Monday, September 28, 2015

There's a Place for Us


There are many facets of illness I find difficult. The loneliness. The uncertainty. My food sensitivities are always changing and growing in number. What will I eat tomorrow? A year from now? What if a wasp stings me while I'm alone with the kids? Would I survive the flu? Winter is coming, so freedom will be going. How bad will the depression be this time?

But nothing presses me quite like the question...

Where do I belong?


Before I was sick, I was a mom who did stuff with her kids. Brandon and I taught first graders at church. I sang for area congregations when asked. I gave music lessons to children. I traveled to Ruston once a week for one-on-one discipleship, and was part of a community group. I met one friend for playdates and another for prayer. I led a couple of choir things for our church. I had a place.

When I became ill, it all burned to the ground. Nothing survived, and nothing has revived. But my soul-razing has proven to be a very good thing.

My activity was aimless. 

 

Just because I did a lot of stuff, doesn't mean I was functioning as part of an organic whole. There's much more to life than just being busy. 
"A spiritual gift is given to each of us so we can help each other...It is the one and only Spirit who distributes all these gifts. He alone decides which gift each person should have. The human body has many parts, but the many parts make up one whole body. So it is with the body of Christ..and God has put each part just where he wants it."-1 Corinthians 12:7,11,12,18

I have friends who strongly disagree with me about this, but I believe God brought illness into my life. (Maybe that's not the best way to say it. Maybe I should say that when Satan asked to bring this illness to me, God agreed because He knew best.) I see it as mercy. Severe mercy, I grant you, but mercy nonetheless.

I'm where God wants me. Most days, I'm okay with that.

Based upon what I understand of my spiritual gifts now, I can say with 99.9% certainty I wasn't using them much prior to 2012. I may have had a place, but I had no function.

But how does one cut off from the body function as PART of the body?

 

This has been a question with which I've wrestled throughout. I still wrestle. Here are three ways God has answered it:

  • A church outside of church. We live 45 minutes away from where we attend church. For a while, a few people helped us, but there was no way to sustain it. We were too needy and lived too far away. Besides that, we were absent. So my family became my church. Brandon, Mom, Dad, sister, brother-in-law, grandparents, and in-laws rallied around me. Not only did they offer Christian support, but it was within this tiny church that I discovered and began to exercise my true gifting.
  • Christian friendships. I have several friends who live out of state. Others an hour away or a few miles down the road. By God's grace, we haven't lost touch. The encouragement these ladies have offered over the years has been essential to my spiritual health. They're champions to hang with me through all this craziness. I hope I've been half as good a friend to them.
  • The invisible ministry of prayer. When I couldn't attend church myself, I prayed for the churches my people attended. For a while, Brandon and the kids went to church with my parents. So I prayed for Cedar Crest Baptist Church. My in-laws still attend the church Brandon and I married in. So I prayed for FBC Marion. My son attends Wednesday night services at my grandparents' church. I so I prayed for Faith Baptist Church. And God never released me from claiming The Bridge Community Church as my home. Through prayer, I went from feeling church-homeless to feeling like I had four churches. 

A word about invisible ministry...

I think we're all a little afraid of being invisible. But let me assure you, as someone who has been invisible for four years, it ain't so bad when you understand: The only Eyes that matter see you.

When Hagar was alone in the desert, the Angel of the Lord found her. He spoke to her. And then she called His name--You-Are-The-God-Who-Sees. That understanding was her lifeline.

And just because you aren't seen, doesn't mean you don't matter.
"In fact, some parts of the body that seem weakest and least important are actually the most necessary. And the parts we regard as less honorable are those we clothe with the greatest care. So we carefully protect those parts that should not be seen, while the more honorable parts do not require this special care. So God has put the body together such that extra honor and care are given to those parts that have less dignity. This makes for harmony among the members, so that all the members care for each other. If one part suffers, all the parts suffer with it, and if one part is honored, all the parts are glad."--1 Corinthians 12:22-26
Paul says here that though I seem weak and unimportant, I'm actually pretty necessary. I may be hidden, but I'm vital. I require special care, but I'm part of what makes the body tick. I may have less dignity than others, but I'm not all that interested in dignity and frankly, I don't think God is either. If my ministry nosedives, people who will never meet me will feel it. And if God heals me or prospers me in any way, the entire body benefits.

Widows, young moms need your wisdom and helping hands. Come be a part of our families.

Young moms, your job is the most important in the world. God sees your sacrifice when no one else does.

Invalids, the way you worship God in suffering inspires us all. You are living proof of God's sustaining grace. We need that.

Shut-ins, maybe God sequestered you to be an intercessor, or a writer, or a messenger. Ask for grace to get past the self-pity and embrace your calling. It's necessary.

Wednesday, September 23, 2015

On Initiative, The Velvet Hammer, and What I Want


Confession chased the heels of awakening.

"I feel...kinda...really...lonely."


Mom gave me that look. The dimple pronounced itself. The corner of her mouth turned up. And those baby blues flashed her thoughts like a neon sign--"Finally, I can get this off my chest."


 

Mom is what a writing friend of mine calls a "velvet hammer."

Exhibit A: The Velvet Hammer:
Pounding out hard truths in the softest ways...
(Until she's annoyed, in which case...watch out.)

"Well, you've been in isolation--writing your book--for months. You haven't had time for people." Her eyes darted to mine. "Which is fine. It's the way it had to be. But now your book is finished, and you're left with the isolation."

Translation: You shut everyone out for months, including me. It's your own fault. Not that I blame you. Your book is important. But you made the bed you woke up in. Just sayin...

See what I mean? WHAM! With a side of sugar.

So I asked her what to do about it because apparently, I'd forgotten how to relate to people who aren't characters I created.

Her reply was both simple and profound --"Tell people what you want."

Initiative. It's hard, folks, but somebody has to take it. 


There are several reasons we don't. Probably more than I've listed here.

We're busy. Many people my age are parents of small children. That automatically makes a person busy. Others have a job. Some have many jobs. Busy-ness can fry the brain and zap the energy until we fall into a social coma. This is why my long distance pals and I go months without talking. And these are my best friends!

We're shy. We introverts are comfortable enough with our friends. Within our own circles, we may be the life of the party. But throw us into a room full of strangers, and we speak to no one. Because we are overwhelmed by all the bodies and the stimuli, and small talk creeps us out.

We're self-consumed. I'm not talking about people who can only talk about themselves here. I'm talking about the ones who just lost a job or found out their mother has cancer or whose kid is self-destructing. Everyone has their own stuff. When we're preoccupied like that, it's difficult to even see outside of ourselves, much less connect with another person.

We lack confidence. Connection is risky. Will they like me? Accept me? Hate my guts and trample my heart?

And then there are people who are just downright intimidating. We all know a few.

For one reason or another, I've always been one of those people.

Until a few years ago, people often assumed I was a goody-goody, know-it-all, pretty-girl snob they couldn't relate to. Don't believe me? Here are a few things real people have actually said to me. In earnest:

"They hate you because you're a goody two-shoes."
"I'm insanely jealous of you! You always know what you want out of life, and you're able to make it happen."
"Gah--you're so pretty. I hate you."
"Before I met you, I thought you were one of those weirdo Bible-thumpers and that we could never be friends."
"I thought you were a snob."


(I was always bewildered and devastated by these comments, but I think I understand them better now. As a defense mechanism, people will reject you before you have a chance to reject them. In the end, we're all after the same thing--acceptance--and we're scared to death it will be denied. This is why we need Jesus. In Him, we are accepted by God. God's perfect love casts out fear, and when we're unafraid, we can withstand the risk of rejection because there will always be One to accept us.)

I'm not sure how I'm perceived now. People don't feel as free to comment as they did before. But here are my best guesses:

  • A walking reminder that life can go terribly wrong. 
  • A hypochondriac.
  • A drama queen.
  • FRAGILE. Do Not Touch.

I grant the mask is intimidating...


almost as intimidating as Brandon's bodyguard face.



Did you know it's every bit as intimidating to realize people are intimidated by you as it is to feel intimidated by someone else?

It all goes back to fear of rejection.

If I want community, I have to work harder at it than a normal person. 


I don't have a job. I don't "get out." I don't make it to church that often. And when I do, how much community can I really have when I bee-bop late into a crowded room, sit in an isolated corner, and duck out before the fragrant masses arrive for the next service? 

With these hurdles, I'm not allowed to be too busy, shy, self-consumed, or intimidated. Whether I like it or not, I have to initiate relationships. 

So here's what I want:

  • I want you to approach me. Unless you bathed in perfume, peanut butter, or a pool of rubber bands. In that case, try again later.
  • I want you to stop feeling intimidated by my struggles. Feel free to share your own. My struggles bore me. Let's talk about you!
  • I want you to call me, text me, and invite yourself over for tea. 
  • I want your kids in my house. Bring them with you.
  • I want you to accept my invitations. I won't invite you if I'm not sincere.
  • I want to feel happily exhausted at the end of a good visit. 
  • I want a hodgepodge of friends and family to come over, sing hymns, and have communion with me. I'll provide the rice crackers and hibiscus tea.
  • I want to feed people.
  • I want you to ask favors of me. Trust me to say "no" if I can't say "yes."
  • I want more velvet hammers in my life. 

Maybe I'm not the only one...

It occurs to me that maybe I'm not the only one who has room to improve in the realm of relationships. Maybe we could all stand to be a bit braver, more selfless, more intentional, and harder to offend. Maybe we should all attempt a little warmth and vulnerability so people aren't so intimidated to approach us.

Maybe we could all stand to take a little initiative with the people in our lives. Just sayin...
 (I learned to hammer from the best.)

Monday, September 21, 2015

Waking Up

For the better part of this year, I've lived in isolation.

A large part of that is necessary for my health. If I leave my house, I can bank on returning at least a little bit sick.

By "a little bit sick," I mean I have to crawl into bed for a while, my energy is zapped, and I experience a variety of discomforts, which may include swelling, asthma, severe headache, joint and tissue pain, dizziness, loss of balance, blood pressure drops, fainting, insomnia, and/or fever.

And then, there's always the risk of returning home "very sick," which means death and I brushed shoulders along the way. I'm happy to report that hasn't happened in a while, but there's always the risk.

You see why I don't get out much.

Another part of my isolation was self-imposed. I withdrew from social media because I felt doing so was in the interests of myself and my family.



I was right.

January, February, and March leeched the life out of me. It was a difficult time for all of us, and the scant energy I had needed to go to Brandon and my kids.

My memory blocks seasons of extreme difficulty. All I remember from that time is anger, hollowness, and a weariness so deep death sounded good.

Also, God. The grappling, the crying, the fight for grateful living. Exhilarating answers to prayer. Growth. Painful, excruciating growth.


Oh! And Gilmore Girls. God bless Gilmore Girls.


The final part of the isolation was inevitable. God gave me a book to write, and guess what--you have to write in isolation. There's no other way. Without going bonkers, anyway.


Those lonely months with nothing but God, my family, my characters and their story restored my strength. Solitude was just what I needed. Funny, isn't it, how the Great Physician never gets the prescription wrong?



On July 15, I completed a typed draft of my novel. Woohoo!



I frolicked about in post-writing afterglow for a week or two. I traveled to Baton Rouge to see my friend/mentor. I watched television. I read Blake Snyder's Save the Cat!, grinning like a Cheshire cat each time I realized I had followed pro-writer advice without even knowing it. Cha-ching! I basked in having written something Mom and Brandon really liked. I took naps. 

And then I woke up. 

If you ever have the misfortune of running out of water in the middle of the desert, you will begin to feel sleepy after a time. You will sleep, and for the length of that sleep, you will feel nothing as you edge closer and closer to death. 

But when you wake, you'll experience a thirst unlike anything you can imagine. You'll be mad with it. You'll drink anything--urine, antifreeze, bleach.

Waking up to isolation was a bit like that. A bit.

For months, I slept through the pain of loneliness. To heal. To write. It was good and it was necessary and I don't regret it. 

But now...

Facebook would've been an easy fix, but I know enough of myself to realize that going to Facebook with a need like that would've been the soul equivalent to drinking antifreeze. So I waited...

In the meantime, what was I supposed to do with this desire and no clear way to quench it?

The purpose of desire, I believe, is to keep us alive and point us to God. Granted, we can warp desires into bad things when we fashion them into idols, but for the most part, God gives us desires to meet them. He's good like that, yo.

C. S. Lewis puts it like this: 

A man's physical hunger does not prove that that man will get any bread; he may die of starvation on a raft in the Atlantic. But surely a man's hunger does prove that he comes of a race which repairs its body by eating and inhabits a world where eatable substances exist. In the same way, though I do not believe (I wish I did) that my desire for Paradise proves that I shall enjoy it, I think it a pretty good indication that such a thing exists and that some men will. A man may love a woman and not win her; but it would be very odd if the phenomenon called "falling in love" occurred in a sexless world.

Thus, I conclude that if I desire community, community exists. Even for shut-ins. Even for me. And based on what I know of God and the Bible, community is good and necessary. We are built to need each other. So I don't have to worry about whether or not the desire is right.

But what does community look like for someone like me?

I don't believe God would awaken me to thirst just to let me die. I'm thirsty so I'll drink.

So the question isn't "Can I attain community?" but "How will I attain community?"

Which is something I'm figuring out as I go.













Thursday, September 17, 2015

Back to the Music

After nine months of needful rest, I'm baa-aaaaaack! And I thought, "Hey. A life update might be in order."

The Highlights:

  • I'm officially Facebook sober and in a much better place than I was in January. I really enjoyed my time away. So much so that I considered NEVER going back. There are things I am so. glad. I. missed. (Someone's saying "amen" somewhere.) And yet, it's time. It's as needful for me to return as it was for me to leave. So, hey y'all! *waves* (You can also follow me on Twitter.)
  • My marriage is the healthiest it's ever been. We've had some hard knocks this year, but the Lord has used them to bond us in incredible ways. Brandon has really grown in the Lord. It's thrilling to watch. I am humbled and grateful for the bad that has worked for good.
  • I had a GREAT summer. I felt almost good. Seriously. The best I've felt in more than four years. I ate tomatoes and watermelon. No insect stings of any kind. No emergencies. I even took a weekend trip to Baton Rouge to see my mentor Dixie Perry. I did exceptionally well. 
  • I gave the kids a few piano lessons this summer. I also taught Micah to read. Without losing my will to live. 
  • My annual end-of-summer health nosedive happened a bit early, but the plummet was less harrowing this time because A) I expected it and B) It wasn't as bad. The most annoying thing is I've begun reacting to sweet potatoes, and pardon my French, but that just sucks. 
  • I've been to church six times since June. I've only left sick twice (the last two times, actually), and each time I was only down for the rest of the day. Miraculous.
  • I sent out my novel to beta readers yesterday. All 17 of them. (What was I thinking?) Mom and Brandon read it. They loved it. But you know, they're partial, so we'll see what the others say. (You can read about my "writing a novel" experience here.) My current plan is to self-publish, which means I should have it out next spring or summer. It'll be a $2,000-$3,000 investment, so I will need you to buy a copy and tell your friends. Just putting that out there. 

 Recent Events:

  • Sara broke her arm last Wednesday. We have two fractures. Good times. We're just happy she gets to resume dance lessons next week...


    ...oh, and that the cast is pink.  

  • Micah is back to school and doing well. The dude has memorized two Robert Louis Stevenson poems, partitions like a whiz, and writes better than I do. We have to get him over this whole perfectionist thing though, or we will all lose our minds. Starting with me. (Prayers appreciated.)
 

A Journey Back into Community: 


About a month ago, I woke to a keen sense of loneliness. It had been lurking in the grass for some time, and then pounced all at once.

I spoke with Mom about it. She smiled and said, "Well, you've been in isolation--writing your book--for months. Now that you're done, the novel is gone, and you're left with the isolation."

"So, what do I do?" I asked.

"Tell people what you want. Invite them back in."

Even before this, God was speaking to me about community. He hit me with the topic in conversations, blog posts, writing advice, and Bible study.

But I wasn't sure what He meant for me to do. I mean...I'm a shut in. I risk anaphylaxsis every time I walk out of the house. I often return home sick.

What do you mean, God?

While He hasn't handed me "The Shut-In's Five Step Guide To Community," He's dropping a trail of breadcrumbs, and I'm doing my best to follow.

My next few posts will be a series about what I'm learning and what I'm doing with what I'm learning and my questions as I go.