On Sept 20, 2021, I decided I should buy a onesie as an act of faith.
I was listening to a podcast about acting in faith and believing for things to happen (similar to things I had heard of and thought about in this story/post). Not a ‘name it and claim it’ or ‘manifest it’ way of thinking. But taking a step in the direction God would have you go based on the desires He’s given you. To have faith that He provides and gives good gifts. At one point in the podcast they talked about buying a key ring for the house you’re longing for as an act of faith for what God could do. I thought “maybe I should buy a onesie.” Then in the next moment the podcast host said “someone needs to go out and buy that onesie.” I can tell you exactly what road I was driving on when she said that. Now, I could write it off and say that babies are a really common desire so of course she mentioned it, but it also felt like she was talking to me. It felt like faith.
So I went and bought a little onesie outfit in faith that God would fill it and it’s been hanging in the back of my closet for over 2 years.
1 week and 1 day after I posted my last blog about infertility treatments, I got a positive ovulation test. That means the IUI could go forward. I kept testing past the required time in faith and got a positive a day before I was scheduled for an ultrasound to see if we needed to cancel the IUI cycle again for yet another failed cycle. But it wasn’t canceled and we were able to have the procedure done. And the timing worked great for Wil to be able to come back to Calgary and for me to not have to miss work. There are other things about that day that were very special and God-breathed that seem too sacerd to not share face-to-face.
That morning I asked Wil “what do you wear to an insemination?” I thought it was funny. He thought it was weird.
And now we wait.
The nurses said to wait 18 days before taking a pregnancy test. It felt like a long wait. During that time, every walk to work and every moment between patients, I would pray that it worked. Every twinge and shift in my interoception I would pray “please let this be what pregnancy feels like.” Then slowly, as the days went on, the prayer changed from a desperate “oh please, oh please, please, please, please.” to a “even so You are good.” and “no matter the outcome You are writing a good story.” Desperation was replaced with peace.
Then the day came….well 4 days before the day came because I couldn’t wait. And I tested and it was positive.
I’m pregnant.
I’ve written about the story of the bleeding woman and the public healing before. This was brought to mind a lot these past few months because it finally worked. It worked after I was more public about the struggle.God didn’t want the healing without the community.
In the weeks to follow was much rejoicing. But the desperation also returned. I know that pregnancy doesn’t always result in a baby and the prayers reverted back to “oh, please, please, please.” Desperation. Not peace and trust.
I couldn’t wait for the ultrasound. I repeatedly prayed “please let there be a heartbeat. Please let it not be ectopic.” (please let me be able to go pee soon). The scan started and we were able to see not one, but two heartbeats. Twins. The relief or seeing those heartbeats was so great. And the excitement of two babies (and being able to go pee)….well, wowie zowie.
I’m still working to get to that point of peace again. I am a worrier. If it’s not one thing it’s another. I was worried about getting pregnant, now I’m worried about staying pregnant, soon (God willing) I’ll be worried about parenting babies.
A week before the next ultrasound and I was worrying about vanishing twins and miscarriage. So again I prayed the thing I’ve prayed a million times since I found out I was pregnant. “Please let the babies be safe.” Then I thought “maybe I should try and shift my mindset.” but it felt like moving in molasse. And in that moment I heard God ask “ Why don’t you trust me with this?” Not a reprimand but a gentle question to prompt reflection.
And I’m reminded of what I’ve been saying during these years of infertility: God gives life. He is in control and He is good. And He is good to me. This is a good story even if _________.
I can trust Him. I can trust Him.
Peace over desperation because I trust His loving kindness no matter the outcome. It’s still a daily process but I’m getting a lot better at it. Do I still worry? Yes. But do I lean closer to peace than before? Also, yes.
So there you have it.
Pregnant with twins.
The Lord is good in every season.
Whoever is wise will observe these things, and they will understand the lovingkindness of the Lord. – Psalm 107:43
For Your lovingkindnessis before my eyes, And I have walked in Your truth. – Psalm 26:3
The Lord will command His lovingkindness in the daytime, and in the night His song shall be with me. – Psalm 42: 8
Hear me, O Lord, for Your lovingkindnessis good; Turn to me according to the multitude of Your tender mercies. – Psalm 69:16
Because Your lovingkindnessis better than life, my lips shall praise You. – Psalm 63:3
It is good to give thanks to the Lord and to sing praises to Your name, O Most High; To declare Your lovingkindness in the morning and Your faithfulness every night. – Psalm 92:2
The Lord has appeared to me, saying: “Yes, I have loved you with an everlasting love; Therefore with lovingkindness I have drawn you. – Jer 31:3
Fun fact:
As I was buying the onesie I thought ” you should buy something that allows for multiples.” So I did and it turns out I needed to.
I’ve been writing this blog post since February and the story still isn’t over. I’m posting it now because like I’ve said before, I think there is value in the middle of the story. That being said, this blog is a long one. Most of it is unfiltered, rambling journal entries. Buckle up, but also, tl;dr am I right?
I’m right in the in between. One pregnancy test away from knowing if this cycle worked or not. But I can’t just go take a pregnancy test now. It can only show a false negative or a negative, which doesn’t give me any new information. It’s too soon. My only action item is waiting.
Gross.
The longer I wait the less hopeful I become. Sometimes I feel silly for my pessimistic attitude because one could argue that we really haven’t been in the thick of it for that long. 6 months.
But when you consider the two years I was trying to get a period and then the 3 years after that we were trying to fall pregnant without medical intervention…we’ve been ‘in it’ for a while. That could be why I’ve fatigued so quickly when the medical interventions haven’t worked as of yet.
As I write this, I could be pregnant. Or not. If not, we move to more invasive treatments. I’m already doubting those will work. I don’t doubt that God can do it. I just doubt that He will.
But what do you do when the in between place ligers? I wait, I lose hope, and I write.
Wil wants to cross that bridge when we come to it. I want to bushwack along the river until I find a place narrow enough that I might be able to cross without the bridge. I plan a thousand ways to get across the river depending on where we might find the narrowing. Wil just wants to walk a steady pace towards the bridge we will use it to cross. And we will cross it when we come to it. I miss the awe filled forest around me on this side of the river because I’m trying to imagine the trail on the other side of the bridge, which we haven’t reached yet. I’m trying to imagine what the bridge will look like and when we’ll find it and how long it will take to cross. So I bushwack into the hypotheticals. But the path is more spacious. And spacious ground gives greater perspective. Look up. Stay on the path. Walk forward as you wait for the bridge.
I also read books. I’m currently reading a book called “Disability and the Church” by Lamar Hardwick. I’m only 6 chapters in but I would highly recommend anyone who attends a church read this book.
This is a quote from the book:
Most of our theology about suffering is anchored in milestones. We believe that there is a place out there we need to get to. We strive for it. We preach about it. We pray about it. We write books about getting to the all elusive “there”. More often than not, our Hope and healing is actually about getting there because here is where we don’t want to be. There are usually two things that we pray to God when we discover our here: God, don’t let it be true. God, if it’s true, don’t let it take long.
I would much rather be out of the in-between place. I don’t want it to take long. I would rather have a solid “yes, this will happen one day.” or “no, this isn’t part of the story.” I’m totally fine with waiting if I know how long I have to wait. The package it’s coming for 3 weeks? Cool, I won’t look out for it till then. The doctor is running 27 minutes late? Neato, I’ll just read my book in the lobby. I’m happy to take a number if I know what number they are currently serving.
The train is delayed. For how long? Should I wait? When is it coming?
It is MUCH harder to wait when you don’t know if it’s for minutes or hours. Let alone days, months, or years. This is hard.
Will I feel silly posting this if the next test I take is positive? Probably. But I’m not there yet. I’m still in the middle. Still in the unknown.
It’s the next week. I wasn’t pregnant and another cycle has started. I really thought this one was the one. I also messed up on the timing of some paperwork so we can’t do IUI this cycle. I feel…resigned. Going with the flow of the next cycle. I feel more at rest because at the moment I know for certain that I’m not pregnant. The uncertainty is marginally less in this moment.
The cycle.
Day 1 – deep sadness. Yet again, it didn’t work.
Day 3 – starting to hope. Taking the drugs feels like being productive.
Day 8 – ossicates from no hope to great hope.
Day 16 – great hope. We have done it. This was the cycle.
Day 17 – I think I’m pregnant.
Day 18 – I think I’m pregnant.
Day 19 – I think I’m pregnant.
Day 20 – I think I’m pregnant.
Day 21 – I think I’m pregnant.
Day 22 – I think I’m pregnant.
Day 25 – I’m starting to lose hope convincing myself I should feel more when implantation might not have even happened yet.
Day 26 – I think I’m pregnant.
Day 27 – I think I’m pregnant.
Day 30 – eager awaiting Day 35 when I can test. Thinking that I may test early, just to see. Maybe it will tell me.
Day 31 – Maybe I’m pregnant
Day 32 – Maybe I’m pregnant
Day 34 Day 1 – deep sadness. Yet again, it didn’t work.
It’s the next month. The last cycle didn’t work, as in, the drugs didn’t even work. So, we’ve changed doses and we’re going again. We can’t do IUI this cycle until they are confident that I’ll ovulate on this dose. I’ve given myself the mental endpoint of the summer. We’ll see. As always, we wait and see.
And it’s the next month…again. The drugs worked last cycle and the IUI paperwork is in. So here we go. Bumping our odds up to a 13% chance that this is successful. There are new protocols for this one. More rigid in some ways but less in others. I’m nervous about the unknown. I worry I’m not going to do something right and then the cycle will not work. There’s the pressure of newness. There’s the pressure of finances. We bumped up from a $75 drug to a $1000 procedure. And then there is the pressure of this being the last cycle before the summer gets into full swing. So if this one doesn’t work then we’re at a decision point. Do we rally again in September, or do we start the adoption papers? I’m leaning towards trying again in the fall. I feel like we could try the ultrasound and the injections paired with the IUI and then be done. But the idea of being in limbo that long. In thinking “this Christmas…though I might be pregnant then…” I think the summer will be a good rest without pressure, but I also think closure could be beneficial. Stopping and continuing both give my heart a slight jump of dread. So here we are. ~1 week away from IUI. Please Lord let it work.
It’s the next week. I’ll know by the end of today if the IUI is tomorrow. If not…I don’t know what happens next. Wait for the next cycle or start injections? But the next cycle can’t be until September because Wil is away. Mentally things would be settled by the summer. When we would have run the course of infertility treatments. But it would appear that is not the case. Limbo is the worst place to be. It’s also Mother’s Day this week. It feels dramatic to get worked up about it. Rejoice with those who rejoice. Mourn with those who mourn. Rejoice with the mothers. Celebrate mothers. Every other year I haven’t felt any certain way about Mother’s Day. But this year. This year I dread it just a little. I dread the church service that says, “happy Mother’s Day” but also “and to those who aren’t mothers…we see you too.” I don’t think they do. I don’t feel seen. I feel…I FEEL…I feel tired. Hopeful yet uncertain. I don’t know if I can live the whole summer in a maybe. So maybe we should call it quits. A book on infertility said you know it’s time to stop when the pain of continuing is more than the pain of stopping. I think we’re getting close. I think things would also feel different if we could start the adoption process now. If we could get on the list this summer while still doing one more treatment in the fall. I suppose we could. We can’t do a home study until the fall anyways. I’m getting ahead of myself. For all I know the test could work today. The IUI could work tomorrow. The baby could come in February. I hope but I doubt. I doubt but I hope.
The test was negative. The IUI will not be tomorrow. I hate this. It hurts. We talk at camp about the anxiety of the first day of a camp when campers arrive. It’s a tummy turning anxiety until initiative tasks start. Everyone has arrived and we know what we’re working with. This feels like similar anxiety. A buzzing in the back of my mind that is powered by the what-if. But it’s starting to weigh on my heart as well. It’s starting to affect my joy in other people’s pregnancy announcements. I want off this ride. I don’t care how it ends anymore. I just want off. I just want it to stop. There’s no relief. I am always in the what-if. I am always in the in between. In limbo. All the definitions of limbo describe it as a period in time. A temporary. Not forever. But it sure does feel awful.
Went in for an ultrasound and none of my follicles are big enough. They said to keep testing over the weekend but if there’s no change by Monday we should cancel the IUI. It’s a failed cycle. Again, in the in between. 3 more days and then we’ll know. 3 more days and then 3 more months before we can try again. I hate this. If God wanted to, he could make it happen. But the answer is no. I think the hardest part is that right before this cycle I had an image of me sitting on the rocky shore of a lake and God came over and sat down and put his arm around me. He leaned in and said, “it’s coming.” It made me so hopeful, But I don’t know what ‘it’ is. That could mean anything. If he wanted to, he could, yet he doesn’t. Why? How is this for my good? I know that good doesn’t mean getting what I want but I’ve prayed, and I’ve prayed, and I’ve prayed. God, where are you? Why couldn’t this be an easier yes or a clear distinct no. Is it to build my faith? I honestly feel it’s having the opposite effect. I want explanations. How arrogant is it to ask God to explain himself? But no good gift does He withhold. He is not withholding from me. I’m going to feel dumb for raging now if I get a surge tomorrow. But the yes could have been on Tuesday. It could have been when I expected it. It could have been before the summer. Please please God let it be before the summer. I feel like the stronger I wish for it the less likely it is to happen. Maybe there is a lesson I need to learn in the summer and in the waiting. I’d rather not, Lord. And I don’t feel like this is going to bring me closer. I already feel so distant. Wil is trying to say we still have hope, but my hope is withered roots. Dry and weary where there is no water. Lord please. Despair is a tipoff to idolatry. I don’t value a baby more than You. I do highly value getting off this ride. I want off. I’m tired and 5 km keeps on being added to the race. Lord have mercy.
It’s Mother’s Day. They had a table out and the greeters were encouraging people to take a Mother’s Day gift. I tried to walk by, but they stopped me. I said, “I’m not a mother” and again tried to keep walking. They pulled me back and said “there’s one that says ‘for mother.’ Take one. ‘’ so I went back and grabbed one for my mom, mostly to placate them. Then I read the tag and saw that it said FUR mother. Gross. My cat is not my child. You don’t buy children from a farm. As predicted, I did not feel seen or cared for on Mother’s Day. What would that have looked like? Not assuming that every female in the church is a mother. No acknowledgment. Letting me walk by unhindered. It’s not my day.
It’s Monday. We canceled the IUI and they’re sending me for bloodwork. Remorse. And we all know the earliest blood work appointment is 6 weeks away. I usually get bloodwork on day 24 so on day 1 I tried to book an appointment for day 24 and there were no appointments available. Not even in Vulcan. So, I booked a private blood service. Then the fertility clinic said that with IUI I don’t need the blood work, so I canceled the appointment. NOW they say that I do need to do the bloodwork. The private company is booked and so is the other one and the other one. I waited 1.5 hours this morning for a walk-in appointment but had to leave for work. I’m going to try again after work. But the clinic might be too close to close by the time I get there. Things get tricky when you work full-time. This cycle has been the same amount of hard as the others. I thought it would be easier. Mentally it is not. Logistically it is 12 times worse. But I thought it would be easier.
I was able to get my bloodwork done!… after being on the waitlist for 5 hours and actively waiting in the clinic for 2. The numbers were abysmal as expected. So what’s next? Next is…wait for it…more waiting. We might be able to start one more cycle before summer if the cycle starts on time. I doubt it will, but I pray it does. We’ll know that plan based on how the next week pans out.
It’s 2 weeks later. I was supposed to start the next cycle but they want…duh duh duuh… more blood work. I asked when they sent me for blood work the first time if they could include the estradiol test and they said they only needed progesterone. Now they want both so I have to go again. Got on the waitlist at 11:00, waited at the clinic at 3:30, waited until 5:15, and then had to go home. There were still 4 people ahead of me and they were taking someone back every 10 ish minutes. I didn’t have that kind of time. I had a private company come to my house to get the blood work done this morning. It was quick and easy and took maybe 3 minutes. The cons? It was $90 and the wait time for results is 2-3 business days. Not bad, but double if I had got it done at the public clinic. And the timeline is already suuuuuppppper tight. This time we are doing the drugs, the injections, the ultrasounds, and the IUI…if we can get it all done before Wil leaves in…16 days. It’s going to be tight. I’ll call the fertility clinic tomorrow (praying the blood work will be faster than promised) and hopefully they tell me I can start the drugs right away. For now, we wait. As always, we wait.
The blood work is in. The fertility clinic has called annnnd….the results weren’t what they expected. They need to bring in the doctor for the decision. They call back today…or tomorrow. We wait.
It’s two days later. The clinic called yesterday and said that I did in fact ovulate last cycle. It was just much later than typical. So we wait for my period to start and then we start the cycle. This is not what I was hoping to hear. I was hoping for things to be more in my control. To be able to start the drugs or the other drugs that induce a period. But the mandate is to wait. Are you sick of that word yet? Here’s the rub. It either needs to happen today or it needs to happen 8+ days from now for me to be in town for the ultrasounds and appointments etc. I really do think this is the last hurrah. This is taking up way too much mental energy and emotional bandwidth.
I keep oscillating back and forth between spiraling in a worry tornado and taking a breath knowing I’m not in control and that’s okay. These oscillations are moments apart, like waves on a bench. The worry crashes in and recedes. Crashes in and recedes. Some waves are bigger than others, more overwhelming, the sound obstructing everything else. Then it recedes. I take a breath. I am not in control. God is in control and He is good. He does not withhold good gifts. He is not withholding from me. Trust (inhale). Trust. I feel I’m on the edge of peace but grasping it is like keeping a wave upon the sand. Its permanence and its stability is coming but it’s creeping in like a glacier. (exhale) We wait.
It’s 4 days later. My period started over the weekend and we are going for it. To say that the timing is tight is an understatement. But I’m really praying that I ovulate and that I ovulate early…and by early, I mean at the time that any regular female would ovulate. Yesterday was…quite the day. Toby went into the hospital, Wil and I were in a canoeing course all day, the fertility clinic called about next steps, and someone close to us told us they were pregnant. It was a rollercoaster day of joy and sorrow. I cried 3 times. Things feel more stable now. Toby is still in the hospital being a non-compliant patient and racking up a nice medical bill. I still don’t know if this cycle is going to work or if the timing will be off. I don’t know if Toby is coming home or dying. I don’t know if this cycle will lead to a pregnancy that will lead to a baby. I don’t know, but I know who holds the future and I try to cling to that hope. And so, we wait. 10 more days and we’ll have more arrows to follow. I’m hoping eventually these arrows will get us to a target.
We’re a week out from the ultrasound. I’m overwhelmed. This feels like the worst week of my life. It’s not. Objectively, I know it’s not. But in this moment, in these feelings, it feels like the worst. I have cried every day this week. I have cried at work, I have cried in the car, I’ve cried at home. I have cried with Wil, and I have cried by myself. There is too much and the smallest thing is pulling me over. A little mistake at work and I’m spiraling. I think I’ll get fired. I won’t. It doesn’t make sense that I would, but I think I will. Stress is great for the body when you’re trying to get pregnant right? Toby had a bad night last night so I did as well. I didn’t eat all of my lunch because I was too stressed. I’m taking 4 hormone pills a day. I am tired, probably hungry (my stomach feels a bit like it’s on fire so it’s hard to tell), and on a boatload of hormones. There are reasons I am weepy. I have a sick cat, a crafting deadline, a course all weekend, no free evenings this week, and I’ve been doing fertility treatments for a year. There are reasons that I am overwhelmed. Wil sent me this today: “…I ask you Lord, calm these storms, within and outside. And, if calming of the storms is not possible, board the boat with me.”
It’s ultrasound day. The results were… no bueno. Next steps are uncertain. The summer is fast approaching and we’ve run out of time. My hope is spent. My trust is withered. It could all turn out okay, but I doubt it. The certainty I craved, the clear plan, the straight arrow, they don’t exist.
So now what? As always, we wait and wait and wait and wait and wait and wait.
I had an appointment to be tested for ADHD. At the end of the session, the psychiatrist said that I did not have ADHD. She confirmed that I had a learning disability but that the symptoms of ADHD would be seen in childhood, which they were not. So why have I been so scattered? She said that I had a major depressive episode which can affect brain function for up to a year afterward and if you have anxiety that is high enough that you have visceral/physical sensations (which I do), it will slow the timeline of the recovery process.
It was nice to have an answer. I’m so used to having doctors’ appointments that end with “your test results were normal! High five?” It was nice for her to say “your test results for ADHD were negative, but here’s what your symptoms mean…”
And it validated what I had been feeling. It has been only in the past year or so that I’ve felt super scattered and wondered if I have a deficit. The outcome aligned with my experience.
I’m still surprised when a medical professional tells me I have depression. Surely I’m just a little prone to melancholy? I think part of that unbelief is because I remain functional. It doesn’t tend to affect my studies or my job. The things that culture values most haven’t been affected, so surely it isn’t that bad? But it’s affected my relationships and my home life substantially.
So what happened last year?
How did ‘small bouts of depression’ go to ‘major depressive episode’?
I started at a company with minimal structure and support in March of 2021. Their onboarding process was to give me an email and a tour. 2 days later I was treating clients on my own. No shadow shifts. No training. It was a lot. They also didn’t have any of their policies written down so I couldn’t do the research to answer my questions. Here’s the analogy I used to explain it:
You’re the new coach of a water polo team. You’ve coached before so you have some experience, but you have no experience with water polo. You don’t know the rules of the game. You don’t know the players on your team. You don’t know where the equipment is kept or what equipment you need. The people who hired you show their support by saying “just ask questions. There are a lot of people here to help. Just ask questions.” But as you’re trying to finger out literally every aspect of this new job you can’t articulate all the questions you have. You don’t think to ask “what do I do in a fire drill?” even though that is a really good question. Once you’ve gotten a bit into the swing of things and you’ve learned some of the rules, you ask your supervisor “what’s your process for this? Show me where to find a policy on this.” and they respond “I’ll just tell you about it…” but they miss giving you the whole picture and they have no documents to refer you to. Then you end up frustrated because you’re reprimanded when things are missing from the reports. Then the company gets confused about why they had to correct you so often. I can’t tell you how many times I would think “nobody told me” about things I was just expected to know. If clarity is kindness, this company was not kind.
Anyways. I can tell you story after story of how the company was set up to let me learn by failing at things they could have just written down in their policies and procedures. Things as routine as dress code and fire drills.
All this to say, this was a tough job for me. It was destroying my mental health. I didn’t have the emotional energy for much else while working that job. I didn’t have the emotional energy to be the initiator in my friendships and it felt like there was no one checking in on me.
Two of my longest friendships died in this season. They weren’t able to support the burden I wanted to put on them and it crumbled. Other friends, that were able to support me, just happened to be in time-consuming seasons of their own and weren’t able to check in as often. New babies, big examinations, and life transitions. And the small group I was a part of disbanded at that time as well. I felt like I had no friends, not true, but how I felt.
And so, add on that the sun set at 4:00 p.m. and we had a perfect storm that led to a major depressive episode. I quit my job and it felt like failure.
But where am I now?
Thriving honestly. I’m working at a job that I really really love. I have support from co-workers who are always willing to let me ask questions. There are treatment plans and written out policies. It tends to be remedial work over compensatory, which I’m more comfortable with. Overall the work is great. The environment is great. I feel supported and significantly less anxious.
I’ve made peace with the death of those friendships. I no longer agonize over whether I should open myself up for rejection and reach out one more time. I’ve let things rest.
I’m honestly surprised when I realize that in general, I am happy. It’s such a shift from the darkness I was feeling just over a year ago. At first, I would get worried when I felt happy, so anxious that it might leave again. It would be better not to taste it if I couldn’t have it stay. But my mood has stabilized overall. Still bad days? Yes. Still sad days? Indeed. But it’s overall net positive and I’m rejoicing about that.
There were also a few key God moments in this season. Like the fact that I didn’t even apply for the job I have now, they contacted me. They contacted me at the literal perfect time. And just when I was feeling my loneliest with my friendships, the next day God provided a friend as a direct answer to a prayer the day before.*
These stories made evident the kindness of God. When I was in a major depression and Wil was worried to leave me alone, God came as my rescue. He reminded me of His kindness. Was the situation really sucky? Yes. Would I still go through it because of the lessons it taught me? Honestly, I’d rather not. But does this negate the goodness of God in every season? No. He is good.
I think so often we believe that everything is supposed to feel good and when it doesn’t, we judge God by this standard. If God is good then shouldn’t only good things happen to me? Is my hope in good things and getting what I want OR is it in Jesus?
Not only so, but we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance;perseverance, character; and character, hope.And hope does not disappoint us, because God’s love has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit, who has been given to us.
Romans 5:3-5
What if only giving me good things stunts the growth of the harvest God is trying to produce? What if God’s best for me is not an easy, pain-free life, but rather, transformation? Doesn’t it show God’s kindness then that He doesn’t only give me good things? I think so.
*If you’d like to hear these stories in full detail let me know.
I wrote a zine. As with any vulnerable writing, I really hope no one I know reads it. During the project, I was excited and couldn’t wait to finish it. Proud of each piece. Now that it’s finished I’m not proud of the outcome…the printing job was hard to figure out and I thought about printing it as a little book through a company but that made it seem like I thought too much of myself but now the edges are uneven and I cropped some a little too close and when I look at some of the writing it seems so dramatic and pompous which feels eww (inhale)…ANYWAYS. It is finished.
If you’d like a copy let me know. I’m accepting cool rocks, letters, crafts, poems, or real money in exchange for a copy. Make me an offer and I’ll send you a copy.
I’ll give you a little sample below of one of the entries I wrote. Bri said it was good writing and she’s pretty trustworthy so maybe you’ll agree. Here it is:
Our friendship was a seed planted over a decade ago that grew into a plant with deep roots. It was at the centre of the garden at one point, but as time went on and seasons changed more plants were added. The layout of the landscaping shifted. Your garden was more crowded than mine but that was okay. We both cultivated green spaces that allowed us to thrive.
One day I went to my garden downtrodden and in need of connection. I looked over the modest grounds and passed by the plants in front of me to notice our plant. It was on the outskirts. It wasn’t expanding or blooming, but its roots were deep.
It grieved me to see the stagnate plant and I grabbed it by the roots and tried to transplant it to the centre of the garden without asking. I wanted it to sustain me when there was no fruit on its branches.
I understood that the local plants were easier to maintain but I thought our plant was worthing of nurturing too. Even in the off-season, because its roots were deep.
Once transplanted I started to prune. Our plant didn’t fit well in the new space. I cut into it with shears. The blades made of my expressed needs and the handles made of my uncommunicated expectations.
Were it a healthy plant, it wouldn’t have minded the pruning much. But heavy pruning at the wrong time can cause irreparable damage to the growth of a plant and ours was already dormant.
Now we’re left with a brittle stock. Not thriving. Barley surviving. I wonder if you even notice the damage of if our plant is too far on the periphery for you to detect the casualty. Even though the roots were deep.
The depth of the roots disallows me to let the lifecycle of the friendship close. The plant is dead but I keep watering it with my thoughts hoping that new growth can come from the old stock.
Maybe a new seedling could develop from the same root system but not by my efforts alone. I was to bring the water and you the fertilizer. The plant needs both to grow and stay off withering. But you never showed.
So here I am watering the plant out of ear-shot and hoping you’ll notice. What I’m really doing is causing the roots to rot and I’m tired of hauling buckets.
I need to stop. Put down the pail and go to you. Walk down the path and hand you a seed pod from the old stock. Let you know there is room in my garden. I’ll prepare the soil, you come plant the seed. We can both tend to its regrowth. The amount of responsibility you take for the seed is the amount that you value for the growth of its new plant. But I may still be the one that has to act first so you can find the tender soil.
Over the summer, there was a 2 week period where I thought I had cancer. Now before you think “oh, no! What major symptoms is she dealing with?” let me tell you that I often think I cancer or some large disease when waiting for results (trust me, a few months ago I thought I was going to be told I have lupus). It’s one of the downfalls of being able to see my blood results online before going to see the doctor…and being a bit of a hypochondriac.
A quick aside; The lupus story: I have messed up feet, like, you can feel my metatarsal heads on my soles. I only found out this was abnormal after an Occupational Therapy lab. Thanks, grad school. Anyways, long story short, I end up wearing orthotics in my shoes to fix the issue. In March, I started getting numbness and pain in my toes again so I went back to the podiatrist and he sent me for an x-ray. After I’ve done the x-ray the office calls and they wanted me to go for blood work. I think “what did they see on my x-ray that caused them to think I need blood work?” The answer? Lupus. Or arthritis or (please see WebMD for more details). In the end, it didn’t even matter. It was nothing. Turns out I just have messed up feet.
So a month ago I went for a physical and told my doctor that I think I could have endo (endometriosis for those of you who aren’t familiar with the slang terms for reproductive issues). So she sent me for an ultrasound and bloodwork. Then the office called me to book an appointment to go over the results (which they literally never do). So obviously I assume something is wrong. I look up my blood test results and ask google what they mean. Cancer. Or blood clots or inflammation (hello, PCOS) or (please see WebMD for more details). I go for a few weeks thinking it’s going to be cancer and then the appointment comes. The doctor looks at the sheet with the results, the mood in the room shifts, and she says “based on your ultrasound (pause) we can see (another pause), that you most likely have PCOS.” Then she looks to me to gauge my reaction as if she’s delivered big news. I almost laughed. Duh, we’ve known this for 3 years. She didn’t mention the blood work and I didn’t ask (I know, I know. I need to be my own advocate blah, blah, blah. At least I almost turned around after leaving the office to say “what about the blood work?” so…I mean, that’s contemplation of change, right?).
During those weeks while I waited for the test results, I didn’t know how to pray. Obviously, I didn’t want cancer but I also didn’t want it to be nothing. I was also at camp at this time and having the kitchen prepare special food for me and I felt like a burden. I didn’t want to wish unhealth on myself, but I also felt like the disorder I do have didn’t justify the extra work and drama. I have black and white thinking. I want complete health or complete illness. Not the in-between. Not this mild-chronic-incurable stuff. All or none.
I think I also wanted it to be something because I’m tired of feeling crazy. I’m tired of going to doctors and saying “things are not as they should be.” and the doctors responding with ¯\_(ツ)_/¯. I was hoping for different results because if it had been something I wouldn’t feel like my body was betraying me. Causing all this fuss when there’s nothing that can be done (or so says the medical field). I wanted to come out of the doctor’s appointment with something actionable. An action item I could act on. Gloom. Here we are. With a referral to another doctor that 100% is going to say “go on the pill. no? okay, come back when you want to get pregnant.”
And I do want to be pregnant. I want a baby. Imminently. It feels extra vulnerable to tell the internet that…maybe because of the assumptions people will make with that knowledge*. But more than a baby, I want my body to meet expectations. I want a period. I want less facial hair. I want no acne. I want a stable mood without depressive episodes. Alas, I do not.
Who knew I could want something so badly and not be able to wrestle it into existence.
My body is how it is. It doesn’t ovulate. It has extra hair. It makes me sad and anxious at times. This is it. This is what I’ve been given. Now, what am I going to do with it? If God wants me to have a baby He will do it. Do I trust Him in this? Yes. I know Who gives life. I surrender to His timing and His will. No babies? Your will be done. Ten babies? Your will be done. I’m trusting.
I grip so tightly to my desire. To control, really. I want control over my health but I am not Lord. I am not King. I am not God. The God who sees. The God who hears. The God who cares with steadfast love. Unwavering love. Reliable, dependable, steady, sure, constant, relentless, unfaltering love. Health is not my idol or at least I don’t want it to be.
There’s a verse in the Psalms that says “they despised the pleasant land, having no faith in His promises.” I am that way often. I dislike the pleasant land of the present because I’ve no trust in the promises of God. Or maybe I’m not certain what His promises are. I don’t want to complain my way through this season till something changes. I know He promises the competition of a good story. I know He promises forgiveness of sins. He promises intersession by both the Holy Spirit and Jesus on my behalf. He promises to love me with steadfast, unchanging love.
I’m ready to let this struggle go. To say “my body is good. The project is over.” and be done with it (See Jess Connolly’s new book for more on this). I want to let go of this desire for health, while not letting go of the practices that make my body feel good. Sometimes I want to give up my desire for a baby. Can I still desire it and yet know it might not come? Instead of asking God to change my desires should I lean in to not having what I want? Should I lean into trusting God with my desires rather than saying “If I can’t have it, take the desire away.”?
Probably.
I probably should do that. Trust the Lord with the longings of my heart and know that He knows me and my future. Maybe I just need to rest in His timing rather than rush His timing. Or maybe I’m the non-success story that others need to hear. The one that suffered well even when she didn’t get what she desired. The one that gave glory to Jesus and said my hope is in nothing less. A baby is less. A successful career is less. A together-family is less. A functioning body is less.
Can I bask in contentment because of what I do have, because God is good and in control, rather than focusing on what I wish for and desperately want? I should hope so.
*After finishing this blog, I realized one of the reasons it feels scary to tell the internet about wanting a baby is because of their response. I worry their response will belittle my experience. “you’re young, you’ve got time.”, “But you haven’t tried _____. ” I’ll get pleasantries and platitudes from people who are not in the trenches with me. That sounds painful and I don’t want to deal. I also worry that if in the end, if I can have children, the response will belittle the struggle of this season by saying “see, all that worry for nothing.” Not nothing. This is shaping me, growing me, teaching me about Jesus. It is not for nothing. It has substance. I want the struggle to be honoured rather than dismissed and I feel telling the world one of my desires gives people the opportunity to discredit my emotions. That’s all.
I’m going to start this blog (a blog about how I need to stop manage people’s emotions) by trying to manage your emotions:
In this blog, I’m going to share the events that lead up to me believing that I need to manage people’s emotions. There may be some people who can recognize themselves in this story. And I just wanted to start by saying a) this is how I perceived the events and b) I don’t blame you. You are not responsible for how I responded or what I internalized. Just as I am not responsible for how you respond to this blog.
Even as I write that last sentence my brain wars against it. If I put it out onto the internet, then I am responsible. I am responsible for the words and the message, yes. But I believe I am also responsible for how it makes people feel, what they do with their emotions, how they let it affect their life….and that’s just not true. I am not responsible for what people do with their emotions.
Again I pause because I doubt that that statement is true. I feel like if I create something that makes a person feel emotions then I am the one responsible for the outcome of the emotions. Not true.
We’re going in circles. Obviously, I’m still working this out in my head and my heart so let’s get on with the stories. The antecedents.
When talking about social anxiety and managing people’s emotions with my counsellor she asked if I’ve always been like this. No, I haven’t been. But I can see the trajectory.
I wasn’t always like this. I didn’t always try to alter my behaviour to make sure others were comfortable (which often leads to me being in my head so much that it creates awkward pauses that make people uncomfortable). I didn’t always hyper-focus on what others were thinking/feeling during conversations to the point where I wondering if I’m making too much eye contact or not blinking enough. I was more care-feel in my youth (the more negative self-talk would call me obnoxious or abrasive). Blissfully unaware of this perceived obligation to be in control of everyone’s responses.
So what happened?
After I graduated high school I went to South Africa for 3 months. I came home in December to a changed household. My grandma, no longer able to live on her own due to dementia, moved in with us. During this time I was nannying while waiting to go to an outdoor leadership training school for the summer before starting undergrad in the Fall. I was dealing with insomnia. I was also watching my grandma when my mom wasn’t around.
I was not good at watching my grandmother. I did not handle the dementia well. I would correct her mistakes and insist she listen. Sometimes the correction was necessary for safety (a spoon in the microwave). Most of the time it was something that could have been fixed later without confrontation (e.g. putting away socks in the garbage). I did not have the knowledge or skills I have now and I didn’t know how to deal with dementia. I just wanted to be right. Add in the insomnia struggles, I just wanted to be able to control something.
Grandma did not react kindly to my corrections. She became abusive towards me. I started having panic attacks. I was scared to be left alone with her. I was bitter towards her too. I was angry that I had to pass the communion plate to someone who tired to hit me. And in all of this, I felt the general message was that it was my fault.
“You should try talking to her in a different way.”
“Just be nice to her. It’s stupid for you to be angry at someone who can’t remember.”
How I interacted with her caused her to be abusive towards me. She had dementia. She couldn’t be held responsible. That only left me.
Now, 7 years later, I can see that this isn’t fully true. It’s not black and white. Her fault or mine. Could I have handled the situation better? 100% yes. Does that make me solely responsible for what happened? no. But it did teach me that I need to manage people’s emotions. That to be safe, I have to control other’s responses to my actions.
Fast forward to the summer. I’ve been living at camp for 3 months. It’s a staff break and a group of Outtrip directors are having a get-together. I was tired, having just gotten control of my insomniac sleep, let alone being almost partway through the summer of camp. I, the inverted morning person, didn’t want to be at the evening get-together. I was planning to leave when the group convinced me to play some games first. I played a game and had fun, but I then left early.
The next day one of the leaders pulled me aside and told me that I need to be aware of my influence. I told her I wasn’t aware I had an influence on the group and she said “I know, that’s why I’m telling you. You have more influence than you think you do” It was a good message. I think it was meant to spur me on to good deeds and be constructive criticism. To make me realize that my actions have impact. But it was paired with a conversation about how, essentially, I killed the vibe at the party by wanting to leave and then leaving early. Once I left, others left also. What I understood from the conversation was that I was responsible for how others responded to my actions. Even if I wasn’t in the room. Them deciding to leave because I left first was my fault. Their response was for me to regulate.
This was also the summer I meet Wil (he was in the same program I was in). By this time we knew we liked each other. We had decided to just be friends until after the program ended so we could focus on camp. But we would meet in the mornings and the evenings to talk about our day and ourselves. We were getting to know each other and, yes, falling in love. This wasn’t breaking camp rules…but it was kinda breaking camp rules. I think there were rules for if you were dating at camp. But we weren’t dating.
Our leaders invited Wil and me to the board room for a meeting and essentially asked us to DTR or say we were dating. Honestly, I only have vague memories of what the actual purpose of the meeting was. What I do remember is this: they said that when we were together we were unapproachable. That people don’t want to sit on the bench if it’s just to two of us sitting there. That we need to be careful with our influence. The message I got was that I was responsible for how people felt when they were around me. That if they weren’t comfortable sitting on the bench when Wil and I were already sitting there it was my fault. I needed to manage their emotions.
This conversation honestly messed me up for a little bit whenever I was at camp. I didn’t know how to be in a relationship with William and at camp at the same time. How could I be authentic in my relationship with Wil and spend time with him while also not appearing too exclusive to others? It almost lead to us breaking up. But I worked it out…actually, I think the thing that really changed it was we got married. It made hanging out together acceptable.* But I digress.
So there you have it. Three happenings that compounded into my current way of thinking: It’s my fault. I am in charge of my safety. My actions determine how someone will respond. I have great influence to wield so watch out. Managing other people’s emotions is the only way to have a relationship where they like you.
It’s fear-based.
There are a lot of other thought processes I’m labouring through to help me with this and I’m going to counselling. So I have more I could say on this topic but I think I’ll leave it here. I’m trying to leave room for grace. This thinking has been building up in my mind for the past seven years. It won’t leave in a week.
I’ll end with this:
To Manage: to be in charge, to regulate, to oversee, to maintain control or influence over.
I was trying to think about what the antonym of manage is? Thesuraus.com doesn’t agree with me, but I think it’s the word release.
Release: to allow or enable, to set free, to remove restrictions or obligations, to remove from a fixed position thus allowing something else to move or function
I like that last definition. To remove my perceived obligation of control from its fixed position the thus allow others to move and function. Freedom. That’s the goal.
*I just wanted to add a little note to say that the camp I go to has grown a lot in this area in the past several years and they are at a much MUCH healthier place when it comes to romantic relationships between staff and between campers (but not between staff and campers just to be clear (power differential in relationship = abuse)). The mentality is no longer one of “no purple!” and “shame the ones with crushes” but rather: “this is developmentally appropriate for their age. How can we foster and model healthy relationships?”
** Also, to the handful of random people who started following my blog after I posted the before and after reno photos… that was not the norm. This metacognition is what you actually signed up for. Renos of the mind and soul, not of houses 😆. No hard feelings if you decide to head out. I will not try to manage your emotions as you leave 😉 .
It’s not my usually blog post full of journal entries and metacognition. Just some photos of my labor of love over the summer. As you may know, Wil and I bought a house in June. We then proceeded to replace the ceiling, redo the floors, pant everything, add a towel closet, remove a wall, put in new lighting (pot lights everywhere!), and cut some windows in the span of six weeks. It was a lot of work and we had the help of so many people to get’er done in time. So, have a look of the before and the after. There’s even a fun slidey thinger! What’s not to love? Hope you enjoy. Tune is next…week? month?…and we’ll return to our regularly scheduled programing.
The bathroom is not featured because there is no change from the before and after. That’s a next…summer? year?…project. Okay…I’ll put in one photo so you can sympathize with me when I say I have a tiny tub and I would love a bigger one. New siding? New fence? Sprinkler system so we can legalize the suite? Nah, I’m spending all my money on a bigger bathtub.
I’m going to mod podge a few journal entries together, mostly unedited, but I’ll give you some context first: For the past two or three years, I’ve asked God for a word to focus on for the year. It’s a pretty common Christian thing to do. Last year I thought and wanted my word was “humble” but it was really “abide.” I didn’t want it to be “abide” because “abide and rest in my love” was the word the year before. I wanted to work on something new even though I had yet to grasped the concept. Also for context, I started off this year with a fast from food. I was planning to do it for 7 days (maybe we’ll take later about my all or nothing attitude) but I scaled it down to 5. Circumstantially I only fasted for 2. I’ll have more to say at the end but for now, let’s go to the journal entries:
Jan 1
We’re about 24 hours into the fast and I’m ready to quit. But I don’t want to quit just because it’s hard. That’s not the point. I feel bad, uncomfortable. And when I want comfort I often seek it in food, but maybe I should seek You first, eh? Not a maybe. A should. I should turn to You first not because you’re petty but because you are the Great Comforter. The God of all comfort (check out 2 Cor. 1). Father of compassion. You comfort me in all my troubles. In all suffering. An overflow of Christ’s suffering to produce patient endurance. That I might rely not on myself but on You. Isn’t that what I said when preparing for this fast? That it would remind me of my reliance on You? That it would force me to seek you for strength and kindness and energy. All the things. Because You are the thing that sustains me. Not breath or food or sleep. You. I want to earnestly seek You. To set the stage for this year with You at the focus … I am seen by You and so are my desires. I trust you with them. Lord, I trust you with the things I hold dear. What do you have for me? Abundance. All your promises are yes and I say amen. Lord do you have a word for me this year? Peace. Trust. Abundance. I will find my peace when I fully trust in You. You do not give as the world gives. You give peace in abundance. More than I could ever ask or imagine. Trust that when I give it will be abundantly. There is no restriction to my love. Trust in me.
Jan 8
They were talking on the podcast today about whether comfort is a drug. I do crave comfort a lot. I find it most desirable. It’s why I don’t often go overnight or winter camping. It’s why I don’t like fasting. It’s why interoception and somatic signals make me anxious. It’s why being anxious makes me feel anxious. What if my word for this year was uncomfortable? More church small talk. More resting in my feelings. More saying what I really feel to my family. More difficult workouts. More human interactions. It would probably be good for me. And what if in the uncomfortable I find trust, peace, and abundance. I didn’t make any new year’s resolutions this year because I feel I can’t make plans when I don’t know what the year will look like. But isn’t that the downfall of making resolutions? Making goals on things I can’t control. What If I made goals on the things I could control? Like spending time with God, doing more yoga, finding a counselor. I can’t control my acne but I can control whether I eat dairy. I can’t control my PCOS but I can control the exercise I do. I can’t control whether I travel but I can control whether I go on adventures. I can’t control getting a job but I can control how I use my time. I can’t control whether camp runs but I can control serving others. I think the word for this year is uncomfortable. Waiting is uncomfortable. Less schedule is uncomfortable. But that’s okay. Beauty can come from discomfort and so can growth. I want growth.
Jan 15
Who is coming out of the desert leaning on her lover? (Song of Songs 8:5)
The Lord will guide you always; He will satisfy your needs in a sun-scorched land and give you strength…your people will rebuild on the ruins of the city and raise up on old foundations. (Isaiah 58:11-12)
“Whatever keeps me from my Bible is my enemy, however harmless it may appear to be.” – A.W. Tozer
Who have I been leaning on coming out of the desert? Myself. numbing entertainment. Life-sucking scrolling. How do I wish it was? I wish I was leaning on Jesus. Spending more time with Jesus than anything else. Turning my worries into prayers and my prayers into conversations. I want to do away with past regrets and mistakes. But what if the new city is built on the rubble of the old foundations? It’s only unstable if I keep trying to bring the rubble up to the top. Who is coming out of the desert leaning on her lover? I hope it’s me. I hope that this year I grow in my faith. I’m so good at praying but so bad at believing in God. But won’t He do it? He has planned and purposed it and so it will be. So it will stand. Who can thwart Him? Nothing and no one. What great peace. What great release. It’s only peaceful if I trust Him to be good. If I trust him to be good to me. Suffering produces growth. Shaking the tree makes the rotten fruit fall to the ground. That’s what I want. To rejoice in suffering because it produces perseverance, perseverance character, and character hope. And hope does not disappoint. I want character and hope in the one thing that does not disappoint.
.
And there you have it. Some of my writings in this, the year of our Lord, 2021. Conclusion? I’m going to try to lean into uncomfort this year. I going to do things that make me uncomfortable because (in my life) 98% of the time uncomfortable doesn’t mean unsafe. As I do the uncomfortable things I’m going to seek the peace of trusting Jesus to be good to be and to give good gifts in abundance. I will spend less time on mindless things and watching other people’s lives from afar, no matter how harmless it appears. Hopefully at the end of this year, whether it felt like a desert or a well-watered garden, I will come out of it leaning on Jesus.
I was given a chance to rest but I treated it like a salesman delivering a flyer rather than a messenger with an invitation to meet with the King. A waste rather than the sweetest of treats. I think there are two reasons for this.
Number one: Minimal room for grace.
I breathe in grace like I’m wearing a mask for 8 hours. It’s manageable and yes, at first I get a headache, but I adjust quickly. I still get the air I need. But when I take off the barrier and suck in a full breath it reminds me of what I’m missing. It’s fresh, unrestricted, and needed. I’m not meant to breathe in grace with restriction but I’ve grown accustomed to it. Just as there is no room for grace, there is no room for rest. Value and worth come from completing tasks and filing time. If I’m not doing enough then I’m wasting the day. No grace for doing less. No rest.
But what if I took a full breath unrestricted? What if I allowed myself to stop the constant motion and gave myself unregulated grace. Not crumbs of grace with guilt and shame sprinkled on top to ensure that I do better next time. Just grace at the table. A sweet aroma and the full experience. What does that even look like? I’m so accustomed to searching for crumbs and looking at the underside of the table that I’m unaware there is a place-setting for me. An open chair at the table. It’s an invitation for a meal with the King but I’m too busy toiling and spinning to accept.
Number two: Control is an idol
I crave control. I fight for it more than I fight for anything else in this world. That’s idolatry. Extreme adoration for something that isn’t Jesus.
God says “I can do more than you ask or imagine. Immeasurably more.” and I say “but could you just do my thing my way? I would rather have what I asked for and the exact thing I imagined than immeasurably more.”
Because I want control.
Lack of control gives me anxiety. But shouldn’t knowing God is in control give me more peace than me being in control? Why do I crave it so much? Because I want to make changes. I want things to move faster. I want things to be solely reliant on me because control makes me feel safe. As if I can foresee and control the outcome. I want all the responsibility when I have none of the power or foresight. I want to control when I rest, where I rest, and how I rest.
This is an invitation to rest not to control what you accomplish.
Well, I don’t want it. It comes at an awful time. I have things I need to be doing…..but I’m also thirsty.
As a deer pants for water so my soul pants for connection with Jesus. My soul pants for Jesus, yet I try and quench the thirst with other things. Things that do not satisfy. Things that are saltwater to my tongue yet I still fill my cup in the wrong places. Things like control. I juggle too many cups, at risk of spilling and causing a spiritual accident with minimal regard to the one well that provides thirst quenching water.
No more.
Time to accept the invitation. To rest. To lean against the One with punctured hands as I disentangle mine from the control that I crave.
I’ve been thinking a lot about my health recently. The food I eat. My body. The stress I put on it. Our relationship.
In the midst of moving and renoing the house this summer, I was sitting in a doctor’s office. Waiting. Stressed about waiting and not working on all the things on the house to do list. Rather than sit and wait I wrote a poem. Now I’m a rambley writer so don’t expect me to be a skillful poet. But here it is:
My body said stop. I said you’re fine
My body said I’m hungry. I said you’re lying
My body said enough. I said one more bite
My body said this aches, time to move. I said 10 more minutes
My body said ouch. I said it’s good for you
My body said hear me. I said it’s all in my head.
Hear me. Listen.
My body said stop and I listen
My body said I’m hungry and I listen
My body said I need to move and I listen
My body said enough and I listen
My body said rest and I listen
I am learning to listen to my body. I’m learning that my body rarely lies. It’s always communicating something. I’ve thought that the crave for sugar was my body lying to me, but really it’s my brain misinterpreting the signal. I thought that my muscles burning was my body lying to me, but it was telling me it’s doing work. My my brain was the one that was telling me to quit. My body doesn’t lie. Maybe health isn’t eating perfect or running a 5k. Maybe health is listening to my body.
I wrote all of that in July. Have I been listening to my body since then? Nope.
I got a book out of the library with journaling prompts. The first page I flipped to is the only prompt I used. The basic concept was to write a letter to your condition. Here’s what I wrote:
Dear Body,
I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I don’t hate how you look or your abilities. I hate your dysfunction. I’m over it. You don’t work. You are broken. It sucks. This sucks. I want normal. I was regulated. What the heck, body? Betrayer. I do what experts say and it makes no difference. I indulge. I restrict. It makes no difference. You are still not working as I would like to see it. Have I given you rest? no. Have I given you a reprieve from stress? no. Have I listened to you? barely. I feel like I’ve put in all this effort with no returns but maybe I haven’t been giving you the one thing you actually need. Rest. Maybe I haven’t been listening at all.
Awareness is the first step. That’s the correct phrase, right? I’ve been much more aware of my body in the past two months. I’ve noticed it talking and the more I listen the more I understand. Without doubt, I’m not good at this yet. Even today I ate a plate of nachos when what my body wanted was protein. Yesterday I sat in the same position long after my body wanted to readjust. I’m starting to listen but I’m not yet attending to the voiced concerns.
Two Bible verses stood out to me in September (stay with me. This does relate..in my mind at least)
The first story is in Luke 5:1-11. These men had bee fishing all night with no fish. Then Jesus shows up in the morning and tells them to put their nets back in. They tell him they’ve been doing this all night with no results but they oblige him anyways. When they go to pull the nets in they start to break they are so full of fish. Then the boat starts to sink it’s so full of fish. So the men get to shore, leave everything, and follow Jesus.
Now, I’ve noticed before that when it says “they left everything and followed him” in verse 11 that includes all the fish. As fishermen that amount of fish meant a lot of money. They left it all for Jesus. The part that stood out to me this time was that for the miracle to have impact, they had to go the whole night with no results. They had to work all night with no fish for Jesus to come and give them abundance. Not just some after none. Abundance after none. More than the boat could hold, a literal boatload of fish. More than their nets could handle. Yet all the blessing pales in comparison to Jesus.
The other story is about the woman who had been subject to bleeding (it’s in Matthew, Mark, and Luke). For twelve years she had spent all she had on doctors, yet no one could heal her. Jesus is on his way to heal a dying girl as a great crowd is following him. The woman is in the crowd and thinks “if I can touch His cloak I’ll be healed.” and it happens. She touches Jesus’ clothes and she is healed. Jesus says “who touched me?” and the disciples are like “you serious? we’re almost being mobbed by a crowd. Who hasn’t touched you?” but Jesus knows and he waits and the woman speaks. Then Jesus tells her “your faith has healed you. Go in peace”
I’ve heard it preached that due to Jewish law this woman would have been an outcast. Unclean. No one would want to touch her and become unclean themselves. She wouldn’t have be allowed in the temple, a place to meet God. Isolated. I had considered before that Jesus didn’t want the woman to have the healing without connection with Him so He called her out. He wanted to meet with her. What I hadn’t considered was that Jesus was telling her story in front the crowd by calling her out so they would know she was healed. No longer the outcast, now accepted into a community.
I feel these stories reflect my own in some way. A time of drought. A time of illness with no healing. A time of work with no results. Then Jesus comes by and gives healing in front of a community and abundant blessing. My eyes can’t see this part of the story yet. I’m not sure if I’m in it without seeing or if it is yet to come. I don’t know what’s going to happen but something is building.
I’m frustrated with my body but that doesn’t mean I have to be angry at God. For the longest time I thought they were connected. I couldn’t be displeased with my body without being displeased with God. I couldn’t be annoyed with my body without being annoyed with God. But I can be. I can be annoyed with my dysfunction even as I praise God. I can wish things were different while singing for joy.
I feel my body is a device that has a piece that wasn’t meant to go in water. The piece got wet and now the device is dysfunctional. That doesn’t mean that the One who made the device is to blame. The device was put in an environment it was never supposed to function in. I guess it’s kinda different because the Maker can step in whenever He wants and replace the broken piece. But maybe there is purpose or beauty in dysfunction. Or maybe the waterlogged piece isn’t the important part. Maybe I am expected to work towards goals that had far more value than superficial appearances and regular cycles.
Do I long for healing? yes.
Does that negate my relationship with God? Does it block our affection? Only when I value it more than our relationship. Only when I decide that a fully functioning body is more valuable than Jesus.
Jesus is more valuable than a boat full of fish. Jesus is more valuable than the healing. Jesus is more satisfying than a disease free body.
May I believe it to be true. May I act accordingly.
Leaving Room for Grace 