Today I was driving with the kids, when I asked Claire (9) - whose birthday was last week - what had been in her card from an aunt and uncle a few days ago. She replied, "I don't think I got a card from them." I said, "Yes, you did. I handed it to you. It had a blue envelope." She still could not conjure a recollection. So I said, "You told me you had gotten money in a lot of cards. I just want to make sure you didn't lose it." She has a tendency to treat money like it's just paper. She either carries it in her pockets all the time or leaves it on the floor or table or someplace else - willynilly like it doesn't matter to her... until she needs it for something. Then it's panicsville. The conversation continued..., "Where do you put your money when you get it?" Claire responded that she puts it on top of her dresser (obviously a fool-proof place to keep it from thieves and curious toddlers). Sadie (11) piped in (true to her firstborn personality), "Um, Claire, that's not where money goes. You should be putting it in your piggy bank." Claire said quietly, "I lost it." The girls and I laughed and I said, "Claire, I think you just made Sadie's point for her. If you can lose a whole piggy bank, how are you keeping track of dollar bills?" She laughed a very "Claire" laugh, and she said, "Sadie, just wait till I get a house of my own. There will be bills everywhere." I said, "What kind of bills? Dollar bills or bills you can't pay because you can't find your money?" She laughed harder and said, "Dollar bills, of course!" Sadie asked (laughing), "How are you going to afford to buy a house when you can't keep track of a few dollars?" Claire then went on to explain how she would put dollar bills all over her couch cushions, and Sadie told her that guests wouldn't be able to sit down, and then Claire decided that a better place would be between all the couch cushions... yes, that was much more sensible.
I doubt very much that anyone was missing it, but I have been out of blogging ability for about 6 weeks now. Honestly, I was out of ability for about 4 weeks and then out of willingness for 2 more. About 6 weeks ago I was taken to the local hospital by ambulance (a first for me), where I was put on a morphine pump for 3 days for some herniated and degenerated disc issues in my back. I spent the next almost two weeks flat out at home, and I've been slowly getting back to sitting for longer periods of time. This is the second time I've had the discs go out into nerve space, and I just have to say that I hate it. Yes - there's the pain (which, in my experience, made childbirth look like a tiptoe through the tulips) that I hate, but much worse than that was being "out of commission". I hated being on pain medication. I hated being away from my family. I hated not being able to do the things I usually hate to do most - laundry, dusting, cleaning toilets, etc. We've gone every possible route for pain control and strengthening - from physical therapy (current and past), strengthening exercises (always), to traction (current), to inversion table (current and past), to ice and heat (constantly), to chiropractic (regularly), to deep tissue massage (whenever possible), to cortisone epidurals (which I hate to get but are the most effective), and now to a TENS (electro-stim) unit that I now carry with me almost everywhere I go.
I told my husband last week how hard it is to feel invisible. I have spent weeks on my back on the couch or in bed or reclined in a chair with all of life going on around me but not being able to really be a part of it. He reminded me to be very thankful that, for me, it is a temporary thing - at least for now. A friend of ours was in a motorcycle some months ago and lost his leg. We also get facebook updates and photos from a hometown hero of ours who lost both of his legs in Afghanistan. These are tangible reminders that I am not in the dire straits I have felt. My reality is not fun, but it's not permanent. I will not fully recover, but I have my legs. I can walk.
A month or so ago, I sat outside the pool on a reclining chair - wishing I could get in the pool or at least go putter around in the garden. I watched Mark interacting with the kids when Levi said, "Dad! Where are my goggles?! I can't find them anywhere!" A few seconds later, he laughed realizing they were on his head. Who hasn't experienced that? Looking for spectacles that are on your face or for the milk jug you have in your hand... I think that is a quirk of human nature that God uses to reveal to us how blind we can be to our own lack. Sometimes the things that are closest to us are the things that are the hardest to see. The kids all love to show me their drawings, coloring pages, etc., but they like to shove it as close to my face as possible to give me the best view. I have two eyes - that should help me see better than just one, but they work against me when trying to focus on one thing. The closer things are to my face, the less clear they become. I have to step back from the viewed item to be able to see it properly.
I am mostly blind to my condition. The things I say and do that are unbecoming are not Christ in me. They are me in me. My actions and reactions are the truest picture of what I am holding closest to my heart at the time. If I am holding me closely, I am selfish, short-tempered, defensive, full of pride and self-pity, and sometimes just downright nasty. I have been very introverted because I have felt that I have to be to protect myself from hurting again.
When complaining to Mark last week, I said, "It's just so succinct that the word invalid (noun stating the person as their condition) is exactly the same as the word invalid (adjective - describing the person's state)." I've felt invalid - as though I didn't matter anymore. They go on bike rides without me. They do my laundry instead of me doing theirs. They cook their own food. No one is replaceable and yet everyone is. When a void is felt, humanity has a unique strength in moving in to fill that void so that it's no longer felt.
The neat thing that I've noticed in these brave men who are facing life-long disability is that the times they shine the most are when they don't accept that their physical condition is a lifelong identity. They choose to be involved with family and friends and community. They choose not to let a trial define them. I wish that, in my minor trial, I had readily taken the same approach. After all, our physical condition on earth is very temporary.
Resilience is one of the most fantastically brilliant ways of all of nature - but especially of humanity. Hope springs eternal. Each of my children is so different. I have some optimists and some pessimists. I have an older sister and a younger sister. As a middle girl, I had many firstborn characteristics (loved The Birth Order Book by Dr. Kevin Lehman) such as perfectionism, rule-following, etc., but I was also messy, creative, and often misunderstood - hallmarks of middle child syndrome. A few weeks ago, I read the story of two pigs (Sidney and Norman) - one neat, orderly, and punctual and the other one messy, disorganized, and forgetful. After the story, I asked the girls which pig they felt they were (if any). Sadie piped up that she was the neat one, and Claire smiled and said she was the messy one. In the story of Claire above, it's obvious that she knows her tendencies but is unashamed of them. I love that. As a child, my mom used to bet me (jokingly) that I couldn't go through a whole meal without getting food on my shirt. I was/am Claire. While Sadie is asking me the day's schedule and reminding me if I miss a beat or packing wet naps in her purse for the hands of the little two when we go to the zoo... assuming (and rightly so) that I will probably forget to do so, I am wishing that I had an ounce or two more of that genetic bent. I used to think Claire was kind of oblivious to order and what other people generally do. Now it's clear to me that she sees those things but isn't made by them in any way. She has my ridiculously curly hair, but it's underneath a pile of thick, wavy hair that makes it look like she always has rats in her hair (which she only has about half the time - despite what my mom might think.) She doesn't care at all about that. I used to dress my girls up in dresses and hair pretties and headbands when they were babies. Once they got minds of their own, they became their own persons - instead of being a mirror of me or what I wanted them to be. I love that too.
Sidney and Norman both got messages from God - that he wanted to see them. Neat Sidney was sure he would be congratulated for his "good performance". Messy Norman was terrified that he would be chastised for his overall "poor performance". God's message for both was the same. "I love you." Nothing we do or don't do (can/can't do) will change our standing in His sight, because His view of us is covered in the precious and perfect blood of His only begotten Son. So no amount of my performance can upstage God's.
A devotion a week ago reminded me that I have a tendency to take credit for my abilities. That's so easy to do when we are complimented for anything from physical traits to creativity to personality. I was reminded that those attributes and abilities are not only bestowed on each of us by God but that my traits and abilities are faint shadowy replicas of true Creative Genius, true lovely Spirit, and true beauty.
I apologize for rambling, but I'm a bit on the sleep-deprived end of life right now. When I was married to my first husband, we often argued toward the end of our marriage. Each time, I found my inner head voice vacillating wildly between two thoughts: 1) I am a horrible wife. I'm a horrible person! How could anyone want to be with me? and 2) I am such a good wife to him! How could he treat me like this? I could do so much better, and he's lucky to have me. I remember the day when God made it clear to me that both of those lines of thought were complete lies. I'm not horrible, and I'm not wonderful. I have the ability to act horrible and sometimes (by God's grace) the capacity to muster wonderful. Unless I see me the way God sees me, I will always be seeing myself as either too amazing and significant and important or too ridiculous, insignificant, and unimportant. A friend of mine was once apt to point out that self-loathing is just the flip side of the coin of self-love. When we loathe self, it is in anger and pity for self, because we feel deep down that we don't deserve to be seen so negatively. The point (I think) is that we can't see our true nature when we're absorbed in self. We can only see it when we get caught up in Someone bigger than self.
I told my husband last week how hard it is to feel invisible. I have spent weeks on my back on the couch or in bed or reclined in a chair with all of life going on around me but not being able to really be a part of it. He reminded me to be very thankful that, for me, it is a temporary thing - at least for now. A friend of ours was in a motorcycle some months ago and lost his leg. We also get facebook updates and photos from a hometown hero of ours who lost both of his legs in Afghanistan. These are tangible reminders that I am not in the dire straits I have felt. My reality is not fun, but it's not permanent. I will not fully recover, but I have my legs. I can walk.
A month or so ago, I sat outside the pool on a reclining chair - wishing I could get in the pool or at least go putter around in the garden. I watched Mark interacting with the kids when Levi said, "Dad! Where are my goggles?! I can't find them anywhere!" A few seconds later, he laughed realizing they were on his head. Who hasn't experienced that? Looking for spectacles that are on your face or for the milk jug you have in your hand... I think that is a quirk of human nature that God uses to reveal to us how blind we can be to our own lack. Sometimes the things that are closest to us are the things that are the hardest to see. The kids all love to show me their drawings, coloring pages, etc., but they like to shove it as close to my face as possible to give me the best view. I have two eyes - that should help me see better than just one, but they work against me when trying to focus on one thing. The closer things are to my face, the less clear they become. I have to step back from the viewed item to be able to see it properly.
I am mostly blind to my condition. The things I say and do that are unbecoming are not Christ in me. They are me in me. My actions and reactions are the truest picture of what I am holding closest to my heart at the time. If I am holding me closely, I am selfish, short-tempered, defensive, full of pride and self-pity, and sometimes just downright nasty. I have been very introverted because I have felt that I have to be to protect myself from hurting again.
When complaining to Mark last week, I said, "It's just so succinct that the word invalid (noun stating the person as their condition) is exactly the same as the word invalid (adjective - describing the person's state)." I've felt invalid - as though I didn't matter anymore. They go on bike rides without me. They do my laundry instead of me doing theirs. They cook their own food. No one is replaceable and yet everyone is. When a void is felt, humanity has a unique strength in moving in to fill that void so that it's no longer felt.
The neat thing that I've noticed in these brave men who are facing life-long disability is that the times they shine the most are when they don't accept that their physical condition is a lifelong identity. They choose to be involved with family and friends and community. They choose not to let a trial define them. I wish that, in my minor trial, I had readily taken the same approach. After all, our physical condition on earth is very temporary.
Resilience is one of the most fantastically brilliant ways of all of nature - but especially of humanity. Hope springs eternal. Each of my children is so different. I have some optimists and some pessimists. I have an older sister and a younger sister. As a middle girl, I had many firstborn characteristics (loved The Birth Order Book by Dr. Kevin Lehman) such as perfectionism, rule-following, etc., but I was also messy, creative, and often misunderstood - hallmarks of middle child syndrome. A few weeks ago, I read the story of two pigs (Sidney and Norman) - one neat, orderly, and punctual and the other one messy, disorganized, and forgetful. After the story, I asked the girls which pig they felt they were (if any). Sadie piped up that she was the neat one, and Claire smiled and said she was the messy one. In the story of Claire above, it's obvious that she knows her tendencies but is unashamed of them. I love that. As a child, my mom used to bet me (jokingly) that I couldn't go through a whole meal without getting food on my shirt. I was/am Claire. While Sadie is asking me the day's schedule and reminding me if I miss a beat or packing wet naps in her purse for the hands of the little two when we go to the zoo... assuming (and rightly so) that I will probably forget to do so, I am wishing that I had an ounce or two more of that genetic bent. I used to think Claire was kind of oblivious to order and what other people generally do. Now it's clear to me that she sees those things but isn't made by them in any way. She has my ridiculously curly hair, but it's underneath a pile of thick, wavy hair that makes it look like she always has rats in her hair (which she only has about half the time - despite what my mom might think.) She doesn't care at all about that. I used to dress my girls up in dresses and hair pretties and headbands when they were babies. Once they got minds of their own, they became their own persons - instead of being a mirror of me or what I wanted them to be. I love that too.
Sidney and Norman both got messages from God - that he wanted to see them. Neat Sidney was sure he would be congratulated for his "good performance". Messy Norman was terrified that he would be chastised for his overall "poor performance". God's message for both was the same. "I love you." Nothing we do or don't do (can/can't do) will change our standing in His sight, because His view of us is covered in the precious and perfect blood of His only begotten Son. So no amount of my performance can upstage God's.
A devotion a week ago reminded me that I have a tendency to take credit for my abilities. That's so easy to do when we are complimented for anything from physical traits to creativity to personality. I was reminded that those attributes and abilities are not only bestowed on each of us by God but that my traits and abilities are faint shadowy replicas of true Creative Genius, true lovely Spirit, and true beauty.
I apologize for rambling, but I'm a bit on the sleep-deprived end of life right now. When I was married to my first husband, we often argued toward the end of our marriage. Each time, I found my inner head voice vacillating wildly between two thoughts: 1) I am a horrible wife. I'm a horrible person! How could anyone want to be with me? and 2) I am such a good wife to him! How could he treat me like this? I could do so much better, and he's lucky to have me. I remember the day when God made it clear to me that both of those lines of thought were complete lies. I'm not horrible, and I'm not wonderful. I have the ability to act horrible and sometimes (by God's grace) the capacity to muster wonderful. Unless I see me the way God sees me, I will always be seeing myself as either too amazing and significant and important or too ridiculous, insignificant, and unimportant. A friend of mine was once apt to point out that self-loathing is just the flip side of the coin of self-love. When we loathe self, it is in anger and pity for self, because we feel deep down that we don't deserve to be seen so negatively. The point (I think) is that we can't see our true nature when we're absorbed in self. We can only see it when we get caught up in Someone bigger than self.
