Monthly Archives: September 2015

Ready

heavenly skyMy children are the worst at getting ready. Be it outside, or to church, or to school, or to the car for an errand, they are not interested in getting ready. Sophie is sometimes so eager just to be where we’re going that she has a meltdown when we tell her to get ready. And let’s be clear — getting ready is just putting shoes on, most of the time — nothing to melt down over. But she’s so eager to be “there” that anything which stands between her and there is just overwhelming. “You mean I have to find my shoes?! Uhhhh! How can I ever do that?!!” Like it’s so hard it’s impossible. But unless we’re ready, we can’t go to our destination.

This summer we made a ritual of going for a morning walk. Something about the fresh air and change of scenery revived us all from our morning grumpies. So we would get our shoes on and get ready to go get in the stroller. Inevitably, I would forget something — keys, water, phone, shades, trip to the potty, something — after the children were “ready.” So I’d tell them just to hang on for just a second while I did whatever it was, and that I’d be right back to get them for our walk. Micah would remain, shoes on, standing at the door, awaiting my return. But Sophie. Oh Sophie. This week, I came back from a trip to the potty before our walk and found that she had discarded her shoes and jacket and was laying, face down on the floor, crying … wait for it … because she wanted to go for a walk. I literally had just told her, “Wait while mommy goes potty and then when I come back down we will go for our walk.” Why was it so hard for her to wait for 90 seconds? Why did she get un-ready while she waited?

I can only guess what might have been going through Sophie’s mind in those moments when I was upstairs. But in her, I saw a version of myself. I’m waiting, too, and I’ve been promised, “I’ll be right back for you.” I, too, have a destination awaiting me. But I’m so quick to be “un-ready” just like Sophie. I don’t live my life in the expectancy that Jesus is returning for me or may call me home at any time or wants to do a new work in my life. I’m settled here like this is my permanent crappy spot to be. I’ve taken up residence with my face in the rug, crying about my not being at my desired destination. Oh, the trials of this world. Yes, they stink. If you know anything about my story, you know that I’ve seen trials. Right now, I’m on day 22 of dizziness. Some days are ok, and some days, like today, are just bad. There have been trials in my childhood, my adolescence, and my adult life. There are always trials in life, and they are trying, and they are hard. But, I can’t let those trials I experience while I’m waiting take my eyes off of what’s coming — like new callings in Christ, growth as a person, or even my ultimate heavenly destination. Because if I can keep my eyes fixed on those goals, then everything here is so much more bearable.

I have to imagine that if Sophie really believed her walk was coming, she would have stayed ready. But she didn’t. She knew that I had gone upstairs, and she assumed, even though I told her otherwise, that the walk was not going to happen right now. She didn’t want to wait, not even for 90 seconds. But sometimes we have to wait. And we have to stay ready. We’ve been promised a heavenly destination. We’re waiting right now. And we need to use this time as best we can to serve Jesus.

The Lie of Failure

Since dealing with intense dizziness for 15 days now, I have also dealt quite a bit with the lie of failure. There are so many ways that I have fallen short since falling ill. My heart breaks when I can’t ride the swings or the sea-saw with my three year old who doesn’t understand why mommy can’t play. Worse still is when I yell at my children, because my voice is the only recourse I have to protect them. This all came into crystal clarity this morning as Micah ran away from me on the way to the car to take Sophie to school. He bolted directly for the street, of course. I had no choice but to give chance because I could hear a car coming. I ran, the car slowed, and fortunately, Micah stopped at the edge of the sidewalk, just long enough for me to cover the distance and catch him. He laughed the whole way, infuriatingly, and the driver of the car was, fortunately, paying attention and gracious. Frustrated tears filled my eyes as I once again felt the intense weight of failure as a mom.

Right now, my identity is pretty much wrapped up in being a mom to my two kids, so if I fail as a mom, I fail altogether. It’s complete failure for me as a person. We all fail in various areas of our lives, and depending on how much we identify as that role, we will take the failure very hard and very personally. As mommies, we tend to be pretty hard on ourselves — feeling guilty for taking an hour to ourselves, leaving our kiddos in the care of another, or for doing housework while our kids play in the other room, or for finally losing our minds completely and yelling at our kids. We feel like we’re failing them, falling short of being who we think we need to be for them to be raised to be ideal adults, healthy and not dysfunctional. The expectations are high.

But today, God reminded me of something that he spoke to Matt Chandler in the Bible study we’re doing with our small group: “Aren’t you giving yourself a little bit too much credit?” How freeing were those words! How quickly we forget that God is truly in control. To realize that even if I fall short, even if Micah gets away from me and runs toward the street, God is not out of control. He can alert the driver to slow; he can stop my son, even if I am physically unable to move fast enough. More so, He can mold my kids’ hearts to be healthy and functional even if I’m too ill to ride the swings or I lose my temper and yell when I shouldn’t because I don’t feel good.

You see, I’m realizing that failure is a lie. Sin is a reality.  But failure, that label, is a lie. We all fall into sin every single day, but that does not exclude us from being a success in God’s eyes if our hearts are turned towards him and we are moving his direction. Yes, how my kids turn out can be a reflection of how I did as a parent. But it can also be the result of their own choices. I’m not letting myself off the hook entirely; I know I’ve got to find a way to cope with our new reality, to still give my kids all the love and nurturing that they need physically, spiritually, and emotionally. But it was so good to have a reminder today that we have a God of peace who is always in control even when our lives feel like they are spinning out of control. When we can barely steer our own emotional cart, let alone direct the development of two small children, he’s there. He’s in control. Do yourself a favor, and don’t give yourself too much credit today. Trust that God is directing the bigger picture, no matter how messy your corner of the painting looks right now.

Stroke Update

It has been five days since my MRI, and just three days since I learned that I’m a stroke victim. The more time passes, the more questions arise. I saw my OB on Friday to discuss the events of my past pregnancies and birth control pills. She stated that the pill I was on was one that was often given to those prone for stroke because it contains no estrogen. (Sorry if this is TMI, but I don’t know how else to explain without, well, explaining.) So, she felt that the pill likely had no contribution to my stroke. As I explained the end of my pregnancy with Sophie, for she was not my doctor at that point in time, she still felt that my blood pressure being only slightly outside the normal range and the fact that I passed tests for pre-eclampsia would make it unlikely that I stroked at that time. However, unless I had a blood pressure spike that I’m unaware of and never felt, or I have a clotting disorder that I’m unaware of, then that’s the only time I know for sure that my blood pressure was elevated. (For me, it was VERY high at that point, even though it was just outside the range considered “normal.”) In my mind, Sophie’s story just got a whole lot more miraculous. To me, given the info that I have right now, it’s most likely that my stroke occurred during her final weeks in utero. Until I see the neurologist, and even then, we may never know if that’s the case.

What this doesn’t explain is why my dizziness showed up to stay on Sept 7, 2015 and has not improved since that point. This doesn’t explain why I’ve had three episodes of sheer vertigo in the past two years. Perhaps seeing the neurologist will shed some light on why, three and a half years later, my coordination is deteriorating. The appointment with neurology is, unfortunately, still pending. The doctors’ office is having a hard time finding a place that can accept me before November. You would think at 32 I’d make an interesting case study. But I guess they’re just busy people.

If I am on your prayer list, please lift up these requests:

*that my appointment date with neurology would be as soon as possible with the neurologist that God selects
*that I would continue to adjust to the constant dizziness and maintain care of my children and home in a safe manner
*that my symptoms would diminish and that I would be strengthened and healed
*that I would not miss any opportunities that God has for me to testify for his goodness in the midst of this

I am confident that God is using my life for his glory, and so I’m content with that. I’m not walking around expecting to stroke out at any moment. I recognize God’s protection on me, and on my daughter, is even greater than I ever realized. His truth remains constant even when my feelings wobble. Thanks for upholding us in your prayers!

Afterward

I’m 32 years old, and I’ve just been told that I recently suffered a stroke. Your shock is my shock. This was the last thing I expected to be told about the results of my MRI. Now, in hindsight, I see that it does explain my symptoms. But nobody would have suggested that before my brain scan. It wasn’t even on our radar. After the shock has worn off, I’m just a little overwhelmed. I love my family more than my next breath, and I hate the thought that my heath would threaten to take me away from them. In these moments as I consider what really matters, I know that God is able to do what my heart most desires: He is able to turn my children’s hearts towards him that they might know him and love him all the days of their lives. In short, nothing else matters. Whether I am here or not, I know that God is able to do that. I cannot even begin to crack open the door on the grief-filled thought that my children would grow up without a mother, my husband without a wife. It’s more than I can contemplate. But I can trust Jesus.

Right now I have more questions about this than answers. I don’t know for sure what caused the stroke (high blood pressure during my first pregnancy, blood clots after either birth, birth control pills, high cholesterol, heart arrhythmia, to name a few frightening possibilities), or when it happened. I don’t know if I’m likely to have another one. I don’t know if my lack of balance and coordination, my dizziness, are here to stay or if they will abate, why they waited this long to show up. (I’m told that the imaging showed that my stroke was older, within the past several years, not the past several weeks when my symptoms spiked.) I do know that I will see a neurologist, soon, we hope, and get some more clarity and answers. And I do know that my Father was not far off whenever this occurred. He was there in that moment, and he is here with me in this one.

And I’m also incredibly thankful. This event was obviously so minor that I didn’t even realize what was happening. I have no permanent paralysis. I’m alive. I can hear (mostly). I can see. I can speak. I can care for my children, my husband. I’m thankful. I’m adjusting to the care that I need to take when I’m moving — carry less, make more trips; step carefully; keep my eyes on what I’m doing. I’ll spill more, but if you know me, you know that’s always been an issue. Andrew has a term for this. He says I’ve “pulled a Catherine” when anyone drops anything. I’ll be pulling more “Catherines” to be sure. But that’s ok. Because I’m still here.

And I still know that my God is faithful. I still know that I always have hope in him. He has chosen this race marked out for me, every step, every day, including the finish line. And I believe in his goodness. In processing this stroke, this future, with my husband, I told him that God doesn’t promise us a life without pain. But he does offer us hope and promises to walk with us through it all. I know that he will be with my family each step of the way. I trust that his plan is bigger and better than mine.

What Tomorrow Holds

PITC_Calendar_Sep14_ButtonFor me, tomorrow holds an MRI, or at least that’s what’s on the calendar as of today. (I guess it could always change…) Because of ongoing struggles with vertigo and dizziness, my doctor has ordered a brain scan. Talk about a case of the Mondays! To be honest, it’s not something that I’ve given a lot of thought to. I’ve just kept pushing forward. I don’t have a choice to stop and sit down and pout, because there are a lot of people depending on me. I think that’s been good for me. But today I began to feel a growing sense of unease about tomorrow’s scans. I’ve long since committed to memory the verses in Matthew where Jesus instructs us not to worry, but this worry-free life can still be hard to live out.

Once again, I find in my daughter the perfect illustration which speaks to my worry today. Last week, Sophie began attending a new classroom at school. Things took a definite swing to the good with this move. I’ve been very excited about the positive change in her attitude towards school, with one exception. The day that she moved to a new classroom, Sophie went through here first fire drill at school this year. Since then (Thursday)IMG_0964 anytime school comes up in conversation with anyone, Sophie points to her ear, her sign for “loud.” We’ve talked about this on several occasions. In talking with her, I’ve come to learn that it’s the fire alarm that has so traumatized her. She’s afraid of the noise and afraid it will happen again. In short, she’s worrying over the fire alarm any time she thinks about school. (She’s even begun plugging her ears!!) And in her little world, the only thing I’ve seen that worry do is steal from her the full extent of her joy over school. Yes, she still likes school, and she still says that she wants to go back, but it’s always tainted with that worry over the fire alarm.

And so it is with me. If I worry over what the scans tomorrow may hold for me, all I do is lose the full extent of my joy in life. Just like Sophie and school, I will still enjoy my life with my kids and my husband if I fret a little over the coming woes. But, I see in her situation, there’s truly nothing to worry about, and worry about it will change nothing. The fire alarm is just a noise — it can’t do anything to her. This MRI, which I know from Sophie’s MRIs, will be a loud noise… but I don’t want it to steal the joy of life away from me because I’m worrying over a little noise. (Really, in the grown up world, we know that’s not what worries me; it’s more what the little [read:big] noise machine might reveal about my brain that frightens me.)

I don’t want Sophie to worry over another fire alarm at school. I know one may come eventually, but I can see all the fun and learning that she will miss out on if she allows that noise to tie her up in worry. I don’t want that for her life, and I don’t want it for mine. When Sophie and I talked about this, I told her that she needed to commit her worry to Jesus and trust that he was always going to be there for her, even in the scary times. Big words for a three year old, but I figured truth is truth. I try to put it in a way that she can understand. And I want to do the same with my own health. I want to place myself in Jesus’ hands and know that he is big enough to handle it. He’s going to be with me every wobbly step of the way. (Seriously, I feel like I’m living on a ship right now.)

In essence, I have realized through Sophie’s worry, that my own worry will change little, and that there’s really nothing to worry over. If I choose to worry anyways, then I will just allow myself to be distracted and I will not enjoy my life to its fullest. I don’t want to let worry rob me of my day’s joy and of all the good things that God has for me.