A Giggle from God

Well, this blog began at the beginning of the month, with some pretty lighthearted looks at some topics...but has gotten progressively more somber as time has gone on. I don't like this trend. While I think it is important to discuss things deeply and seriously...I also think it should always be done with a sense of humor. We take ourselves much too seriously.

As for me, I don't think that I take myself so seriously...but rather that my life has become rather serious: rather a fight for existence against the jaws of pain which would love to chew me up and spit me out somewhere along the way. I've been struggling against this happening; clinging to my pursuit for meaning in the face of a grim existence and a long future ahead of me or increasing pain and difficulty......Sometimes life just ISN'T FUNNY.

But you know.
Life may not be funny...or fun. But God is always good. And he, unlike me, never loses his sense of humor. Sometimes, it's in the very speed with which he comes racing to answer our cry and our requests and our desperate questions...that I can hear his giggle of delight. It's almost audible his thought, "It's about time you came to me with this one...and now that you have, HERE'S YOUR ANSWER....ta-dah!!"

Yesterday was like that.
I had a brutal night. I've used that word to several people now to describe it. Because that is the only word that seems appropriate. I've been engaged in a bloody battle with pain...and this enemy HAS NO MERCY. Last night, I got to the point of despair. (Which is a place I struggle with all my heart not to go these days.....) I began to pray through sobs...while sitting in my room in the dark, on my recliner...being nauseated and crushed by wave after wave of pain. I began to ask God questions that I normally do not need to ask...Areas where normally my faith is strong, suddenly became pits of quick sand where I was sinking up to my neck. I said to God:
"WHY???? why have you destroyed my life...and my very purpose for existing?? You have taken and removed every ability, every competence; every piece of enjoyment; every freedom...Every possible reason that I could have for existing is gone. And now the only thing that remains is my heart beating and this horrific pain. It has swallowed me. And I cannot go on like this anymore! It's not like I am suffering for my faith, and thus winning heavenly reward....it's not like I'm suffering for the benefit of anyone else...NO! I'm just plain old SUFFERING. It's pointless. and cruel. And I can't do it anymore. I need to know Why?? And what of what value is my life? Why do you prolong it? Please God, bring me to be with you...now. Tonight. Because I cannot survive another moment of this."

I questioned his purposes. I questioned his intent for good in my life (My benefit, my hope and my future - see Jeremiah 29:11-13); I questioned his wisdom...I questioned his concern for me. I questioned why I existed as well.

And God, instead of crushing me or disregarding me or being angered at my distress and this stumbling in my faith...chuckled as he revealed to me the answers to each question. And when I entered the kitchen...and saw dishes stacked from counter to ceiling...and dirty counters...etc., I began to cry...Because my pain was so great, I knew it was impossible for me to clean up that mess. And I cried out to God for help. I asked him to please send me someone to help me that day.

And not even ten minutes later, a friend on Facebook said to me, "I'm not doing anything today; do you need me to help you with something?" Well. YEAH, as a matter of fact I DO!!

And let me tell you that this is not something that has maybe ever happened before. NO one has ever come to me with an offer like that one. NOPE. This was God's giggle of good blessing in my life yesterday.

And there were more to come. I had a delightful day. This same friend took me out for coffee and later, out for lunch. And then to Walmart (OK, I DO have to forgive her for that one....) I do not often get out...And if I do it's to go to a doctor's office...Not for anything fun. So this was a great blessing and gift from God. A soft caress on a tear-stained face. A kiss for a confused child.

And later in the afternoon...He answered my questions in regard to my need to understand my function and purpose in life. And more specifically, why suffering is necessary in order for me to fulfill those purposes. And he showed me that, no, I am not cursed by God, but rather that he has blessed me with HEALTH , WEALTH AND WISDOM. Even though, I am sick, poor, and confused. Two friends, spontaneously, prompted by my chuckling Dad in Heaven, spoke to me via the internet (email) and brought these issues to my attention. And neatly spoke with the voice of God directly to my need.

So, even though I may have lost my giggle; My God has not. And it is not a mocking giggle. But a giggle of the loving delight he takes in me...and laughter which springs from his joy in responding immediately to my urgent need.

Deut. 33:26
"Yeshurun, there is no one like God, riding through the heavens to help you, riding on the clouds in his majesty."

Psalm 69:32
The humble will see their God at work and be glad. Let all who seek God's help live in joy.

Heb. 2:18
For since He Himself was tempted in that which He has suffered, He is able to come to the aid of those who are tempted.

Yes, God laughs when we've lost all our sense of humor.

The Regret Monster

For me, there are two horrible feelings. I think they must be the worst feelings in the world to endure. Because I've had an Eating Disorder for many many years, one of my feelings may not be shared by the majority of the people who read this. At least not anything like in the degree that I experience it, and that is the feelings of sickness, disgust and self-hatred I get when I've eaten too much, or something really junky...like four Ring Dings (just for an example...I haven't done this particular feat but it seemed like a good example to give.) And ironically, my response often when this has happened is not to be exceptionally careful about what I eat from then on, to try to balance it out....NO, it's the All or Nothing thinking that kicks in....and because I am now an awful person because of what I've just eaten, I have to go and PROVE it by eating more and sickening myself further. (And no, I've not had a problem with bulimia. My problem was anorexia...but you must understand that a small dish of ice cream to a person suffering with this disease, feels just as bad to them as would eating two containers of ice cream for someone else...and worse.) It is true that the quantities we are talking about here have grown as my recovery has progressed. And now, when I overeat, it really COULD be considered overeating , although probably not anything like what some people would consider even normal.

Last night I did this and I am heartily regretting it this morning. (In fact, have been regretting it all of last night.) And here, actually is an important word and concept: REGRET. Regret has to be the WORST emotion to bear when it is inordinately intense. Have you ever said something and just wanted to EAT your words...and you've agonized over it a million times in your mind and there is NOTHING you can do to undo what you've done?

That leads me to my other terrible feeling. And that is when you've done something that you KNEW was wrong, and you did it anyway. And you are disgusted with yourself ...and sick about it. It was wrong before God...and wrong in your eyes, ...whether or not other people would share that same diagnosis, is irrelevant. To me, to God: it was wrong. And I can't undo it. And all I can do is sit with this regret twisting about in my gut....Then comes the soul-mate of regret: self hatred. That's when the mental dialogue begins: the self castigation; the raking over the coals...and the internal and horrible things we say to ourselves to make ourselves feel even worse.

To me, these are the hardest times to bear: those moments when I'm left alone with monster called Regret.

Tonight (rather last night,...it's now 7:00 AM), I've done things worthy of both of these kinds of regret. I over ate and I did something that I know was wrong. And I'm sitting here with that sickness of soul that follows....And the thought came to me:

"You don't have to feel like this."

Now, it is good to be convicted when we've done something wrong, just for the purpose of letting us know that we've done it....to identify it. However, God never intended us, His children to bear the weight of ongoing guilt. THAT's why he sent Jesus. To take care of that, once and for all. Conviction is God saying to us: "Look, what you just did was wrong. It needs to be taken care of...." GUILT, on the other hand, is a punishment in itself. The pictures some people have of a God who takes delight in crushing them with a heavy hand of guilt is completely wrong. Yes, we are guilty. W e are innately guilty. (I know some people will dispute that, but I can recognize an innate sin nature in me; a self that loves to do what is wrong and doesn't please God....And if you have enough softness of heart to recognize and sense conviction, you will agree with me too.)

God doesn't want us to live with Regret and his soul-mate. He doesn't want the self hating diatribe to begin in our heart. Rather, we wants us to take delight in his gift to us of making right the relationship we've tainted with our sin. He wants us to bring him our dirty rags in confession and he wants to hand us once more the white robe of "righteousness" or rightness with God. Why do we waste so much time before we take it to him? Shame? We think we can hide it from him?? I won't even comment on the ridiculousness of that thought...but I often have it too. Do we need to suffer a bit first?? To feel like somehow WE were contributing to "paying for it"??

Listen: What Jesus did on the cross was perfect. "It is finished" he cried at the end. And it was. Our sin no longer holds any power to keep us in bondage or captivity to regret. Nor does it hold the power to separate us from God that it once did, before the cross. Isn't this an amazing piece of news?? We can take it; dump it, and LEAVE IT THERE, walking away as fresh and clean as if we'd never even considered doing such a thing.

Of course this is presuming we've already initiated a relationship with God...but no, wait, that's not true. It is a possibility for ANYONE. All that's required of us is to recognize that we have sinned; that our sin makes us unacceptable to a holy, perfect God. And then ask him to let us come under the covering of the amnesty that He granted us through the blood of Christ. And then that freedom and release and innocence can be yours also.

And as far as that package of consumed cookies goes? Well, it pales, I guess in comparison. Although gluttony too is a sin...So take it to the cross. And if you have ED like me, ask for a touch of healing from those patterns of thinking as well. He's a big God. And Healing, Pardoning, and Forgiving are his business. So don't try to pay for it yourself, either by self recrimination or by good behavior. Because you can't.

The Wonder of Worship

What is it that is magical about the lights on Christmas trees, candlelight, the song "Silent Night," the first snow fall, ...? I think it is a combination of things. It brings to mind the sense of sacred awe we felt as children when faced with these things for the first time.
It is that sense of privilege that we have when we are allowed to attend our first midnight candle-light service as a child: replete with the excitement of staying up REALLY long past your bedtime; knowing that Christmas is tomorrow and the mystery of what lies under that tree; the beauty of the candles, starlight and snowfall reflecting the Christmas lights that give that image of that "Little Town in Bethlehem" and the beauty of the baby born there, hidden away in that stable. And to your little mind then, the world seems to be just about perfect. The fight you had with your brother, the spanking you got yesterday, and the distress you felt when you heard mom and dad yelling at each other that morning ...all vanish...and you feel a sense of peace, delight, and excitement.
To me, I think some of that awe, peace, and joy is what we will feel as we step over the threshold into heaven...for those of us that are going there. This, this childish awe and wonder, is how God meant us to be ALWAYS....And I think it is how Adam and Eve felt ALL THE TIME...as they explored the beautiful garden of God. As they examined discovery after discovery, their hearts thrilled with the understanding of just how much they were loved. I am feeling some of this wonder now, as Handel's Hallelujah Chorus just came on my iPod. God is on His throne: King of kings and Lord of lords! Hallelujah!

Folks, we were made to worship.

People don't like that idea now, because it means inherently, the admission that something or someone greater than ourselves exists in this world. But honestly, with my hands raised toward heaven, singing with all my might, and tears coming at the beauty of my God...nothing in the world could feel better than that. That is what I was created to do ...

And the awe of the silent wonder that comes when we consider the Christ child coming to this earth...that KING OF KINGS AND LORD OF LORDS, coming to a dirty stable in the helpless wrapping of an infant...growing up to die....for me... That too, is what we were made to know...How very very much we are loved and adored by the Maker of the ends of the earth.

And the wonder of it all will dumbfound us when we finally, in His Kingdom, begin to understand the full impact of that. And the awe I felt as a five or six year old, holding my candle in it's paper holder watching that spark ignite into flame, surrounded by the strains of O Holy Night: that is just a slight inkling of what we'll experience in Heaven when surrounded by a sea, thousands upon thousands of worshipers, as we lift our hearts and hands to worship the King as he enters and sits on his throne.

We were made to worship.

Sushi and Paper Pilgrims

I was just thinking...trying to come up with some Thanksgiving memories. I don't have many memories of packed tables full of relatives and friends...I think there were a few times when my family made the 9 hour car trip from our home in Hackensack NJ to Meadville PA (FAR western PA) to tables of cousins and aunts and uncles: tables of adult grudges and hurt feelings; tables full of my oblivion to that fact...only cognizant of cousins I hadn't seen in a long time...the initial hide-behind-Mom's-skirts shyness which was soon replaced by noisy games of tag and childish excitement. Hungry hand-slapped sneakings of the food that we insisted must be pre-tested /and approved before we would consent to eat it. I cast shy glances at my disabled uncle (who had RA) in his chair in the corner of the room where I was sure he slept and ate as well, having never in all my years, seen him in any other spot but that. His ever present smile belying the twisted and swollen state of his hands and the pain that I can now sympathize with and which I now know he experienced but never showed or discussed.

The scent of my grandma's home made rolls came wafting from the kitchen inviting the begging for and prohibition of advance inspection of her wares. Placing dishes of the same grandmas neon colored bread and butter pickles on the table...and being permitted only small, pieces of her homemade hard candy, all of which tasted like anisette and licorice despite their bright colors, to hold us until the preparations were all complete and we gathered, noisy and wiggling to the table ...jumping in our excitement...and totally disregarding all of the undercurrents of the adult feuds and fractured loyalties.

There were a few Thanksgivings like that...But more frequently, there were the quiet kind, celebrated by my parents, my younger brother and myself. On these days, my parents would go to church, while my brother and I watched the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade on television and carried out our private tradition of making the centerpiece for the table. These consisted of -things like construction paper pilgrims or turkeys with fan-like folded tails which we proudly perched amidst the good china...the china which only came out of its hiding place in the china cabinet once or twice a year.

When my parents arrived back from church, soon delicious smells began to waft from the kitchen...where entrance was firmly denied until my mother got control of the preparations and things were ready to be carried to the table in the dining room...I don't recall much else about those holidays at home..except for the one, when my mom took the turkey from the oven and sat it on the counter for a few minutes to cool so that she could carve it....and while our backs were turned, our cat climbed up and had himself a nice Thanksgiving meal! Yes, we still ate that pre-sampled bird...just not the parts that had been already gnawed!

Now, my Thanksgivings are much different. Much sadder if you ask me...We have a tradition (about 3 years old, this tradition) that is so absurd that whenever I confess it to anyone, it prompts a good belly laugh from the listener. You see, WE (my husband, daughter and myself) go out for a sushi dinner. We are invariably the only customers in the restaurant each year...((I wonder why??)) and then out to a movie following dinner. Why??? Well, since my mom became unable to prepare the feast, and it is difficult for me to do so (in fact, there have been years that I've spent in the hospital for Thanksgiving), we have gravitated toward this absurd practice. As for me, I would SO much rather go to a friend's house to celebrate, it's not like we've never been asked,...but my husband is not terribly social (to be polite) ...and would not consent to this...I miss the noisy familial gatherings. The home cooked meal and the friendly camaraderie that should be part of this day are sadly absent in our quiet celebration. So, for a few years, I've attempted to rescue the day by cooking a Thanksgiving type of meal on the Sunday following the actual holiday. This year I have quite an elaborate menu planned and only am praying for the strength to pull it off. I know I will get no assistance so it will be a painful marathon, but I do it mostly for myself...to assuage the disappointment of the empty holiday that really should be so pregnant with meaning. And I hope that someday, when my daughter celebrates the holiday in whatever manner she should choose, that she will remember my attempts to restore some of the tradition to a holiday rendered bizarre by the preferences of my family. But nonetheless, I try to be grateful for the presence of the three of us at that meal and to enjoy their company during our unconventional celebration and to be thankful for each of them during these times we share together in our unorthodox method of acknowledging the day. And I am always thankful for the years when I am healthy enough to even participate in the celebration of the holiday.

So this week as you gobble your turkey...think of us, in that deserted Japanese restaurant with our plates of sushi....and try not to laugh.

Please note: Silence from me today.

Reason: I'm busy NOT whining.

Am I my Illness?

This question has plagued me recently.

It began with a concern expressed by my father that my blogs seem to be so focused on illness that he was worried that these diseases have consumed me and made me simply another extension of themselves.

This also has been a complaint of my husband...that "Cynthia" no longer exists, but only a walking mass of pain and illness.

My pastor has also worked to alert me to this danger (in subtler ways than my husband, I might add!) He used to tell me when I had the habit of saying "my" asthma....He told me "don't say "my" ...don't OWN it!" And so I've now made a huge effort to break that method of referring to the diseases that attack me...I don't say "my " arthritis, or "my" asthma anymore. I say "THE arthritis, or asthma" but is that merely semantics? It has been a good reminder, true, when I speak of it, not to make it a part of myself...but has it really effectively changed this mindset in me?

And if I am NOT an illness...then.....who am I???

Frankly, I've been an illness for the majority of my life. True, there were some years of respite, when my daughter was young - years when I was just "Cynthia, Bible Study teacher, leader in church...artist...just Cynthia: pilgrim. But then in the year 2000, a random germ lodged in my lungs ands caused pneumonia which caused THE asthma which was to plague my life with numerous hospitalizations and secondary diagnoses....This began the tumble into the pit of illness in which I now find myself floundering and struggling to stay afloat.

And then, four years ago, my mind once more crumpled under the weight of physical distress, according to my psychiatrist, and that 12 year sabbatical I'd taken from mental illness abruptly ended--making me, once again, Cynthia: mentally ill person or patient (as the case may be). And I can tell you very honestly that when your mind is betraying you to that extent...to the extent that you must question and doubt every thought and every perceptual experience, well, it's hard to find an identity apart from that either.

And I have to ask the question....if you are up to your neck in sewage, how is it that you can not stink??

Do you understand my point??
When every move I make is met with pain...When I am hindered at every single motion, every single attempt to do ANYTHING...well, then, it is extremely hard to be able to even think of myself as a Being apart from illness and pain. Believe me, I don't WANT to be an illness...I know some people with chronic illness who are all "woe is me" constantly about it...and I try REALLY REALLY hard not to fall into that pit...and I think generally, I'm successful at that...considering the impact these diseases have made on my life.

It is really hard to "get a life" when the ONLY time you get out of the house is to go to a doctor's office! Seriously, other than to go sometimes to church, those are the ONLY times I get out...(that and an occaional "pharmacy run"....). I don't get to run to bank or the store - I don't see people or have experiences outside of this house, outside of doctors and outside of the limitations of this body.

THAT IS WHAT MY LIFE CONSISTS OF!!

So tell me, who am I and what am I apart from lost hopes and current illness and pain? If you know the answer to that, please email me and let me know what it is, because I SERIOUSLY do not have an answer to that.

..............................
{post script)
I had pushed the "post" button and then I sat staring at the last paragraph...and it did not sit well with me.

Because you know who I am?
I'm Cynthia- priestess of the Living God.
I'm Cynthia- warrior in prayer
I'm Cynthia- Beloved One of the Most High.

And it has become too easy to forget that. Too easy to let those descriptions of me which several years ago were so all-consuming, to slip quietly into the background of a "former life"...but they are NOT things which you "once were" and now "are not"...No, I still own those personal descriptions and job titles. And I need now, when all else is lost to me, to grip them more firmly and own them more completely.

The Beginning of the End of the Beginning

This morning I was thinking "aloud" as I posted on a forum for disabled people on a site that I frequent...I copied some of my remarks there to share with you here and to explore further:

"I had determined yesterday that I would exercise today...but I'm very unsure of that now. My neck and back are letting me have the whatfor...so I'm not sure about moving around right now. This does get very discouraging...that even when I have the right intentions, my body manages to cancel them out. Sometimes I wonder if it really is worth pursuiing the good intentions anymore....Maybe I should just go with whatever is easy and comfortable instead of fighting back and kicking the same old wall over and over. When does the point come when you just allow yourself to rest and go with the flow?

I have a friend in the later stages of severe ankylosing spondilitis - a similar disease to mine, only she has had it longer and is very, very disabled by it. She has blogged recently about how hard she fought in the early years, to maintain independence and physical strength and normalcy, but now, as the disease is really kicking her butt, she is letting go and just resting in whereever it takes her. And I'm afraid she will not be much longer with us, because she really is very sick.

But when is it "okay" to do that? Do you beat your hands bloody on the walls that are ever encroaching, ever closing in on you...until you don't have an ounce of strength left? And why? For what? Why would it not be okay to relax much sooner and let it go where it may? I've already fought hard agaiinst my body and crippling illness for so many years now...I find that I'm more and more tired by the fight...and now, as my life is reduced to this room more and more, I find myself wondering WHY?? Why am I still fighting and trying so hard at something that is obviously a losing battle? Why not just gracefully admit defeat and relax?"

In other words, I am wondering, what makes it so "noble" to resist and fight when disease and limitations come? Why can it not be equally good to gracefully bow out while you are still standing, once you realize that the fight really IS going to be futile in the long run? Why is acceptance so frowned upon and resistance and struggling against the inevitable are looked at as noble and as the right thing to do? Why do we cling so hard to this life which is at best, temporary and painfilled? If we belong to the Lord, we KNOW that something so much better is around the bend. Why can we not say, "my work and my time of being useful here, is done...now I will await the next stage with eagerness?" Is this attitude really not one that we have adopted from the desperate, fearful world around us? They fear death so of course, they will fight it tooth and nail. But for me, it signifies an end to great sufferng....and being welcomed into a kingdom which is spectacular beyond all estimation and fantasy.

I do not mean that I should turn my back on every good and useful thing still left for me here on earth! NO! I should grasp these gifts also with eagerness from the hand of my Beloved Lord....But maybe I should grasp the endings as well as the beginnings? Maybe, when exercising becomes so painful and such an uphill struggle, I should just let it go ....maybe that phase in my life and abilities is over? Maybe I should instead seek what it is God has for me now in THIS stage? I can see real evidence of a shift in my "responsibilties" before God now...He definitely is moving my life in a different direction....Maybe I should seek to explore all the parameters of this new time rather than refusiing to let go of the prior time? Maybe my time of cookiing , cleaning, maintaining a home, being a "MOM and WIFE" -maybe that phase is drawing to a close as those responsiblities are very much out of my reach right now. They require a strenght I no longer have. Maybe now, as God seems to be moving me into the role of encourager and mentor and pray-er...maybe these are the things I need to pursue and focus on -without regret and without apology.

And when a certain thing becomes increasingly difficult, maybe I need to let it go and admit it is no longer in my grasp. The trick and where it gets sticky, is to make others realize that they cannot ask of me or demand of me tasks that belong to the roles that I can no longer fill. I don't think there is anything noble about beating dead horses. Nor is there anything noble about refusing to admit that one simply can't do something.

When I was a little giirl there was a woman in my church who at one time had a lovely operatic voice...
But she was losiing her hearing. And she refused to admit that her solos were no longer bringing pleasure to people but were exercises in endurance for us to listen to. she had lost all sense of pitch. And when the church finally broke this news to her and asked her to please not sing her solos any longer, in fury, she left the church. Now, was there a nobility in her persistance insinging?? Maybe.. Maybe a sad, pathetic kind of one. But I think, it would have been a greater and more grace-ful strength for her to back down and admit that her season as a soloist had past..

And now, I have been told by a surgeon who is respected in the field, that nothing can be done to help reduce my pain or restore my strength and ability to move around to me. My husband is insisting I go to specialist after specialist and seek another opinion. You know what"? I'm sure if I try long enough and hard enough, I will find someone cavalier enough to operate on me. But to what end?? My doctor has explained that such surgery will lead to greater immobility and equal pain. Why should I risk that?? To satisfy my HUSBAND'S inability to recognize a dead horse when he sees one?? No, I say, leave me in peace. do not drag me all over creation in a task that is futile. Let me go.
LET GO!

I can accept that. Why can't they?

A Beach and a Graveyard

Today I have given myself permission to mourn, to weep, and to feel sorry for myself.
Tomorrow will be another story ...because enough is enough....

This is an exerpt from a letter I wrote today.

I'm sure you are familiar with the (corny) poem, called "Footprints"?? Well, this is one of those times my friend, when there are only one set of footprints on the beach of our lives...because we are securely held in Jesus's strong arms and he is carrying us, because he knows we cannot walk this mile on our own.

Imagine that with great detail....those muscular carpenter arms...those scarred hands....and those loving, tender, smiling eyes. We do not have to exert any effort right now...because there is little or nothing we can do to help ourselves...except to relax into his arms and not to resist or insist on going ahead on our own measly power.

I haven't done this yet...but I am going to do it this afternoon...I'm going to tell him, in great detail how this news is making me feel. I know he knows already...but I am putting it into words, more for my own benefit than for his....Although he will enjoy it that I trust him enough to share something so honest and personal with him. And he won't even mind it if I yell at him a little bit about it. I need to do this...so that I won't mourn any longer than a day or two...and so that my sorrow doesn't turn into a weight of bitterness and self pity that will rapidly turn ugly.

Hang in there, beloved of the Lord, He will get us both through this. He's promised to.
Trust in that and cling to it. And yell and scream if you need to.

(Take a look at my other blog
for the post dated for today...and you will see why this self-proclaimed day of mourning.)

Thriving Hope and Crushed Jeeps

I just opened a new CD (my first new CD in recent memory...). It's "The Jesus Record" by Rich Mullins. It was published posthumously because just nine days after his jeep flipped over and he was thrown from the car and then struck by a passing truck, he recorded a micro cassette of the lyrics of many of the songs on this album. And just that fast, he went "out like Elijah, in a chariot of fire", just as the desire he expressed in an earlier song, eerily forecast. And just that quickly, Rich Mullins found himself face to face with the Jesus he so passionately worshiped.

Last week, a young lady whom I've befriended as a result of her visiting my blog and leaving me many comments over the past several years, told me of how greatly a song from this CD had ministered to her. It's called, "My Deliverer", and she sent me a link to a YouTube video of this song http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ac4GnpqXQAQ&p=66E44DE698355A37(which is as moving as is the song itself. As I listened over and over to this song, (about which my Jewish musician husband just commented on as he listened to it playing moments ago, "That's the best Christian song I've ever heard.") an image came to my mind. I pictured Jesus coming again, as he promised he would...coming to gather his people and initiate the ending to the rule of sin, death, injustice and disease on this cursed planet. And as he appears in the sky, from every speaker, every car radio, every announcement system in every store, from every stereo and on every iPod, this song suddenly beginning to peal out it's proclamation of victory and freedom for the captives of the wrongs of this life, the hopeless and the weary, announcing his return.

It's images like this one that get me through long days of pain and I'm sure this picture also encourages Christians in other countries who are beaten, imprisoned and tortured for their faith. I believe we can endure anything if only we have this hope...this KNOWLEDGE that Our Deliverer is Coming! If I didn't know this to be true, I would certainly, once more, quite immediately, plummet back into the depths of sickness and hopeless despair that once held me bound and tied as I struggled with the onset of mental illness in my early twenties. Without this knowledge and without the knowledge that I am among those he is coming to gather, I don't see how anyone can survive for even a moment. All optimism is a foolish pretense; a self delusion. All desperate hopes that one day society will right itself or find some kind of "enlightenment" are just that, desperate and based on nothing solid... Nothing that a person can grab hold of and really TRUST in.

The promises of God are Yes and Amen, (or Affirmative and true) and they are fulfilled in the person of Christ Jesus and because of what he has accomplished on our behalf. These are something you can hold onto. They are as certain and as trustworthy as is his very name. Did you know that "Jesus" is the Greek word for his real Hebrew name which is Y'shua (in English, that would be "Joshua") and it means "SAlvation" or "he who delivers"? It is the name that is above all names. The name by which we are saved. He is our deliverer. And he is coming!!!

Piggyback with God, Knee-Deep in Risk

I went to my pain management doctor today...it was he who ordered the MRIs of my spine. He looked at them and went over them with me. What a big mess is in there! No way to really take care of it all: the damage is too profuse and some of it, too close to my brain stem to operate on. However there are two areas, one in lumbar and one in cervical spines....which look like they could potentially be improved by surgery. So I will add those two surgeries to my list of "things to do" along with my second hip replacement. This coming winter, following the holidays is when I intend to try to get all of this out of the way...Of course with that many major surgeries in a row, especially when you have health issues like I do, they may want to wait a bit in between them to give me a longer chance to recover so that I will make it through the successive ones.

I am trying to keep my thought-tongue out of the gap in my brain-teeth where all these worries are gathering. No need to dwell on the "what if's " or even on the problems which really are likely to occur as complications of these surgeries. Worrying about them will not stop them from occurrng. This is one of those "Let go and let God" moments. All I need to determine for myself is: can I go on the way I am? And is what I stand to gain, worth these risks? For the first question, the answer is a big, fat "NO!"...And the answer to the second is more complicated. There are several liklihoods as a result of these surgeries that are truly distressing to me --and I need to get more information as to whether or not they are preventable and what the chances of them occuring are before I can answer that question. And the problem is that there may be no one who can give me those answers because they necessitate an ability to foretell the future, in order to be able to answer.

AS far as blowing away an entire year in surgery and recovery...well. I will just have to look at it positiively and prepare for it as best as I can. My husband is gettiing me a Kindle because I've always loved to read and it is becoming more and more difficult to hold and to see a regular book due to the arthritis and failing eyesight. (My birthday is in early December so this will be an early present for that and also for Christmas).... And I am planning on finally repairing my laptop. BOY, will I ever be happy to sign onto that and see all my files that I've wished I had access to for so long...All of my writing and pictures for example. I have a book manuscript on there which has been sidelined for all of these months that I am eager to return to work on. Both of those occurrences will make my recovery time more tolerable and useful...If I could finally get that book done, it would be awesome.


The other thing I need to attend to prior to the surgery, is getting an acceptable mask for my BIPAP machine. The one I have is not working as it falls apart almost everry night in the middle of the night. Need to get working on that problem SOON.

So, this is a time when I am asking God to just pick me up and carry me, because there's no way I can walk through this minefield on my own. And there's also, in my own nature, no way to remain positive in the face of it all. I am just too inclined toward negativity and worry. But God has been working on me in this regard...and I think that this will be a big "final exam" to see whether or not I've really learned the lessons he's been teaching me. (I DO feel like he snuck the final test in at the end of the first quarter, before I was really prepared for it...but he knows better than me what I am capable of tolerating). And he knows the beginning from the end. I honestly don't know where I will end up....or rather, HOW I will end up. I know WHERE I will end up, and that is in the hands of my Lord. Which is where I already am now...so I don't need to have any worries there. I don't have far to travel!

Bed bugs, Bunnies,and Fairy Tales....

"Sleep tight; don't let the biter bugs bite." my mom pulled the covers up to my chin and turned out the light with a kiss. I snuggled down into the bed to go off to the land of dreams....cozy in the knowledge that I was loved.

Okay, so maybe that scene is a bit idealized. The reality was something more like being told to go upstairs to bed several times and stalling until the very last "preview" of the upcoming episodes of Emergency, Adam 12, or the Brady Bunch was done. Then slooooowwwly dragging my rear end up the stairs to see how long I could delay until my dad stood up from his chair and took a threatening step toward me, then I would scamper up as quickly as I could, calling "good night" from the landing and I would hear my mom call back with the aforesaid phrase.

Then I would grab my current book and come into the glow of the hall light and, sitting on the cold floor, pick up the tale until my dad and mom would make their way up at ten p.m., to go to sleep in their room, at which point I would grab my book and scamper to my bed so that I could lie there pretending to sleep when they would stop in my room seconds later to check on me.

I don' t know for how many years I successfully pulled off that trick of reading in the hallway light's glow, under the pretense of fear of the dark in order to make them keep that light on until they went to bed and I was ostensibly sound asleep. I used to keep my small desk light on. That is, until my dad one day got wise and went to touch the light to see if it was cool....and burned several layers of skin off on the bulb. Yeah. He was NOT too happy with me that night.

As an adult I thought of that bizarre good night blessing about the "biter bugs"...what the heck are "biter bugs"? I'd wondered about that occasionally as a child but accepted it blindly as kids do things that later, they realize made NO sense at all.

For example.
I had a rabbit...a white rabbit that I'd been given one Easter as a gift. Now, I was quite young then....these were in the days in Colorado long before I'd strolled curiously through a kindergarten door. They were long enough ago, that when my mom let Peter hop around free in the outer porch/laundry area of our home in Denver....I would , in terror, retreat to the top of the wash machine....looking at him with fear and fascination. He was cute; WHEN HE WAS IN HIS CAGE...when he was loose, he was a ferocious wild animal; of this I was sure.

I used to feed him blades of grass in his hutch in the back yard...poking them through the chicken wire front and watching them disappear in quick nibbles of his sharp, square front teeth. Yes, he was cute all right ....IN HIS HUTCH.

One sad day...I believe it was also a Sunday, as we were amidst the process of dressing for church, that my mother told me that Peter had gone the night before to bunny-rabbit-heaven....OoooohHH no! "Why mom?"
This was my first experience with death...and it was mysterious to me...Why would something be alive and moving one minute and dead and still the next?
My mom paused...and faltered...and then dropped the ball in a classic fumble:
"I guess Daddy fed him too much grass."
OH, so this was all DADDY's fault. My four year old self, tensed in anger at my foolish father. How could he have made such a dumb mistake? Didn't he know that would happen to MY rabbit?

And for YEARS I believed with all my heart that my dad had killed my rabbit by feeding him too much grass.

I don' t know when the epiphany came that, WAIT A MINUTE! Rabbits don't die from having a little too much grass!!! Peter's death WASN'T my dad's fault!! And a great load of anger at my dad which had existed in some subconscious level of my being suddenly dissolved in to the light of adult reason.

Well, the biter bugs were like that too. I had no idea what they were, but I sure as heck didn't want them nibbing on my little toes....

As an adult finally one day I made the connection between "biter bugs" and "bed bugs"

....UGH. REALLY?

Who in their right mind would plant the idea of bedbugs into a five year old 's mind as he was ON HIS WAY to the precarious precinct of dreams and nightmares....??
But parents have done it for generations.

I just had an evil thought.

One day , I'm going to hang that rhyme on my husband as he makes his way to bed! His latest obsession is with the current plague of bedbug infestations in the greater NYC area.
I wonder if he would even be able to get INTO his bed with that thought fresh in his mind??

Odd that we give a child a burden to bear that some adults can't even handle. And kids, in their blindly accepting, ignorant courage, merely hear it as a familiar, comfortable b'rucha. (blessing).
Children can accept and integrate so many things and incorporate them as normal...things that should NOT be accepted...and things that adults should NOT hang on them....and I'm not talking about bedbugs and fairy tales either...

Oh Lord, protect and bless these innocent ones...

A Fantasy of Favorites

I'm soaring in a vast dark space...A light a bright flare of creation ignites and shoots above the horizonless enormity of emptiness....And another voice enters and the two twist and gyrate, writhing about one another in a lovers' embrace...Sparks fly from their passion play. Voice after voice joins until it is a glorious cacaphony, ordered yet just verging on mass confusion and tiptoeing the bounds self control. A last voice; The Bass, voice of God booms above the rest....does it shout? NO, It SINGS along with the symphony of the stars; dancing in their passionate delight of the night that so gloriously offsets their crystalline light.
These images are born in thought as I sit with my ear buds in and my player playing Virgil Fox's renditon of Bach's Organ Fugue in G Minor.

And now, the scene shifts. A glorious and opulent hall, where the voices of a great crowd explode into the echoes of silence. Hallelujah! The Lord God Omnipotent reigneth! The king forgets about his itchy wig and for the fact that he's sat for hours now listening to this debut....He leans forward, the hairs standing up on the back of his neck. And he, the king, cannot sit in the presence of this genius...nay, in the presence of God Omnipotent...without conscious thought he rises to his feet...and is oblivious to the fact that the entire assmbly is too, on their feet--on their toes, straining to absorb every delicious droplet of sound. Spirits soar in unison at the majesty of God and the genius of Handel. Hallelujah!

The last scene: the concert hall is filled with a low buzz of anticipation....what would this madman virtuouso do tonight?? What would he do to send them home glowing in the light of amazement or reeling in the throes of mockery and humerous outrage?

The lone figure paced, with shoulders hunched against his fear, in the wings, as he stared out at the instruments tuning and settling into position in their seats. Strains of the music he'd heard for months in his head--constantly waking him, leaving him no peace til he'd captured the notations began to twitter as they tune...The bass rumble of Jesu joy of Mans' Desiring muttered by the bass soloist; the soaring flight of the final climactic convulsion of sound. Would the marks he'd scrawled on the paper reflect the chaotic cadence which had endlessly played in his head?? He didn't know for sure. Would he be booed and laughed off of the conductor's block?? Fear gripped his bowels....Regardless, the time is....NOW,

Onto the stage he burst and without pausing for applause that he could not hear to subside, he grabbed his baton and they were off. By the fourth movement he had their full attention....But he himself was simply lost in the sounds of the piece that were booming in his own mind...The real music which detonated and soared about the concert hall was lost to him. He'd insisted that they play the conclusion at full volume so that he could at least feel the satisfaction of the vibrations of tympany....the chorus began the culmination which built into several intense levels of joyful tension which teetered on climax and then just as the anticipation became unbearable, it backed off only to build again and again to new unimaginable heights...Till at last, in a glorious outburst of passion and joy with the choral voices winding with the voices of the orchestra until all was glorious riot of sound. finally joining together in the ultimate explosion of delight...

For a second there was a stunned silence as the orchestra ceased in completely drained exhaustion and joy. Beethoven, threw down his baton in utter defeat. They hated it. He knew it. He was the mockery of tomorrow's headlines.
He stormed from the stage without casting a glance in the direction of the audience who had by now let out a shout of joy and approval...
Their applause rocked the concert hall and Beethoven wondered from the wings, whether it was thundering outside. The concert master hurried to the wings and gripped him by the arm and guided him again to center stage where the audience was going mad in paroxysms of approval littering the stage with flowers, money, jewelery...anything they had to offer this masterful creator of a new paragon of excellence. A new manifestation of genius.

... And Beethoven went home still locked in his silent world....never having heard the beauty of his creation or the sounds of their cheers....And died very soon after. But now....the stars still sing the Ninth Symphony in the heavens...and maybe he can hear it from where ever he now is. I hope so. Because he deserves the joy that this piece has brought to me and to millions of others in the centuries since.

A Cloak no one Wants

It's 3:15 on a Sunday night. (oops. Monday morning)...Another week. A lot is going on in my life. A lot that wears the garb of nothingness. My life has been more and more consisting of an 10 x (maybe) 15 bedroom, a recliner, and a bed. In the past 36 hours I've been here exclusively, except for a foolish attempt to attend Sunday
School and church. It was foolish because the entire night before was spent writhing in my bed struggling to endure pain...I took my herbal bath, that I believe I've told you about, and it worked so well, that I thought I was "good for the go," but--as I discovered at about ten minutes into the class, as pain shot down my back to my legs and from my neck through my fingertips to such a degree that I literally had to bite a lip to keep from screaming--I was NOT okay. My blessed friend Betty (I've introduced you to her already also) offered to drive me home as she saw me hobble toward the church after abandoning my post where I was holding up the wall in the classroom...Even standing was not alleviating the pain...I needed to be horizontal like NOW.

So all that to say, that my day was completely spent in bed and when that hurt too much I would switch to the recliner for a change of position.
So it would appear that my life is NOT all that thrilling. But there is so much internal stuff to come to terms with right now in terms of my aborted future...that I actually feel BUSY...consumed by this process. It's a lot to chew...to find that you are not going to have much moreof a future, Both literally and functionally. And this is something that my family has not sat down and talked about much. We have been walking circles again about that mound under the bedclothes...afraid to touch it for fear it- (or we)- will explode.

How does one make their wishes known to a family that won't talk about it and who doesn't agree with or accept those wishes? And who can't even deal with bringing up the topic. In fact, they've been avoiding me ALTOGETHER. It makes for a very lonely chapter close...and quite an unsatisfactory ending to the story. Have you ever read a book that was pretty or even very good book whose ending just sucked?? One that left you with a bad taste in your mouth and a dissatisfied heart? I've literally thrown a book at the wall after it dared to disappoint me in that manner. So against what wall can I throw my family?

I do not want to spend the days, months or years that I have left alone and forgotten and unvisited in this cubicle!! I praise my Lord for the gift of the internet and for my friend who has loaned me this laptop! Without that, I shudder to think of what my life would be like! I wish my family...mom, dad, brother even, and my husband and daughter would draw around me and we could engage in conversation and enjoy the bonds that we have or used to have. But instead everyone clutches anger, resentment, misperception, and hurt close around them like a blanket...And that blanket is their warmth...never mind that there's a nice warm fire available, right here!

The very worst part about it is that,once I'm gone, I know that they will have to live with it. They will be stuck with the ending to that book. For me, it won't matter any longer...I'll be in Heaven and SO happy to be there and out of pain, walking and talking with Jesus...and I'll be looking at them still here...now wrapped in a cloak of regret and guilt in addition to all the anger etc. (which I'm sure, still has a stranglegrip on their throats and adds heavy weight to their backs at all times. Why do people choose to live so foolishly...so self destructively? It is beyond my grasp.

My husband's family is all gone now. All three parents and step parents gone within ten years of each other. And both my daughter and husband still are suffering and burdened by their private regrets with each of those lives. Things that went unrighted....NOT because the parent or grandparent would not have forgiven...but because the chld was too proud to ask and to make amends.

I don't want to die with regrets like that.
And I don't want to be the source of any myself.

Herbal Baths and Worship

It's 1:00 AM and I am in severe pain...sorry guys, this post may not be a rib-tickler. I think maybe you are going to be introduced to some of those "darker" thoughts that I mention in the intro to this website.

Pain is pretty much a given in my life...I can't think of a single moment in the past maybe...I don't know...I was going to say 5 years...but it could well be 40 or 50 ....(and yeah, I KNOW I'm not yet 50!) Seem like every moment since 1986--when my spine first began it's rebellion, has HURT....! And I'm not talking about a mildly -aching; annoying--but --forgettable kind of hurt....I mean the kind that when you are trying to carry on a life or death important conversation with someone, you can barely focus on or even HEAR their words of the pain that tries to come to the foreground and consume you - likeI picture nerve gas in World War I....creeping along the ground, gradually rising until it chokes out any hope of air for breath.

In the morning, my biggest problem is my arthritic disease. (PsA to be official, but sometimes I call it RA for clarity, because many people do not know what "PsA" is ((It's Psoriatic Arthritis and it has not been satisfied with consuming hands, hips, shoulders.....No, it MUST gobble up my spine as well....)) ) It stiffens me and every vertebra aches with a terrible and intense pain....movement is extremely difficult...yet that is what I need to and must try to do....My inclination is to huddle in my recliner and moan....but I try to get moving. Sometimes lately, after about a hour of the "huddle thing", I put on the video: Richard Simmons "Stretching to the Classics" - an exercise video where he doesn't speak merely leads you in a series of gentle stretchesd. Or, I'll do a quick Pilates or yoga workout.....

I do yoga. I know that among some of my friends and relatives - who are conservative, evangelical Christians (If we must put a label on it, I guess that would be it) - yoga is not always smiled upon because of its ties to Eastern Religion. But, as I heard a practitioner of yoga once say: yoga predated the Eastern Religions by several thousand years...To say that it is wrong, is like saying Prayer is wrong because other faiths practice it too... And that makes a lot of sense to me. My rheumy told me that yoga was probably my only hope to keep my spine from fusing in ways it should not fuse and crippling me like the hunchback of Notre Dame or something. To me, it is an EXERCISE...not a faith. I do not participate in the meditation part of the videos...during that time I merely talk to the Lord and try to relax my screaming hurting body...And I find that this helps. It also keeps my muscles in some degree of tone that they would not have otherwise.


I have a concoction which I call my "Pain Bath"...It is Epsom Salts combined with a combination of about 10 (guessing at that number) herbs - herbs which I've selected because of their pain relieving properties. I chose each specific herb because it covers a different type of pain,or works in a different manner than the rest. Some are for nerve pain, others for muscle aches....some are specific to arthritis, some for inflammation, etc.. And I take a fabric drawstring muslin bag (about 4"x2" large) and fill it with scoopfuls of this mixture (and it has lots of lavender and chamomile, so it smells lovely also)... I fill the tub with pure hot water...(and PLEASE, if you are doing something like this at home, wait for the water to cool sufficiently before you try getting into it!) I toss in the herb bag (closed with a twist tie) into the water and wait until it has steeped a bit and the water is still hot, but cool enough not to burn me...and soak myself. During my bath I hold the wet bag of herbs against whatever specific places are hurting me the worst at the moment...usually neck , hips, and sometimes hands--like a poultice. Occasionally soaking and squeezing it to get more of the medicine into the bath water... And when I'm done with this WHOLE process (which can take close to three hours total), only then can I stand to dress myself and go on with my day. On days when I have to be somewhere early - which I usually try to avoid (but church prayer time prior to Sunday School time, cannot be rescheduled, so I just either start the process at 4:00 AM or else I skip some of it --usually the yoga and Pilates-or else I take a very hot shower instead of the bath before getting dressed.


But no matter what, the first hour or two must be spent huddled in the recliner praying that God let me die...and that He would simultaneously get me through this day without attempting to take that decision out of His hands. I'm not depressed. Don't misunderstand me. I merely hurt more than any person should hurt...and sometimes I feel like one more day of it is demanding way more endurance than I have on hand... But all of this is not without a bright side. And I don't mean only that I get to park in disabled parking either! The bright side is this: by submitting and yielding to this which is God's plan for me right now, God has shown me a side of Himself that I never would have otherwise known. It is this side of Him that, on days when I'm so leveled by pain that I can't consider budging from the bed or recliner, I often just raise my hands to heaven and worship Him...because there is little else I can do with the whole situation but praise my God that He know what He's doing , even though I don't. I don't question Him , as I think I've mentioned before. He is GOD, Creator and Sustainer of the Universe... I think He certainly knows, better than me, what is best...not only for His purposes,...but for my life as well.

I've had times when second by second ticks by and each second I can only pray for God to strengthen me to get through the next one. And somehow, miraculously, He does. I'm listening now to the song "Hallelujah " by Hillsong. It is my very favorite worship song....It brings me right to the throne room of God. Check it out if you get the chance. Sometimes when I'm alone in my room, hurting, praying, and listening to music like this, I have to just lift my hurting arms toward heaven and keep them there for a while...worshiping the God-who-knows-better-than-I. Because of all of this, I've had the blessing of seeing a side of Y'shua, that many people never get to see. It's the side of the Savior hanging and suffering on that cross...and sometimes I think...I'm so glad that Jesus knew pain even worse than mine...Because then I can talk to Him about it.. He is not some distant, removed God out in the universe...but the one sitting on the bed next to me holding my hands and saying , "Cyn, I know. I know how you are feeling. You have to just trust me with this one. Okay?"

And I do.

A Yarmulke, Silly Putty and $.51

As I have mentioned here before, my daughter is my best friend, well, one of two, but the other one I haven't yet met in person. She shares the same wacky and sometimes witty quick wit that I like to imagine that I have. But like me, it is only the people who know us best, who ever see any hint of it. We play off of each other better than Laurel and Hardy....But we are not safe to be in public places together because we never fail to engage in this strange phenomonon that I will describe and we never fail to cauese a disturbance. It usually occurs in boring situations where we are forced to wait.

Today it was at the Dept of Motor Vehicles...and we all KNOW how long and boring that can be. (Actually, I couldn't believe it when I learned that the DMV in our small Pocono town is only open on one day out of the week and only from 10:00 - 3:00!! This is a great contrast to the busy Manhattan suburban city I came from and lived in for most of my life...There, as I told my daughter today, you have to pack a lunch, bring dinner and be prepared to bear your first two children there because once you get on that line, you simply are NOT going ANYWHERE soon!)

So today, as we waited on line we began to talk, quietly at first...but as one or the other of us made witticism after wise crack, we fell into an old pattern: We just had to make a scene...

My daughter once had a doctor which we had to visit frequently when she was about 15 or so and this is the first occurence of one of these "episodes". On our first visit I noted, as we entered, the incredible number of instructional placards distributed in
every free inch of space both on the walls and on the tables. They said things like "DO NOT PLACE YOUR FEET ON THE FURNITURE" "NO GUM CHEWING IN THIS OFFICE" and "PLEASE RESTACK THE MAGAZINES YOU MESSED UP BEFORE EXITING"...We were handed, not the usual two or three pages to fill out, but literally a thick PACKET of forms...which they insisted were to be completed before we could see the doctor. So as I went through the forms, I began to be annoyed at the nosiness and impudence of the questions. Some of them were downright intrusive...stuff they had NO NEED to know. Like: "Where did your parents go to High
School?" And "Did they graduate?" Things like that). At least, that's how it seemed to me...and so I began to make up the funniest and most outrageous answers I could think of - and some of them, I believe, I actually wrote in.

My daughter picked up my cue...and with a wit and intelligence far exceeding her years, began to go on with her own commentary...And eventually our attention turned to the multitude of signs around the office and we began to say things like "Excuse me, but you forgot the one that says,..." and would create an even more preposterous demand than the ones which were already posted. Her jokes built on mine and I completed her sentences with an even funnier possibility as my thoughts began to rapid fire without my volition. Now as this progressed the receptionist peered over her half glasses and wrinkled her numerous frown lines at us as we continued to get louder and even more ridiculous and amusing as we continued....And we couldn't stop. It was a runaway freight train...and we had the overcrowded waiting room in stitches of stifled laughter.

But neither she nor I paid any attention to the people who sat giggling into their magazines...It was just she and I in that universe and we were having a blast. Well, the same thing happened today at the DMV. Now we live in, as I said, a small town,
so in a situation like this, there is a real possiblity of seeing someone you
know...but it didn't matter. Once again, we were in our own world of comedy and I was loving her and she was loving me...both admiring each other's proficiency with the English language and the adeptness of her thoughts which continued in a steady stream until we were called up to the desk to do our business there...and the people around us were either annoyed or guffawing with us.

And the title of my post today? Well, as my daughter beganto pull on a jacket that she hadn't worn all summer, since the last Fall; she reached into her pocket and began to laugh. In her pocket was a yarmulke (from her grandfather's Kosher funeral last November), a container of Silly Putty and 51 cents. She giggled at this odd
disparity and we had begun our inclination toward inanity before we even left the house.

Rollerblades and Nursing Homes

It's a little after 3:00 AM and I've been up for a while already...online, of course, and am now considering what to talk about with you today. Of course, regardless of what I plan to speak of, my mind will likely take a left turn and take me somewhere else, so maybe it's just a good thing to get started and see what happens.

Several things are on my mind this early morning. Because I'm in a LOT of pain at the moment, my thoughts are turning to what the future holds for me. I know that, barring some kind of earthshaking miracle of God (which is not to say that that couldn't happen...) even my near future, will not be a good or comfortable one. I'm heading for complete dependence on those around me to care for me. This is a frightening thought to me, because there just is no one that I have in my life who would be willing or able to take on such a responsibility...I know then that this means things like "NURSING HOME" - which thought makes my skin crawl. I am SO fervently praying that God will see fit to bring me to the end of my journey on this earth and take me to His Kingdom to wait for the arrival of the New Earth that he has promised us, he is creating for us--before that time.

OK, hang on, because the conversation is going to shift here. Yesterday, in my other blog on Blogger (www.cynthialottvogel.blogspot.com), I mentioned my favorite author, Randy Alcorn and the debt of gratitude that I owe him in clarifying and enhancing my understanding of what is coming after this life...what it will be like, based on what Scripture tells us...and this has made my whole view of,not only that time, but my life here and now, shift radically. It has made me realize that the people who will be great in God's kingdom, who are even now, famous in heaven, although unknown on earth...these are the people who are so special to God. And I so much desire to be one of them! And the great thing about it is, that I CAN be! It's not something for which I need money, fame, or power or physical strength! It comes through my relationship with the Lord God and through the depth of my prayer life.

Anyway, this has helped me by showing me that, even if I should become totally disabled, this does not disqualify me from seeking that goal and prize. So as I thought about this yesterday, I decided to email Randy, and tell him this myself. So I got his email address from one of his books and wrote to him. And I expected, at best, a form letter several weeks from now. But you know?? That SAME day, his personal assistant wrote me a lovely letter and she thanked me and said that Randy was going to love my letter when he sees it and that she had visited "Treasures from Darkness" my other blog...And by her responses, it was clear that she 'd really read a good bit of it. This really made my day. I guess it doesn't take much does it,to excite someone who doesn't "get out much" . lol.

Anyway, all of this is to say, that while the future scares me in terms of what pain etc. I will have to endure, and just the issues of physical provision and personal needs I will face...I am completely at ease in knowing that I can still make profitable use of my time and life while I wait for Y'shua to come and get me and bring me to the place where one of the first things I will do (after loving Jesus and probably falling on my face to worship him,) will be to go rollerblading! I have missed that ability greatly. I did it up until I was in my mid thirties, when, shortly after my first major illness, I found I was too weak to continue this sport safely...(I found this out by falling on my butt and breaking two fingers and
scraping up the rest of me pretty badly). I then began to get the message that this body was achanging and that nothing, for me would ever be quite the same...

Which brings me back to this moment...having traveled through a decade of major illness and three decades of mental illness...It would be easy to feel that I was less valuable than others. I mean, what do I accomplish now?? I'm lucky if I can wash a sinkful of dishes!...Not exactly what you would call a productive
life! But, thank God, HIS views of things do not come from quite the same perspective or angle as do those of humans. It is the quality of our spirit, and our rightness before his eyes as we are in Jesus and covered by HIS purity rather than relying on what we ourselves can do or be.
It's really all about what we allow JESUS to be in us and to us that matters to God.

There's a song by Jars of Clay called "Take my World Apart"...Three years ago, as my relatively comfortable life began to completely unravel due to the resurgence of mental illness which had been in abeyance for the past decade and a half, this song meant so much to me. It's about how God dismantles us and removes all that we are relying on other than him...and this process is PAINFUL...And God is still taking my world apart. Now he's doing it via pain. Giving me an amount to endure that sometimes all I can do is lie in bed and whisper his name...just literally getting through the day one second at a time. All of this dismantling could be a cause for bitterness or anger, but I find it to be a cause for rejoicing. Because I know that what God takes apart, he will restore...and he will do it RIGHT! Correcting all the flaws and showing me how to love him better...he will one day look at me and say to me, "Come and get your reward, because you have served me faithfully and well. And you know what? Those are the only words I really want to hear.

Turquoise Hair and Nude Models

Well, my daughter (who is 18), is finally a working person. She managed to land her very first job, on her very first interview...with an eyebrow ring and turquoise hair (which
she'd tried to cover up by re-dying it brown, but it was a classic failure which was to go from bad to worse.) All of you poor, unemployed people who have been faithfully and
daily pounding the pavement for a job: please do NOT come to my house to kill my daughter!! Her new employer is a major chain of toy store and she is going to be a sales associate for $10 an hour.
HMMM. I think I got paid ummm:$3.00 and change an hour for MY first job: as a legal secretary! haha. Well, in all fairness, that $3.00 probably got me much more than her $10 will today.

And here I sit. At home. Jobless. And broke. Collecting Social Security Disability which I am praying will keep on existing until I die or miracles happen and I can work again. And to add insult to injury...she just got hired to baby sit a sleeping child for two hours--for $40.00!!

EXCUSE ME????

I got paid $1.50 an hour...worked several jobs a day after school and on summers and if I came home after a job with $5.00 in my hand, I was rich!...and no, that $5.00 did NOT get me as far as her $40 will get her!! Oh well, when you're young, smart and beautiful--I suppose you're marketable. I fell into a couple of pretty cushy situations in my day, I guess, as well...so maybe it's just her turn center stage.

It's so hard to see my daughter at the age that I am still in my head. I do NOT feel like a 47-going-on-48 year old disabled woman!!!
Nope. I'm maybe 20 and still good looking and fit...(okay, and crazy too, but hey, you have to have some faults.)

Those years should have been the best of my life...and well, while looking back on them, does bring a sense of nostalgia...they were pretty-freakin-miserable. No, I would have to say that the BEST years (okay, it only lasted like two years...) of my life was when we lived in a NY upstate suburb in a rented condo with a pool and a town that actually had a main street within walking distance of our home ...(don't get me started on how we now drive 30 minutes to get a gallon of milk...and that is NO exaggeration!).

My daughter was in 5th and 6th grades then (not at once, obviously) and I was recently sprung from a wheelchair having been stuck in it for close to two years. (That's a whole other story...) And I went back to my chosen profession, for which I'd been trained, as a fine artist. Now, I'd worked before for many years as a freelance artist...even working for some major companies as temporary help for a couple of months at a time...or for smaller ad agencies and such. But I'd never had the nerve to go and pursue my first love, which was painting, as a full-time career.

I don't actually recall what prompted me to move into that choice. It was really a matter of something that just morphed. I'd been home, in the wheelchair, and picked up a pen and paper or paintbrush and started - after a hiatus of over 10 years - to draw and paint again simply because there was nothing else to do. And then, after I regained enough strength to walk, I joined a few art groups...who met together, like a life drawing group and a plein aire
(painting outdoors on site)_ group. My work began to gain attention and soon, I was invited by the art society of that town, to have my first one-person show. And that was the beginning of about two years of many, many showings and sales. And they were blissful. I especially loved it because my daughter, who is also talented in art, used to accompany me on my painting trips and brought her own to work alongside me.

She once modeled for my Life-Drawing group (clothed of course) and made, once more, a GOOD amount of money...Just a foreshadowing of her potential earning capabilities, I guess. And maybe I was a tad jealous then--I mean they never asked ME to model! haha. No, I was the proud mommy and loving every minute of it.

So now, I am in the sad spot of saying goodbye to my years of beauty, freedom and indepedence...as I wave goodbye to her every night as she leaves to work or on the arm of her
boyfriend...

....And I wish her, with all my might, a better life than
mine.

11:15; Dirty Houses and Fat Deer

Well, I'm a bit early for my appointment with you...Tonight I only slept until 11:00. I get so exhausted and to be hurting so much after a day of being up and about, that I usually crash early...like at around 8:30 or even earlier...So when I say I'm up at 11:00,you should understand that I've already had about 3 hours of sleep. Some nights this is all I'll get (most nights, I should say.)...although on some really blessed ones, I will doze off again, two or three hours after my first arousal. (And NO! get your mind out of the gutter! It means to wake up!! Look it up!!)

So now that I'm up, what shall we talk about? Well, two things are on my mind at the moment...One is that my lovely, lovely friend, who comes every two weeks to try to restore order to a home where, if I drop a glob of something on the floor, it pretty much STAYS there, because I can't bend down and wipe it up. So our kitchen gets sticky really fast. And the bathroom? Well, the floor gets filled with what my husband calls, "tumbleweed" - and that is little conglomerations of body hair which blow about in the drafts on the floor...(HIS body hair! please note). And the tub? Forget that...NO way can I bend over it to scrub it...especially considering the fact that my hands won't grip a sponge and couldn't summon enough strength to wipe off a chalk line on a chalkboard, let along hardened-on-ick. So my friend's visit is much anticipated. She USED to come once a month and work for a good 8 hours at the task...cleaning even the beams across our living room ceiling. (and she scrubs the kitchen floor ON HER HANDS AND KNEES!!! Who does THAT nowadays in the days of Redi-mops and such???) No, dirt fears the arrival of the wrath-of-Betty whose mission it is to seek-kill-and-destroy all evidences of it.

Now, when she came every month, I have to tell you, the place was really needing her attention...I mean REALLY. I mean consider: I can't vacuum and we have a maroon living room area rug and that fake-wood flooring whose name escapes me at the moment...as well as a a grey Russian Blue cat. So when she told me it was easier on her to come every two weeks for four hours each instead, I could've kissed her. (And YES, we pay her, although what she will accept is probably not in par with the market standard--That's what I love about being in a family of faith; when you need a hand, there's almost always one there waiting).

OH boy, my eyes are getting that boiled onion feeling which comes after too many days and too little sleep.

Anyway...The other thing that was on my mind was the lovely smell of the apples drying in my dehydrator here in my study. I talked my father into stopping at an orchard in upstate NY (about an hour from here), to pick some up while on the way home from a doctor appointment last week and I bought a huge box of apples (I mean HUGE, over 25 gallons of apples), for less than $4.00. They are what this place (which is one of my favorite places on earth; a family owned farm and produce/bakery/condiment store who makes the BEST almond butter anywhere around) calls: deer apples. Those are the apples that nature lovers feed the deer in the sparse winter months. Now, I have nothing against deer (okay, actually I do; they eat EVERYTHING, even inedible things in my yard...including all of my garden). We have so many deer that at any given moment you will see herds of them in my yard somewhere...You have to creep down roads, because, guaranteed, at least five of them will leap in front of the car as you are on the way to the pharmacy. So no, I don't feed the hungry deer. (They are fat enough on my peonies; should last them all winter.)

These windfall apples are FINE; might have a small bruise, but usually are too small or too large to be saleable and did not pass the strict standards of the orchard....They are the apples which are on the lineup for the cider press, until I save their sorry souls...by cooking them or slicing them, then drying all of their life juices from their tender bodies so that we may consume them in later months! Or, worse yet (for the apple, I guess) is my juicer; the terror of every fruit and veggie within miles...with teeth that could pulverize...well, that image is too gross; let's not go there.

Anyway, yesterday, I finished up the last of these not-for-the-deer apples as I made an apple crisp and stuck a huge batch into my industrial-sized dehydrator to make apple chips. They should be nice and crispy now. When I'm done here, I will take them out and put them into a container. I love the smell of them...sometimes I sprinkle a little cinnamon and stevia on them and that makes them smell even better. Yesterday, though, I was too tired, even to manage the cinnamon sprinkling after cutting up that large batch...and just let it--without.

So there you have it. A long, wordy blog about....NOTHING. Yep, welcome to my life. When you only go out twice a week maybe; to church and to a doctor appointment most likely, your life DOES tend to be pretty limited; and thus my topics of conversation can be too. So I guess this blog is really about what tidbits - hopefully of interest - I can pull from this tired 47 year old brain; a brain, I might add (okay, pride compells it), which once won me a place as a National Merit Scholar and to earn a 1587 on the SATs. But all of that; all the promise of that and the multiple talents which accompanied it, are GONE. Wasted and destroyed by many years of a brain disease which has caused my mental illness and won me over 30 psychiatric hospitalizations in as many years. (These hospital stays were confined to the first ten years of my illness and the last four when it once again flared its ugly nostrils....) (I thought that was more interesting than the cliche, "reared it's ugly head." haha.)

Sometimes when I think about what could have been, it's hard to keep from crying (as if I were a crying person...I rarely cry...unless in the throes of the confusion I have after general anesthesia; then I cry at nothing). But, as they say about spilt milk and water under the bridge and such....So the world went without another Nobel winner...no big loss; it's gone on just fine without me.

OK. I think that's enough rambling for the night. It will be hard to keep from writing more in the --ummm--seven hours or so, until the day officially gets underway. This was rather fun...felt like I had company for once. You were sitting right here with me, you know. Thanks for sticking with me through this long tangled train of thought -or twenty-four car pileup - however you'd prefer to describe it. Good night, now; it's past your bedtime!

Evening Ramble

Well, it's not midnight, but since I just got the blog up and running, I thought I at least owed you an opening post since you dropped by. As I mentioned in my bio, I'm always in pain...and I like to write poetry...so add the two together and you get...No, NOT pained poetry! You get poetry about pain. I have a number of such poems but I won't slam you with such a gloomy topic since you just got here for the first time. And don't worry, the blog won't always be so erudite...It will be my talking to you, just like I sit and talk to myself.

I'm a compulsive writer...I have numerous blogs, and participate in forums, and also have maintained a journal since I was in eighth grade...Of course I burned about 20 years' worth of them. What I wouldn't give to have them back now! The reason I destroyed them was that, my daughter was young and I was currently ensconced in normalcy and didn't ever want her to look into the dark corners of my earlier life. But now, she's 18 and my best friend and both she and I would be interested to find out what kind of craziness went on back then (since I don't recall much of it at all, and what I recall was more what was in my head than in my surroundings...so I'm quite confused about what really DID go down.) That was when my 30 year struggle with mental illness really got underway....But that's a whole OTHER story. We started out talking about pain...so I guess I rambled into telling you about all of the pain of my life and not my current, physical pain.

I have an expression. I say it to people who have a clue what I'm going through and who don't say things like, "Oh, yes, I fully comprehend what it is you are going through. I hurt my back once..." Well. It's apples and planets my dear. It is easier for me to hear when people say things like, "I have such a stiff neck today! It's really hurting." But then they go on to apologize for complaining while all along they are sitting next to Job himself. haha. (Sorry for the "haha's" I often make myself laugh.) And I say to them this, (and THIS is the expression I referred to above before I was so rudely disoriented): "Pain is Pain. Everyone has pain of some kind and to them in that minute, it's as large and all-consuming as they can endure it to be."

Now, lest you think that I should have said that to person #1...The reason it bothers me, is that they think they understand what it's like to say, be on the rack for thirty years or so and every day have the screws pulled tighter...and they think that their pulled muscle gives them the authority to think that. However, I definitely must give them the benefit of the doubt that maybe that was just their awkward way of trying to be sympathetic...And they only confused empathy with sympathy. Person #2 has more humility and comprehension I think...and so I don't pooh-pooh their pain. To them, it is as disconcerting, maybe, as mine is to me. I've gotten to be quite a pro at managing pain that exceeds belief.

NOW, to the poem! The reason I like this one (other than for its silly rhyme scheme ((I just wanted to see if I could pull it off)) ) is that it's among the more positive of my pieces...well, maybe that's not true. Anyway, I will stop arguing with myself and give you the poem:

God and Pain

By

Cynthia Lott Vogel

I cannot articulate my agony;

Cannot convey its tenacity.

Lonely, I live out its verity

As anguished, I pray to my Deity.

I do not ask “why?” but only

Wonder in some deepest part of me

Why God should seem to be in complicity

With powers of suffering, When He is Almighty

To save and to heal out of love for me.

Yet inner healing must have priority.

Greater need have I of maturity

Than to coast thru life being pain free.

My weakness keeps me clinging fast to Thee,

Trembling legs stumble haltingly

Your ears are soft to my prayer and plea

As you bend down, lift, and carry me.