

"There he goes! He did it again! He's lifting his head off the floor!"

They were all exclaiming to each other with big grins, cheering and applauding their little boy with encouragement to do it again. 

They couldn't believe it. He could finally lift his head. They'd been waiting for this event for more than 3 1/2 years. They started making phone calls to let everyone know. Who knows what he might do next? 

She smiled to herself as she rolled over under the warm weight of the blankets until her eyes flickered open.

Disappointment set in again. It was just a dream. Another damn dream. She used to view these dreams as some kind of prophecy that one day her son would miraculously just lift his head off the floor, roll over on his knees, begin to crawl, pull to stand up, take steps to walk, or begin to talk using words she could understand. The dreams were so real. And friends, family, and even strangers had had them too. She used to feel hope whenever she would have one or hear of one.

But why? What was she really hoping for? A milestone? For what?

Unless a person hits most, if not all milestones, they will probably never function with complete independence. And even with all the faith she could muster, she knew going into the delivery room that his odds of hitting even some milestones where pretty slim, that he would be dependent on someone for his entire life, however short or long that would be.

Even so, she now spends hours taking him to therapies that are supposed to help him hit these milestones. But what's one milestone going to do for him in the midst of the many he won't hit? Will he suddenly be happier or more content? 

He's happy and content now. 

In fact, based on his constant coos and chirps, giggles and smiles, she doesn't know of a more happy and content person. The only time he gets upset is when one of his medical conditions flare up, and those have nothing to do with reaching or not reaching milestones. As soon as the medical issue is resolved, he is back to being his happy little self.

She almost feels like he didn't get touched by the original sin of eating from the tree of knowledge of good and evil. He seems unaware of the expectations and desires for success and independence that the rest of us think we want and struggle to attain. He seems content to be cared for, happy to be entertained or to entertain himself. And while he may appreciate toys or videos, he does not demand them. He seems content to be quiet and still with his own thoughts, drifting in and out of day-dreamy naps, and just as content to be tickled, moved around, and spoken to almost as if he lives in his own little Garden of Eden. His soul seems at peace.

So whats wrong with that? What is she hoping for? And if she is hoping for something, does that not imply that she is discontent with the way things are right now? And why should she be discontent if her son is not? Isn't she just projecting her own fears of wondering how she is going to care for him if he does not hit milestones and is completely dependent forever, or of what others will think if she does not appear to be doing everything in her strength to help him?

He's just so beautiful. And happy. And loved. What more could she really hope for?

The Seizure Beast: A Mother's Perspective

His eyes grow wide with terror as his body stiffens into a paralytic state, his mouth turning into a perplexed and focused frown. The epileptic beast overtakes him and sucks at his breath as his pulse races and his skin turns blotchy.

He moans.

Only a few seconds before, he was laughing and playing, enjoying the activity of the moment and the interaction from family around him. Now his fearful eyes search his mother's for help and relief, silently begging her to release him from this entrapment.

The beast in his brain consumes him, surging an electrical storm through his tiny body. Seconds pass, then a pause -- the beast gets distracted for a moment, the little body relaxing as the initial attack subsides.

They wait, peering into each other's faces, knowing what is coming.

"Make it stop, Austin. Make it stop," she commands.

Seconds later the beast roars to life again with repeated waves of spasms, throwing his head forward, splaying his arms in the air, thrusting out his legs, picking his limbs up only to slam them down again against whatever surface is closest -- his head rest, the metal bars on his wheel chair, the hard plastic foot rest -- bruising him in its wake.

His body shakes and shudders under the violent attack.

The spasms might last anywhere from 30 seconds to almost 3 minutes, an eternity to his mother as she watches him gasp for air, eyes still crying out for help, throat releasing moans intermittently as his body allows, his breath shallow as the beast keeps sucking it away.

He begins to turn blue as the beast tries to stifle his breath, sitting on his lungs causing them to seize with the rest of his body.

She lifts his arms up and down over his head, blowing in his face, encouraging him to take a breath.

Fervently she whispers, "Breathe, breathe, come on breathe." She starts to pray, but the words won't form in her mind. She's prayed so many times. She saves her breath, willing it into him.

Locating the phone in her mind, she visualizes dialing 9-1-1.

At last, he inhales a deep breath and exhales a moan, pink returning to his cheeks. His body flinches in the aftershocks as the beast begins its release, retreating to its hideout in the recesses of his brain.

"You did it, baby. It's almost over. Be tough," she encourages, feeling the all too familiar relief wash over her.

He moans and rolls his head to the side anxiously seeking rest and sleep in order to recover.

Her heart hurts for both of them.

Throat Slugs and Throat Scabs

While the smell of garlicky cheese, roasted tomatoes and yeasty dough wafted through the air, the server finished taking their order. They were just finishing up their appetizers, boneless buffalo wings ordered by the 12 year old and fried cheese ordered by the 15 year old and shared by the whole family.

It was a good thing her parents, she and her husband and their two older boys were practically the only patrons in the restaurant on that Sunday after church because her family laughed raucously in the corner of the pizza joint as the conversation took its usual and inevitable turn towards body humor.

The 15 year old had just begun lamenting the fact that sometimes he had problems swallowing after eating dairy which, on that day, happened to be the fried cheese.

"Oh," she said knowingly, "I call that a 'throat slug'. You know, when there's that slimy thing in the back of your throat that you keep trying to swallow but it keeps bouncing back."

She has her family's rapt attention although there is a slight scowl on her mother's face. Smiles leading to laughing and nodding ensued on all the male faces.

"While you are correct that it often occurs after eating dairy," she continued, "it can also be caused by post nasal drip during allergy season or when you have a cold. You are constantly clearing your throat and trying to swallow, over and over again while the relentless ball of mucous sets up residence with no thought of ever relinquishing its hold. 

When I get to my wits end with that slippery critter, I consciously swallow and then quickly jam my thumb in my neck to try to sever the rubber band effect. After doing that several times, you can usually overcome the 'throat slug', and it will slide down your esophagus to its final acidic destination to be dissolved in your stomach. Often this final severing will need to be emphasized by slapping the counter or table with your hand in order to overcome the incredibly gross feeling of having ingested an alien substance.

Or if you are less of a lady than I or not in public, you can just hock a loogie and be done with it.

On another note, if you retire in the evening with said 'slug' milling around in the back of your throat, and you are too tired after going to bed to get up and take care of it (i.e. you stayed out too late in Vegas singing at the top of your lungs at the piano bar in the New York-New York), you will probably wake up in the morning with what I like to call a 'throat scab'. 

This is the throat slug's evil offspring. The 'throat scab' will result in gentle attempts to clearing your throat to vigorous coughing fits and hacking. If you are in public, people will stare at you. You will make repeated attempts to try to melt or burn it out with hot bitter dirt, i.e. coffee or some other concoction such as gargling with salt water since we all experimented with salt and actual slugs on the sidewalk as kids and learned its chemical effects."

God blessed her with a family of boys for a reason...