Struck down, but not destroyed

I've been reading in the New Testament in Paul's writings for the last couple of weeks, and I'm seeing him as I never have before.

When he was blinded at his conversion, the Word tells us that for 3 days he prayed, neither eating or drinking.  Wow. 3 days without stopping - what was he saying?

I cannot imagine being struck blind (my 6 weeks with one eye was enough, thank you).  Added to the fear of the present and future without sight. Is it permanent?  Is it a punishment for persecuting Jesus so harshly and condoning the torture and murder of His followers?  How terrifying to discover his whole life was - well, completely wrong and evil - a man who had studied every second practically since birth to know and follow the law according to the Pharisees - of which he was one - the group Jesus had pronounced the "woes" upon.

I think Paul's heart was broken. All this time he'd been trying to please his God - and he'd actually been dishonoring him. I can't imagine the sword through his heart, the nausea, the shame.  Did he spend those three days confessing sins and asking for forgiveness?  He knew nothing of grace yet, nothing of how "The Way" worked, its laws and customs.  Was he going over all the scriptures in his mind to see where the Messiah predictions pointed to Jesus?  Sick at heart, sick in body, hurting, isolated, totally alone and distrusted by anyone who knew Jesus, for Saul had a reputation that ranged far and wide, and it was not a good one to those of The Way.

And then, like his Lord, on the third day he arose.

"...something like scales fell from his eyes and he could see."

But according to tradition and clues in the Word, he could not see clearly.  It seems his eyesight was bad for the rest of his life.

Making him a CI.

Jesus said He would show Paul how much he must suffer for Jesus's sake.

And suffer he did. In 2 Cor:8-10 (Modern Language Bible) "We are hedged in from every side, but we do not live cramped lives;  we are perplexed, but we do not despair;  we are persecuted but not deserted;  struck down but not destroyed, all the while bearing about in the body the dying of Jesus, so that by our bodies the life of Jesus may also be shown." He was also shipwrecked, spending a night and a day on the sea - I can't imagine clinging to a piece of flotsam for 24 hours, in the dark, sharks circling, circling. It gives me shivers.

Then there were the floggings - plural.  The Jews could only give him 39 lashes, but the Romans had no such rule.  The whipping with the cat o' nine tails had leather thongs with nails and thorns and sharp pebbles attached to them, ripping and shredding with every lash - and then being raw and rubbing against any clothing you wore, finally healing in long, ropey scars that would shrink with age into hard ridges - and nothing much in the way of pain relief was available (and if it was, prisoners wouldn't get it!).  He was stoned  by a mob - the people thought they'd killed him; perhaps they did - it may be then that Paul had his vision of heaven.

He often was imprisoned - he would consider an American prison a country club.  Those prisons were many times in caves, dark, cold, smelling of mildew and unwashed humanity.  In many there was no such thing as "cells", plural - many were kept in a huge enclosure, no lights, food shoved through a hole and the strongest got the most.  If you were ill or slow you didn't eat.  And Paul mentions being without food, without lodging, without warm clothes, naked, plotted against, lied about - the list goes on and on.  All while being CI and disadvantaged by not seeing well.  According to Josephus he was a small man.  I'm sure when he showed up somewhere people would look at him and say, "You're Paul?'

Amazing how those verses fit being CI!  Now, I am in noooooooo way equating my life with Paul's.  He got out and converted the known world!  But in those verses I found a blueprint for living.  There are hours of meditation in those words.

As a Christian CI, my life does not have to be cramped - I can travel the world in prayer, studying a specific country and praying for their needs.  Or, as the now defunct Pray! magazine recommended, to pray for the world in the grocery store - all the fruits and veggies are marked with the country they come from, and the specialty foods aisle has a smorgasbord of lands represented, all in need of prayer.  I get one of those rider carts and putt-putt my way around the world.

I never have to despair - although I am perplexed, a lot!  Despair and faith cannot live together.  Because He lives, I can face tomorrow (hmmm - that sounds familiar). The reason is, I may be persecuted because of my illness, by hospitals and health organizations impatient for money, declining coverage to many because of one tiny ailment when I have gazillions! Or it may be friends who slowly delete you from their lives, not calling, not including you anymore, breaking your heart over and over again - but I am not deserted.  The Comforter is always with me.  I may be struck down on bad days, but I am not destroyed - and these ailments are bearing in me the dying of Jesus somehow, mystically, and by my disabled, CI body the life of Jesus is shown - because one and all of these things - living free, not despairing, not deserted, not destroyed - are impossible in the flesh.  At least in my flesh! When I can do something, people know it ain't me.  It's Him.

2Cor:16-18 "For this reason, we are not discouraged,even though our outer nature suffers decay, our inner self is renewed day after day.  For this slight, momentary trouble is producing for us an everlasting weight of glory that exceeds all measures, because we do not fasten our eyes on the visible but on the unseen; for the visible things are transitory, but the unseen things are everlasting."  (emphasis mine)

I can see in Paul's life an everlasting weight of glory that exceeds all measures - Paul was definitely an A type personality, an abundant over achiever with a "face set like flint" to be a slave to his Master. He was the poster boy for abundant, loyal, unending sharing of his faith, spending his last breath in service to his Lord.

But Paul includes us in that "we."

That is an amazing thought. God sees something that is precious to Him when we bear with the pain, the weakness, the isolation.  He has allowed the suffering only to a predetermined point - this is not a random situation we are in, it is a planned event.  God chose us for some reason - clay vessels so leaky that His glory leaks out when we are not looking. 

I often think that God treasures things in an upside-down way.  The dearest treasure of earth - gold - will in heaven be merely pavement.  Instead of rock stars, God chooses us - tattered and weakened, souls worn down to the nub, not faithful in prayer (I speak for myself here,) often lowered from top priority on my "to do" list.  We are His examples of what He can do with nothing - weak, fallen mankind, sinners saved by grace and grace alone.

But it occurred to me today that is I, not God, who has things upside-down.  It is not for Him to bend Himself to my way of thinking, it is for me to be "renewed in my mind," transformed, not conforming myself to the world. God thinks straight, my thinking is a wee bit off.

OK, it's a lot off.

I am open-mouthed with wonder at what Paul accomplished, the travels he took, often having to rely on  others for health care (the beloved physician, Luke) and having a traveling companion, no doubt to help him when he had a physical need. 


Cesarea Maritime, the Bema seat where Paul stood in front of Felix and Herod Agrippa

I saw some of the places Paul went - to Cesarea, appearing before Felix and Herod Agrippa, to Corinth, to the Parthenon, to Pergamom, to Ephesus (I saw it in my sister-in-laws photos - I was sick that day).  It was an awesome thing to see the Bema seat where Paul stood - the climates so varied, in some places the heat intense, walking mile upon dusty mile, then sharing scriptures in the Synagogues, facing rejection by his people yet again, walking more, arguing prophecies and scriptures fulfilled.

If Paul, who was a mere mortal the same as us, could survive the things he did,, it humbles and encourages me. I have my soft bed with downy coverlets, pain medicine at hand,  help always available, no one (yet) breaking down my door to drag me off to a flogging or imprisonment. 

I am not negating the suffering that CI brings, the strange stretching of a time warp that makes minutes spent in pain seem like hours, or the isolation, or the discouragement.  But the same One Who comforted Paul is available to me, the same grace, the same promise that He is made strong in our weakness, that I can do all things through Christ Who strengthens me.  Inch by inch I am learning to stand on those promises. 

I pray for any who stumble on this blog, that His tender love and unending strength will fill you with peace, the knowledge that you are dearly loved, and the strength to endure.

Selah.

Give thanks with a grateful heart

Happy Thanksgiving to all!

I've been doing some ruminating lately.

And it has rendered me overwhelmed this morning by all I have to give thanks for: 

My right eye is functioning as well as my left - and the time without both eyes functioning taught me to give thanks for those things that still work, for the days with less pain, for the days with small joys, not just big ones.

Because of the bizarre eye paralyzation, more intense MRIs of the brain were performed which have provided the assurance that there is nothing growing or destroying my brain cells - a comfort when the headaches are blinding and the thoughts of glioma, a common cancer with CFIDS, come rushing in.

My brother survived a serious 911 emergency.  He had just installed a security front door and neglected to give me the key.  I knew he had fainted, had been vomiting for a long while, had split his forehead open with the fall, and did not have the strength to even crawl to a door to let us in.  The firemen had to break the picture window in his bedroom to gain entry.

Later that morning I remembered I did have the key to his back door.

The next day, he remembered I had the key to his back door.

oops.

But he is alive and well, the last remaining member of my "growing up" family.  And I am very,very grateful.

My sister-in-law, who makes my days possible, who looks out for me, drives me to appts when I don't feel good, cleans the house, does the dishes,and is generally my caretaker, is also doing well.

The house is paid for, we don't have to worry about foreclosure - just the maintenance and the HOA.

My Norwegian Forest Cat, Katrina, now middle aged at 7 years old, has recently begun to mellow, and will, on rare occasions, allow me to pick her up for a brief cuddle.  She also will allow me to pet her while standing on occasion.  This is the cat who firmly believes, after having been showered with love and attention for 7 years, that I have been planning all this time to kill her - but only while standing, and certainly if I bend down to pet her.  Accordingly, she runs under the bed, which is where she lived for her first 3 months here.

She stays at arms length and one inch beyond it.  She won't let me near her when she has something stuck in her mouth.

I took my complaints about her to my Eternal Papa and He said,

"She is just like you."

"Whaaaat??"

"For days you keep Me at arm's length - you go about your business and push me to the back burner of your life.  When You have something dangerous or something that won't go down stuck in your craw, you won't let me catch you, either, and insist on carrying it alone when my eternal arms are underneath you, ready to hold and comfort.  You're just like Katrina."

Oh. (a little throat clearing here while I search for a way to change the subject.)

The only thing that comforts me about this is that Katrina doesn't let me out of her sight.  She follows me faithfully and has to be within sight of me.  I hope that applies to my walk with Jesus as well.

And it makes me thankful for her.

When I look back at the last 24 years of illness, I can find much to be thankful for there, too.  It allowed me to be home for the last years of my mother's life, and a chance to get to know my youngest brother who died at age 45.  I have a mild case of  CFIDS - I can still read, on good days I can go somewhere, I have dear friends who don't forget me, and my doctor doesn't withhold pain medication, which many doctors have begun to do.  Withholding of pain medications is one of the chief causes of suicide in those with CFIDS - the DEA has begun to crack down on "drug pushers" in the medical professionn.  Unfortunately, they include chronically ill in the groups that use too much pain medication.  So far the Lord has protected me from that - another huge reason to be thankful.

Some very dear friends of mine have both had life-threatening illnesses in the last 2 years.  Things seem to be almost healed there and I am so very grateful.

I was able to go to a watercolor journal class - the first artsy fartsy thing I've been able to do in a couple of years, and I was able to attend both days.  I got to see my great-nephew for his birthday and go to one of my favorite restaurants in the California town I came from.

I had my first Starbucks confection  ever (the Peppermint lured me in).

I have a Pastor who is not only a great exegeter and teacher, but a tender-hearted man who daily seeks ways to be the Father's hands, to comfort, to shepherd his flock with a great tenderness - and a wicked sense of humor that not only keeps his sermons from getting boring, but communicates deep truths with it as well.

But mostly I am thankful for Philippians 4:13, for Romans 8:1 and a million and one other verses that comfort and call to courage under fire.  God gave us His Word to guide us, speak to us, warn us, teach us, and lead us to a relationship with Him that, truly, makes life worth Living, and the capital L is intentional. My great-niece described her life as Mr. Toad's Wild Ride, and I think that is a perfect metaphor for this life. The warnings the ride carries are also worth noting when the bottom drops out and you are screaming in seeming free fall - keep your seat belt on, don't try to stand up while the car is moving, and keep your hands inside the car.

I pray your Thanksgiving will bring with it much joy and leave you with many wonderful memories - and an uncountable amount of things to be thankful for.

God is Light, and in Him is no darkness at all. Happy Thanksgiving!

The tenderness of Jesus

I've been reading in the Gospel of John, from Chapter 13 to the end, and I've been struck continuously by the tenderness of the heart of God.

He was so kind to them, trying to bolster their courage, praying for them, protecting them.

At one point He says to them, "I will not leave you orphans..."

Wow.

It struck me that that is exactly how CI sometimes makes me feel.  Like an orphan. But no matter how overwhelming it feels, Jesus said He would not leave me an orphan.  He would send the Comforter -He promised.

Some days I cling to that.

Then in His prayer for us, He said He hadn't lost one of the ones His Father had entrusted to Him, except the son of perdition (Judas).  How many times did He protect them from unseen dangers and attacks, as they blissfully argued about who would be the greatest?  How many times did satan try to discourage them or destroy their faith?  How many times has He protected us?

And then lastly - and this one brought tears to my eyes - there was the matter of Mary Magdalen at the tomb. (I seem to be on a Mary kick lately)

I've read it so many times before, but this time I was there - I could feel her agony.

She was so anxious to to get to Him she came, John tells us, while it was still night!  Can you see her, hurrying through the darkness in the chill of the early Spring, running to get to the One Who had cast seven demons  - seven! - from her body?  See her as she wept broken-hearted, stricken to the core with grief, appalled and horrified that some creep would actually steal the body of Jesus?

She knew how much the Pharisees and Sadducees hated Jesus, could only imagine the disrespect with which His body would be treated. Or perhaps the rich folks were upset because Jesus was buried in their graveyard - they didn't want the notoriety, the scandal.

She'd come that morning to undo His hastily prepared body - Nicodemus and Joseph of Arimethea had been in such a hurry to get it done before the Sabbath began at sundown and perhaps had been sloppy (men!) She wanted His body properly prepared - washed well, the spices tenderly twined and wrapped, His body respectfully entombed with honor and reverence.

How absolutely horrifying to find the stone rolled back, the tomb empty!

She ran to the apostles and told them, then ran back, following them to the tomb.  Peter and John looked in, one after the other, looked at each other - and left!

Where did they go?  Why didn't they tell her what to do?

So she bent down to look into the tomb - and two men, sitting one at the head and one at the feet where Jesus had lain said, "Woman, why are you crying?"

Sobbing, she answered, "Because they have taken away my Lord, and I don't know where to find Him."

Disconsolate, sobbing, confused, her stomach churning, her heart breaking, perhaps she was wondering if the demons would come back now that Jesus was dead.

Blinded by tears, she saw what she thought was the gardener.

He spoke to her, so gently, "Woman, why are you weeping?"

"Oh please," she sobbed, "If you've taken Him, just tell me where and I'll go get Him!" (translation liberties mine) "You don't have to do anything!  Please, please just tell me..."

And then her frantic sobbing and despair were banished by a single, tender, gentle word:

"Mary."

She knew that voice.  She knew it!

It was HIM!  And He was alive!

Sobbing now out of joy and wonder, she fell at His feet and did the only thing an unrelated female could do in that day and culture - she grabbed His feet - His precious, broken, nail-scarred feet.

Her grip must have fierce - and I believe there was a hint of a chuckle in His voice when He said, "Don't cling to me, Mary - I haven't been to My Father yet!  I'll be back."

And that very line - with my translation liberties and emphasis included - really hit me today.

Mary - not the apostles, not even His own mother, was the first person Jesus appeared to that Resurrection Day.  He hadn't even been to His Father yet!  Imagine it!

He loved Mary with such a great, overwhelming tenderness that He wouldn't let her hopeless grief continue a moment longer - or her fears that the demons would come back, or her horror that someone would desecrate His tomb, His body.

And He loves us with that same great, overwhelming tenderness.

He doesn't want us, either, overwhelmed by grief, or fear, or despair.

Being CI didn't happen to us by accident, dear one. And sometimes, yes, it is heartbreaking, and grief-provoking, and fearful and devastating.

But into that darkness, He speaks our names, too - tenderly, never leaving us orphans, or unprotected, or Comfortless.

Like the stars, He calls us each by name.

And all we need to do, really, is listen.

Sacrifice

I haven't been able to write for a long time.  Sometimes illness wears on you, especially chronic illness.  He has been leading me into difficult places I've never been before, and it's taken time to acclimate.

Then today, I came to a point in my reading schedule that revisited a favorite story.

And this came pouring out.

Mark 14:3-9, Mt 26:6-13, John 12;2-8


Mary has always seemed to me to be the one who “got” Jesus. She sat at His feet to learn all she could – perhaps a little in rebellion to controlling Martha (as the younger sister without a mother, Martha would always have had the upper hand.) Men and women never sat together or worshipped together, especially the unmarried ones. But headstrong Mary felt something for this itinerant callous-handed Nazarene, something that gave her hope, something that made Adonai seem touchable, lovable, something that spoke to her heart – so, she sat at His feet and listened.

Her brother Lazarus would have supported them. We are not told, but it seems all three were single. Their parents were both dead or the girls would be living with their father. If the mother had been widowed and still alive, Lazarus would, as the only son, have taken her in. Tradition holds that Lazarus was the rich young ruler whom, “…looking upon him, Jesus loved him.” Mk 10:21

I’ve always wondered where Mary got the ultra-expensive nard she anointed Him with that day. It is unlikely that she bought it for herself – all of her spending money would have come from Lazarus, and this perfume cost 300 denarii . A single denarius was a whole day’s wages. She would have had to scrimp and save for years, then spend it all in one glorious day for that one thing.

I think that it was a gift from Lazarus, her loving brother. Perhaps one day when they were in the market together he noticed her wistfully looking in the direction of the perfumiers. Or perhaps it was the one thing she had left of her mother’s. However it came into her possession, it was clearly a treasured object, sparingly used if at all. Perhaps it gave her pleasure just to look at it – alabaster is a very fine variety of marble. It was quarried in Egypt and carved into delicate and often quite beautiful containers for expensive perfumes, adding to its value. And when the time came, she would give her heart with that bottle of nard, released in its entirety from its broken alabaster container.

They were at Simon the leper’s house – a man most likely healed by Jesus, as a leper could not be in society with others. They were outcast, begging by the side of the road, and if someone approached they were to cover their mouths and cry, “Unclean! Unclean!” so no one would become ceremonially unclean by accident. No one touched them for the same reason – except Jesus, of course. Perhaps this dinner was in gratitude for his healing – obviously Simon was well off. Perhaps he had learned that his money was useless when it came to the important things – that money was, when you got right down to it, not important at all.

Women did not feast with men. They would have been in the banquet hall only to serve, not to mingle with the guests. Time-wise, this was “6 days before the Passover,” the last Passover Jesus would spend on this earth, the Passover where He Himself would be the sacrificial Lamb that takes away the sins of the world. Jesus is the “Lamb that was slain” of Revelation 5 who was worthy to take the scroll (the deed to planet earth) not because He was God, but because He was a man, and had purchased the right to the deed with His blood, the very deed that satan received from Adam the day Adam knowingly sinned to stay with Eve, thus valuing her more than he valued God.

What was in Mary’s heart that day? She alone of those who followed Him had realized He was soon to die. The commentators say she didn’t really realize what she was doing – but Jesus, Who certainly knew what was in her heart, said she was anointing Him for His death. She knew all right. She knew and her heart was breaking.

Everyone else was feasting, having a good time, Martha in there slaving away – only Mary, out of them all, “got” it. Did she suddenly realize, in the midst of everything, that Jesus had come to Bethany (about 2 miles from Jerusalem) to say goodbye? Was there something bittersweet in His eyes that she alone saw? Did their eyes connect at the moment she saw it – fear in her eyes, certainty in His? Was He savoring this last time of joy with those He loved? In less than a week He must drink a cup so foul He shrank from it – and all of His love and support would be gone. This was it.

Did she slip away to her home then, heart breaking, praying for a way to show her love, perhaps to bring Him a moment of comfort? Looking frantically around her room, her eyes fell on the breathtaking, intricately carved bottle of pure nard. He was going to die, He’d said, although no one had seemed to believe it – “oh, not You, Lord,” they’d said, and passed it off. But Jesus didn’t joke about such things and He didn’t lie.

He was going to die.

Well then, she may have thought, taking the bottle of fragrance in her hand, she would anoint Him for that death.

How long was the walk back to Simon’s? Was she trembling? Were her shoulders back, her face determined? Or was she tearful, aware of the notoriety her actions would bring?

We don’t know – Scripture doesn’t tell us. But I believe she was thinking only of Him – that she had to tell Him she believed Him, believed in Him.

She entered Simon’s house, walked to the banquet hall. Her eyes were on Jesus only as she walked to Him. Did He see her then? Did His eyes shine with delight, knowing that her heart was giving to Him all that she had to perhaps buy Him one moment of comfort?

All the noise and hubbub slowly ceased at the sound of the alabaster breaking. She poured the oil on His head, a woman alone in a roomful of men. Then, as John alone adds, she walked to His feet and anointed them, too.

By now everyone was staring.

The room filled with the aroma of the costly fragrance.

Then, in an act of worship, she uncovered her head. Gasps all around – for a single woman to do this in the presence of unrelated males was akin to going topless. But she went further. In an act only done in the presence of a husband, she let her hair down, releasing the heavy coil, letting the silken tresses fall, and then bent over His feet, using her hair to dry them.

This act of undeniable intimacy would have had the room abuzz with righteous indignation. Scripture doesn’t tell us this, but I believe she was silently crying, the ache in her heart distilling itself into salty, silent tears of worship that ran unheeded down her face.

Into this personal, intimate act of sacrifice and surrender comes a cutting voice, condescending, denigrating.

“A whole year’s wages, wasted!” Judas spat out,”Why wasn’t it sold, the money given to the poor?”

Note not a word was said about what would have been considered wanton behavior. The only outrage in the heart of Judas was concerned with money. The others chimed in with him, but John tells us that the words belonged to Judas.

The response of Jesus is immediate and commanding.

“Leave her alone! Why do you trouble her?” He says. In the Modern Language Bible it is translated “Why do you embarrass her?”

Can you imagine how Mary felt in that moment? She has laid herself bare, as it were, to give Him the tiniest bit of comfort and understanding, and now Judas has soiled what she meant as a pure kindness. She must have wanted to crawl under a rock. Here she meant to ease His heart and all she’d done was embarrass Him.

But Jesus then puts things into a Godly perspective: “She has anointed me for my burial,” He tells them – a fact that they have all industriously refused to believe or act upon. “The poor will always be around. I won’t. She has done for me a mitzvoh (a blessing, a good work) She did what she could,” He says, perhaps giving Mary a reassuring smile.

Mary listened to Him, when no one else did, and she gave Him the gift of believing what He said. Several times Jesus tells His disciples “I have so many things to tell you, but you cannot bear them now.” They simply couldn’t listen.

They believed, of course - believed that He was Messiah, the Anointed One who would free them from Roman rule and set up His Kingdom (presumably with them as His trusted officials – they often argued about who would be the greatest in His kingdom.) They just didn’t listen.  In their book, Messiah would be a victorious conqueror - and anything else just didn't fit in with their scenario.

Out of all of them, there was this one young woman who not only believed, she listened and, Jesus says, “She did what she could.”

And then, Jesus revealed a little bit of His own heart.  The only time in 33 years He said this of anyone or anything, He says, “Whenever this gospel is preached anywhere in the whole world, what she has done will also be told, as a memorial to her.”

I can only imagine what relief flooded Mary’s heart. He understood. And she had done a good thing. It had meant so much to Him that it would be told again and again, down through the ages as a memorial to her.

But I don’t think any of that mattered to Mary. What mattered was Jesus. And she had blessed Him.

The fragrance in her hair – and in His – would have lasted for days, perhaps even unto the cross.



I find it interesting that for Judas to be reprimanded publicly – and that for a woman – would have been insulting and most embarrassing. The image he’d sought to create for himself of someone so kind-hearted and benevolent to the poor had come crashing down around his ears – he had been made to look obtuse and money-grubbing, a public unmasking.

Iscariot means, “the man from Kerioth,” a small town in Judea about 20-some miles south of Jerusalem, whereas everyone else was from the Galilee, north of Jerusalem - and Judas is always identified that way, sort of like an outsider. Perhaps Judas felt he never fit in. It is possible he never really believed in Jesus as God, he just thought He would eventually become a powerful religious or political leader leader – and Judas would be His friend. He’d all but salivated over the “wasted” 300 denarii, and this country bumpkin had publicly embarrassed him for it. Did his pride smart under that rebuke and simmer, unresolved, growing in importance in his mind?

In the gospel of Mark, the next verse is chilling.

“Then Judas…went to the chief priests to betray Him to them.”

In Matthew it says, "And from that moment he began to look out for an opportunity to betray Him."

And so I ask myself: -

Am I believing in Him, acting on what I believe and blessing Him?

Or am I betraying Him – selling Him for far less than 30 pieces of silver, to save something as usless as my pride?

And another round

Well, not satisfied with normal MRIs, my neuro guy ordered another 2 - he thinks I've had a stroke in the brain stem, which is what my baby brother died of at age 45.  He also set up more EEGs.  As the double vision worsens and the eye has less movement - the eye patch is irritating in the extreme (as I murmur against the One Who ordained this for me.  Again.)

So I am awaiting whatever God has in store for me.  And while I wait, my Master gives me songs, and fills me with His peace, for He has promised I can do all things through Jesus Christ, and that includes whatever physical malady He chooses to bestow.

But His Word also promises treasures in the darkness - and so the poems come.  Thinking about prayer and faith, I often start to write out my thoughts, and those thoughts often arrange themselves into poetry.  So here is what I found in the darkness - and to me, they are truly treasures:

I am finding prayer to be a dance.
God leads
I follow,
Swirling our footsteps together -
And floating in His everlasting arms
I hear music
--------
People of the Book

Grant me, O LORD,
A vibrant, shimmering faith
That dances before You
Like David.
Gird it with strength enough
To sacrifice my heart's desire
Without a seconds hesitation
As did Abraham.
And may I be blessed to know
That the friendship of God
Lingers in my tent
Like Job -
Enabling me, too,
To bear the pain
Hear songs in the night
And whisper
Through the shredded fiber of my soul
"Though He slay me,
Yet shall I trust Him."

In everything give thanks

The results are in: the MRIs are normal.  My doc and I looked at each other in wonder!  The enlarging lump on my salivary gland is still there, still enlarging, with no answer as to why.  My right eye has ceased responding to movement and has hitched itself to my nose, resulting in double vision.  The opthomologist says "I dunno" and the neurologist comes up with all kinds of scary reasons, all of which are not evident from the Mris.  And while several alleluias are still rising in gratitude that nothing of urgent or life-threatening caliber is occurring, it is surely life changing.

Seeing with one eye results in no depth perception.  Stumbling becomes frequent, bumping into someone on the covered side is commonplace, I can't sense when someone is near.  And the eye patch has me thinking of saying "ARRGH!", buying a parrot, and sitting tin-cupped in the heart of Vegas to earn money to pay for all the MRIs!  The neurologist wants to do another one to see if there are any changes that might explain why the right eye would suddenly give up its muscles and nerves and lie there, not responding.  Both eyes perfectly focus and work, they just don't work together.

It's hard to give thanks for.  I would much rather have something they could see, diagnose, and fix.

But I don't .  What I have is something that throws me upon my Papa's breast daily, whining for a bit, crying for a bit, and then asking Him to do whatever He chooses for me, because His choices are the best.  And then, at this stage through mostly gritted teeth, thanking Him in this.  I wish I could say that I'm perfectly at ease and coping well, thanking Him with each breath, but that would be a lie.  I'm struggling a bit.

I love to read.  It has been my solace and joy through 20 years + of CI, and without it in those first few years I would have perished.  I discovered Amy Carmichael, Annie Johnson Flint and others whose marks I now bear in my spirit.  I escaped into the books of Jan Karon, visiting Mitford, North Carolina and meeting friends there, learning to pray with a loving heart by the example of Father Tim.

And now it's difficult to read.  I am more afraid of losing this ability than of anything else the Lord could allow into my life.  I am a calligrapher.  I know the rudiments of American Sign Language, though I am far from proficient.  I can sign better than I can read sign because I can practice signing alone, but not practice reading alone.  I need headache-free eyes to do that as well as finding someone to practice with.  I knit and crochet, and while I have done so for so long I rarely look at the stitches while knitting, I do need to see mistakes.

Amazing how important some take-for-granted ability becomes when its existence is threatened, isn't it?  So many days I had the chance to praise and thank Him for eyesight and never did, and now I must praise Him for allowing me to lose some of it.

My solace is His presence, His reassurance that He does indeed have a plan for my life, and yes, as hard as it is to swallow sometimes, this is part of that plan.  It has repercussions for my life, my spiritual walk, and the attitude of my soul.  He either is my Lord and my King, or I am.

This is where the rubber meets the road, and it has surely met me!  I have already learned to thank Him with a humble joy that I can still hear, I can still speak, my earthly tent is still intact and those I love are safe and sound for the moment.  I have a roof over my head that is warm and safe, and am able to pray and be instantly face to face with the Creator of the heavens and the earth and Who, I am constantly amazed to realize, wants nothing more than for me to come and talk to Him, alone and with my heart in my eyes.

Soooooo, balancing things out a bit, I've come to realize I am still quite wealthy in gifts He has dropped into my lap, and praising comes a bit easier to my heart - the same One Who showered all these riches upon me is the One Who has decided, for the time being, to remove some of the awesome capabilities of the tent I inhabit and asked me to have trust enough to thank and praise Him for this stretch in my life.

And I have committed to do it.

I invite you to join me, thanking Him for the things you normally take for granted, for the ones you love that you trust will be there when you wake up of a morning, and to praise Him for each time you do just that - wake up!  The gift of one more day on this earth should not be taken lightly.  We are more fragile than we think, and tomorrow is not guaranteed to anyone

So, I thank You, my King, for these circumstances and praise your wisdom in choosing these blips in life's road for me.  Make me strong enough to delight in Your choices and praise You in everything those choices entail.  I ask this in Jesus' name.
amen.

One day at a time

In Thee do I put my trust - Ps 7:1

Where is your trust?

Currently I've had disturbing physical changes taking place, a mass growing on my salivary gland and something is apparently pushing my eye out of its socket, resulting in increased headache pain and double vision.  The testing has been grueling and seemingly endless, and I have been given no results yet - the big day will be Thursday (I am writing this on Tuesday).

It has set me to thinking about trust.

When things come up that take  your breath away, decrease your comfort in life, or shake you up, where do you turn?  Do you continue with your days as usual, trusting Him as usual, or do you run hither and yon looking for comfort.

When Jesus first burst into my life, I had a good friend who facilitated the introductions.  We were riding on a California freeway one day and a car in front of us started swerving erratically.  Immediately he cried out "Father, help them!"  ( My own reaction was along the lines of "Lookit that idiot..." )

I was so impressed by his automatic reliance on Jesus that later, when I was alone with my heavenly Papa, I asked that He would put that reflex in my heart, way down deep, that my first and always reaction to anything would be prayer.

I am very grateful to tell you that He answered that prayer.

So during these trying testing times He has drawn me  closer in prayer, and the peace of His presence has guarded me.

I am not saying I'm blissfully unaware of the connotations of these symptoms.  Being a nurse, I know what they point towards - a tumor of some kind, and if  it's glioma, it's a virtual ticket Home, which I consider a get-out-of-jail=free card.

I'm also not immune to fear.  I find it interesting that I'm not afraid of death per se, but I am nervous about the mode of exit.  I'm not looking forward to more pain, and I am praying that if this is His choice, He will carry me through it.  He has never failed me before, I have no reason to suspect He will fail me now.

So what am I struggling with?

I'm struggling with discovering my obligations to this tent He has placed me in.  Must I fight for one more day of pain?  Can I simply lay down and let whatever this is do its work and free me from this mortal coil?  How do I ease the way for those that love me?  Is it possible to ease their hold on my life enough to let it go?  Can I possibly do anything that will increase their trust of the One Who makes all Decisions, helping them to see Romans 8:28 at work here?

And all this, mind you, without any concrete information as to what I am dealing with ( how illness gets us going, doesn't it?).  It may turn out to be nothing more serious than a local infection easily dealt with - in which case my navel pondering will all have been for nought. 

Nevertheless, the questions are real, and must be answered - if not now, then at some future date, barring the rapture's occurrence (Even so, come quickly, Lord Jesus!) 

So I am wrestling with the answers,  for I truly seek His will in this.  And it boils down to living the same way any CI has to live: one day at a time, bringing each day's events before Him in prayer, doing the best with what He gives us each day.

I don't know what tomorrow (or Thursday) will bring. 

But I know Who will bring it.  I know His love for me is eternal. I know His choices for me are perfect. And I know He will never fail.

In Thee do I put my trust.