Esophageal What???

My mother recently subjected herself to a sleep study.  She did the proper scientific research before embarking on this experience...she read the blog account of mine.  She told me that it totally cracked her up. I couldn't remember what I had written that was so funny, so I had to go back and re-read the post.  My kids wanted it read aloud to them and they cracked up.  Whether my posts of my experiences are funny or informative, I'll let you decide, but I decided to keep posting about these things.  Surely someone else is going through the same thing and either needs a good laugh or to be informed about what will happen.

So, today's topic will be my esophageal manometry.  Mouthful, huh?  No, pretty much a noseful.  But we'll get to that.

No one can pronounce or spell the test.  Ee-sof-a-gee-uhl man-om-eh-tree--that was my attempt to show you the pronunciation.  Did it help?  Are you saying it out loud to yourself now?  Don't try to deny it, you know you are.  Now, say it five times fast.  Just kidding.

This test is to measure the pressure in your esophagus.  My surgeon wanted it done to decide if I am a good candidate for a Nissen fundoplication surgery.  Another mouthful, but you're on your own for pronunciation, mostly just because I am not 100% sure how to!  Maybe before I get into the esophageal manometry, I should explain how I arrived here.

I have had acid reflux and GERD (Gastroesophageal Reflux Disease) symptoms for a couple of years now. I have tried every medication available to treat it and none of them works for me.  My reflux is bad enough that I wake up coughing, choking, and vomiting some nights.  More recently, I started aspirating.  The first time scared me half to death.  I woke up one morning, choking and coughing with a horrific pain my my chest.  I was clawing at my neck and chest, gasping for air, and choking.  I thought I was having a heart attack.  Luckily, my paramedic husband was home and I stumbled out to him.  He asked me if the pain was sharp or crushing.  In between coughs, I gasped, "sharp."  He said it wasn't a heart attack then, and judging by the way I was coughing and choking, decided I must have breathed in some of the acid/stomach contents that came up.  I can tell you that it burned and hurt like nobody's business!  I was coughing for hours afterward and my lungs felt raw the rest of the day.  This happened several more times and I finally went to see a gastroenterologist.

He wanted me to have an EGD, or an endoscopy.  I wasn't thrilled with this testing, but it pales in comparison to the manometry.  Hold your horses, I'll get to that one in a minute!  I had to check in to the hospital and luckily was given anesthesia.  Not sure I could have handled that one without it.  Though, I think a manometry should definitely be done under sedation.  I can understand why it isn't because you have to follow commands, but I'm thinking Versed would be amazing so you can just forget the whole thing ever happened!

During the EGD, they also inserted something called a Bravo monitor in my esophagus that was supposed to record the number of reflux events in a 48 hour period and transmit the data to a pager-type device you wear on your belt or keep close to you.  You also have to keep a log of what you eat and drink and when you lie down, etc.  Then you turn in the pager part and after a few days, the monitor detaches from your esophagus and...well...makes its "exit", shall we say.  It felt funny.  I could definitely feel the monitor there, sort of like having a tickle in your throat that you can't get rid of.

I am told that my GI doc doesn't impress easily and he was a little miffed that no one had told me to discontinue my reflux meds, but he was impressed by my results.  Apparently, I had 233 reflux incidents in less than 48 hours.  And I thought it was actually a mild sampling.  I have a small hiatal hernia and some mild esophagitis.  If left untreated, severe acid reflux can cause lots of problems like Barrett's Esophagus and esophageal cancer.  Even without that, aspirating can cause pneumonia and I am just plain tired of being awakened in the night choking and vomiting and having to sleep in the recliner most nights.  So, the doc referred me to a surgeon.  He said that this guy was the best in the KC area at this type of surgery.  I went to see the guy and right off he tells me that I am too overweight for the surgery.  He said that being overweight causes too much abdominal pressure and that since I have a good amount around my mid-section, it is likely that the surgery would undo itself.  He recommended that I have a gastric bypass and gave me a referral.  I was dumbfounded.  I went in there expecting to be scheduling the Nissen fundoplication and instead he's telling me to have a surgery that I do not want nor does my insurance pay for.  I decided to get a second opinion.

While I have been on Weight Watchers and have lost some weight, it's slow going.  Am I expected to continue to suffer until I reach the "ideal weight"?  So, I went to see the doctor that took my gallbladder out.  He said he had never heard of such a thing, being too overweight for this type of surgery and agreed to do it.  He just needed me to have the esophageal manometry first to be sure that after the surgery I can swallow well enough to get my food and drink past the surgery site.  A Nissen fundoplication is where they wrap part of the stomach around the lower part of the esophagus.  The point of this is so the squeezing of the stomach muscles clamps down on the esophagus to prevent the stomach contents from coming back up the esophagus.

Now, back to the topic at hand...the esophageal manometry.  I knew ahead of time that this involved them sticking a tube down my nose and into my esophagus and having me swallow to measure the pressure and be sure that the esophageal muscles work in sequence from top to bottom, moving food or drink down the esophagus.  I was not looking forward to this.  I don't want anything stuck through my nose.  And I gag very easily.  Which is why I have cavity problems--brushing my teeth makes me gag.  I have a two gag maximum or I end up emptying my stomach contents.  I can already tell you that my advanced directives will say "no feeding tube."

I got a packet in the mail with a pamphlet about the test.  I had been encouraged by hearing that they numb the back of your nose and throat, but then they had to go and say that sometimes people have a gagging sensation.  Sheesh.  If normal people gag, what will that mean for me?  I went back to the same hospital where I had my EGD and checked in.  When the nurse came to get me, she said that the tube was being cleaned, but we could go ahead and get everything put into the computer.  This was alarming.  I mean, I guess I knew that this is equipment that isn't disposable, but the idea of this tube being shoved down someone else's nose before me was disturbing.  I don't know why, but I was picturing an elderly man with long white nose hairs.  I was also a little worried about this because after my EGD at this hospital, I ended up with a viral infection.  Was it just an odd coincidence that I woke up from anesthetic with a horrible sore throat that I attributed to the EGD, but didn't get better so I called the hospital and was told it was abnormal and to go get a strep test?  I was worried that I would catch something from this equipment!

When they brought the tube in, they had it wrapped in a towel.  I thought it should have been in a bio-hazard sealed bag or something.  The nurse started squirting this gel-like stuff into my left nostril and asking me to "snort it".  For years, I have told my kids not to sniff when they have a cold so they don't get an ear infection, but here I was, sucking that stuff back until it went down my throat.  I'm thinking now it won't just be a viral infection, but an ear infection as well.  She kept putting more in and I kept sucking it back.  Then she picked up the tube.  Oh. My. Goodness.  That was much bigger than I had been expecting.  If you Google esophageal manometry, all the articles say "small tube"--NOT!  I was thinking spaghetti-like.  Maybe half a dozen pieces of spaghetti!  I began to wonder if I was going to be able to do this.  But, the nurse didn't wait or ask, she just started shoving.  I was told to breathe in through my nose to avoid the gagging.  It was thoroughly uncomfortable, but I managed to not gag.  Once she got it in place, she taped it to my nose and had me lie back on my side.  She had a syringe that she filled with water and squirted into my mouth and instructed me to swallow it down and then went to tell my GI doc that she had started the test.  She continued the test, periodically giving me swallows of water and then telling me to just breathe.  I was fine as long as I was just breathing.  But, she started talking to me while she was waiting on the doc.  She was such a nice nurse, but I didn't like talking with the tube in.  Talking created saliva and then I needed to swallow or I felt like I was choking.  Finally, we heard the clip-clop of the doctor's shoes and he came in and watched me swallow.  He said it looked good, but that he would review the results and pass them on to the surgeon.

The nurse did one more swallow and some breathing and then removed the tube.  When she removed the tube, she didn't do it slowly, she just pulled it right on out.  Very weird sensation, but I think if she had gone slower, I would have gagged or vomited.  She handed me some tissue, walked me out, and gave me a hug.  The hug was nice, but I felt used and abused.  There are things like this that you feel like you should get some sort of reward or trophy or SOMEthing because it was such a big deal to you and such an accomplishment that you can't believe you are walking out to the car like nothing happened and driving yourself home when you feel like you should be doped and in a wheelchair for something like that.  For the rest of the day, I felt like I had a cold or sinus infection.  The one nostril felt stuffy since it was all numb and I was blowing out the numbing gel half of the day.  Once the numbness wore off, my throat was sore.  I was volunteering at Vacation Bible School at our church all that week and while the other adult in my group did all of the teaching, thankfully, it's next to impossible not to talk to a group of children.  By the next morning, though, I felt back to normal, so no viruses or infections, despite my misgivings about the use and reuse of the equipment.

The test came out fine, so the next step is to have the surgery, which is scheduled in less than two weeks.  I'll let you know how that comes out!

Every Hour I Need You

You're my one defense, my righteousness, oh God, how I need you.

In one line, I hear an entire message.  Amazing how powerful some words can be and how adding them to music can stir the heart and the soul and truths can be laid bare.

Jesus, you are my one defense.  You are my "last line of defense."  You are the only line of defense.  You protect me from myself and others and keep the evil one from doing me harm.  I will likely never know all the things you have protected me from, all the dangers and pitfalls you have prevented me from stumbling into.  But, you are not just my physical defender, you are my defender from judgment.  You are my defense attorney.  And my entire defense is that I plead the blood of Christ.  I have no merit on my own to beg for mercy from the righteous judge.  But, you traded your righteousness for my sin.  You are my only plea.  I have no back-up plans and I don't need one.  You are all I need.

You are my righteousness.  I have nothing good in me.  My righteousness is as filthy rags.  On my best day, I can never come close to being righteous.  Yet, you have taken my filthy rags of sin and put them on yourself and placed your righteousness, like a garment, over me.  I have become righteous because you have washed me clean.

And I do need you so very badly.  Daily, I struggle, whether it's with emotional/mental turmoil, trials, sin, the world I live in, anger, physical pain, fatigue, being a wife and mother, the mundane details of life that bog down, paralyzing fear, doubt and confusion, frustration, making decisions, family, friends, loneliness, or homesickness.  I need you in all those things.  If I didn't have You, I would curl up in a ball, shrivel up, and wither away just from being overwhelmed alone.  I cannot walk this road alone and I cannot imagine how anyone could live life without you.  I wouldn't survive.  There are days when I feel like I can't breathe, so I have to remember to keep my eyes on You and put one foot in front of the other.  I don't need to see where I am going, I just need to see You.  Father, I most definitely need you.  Hold my hand, Abba, daddy, and please don't let me go.  My heart yearns and aches for your return and home.

Just one line.  Such a rich song.

Rantings and Ravings and Venting and Whining

Feeling kind of whiny tonight. I'm tired from a long week of work, photo shoots and editing, chaperoning a girls' overnighter all while apparently sick with a bad sinus infection (got antibiotics now, so take that! you mean nurse at the walk-in clinic who said it was allergies and I didn't need an antibiotic) and a day so full of appointments and events my head is spinning. I'm dealing with some really big issues and decisions. One kid was suspended today for injuring a teacher and no one will take me seriously. One kid is being exposed to as much filth at school as you'd find in a porno. And one kid is mad at me for having old-fashioned rules. I have to go to work tomorrow and I don't wanna. My hobby-turned-career doesn't seem so fun right now. It finally hit me this weekend that my best friend is really moving 3 1/2 hours away. I'm feeling disillusioned and lost. And I've been having that panic feeling that I really hate, despite being on meds for panic attacks.

Madness takes its toll--please have exact change ready.

I know, I have suddenly been blogging a LOT lately!  Fear not, I will probably peter out of things to say and go dormant again for a while!

My therapist was encouraging me to do certain things to cope with my issues, such as art ( I should really get back to doing some of my more creative pastimes) and journaling, which is what my blog is!  So, for now you are stuck with my incoherent rantings!

My therapy the other day was a little hard and as he told me I would probably be processing through it, I thought I would blog about it.  I don't like to talk about my ex-husband a lot, especially online, but as this is my journal and I need to process, I'll say what I need to say this time.

I said in my last blog post that I have been wrapping my mind around the fact that I am flawed mentally and emotionally.  There are many contributing factors to my issues, such as the genetic lottery I won by inheriting depression or the fact that my dad was verbally and emotionally abusive to me growing up.  I have been forced to face and process some of the ugliness that has caused me to be the way that I am.  I used to hear voices, I have panic attacks, I suffer from depression so dark that it causes physical pain and were it not for medication, I don't think I could survive it.  I know there are people who have suffered horrific things and I am so thankful that I have not experienced these things, but I know that all the factors that combine to make me who I am make it hard for me to function on a daily basis.  There are some days when just breathing and going about daily tasks is exhausting.  There are days when I want to fold in on myself and disappear.  I beg and cry out to God to come quickly because I long for heaven and an end to the torture I feel inside.

There are probably two major happenings that have caused my natural brain malfunctions to overload in recent years.  The first was my dad's death which I have talked about in a previous blog, so I'll not belabor that event.  The summation was that I found my dad dead in his home and he had been dead for five days and was decomposing.  It was a traumatic experience that haunted me for a very long time.  I still have my moments, but for the most part, I have been able to get past the guilt feelings and view the situation more matter-of-factly.

The other major event was less a specific event and more of a time period culminating in an event.  Seven years of marriage to my ex-husband, during which time, he cheated on me numerous times, moved out of the house numerous times, possibly fathered other children, gave me a cancer-causing STD, disappeared often, hit me, possibly engaged in an escort service, was arrested for fighting a few times, had an alcohol problem, once scared me by talking about murdering one of his girlfriends to make things "right" for us, etc.  During that time, I felt so mentally and emotionally damaged, I could barely think straight.  I couldn't decide whether to leave or not.  I couldn't make decisions.  I would decide to divorce him, then change my mind.  I couldn't tell if I could trust him or not or if he was lying or telling the truth.  I was confused all the time.  I knew I had Biblical grounds for divorce, but the Bible also said to forgive 70 times 7, etc.  I couldn't even tell how I felt or what I wanted.  I once wrote down a list of pros and cons of whether to leave or stay and I filled up page after page.  I had many, many reasons I stayed, but I also had many, many reasons I wanted to go.  For seven years, I lived in a hell of turmoil that I wouldn't wish on anyone.  I was extremely suicidal and went to get help.  I got on some anti-depressants and for the first time, my mind cleared and I was able to think straight.  I finally made the decision to divorce and felt a peace flood over me.  Just when I thought things couldn't have gotten any worse than they had been, they did.

Even though he was living with a girlfriend, he continued to text and call me all hours of the day and night, alternately yelling and screaming and threatening me and then turning around and confessing his undying love and begging me to take him back, sometimes all in the same day.  When I finally started turning my phone off at night, he started showing up at my house in the middle of the night.  I'd answer the door so he wouldn't wake the children, but also because after spending 14 years married to this man, I had a hard time thinking he was a threat.  But after this went on over and over again, I started to see more and more instability in his attitude and behavior.  One night, when I answered the door, I felt an inexplicable jolt of fear and for the first time, I began to think that this man really could hurt me.  I started to wonder if we would end up one of those statistics on TV, the husband who kills his estranged wife, children, and then commits suicide.  I found out later that he was hiding at my house that night because he had tried to strangle his girlfriend and the police were looking for him.  Sometimes when he would show up, he would be angry.  Sometimes, he was crying or very distant and acting suicidal.  He had already spent 5 days in the local mental hospital, and while I thought that that had been more about getting attention, I still believed that there was something wrong with him.

I don't know the extent of his stalking me, but I know he was.  I don't know if he was listening at my windows at night or watching me as I went through my day or following me around or parked down the street from my house, but he knew things he couldn't have known otherwise.  I never saw him or caught him stalking me, which is almost worse, not knowing how he did it or what he saw and heard.

After I signed the final divorce papers, I went out with Scott, who is now my husband.  I have blogged about that night before, so I won't detail it again, but the short version is that he was in my house with the children when I came home.  He had been calling me, threatening to run off with the children.  I had a restraining order, so all of these times he was at my house, I should have called the police.  But, this time he was IN my house and began to shove me around and throw me around.  For a brief second I contemplated the knives that were within my reach, but I knew that if I went that route, I'd have to be prepared to go all the way with it.  I could tell he had a very thin layer of control and was shaking all over.  I could see that even though he was roughing me up, he could do a lot worse and wasn't.  If I pulled a knife, I knew that the control would snap like a rubber band and if I wasn't prepared to use it to stop him for good, he would take it from me and kill me.  And I knew I couldn't do that.  For one, I am squeamish and stabbing is up close and personal.  For two, I didn't think it had escalated at that point enough that deadly force was required.  For three, I couldn't do that in front of the children.  So, I abandoned the thought of the knives.  Sometimes I wonder if I should have.  Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I could have gone through it.  Maybe I would feel better, but I know my kids wouldn't.  Not long after that, he grabbed me by the throat and basically said he would kill me if I didn't tell him where I had been.  I didn't tell him.  I knew that knowing I had been out on a date would not pacify him, it would ramp him up even more.  And, even though I knew what it might cost me, I felt I had to stand up for myself in some small way.  So, I choked out one word: "no!"  The next thing I remembered was hitting the floor and being unable to move for what seemed like an eternity.  I was aware that the kids were nearby, so I assumed they had distracted him or stopped him from what I believe would have resulted in his killing me.  When I was finally able to move, I shoved the kids out the door and we ran and called the police.

He was arrested, but since he hadn't been arrested for the incident with his girlfriend and since I had been dumb in not calling the police for any other time, this was a first offense and he got a slap on the wrist: anger management and probation.  I was scared to death.  Every noise outside made me think he was coming back to finish me off.  I couldn't imagine dropping the kids off at school, praying he wouldn't pick them up and run off with them.  The thought of going anywhere and looking over my shoulder, wondering if he was following, watching, going to kill me terrified me.  He knew all my friends and family and would eventually find me no matter where I went, so I did the only thing I could do: went with Scott to Kansas City to feel safe and to think.

I feel like something broke inside of me that night.  I don't feel like I have ever been the same since.  I had had such a hard time seeing him as a danger since I had lived 14 years with him, but ever since that night, I have a hard time seeing him as anything BUT dangerous.  Sometimes I think I must be overreacting and he's moved on and remarried--he couldn't possibly still want to hurt me.  But, even though I try to convince myself of this, his behavior--his anger and yelling at me nearly every time I try to talk to him--keep that doubt in my mind.  He occasionally has what we call "meltdowns" where he sort of goes off the deep end.  For example, one of these meltdowns included him calling me and leaving me a long suicidal voicemail, apologizing for everything and telling the kids goodbye for the last time, etc.  Those instabilities worry me too about what he is capable of.  I had thought he was calming and was being easier to deal with, but his anger has really escalated in recent months.  I can't talk to him about the kids without him getting angry and yelling. I dread having to talk to him.  He blames me for everything and undermines my authority to the kids behind my back and encourages them to make fun of Scott.

I have had nightmares ever since that night that he is coming back to hurt me or take me.  I have panic attacks.  My chest aches and I can't breathe when I have to talk to him or see him.  I feel like I am shattering into a million pieces.  I would do almost anything to get out of having to deal with him.  I am so relieved when he doesn't show up to pick up the kids, I almost feel giddy.  Some days, I feel like I am a hair's breadth away from a total breakdown or a mental institution.

Not long ago, when he was yelling at me when I tried to talk to him about Billy's behavior, I lost it and started yelling back.  I usually try to keep the peace, not rock the boat, bite my tongue.  But, this time, I couldn't.  I didn't let it all loose, but I couldn't be a doormat any longer.  Immediately I felt better that I had stood up to him, but sooner than I'd have liked, it wore off and I was afraid.

My doctors have diagnosed me with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) and I have been in therapy.  I didn't want to go back to therapy after having gone to counseling off and on for years, but my doctor, whom I highly respect, said, "you have to pull your hand out of the toaster before you can begin to treat the burn."

My therapist used a technique called EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing) this week.  At first, I thought he was nuts for thinking that my eyes following his fingers back and forth would help me deal with this.  I don't totally understand the science behind it, but something about the eye movement activates both sides of your brain and helps you process trauma.  As he had me think about the situation and follow his finger movement with my eyes, the feelings bubbled over and I began sobbing uncontrollably.  Then as he had me think through calming thoughts, I was surprised as I started to feel better.  He had me think about the support I receive from my husband and I thought about how he would never allow me to again be in a dangerous situation with my ex-husband.  That helped me to calm down some--to know that the likelihood of him ever having the opportunity to hurt me again was slim to none.  Then he asked me to choose a safe place I can go to in my mind.  He said it could be a vacation spot or somewhere I have never been or an imaginary place.  My first thought was Heaven.  That is the safest place possible and how could you be any safer than in the Lord's arms.  But, imagining that as my safe place made me cry because it made me terribly homesick.  So, I decided to instead use the beach where we had our cruise.  He wanted me to recall the sounds, the feel, the sights.  I imagined us lying on the warm sandy beach, looking into the crystal clear water, seeing the fish and the ship and the people all having fun.  Safe because it was so far away from my ex-husband with no worries or troubles.  Then I remembered the smell of the BBQ and the sound of the island band playing.  I started to snicker, remembering the band singing, "I shot the sheriff," in their Jamaican accent.  How amazing that I could go from sobbing to giggling in just a few minutes.  I'm sure I am not totally there yet, but maybe this therapy isn't as silly as it originally sounded to me.

I am looking into hiring another lawyer to change the jurisdiction of the case to Missouri since we both left the county we were divorced in.  I am also looking to tweak a few things, such as the pick up location.  We were court ordered to meet at police stations because of the history of domestic violence.  However, he moved out to the middle of nowhere Kansas with no police stations nearby.  He expects us to come to his house to pick the kids up, which I am not comfortable with.  He generously (read with sarcasm) suggested that the only other place he would meet at was the deserted sandlot across the street from his house.  I want to address this issue, along with the child support.  I also contacted the court trustee to inform them that he has moved and has stopped paying child support.  He is supposed to be under their supervision for the next couple of years and if he violates their parameters, he SHOULD go to jail for six months.  I doubt it would happen though.  He has been violating everything all along and they don't do anything about it.

I hate having to go back into a fight, since I don't like to rock the boat.  But, I have to do what I need to do to feel safe.

Decisions, Decisions

I really hate making decisions.

You thought I was going to say more, didn't you?  Fooled you.

Well, not really.

So, currently, my husband and I have been pondering some decisions about our family.  Off and on, we talk about moving.  My husband is a partial owner (with his mom and his two aunts) of his family's farm.  A couple of years back, he and I went out there for a Czech celebration in the town and looked through the museum that contained a lot of his family's history and I was able to see the two properties that make up the farm.  His grandfather sold off the piece of land that contained the farmhouse, but a neighbor continues to farm the land for them.  At the time we were out to visit, the current occupants of the farmhouse were trying to sell the house and move out of state.  We started talking then about what it would be like to move out to the old farmhouse.  At that time, it was sort of a "what if" or "wouldn't it be nice" or "someday" kind of discussion.  We tabled it and moved on.  At the time, the kids weren't totally opposed to it when they heard that they might be able to have a horse or other farm animals.

There are several reasons why this topic has come back up lately.  For one, we know that my husband cannot continue to be a metropolitan paramedic until retirement.  The job is hard on the body and we can't conceive of him jumping in and out of an ambulance and running around and lifting patients, etc. when he is 60+. So, we began to think of other options.  He could use the bridge program to become a nurse, but that will be time and cost intensive.  The other idea was to move to the country and be a rural EMS worker because there would be a lot less activity than he gets in an average day in the big city of Kansas City, Missouri.

The other reason this has come up is because of the issues we have been having with the children.  Would it be more beneficial to them to move out to the country and to attend a smaller rural school?  Would I worry about them less if the "village" helps to look after them?  I know that they can get into just as much trouble in the country or a small town as in a large city, but I think I could give them more freedom, there would be less dangers, life would be slower, secrets would not stay secret, etc.  Would peace and quiet and a slower lifestyle be beneficial to Billy?  Would the girls have more opportunities to have close friends while I can know their parents, giving them more opportunities to spend time with friends?  Would a simpler, quieter life force us to spend more time on the most important things: God, family, and friends?  There are days when I very much envy the lifestyle of the Amish.  I know that's idealistic because I seriously doubt I would enjoy cooking all day from scratch, the cleaning, the sewing, the gardening, all the hard work.  But, I sometimes regret the technology we have and long for the simpler life.

Another reason may be selfish, but as the old saying goes, "if mom ain't happy, ain't nobody happy!"  Granted, I have never been a country girl.  I embrace a lot of country girl ideals, but the fact of the matter is that I was born in the city and have lived in the city or suburbs all my life.  I don't know any other way.  That made me wary, at first.  Could I cope with being far away from the nearest store, mall, or fast food restaurant?  I like convenience.  I like being able to run somewhere "real quick."  I hate having to drive too far to find what I am looking for.  I am a forgetful person and I have lost count of how many times I have gone grocery shopping, only to realize I have forgotten items and had to make a return trip.  And while I have previously been a go-getter with plenty of energy, I am getting older and have gained weight and have plenty of aches and pains.  I no longer have the energy I did.  I am trying to lose weight to regain the energy, but my fear is that it is gone forever.  I do not like hard labor.  I am tired.

But, because I am tired, I sometimes long for the peace and quiet of a rural setting.  I have been recently grappling with the idea that I am seriously screwed up.  I joke about being crazy, but the truth is that I have some very real mental and emotional issues.  Some days, I find the world so overwhelming, I want to retreat.  While isolation may seem depressive and the wrong way to deal with things, I am beginning to think that it is the only way I can cope with life and the world.  Some days it is too much to deal with.  Overload is not fun for me.  I am beginning to wonder if some isolation would be beneficial to my mental and emotional health.  Would I be a better wife and mother if I had some measure of peace?

However, the downsides to a possible move are many.  While I don't think that Billy or Kimberly would mind the move terribly much, Arrena has voiced violent opposition to this plan.  She does not want to leave her friends.  Having faced the same situation when I was a teenager, I can totally relate and sympathize.  I was a brat and refused to let my mom move.  However, I have learned that the friends and boyfriends that I was loathe to leave behind are nowhere to be found now.  I am reluctant to move the kids again, though.  They have had enough stress and trauma and moving around in their lives that I would hate to uproot them again and thrust them in a totally new and unfamiliar environment.  I had hoped that this would be our last move and the kids could call Raytown/Kansas City their home forever and would stay at their current schools throughout.  However, they are not the first kids to ever have to move around.  And compared to some, have hardly moved around at all.  My mom's family moved around a lot in search of work.  She attended 13 schools in her lifetime.  Military families do it all the time.  So, I am sure they would survive, though there might be a good measure of pouting for a while.

I also don't want to leave my house.  While I love looking at different houses and imagining dream homes, I am attached to this house.  We added on to this house just 3 years ago and I was able to get everything I wanted in the add-on.  Our bedroom is oversized to allow for a couch and a TV (though sometimes that makes me feel like I am isolating myself from my kids).  We have a jacuzzi tub in the bathroom along with a separate shower stall with dual shower heads.  We had a second washer/drier hookup installed, so we could both keep our washers and driers and be able to wash laundry in half the time.  I was able to pick out the color and the flooring just the way I like it.  I was able to fulfill a lifelong dream of painting a sky/cloud scene on my bedroom wall, which makes my room an extremely peaceful place for me. And even in the rest of the house, I have made some improvements to make it "our home" such as painting Billy's room Spiderman colors, and doing a pink and purple cowgirl theme in the girls' room.  While I know we could remodel and make a new house "our home," I just hate the thought of giving up this space that I and my husband designed just for us.

I also don't relish the thought of leaving my church family or my job.  While I would love to again be a stay-at-home mom or just a photographer on my own terms, I do love my job taking newborn photos at the hospital.

While one of the points in favor of moving would be that the cost of living would be lower and we could better afford our bills, moving in itself is an expensive undertaking.  It costs a lot to be in transition on selling a house, buying a new house, moving from one job to another, moving trucks, trips back and forth, fixing things to make the current house attractive to buyers or fixing things to make the new home livable, etc.

Then there's always the dilemma of WHERE to move.  Is the family farmhouse still available?  If not, would it be silly to move to the area anyway?  Where can Scott find a job?  And what's the distance in relation to where the kids' dad lives because you can't be too close or too far away?  Or what about the distance to our family, who we'd like to visit and have come visit us?  It might be fun to buy his Aunt's trailer in Branson, but would our growing family have enough space in a trailer?  It would be awesome to live right on the lake, but there would be a lot of work to be done to make it livable year-round.  And I'm assuming the cost of living in Branson would be higher due to the tourist industry.

One of my best friends is moving to a small town in northern Kansas and I am mourning that loss.  We even talked about Scott getting a job with the company that hired her husband, brother, and brother-in-law.  But, that would be a total change of job field for Scott, which is a major life change.  And with her sister and brother living nearby, it might be silly of us to follow her when her time will obviously be divided.  The draw for Scott to following them is that the company and the community sounds very faith-based.

The other decision we have been weighing briefly was sending the kids to a Christian school.  I was raised in public schools and did just fine.  Scott spent his whole life in Christian schools, so we have different backgrounds.  And we have different views.  I wrote a paper about this in college, stating in essence, that in a perfect world, the choice of education would be based on each individual child as each child is different and will learn and grow differently in different environments.  However, it isn't necessarily feasible to have one child in public school, one in Christian school, and one being home-schooled.

We started discussing this because of the issues with the children.  Both girls have been breaking the rules and having boyfriends behind our backs, sometimes lying and covering up their deception.  Both girls have been having attitude problems, Kimberly getting into trouble for mouthing off to her teacher.  Billy is obviously struggling at school.  I have been concerned about Arrena's school since I heard there was a rape there during school hours two years ago.  And there is the friend issue.  Arrena believes that Kimberly's friends are bad influences on her and tells us this all the time.  And based on some of the things Kimberly was hearing at school and Google-ing to find out what it meant, I am inclined to agree with her.  Arrena gets so angry when we bring this up, but she told me at one point that her friends were telling her that her mom would never know if she had a boyfriend, so she should just go ahead and have one.  She says not all of her friends said this and it was an isolated incident that we shouldn't judge her friends on.  But, obviously there is some concern about the influence on them.  With all of the difficulties our family has had, we have been seeking a Christian counselor to work with us, that understands our values.  So, the same could be argued about the kids' education.

I am not one that believes sending them to a Christian school will solve all their problems.  I know there are bad kids in private school too.  I also believe that their primary education should come from home because if it isn't taught and modeled at home, there is little the school can do.  The teachers cannot raise our children.  However, I sometimes think it might be nice to have that reinforcement, to have them being taught the Bible in school, to have friends and teachers that share their faith.

One of the downsides, again, is taking them away from what they have grown accustomed to.  Again, I think Kimberly and Billy would do okay with it, but Arrena would fight and struggle with starting over somewhere.  But, it wouldn't be like moving far away.  She could still see her friends, just after school not during school.  The biggest drawback is the cost.  It is so expensive that there is really no way we could afford it.  We could try to get financial aid and I have heard some about getting government funding to be able to choose private education over public education, since, as taxpayers, we pay for the public school system.  But, it would boil down to Scott having to work a LOT of extra shifts, which is hard when his shifts are 24 hours.  Or it would entail him going to school to be a nurse to make more money, which initially costs more money and takes a while to complete.  It seems like it's impossible, but we know that nothing is impossible.

While Arrena totally flew off the handle when she caught wind of some of these decisions, without hearing the reasoning or understanding that it was simply TALKING, not a done deal by far, I know that these things may never come to fruition and if they did would be a while down the road.  We will pray for God's guidance.  If He leads us to move or send the kids to a Christian school, then by all means, we will follow.  But, if the doors remain shut, then it's a non-issue.  My thought at this point would be for Scott to put out some feelers, some resumes, for us to research and look around, be informed and then see what God does!

I'm Worn

I'm tired, I'm worn
My heart is heavy
From the work it takes
To keep on breathing
I've made mistakes
I've let my hope fail
My soul feels crushed
By the weight of this world
And I know that You can give me rest
So I cry out with all that I have left

Let me see redemption win
Let me know the struggle ends
That You can mend a heart that's frail and torn
I wanna know a song can rise
From the ashes of a broken life
And all that's dead inside can be reborn
‘Cause I'm worn

I know I need
To lift my eyes up
But I'm too weak
Life just won't let up
And I know that You can give me rest
So I cry out with all that I have left

My prayers are wearing thin
I'm worn
Even before the day begins
I'm worn
I've lost my will to fight
I'm worn
So Heaven come and flood my eyes

Let me see redemption win
Let me know the struggle ends
That You can mend a heart that's frail and torn
I wanna know a song can rise
From the ashes of a broken life
And all that's dead inside can be reborn
‘Cause I'm worn

Yes, all that's dead inside will be reborn
Though, I'm worn
I'm worn

This song feels like it was ripped out of my soul.  I could have written most of these words, if I were eloquent enough to describe the way my heart aches.

I have long felt a kinship to Christian singer Rich Mullins.  I always heard about him because he lived in my hometown of Wichita, Kansas, and was a worship leader at a church that I later attended.  One of his songs, "Calling Out Your Name," has a reference to a statue in Wichita, The Keeper of the Plains.  His songs sometimes pierced my heart because they were so insightful into the way I felt.  Later, I realized that the reason I felt that Rich Mullins was a kindred spirit was because we seemed to struggle with the same pain.  I remembered reading in the book "Room of Marvels" that Rich was 'haunted' by the pain of the world.  I am now reading "Rich Mullins: An Arrow Pointing to Heaven," Rich's biography.  I'm sure I will find plenty more that is quoteworthy, but so far, this one caught my attention:

"Much of his pain, as Jim Smith remarks, came from the fact that he saw too much and felt too much.  His mother, Neva, said, "He could see the pain in another person even before they could see it themselves."  Poets are a unique breed of human beings.  They ricochet between agony and ecstasy because they take everything so personally.  Where other people feel kicked by an unkind word, the poet feels disemboweled.  The slightest provocation can induce a fit of weeping or a fit of ecstasy.  Others cannot understand why he does what he does, and the poet is downright clueless himself.  Rich Mullins often endured loneliness, as many people do, but he suffered in a way unknown to most of us.  Such extraordinary sensitivity is a blessing and a heartache."

I completely relate to that because that's totally how I feel.  If it weren't for antidepressants, I'm not sure I could cope with the feelings.  I just wish that God would use me the way he used Rich.  Rich didn't suffer in vain--many people were moved and encouraged by his music.  I want to be used by God.  I don't want to be famous like Rich, but I don't want my suffering to be in vain.  Let it be for something good.

Stop the World, I Want to Get Off

(Originally written March 2013)

Oh wow, where do I begin?

This blog post will not be creative or clever or humorous.  This blog post is about me and my life lately, which has most definitely not been humor-filled.

So, after about four years of having my depression medicinally controlled, I recently had a relapse.  I've also been having panic attacks and I finally admitted I needed some therapy regarding my ex-husband trying to strangle me, so they diagnosed me with post-traumatic stress disorder.  I have put on a lot of weight (not sure how since I don't eat much and have IBS) and have been living with physical pain for the past few months that has been getting increasingly worse.  My doctor has been trying to get my GERD under control and finally sent me to a specialist.  They did an endoscopy and placed a monitoring chip in my esophagus that recorded 233 reflux events in 2 days.  That impressed the unimpressable specialist, so he sent me to see a surgeon to consult about having a Nissen Fundoplication surgery.  I'd never heard of that before, but it's a surgery in which they wrap part of your stomach around the lower part of your esophagus in order to clamp it closed and prevent acid from coming back up.  If they are able to keep it laproscopic, it is a few days in the hospital and a two week recovery.  But, if they have to do open surgery, the recovery is six weeks.  My reflux has been so bad that I have aspirated numerous times on the acid, which is both extremely painful and thoroughly frightening.  However, the surgeon I consulted with told me that I was too overweight for that surgery and recommended a gastric bypass. Not only do I not want any bariatric surgeries, but my insurance won't cover them.  So, I guess my only other option is to lose weight.  My husband and I have started using Weight Watchers three weeks ago and so far, I have lost 7 pounds, so I pray it continues to help us.  Along with going to see the GI doctor, I have been trying to make the rounds, doing what my doctor has recommended.  Tried to see a OB/GYN about possible tubal ligation syndrome and some painful cysts, but her bedside manner left something to be desired, so putting that on hold temporarily and will seek out a better doc later on.  I'm also going to a psychiatrist and therapy for the aforementioned issues.  They changed my medication and that made things really interesting.  I had an allergic reaction to the new antidepressants and broke out in a rash and my hands swelled and went numb.  Another med I was given caused dizziness.  I felt like I was walking around in a narcotic fog.  I felt unsafe driving or going to work.  Between my extreme joint pain, the dizziness, and the depression, I felt like I could barely move.  The new meds seem like they are helping, but it's slow and I have been weepy in the meanwhile, which I hate.  I get really frustrated with myself that my body betrays me.  Everybody has stress, so why do I bawl and get migraines and have panic attacks when I am stressed?  Lately, I have felt like I am barely able to take care of myself, let alone my family, or have the strength to do my job or perform my household duties.

Arrena, my oldest, is 12 and in the 6th grade.  I have long considered her trustworthy and responsible.  However, the growing pains of starting middle school have been harder than we thought.  Things are different than when I was her age.  We didn't have texting and internet or social media.  So, I needed some time to think and pray and determine what the rules would be for her.  In the meanwhile, the rules were: no boyfriends, no texting/talking to boys on the phone, no boys on the internet.  We got her a cell phone for Christmas, primarily for texting her friends.  The rules of the cell phone were no boys, no deleting conversations, and mom had free reign to look through the phone.  One day, a friend called me to report some suspicious content on Arrena's Facebook page.  One of her friends had posted something about her having a boyfriend.  I confronted her about it.  At first, she tried to lie to me about it, but finally admitted this was her second boyfriend.  Much crying and talking and apologizing, and I made her break up with her boyfriend in front of me and didn't let her go to the Valentine's dance at school.  I thought that would be punishment enough.  A few weeks later, her sister ratted her out that after breaking up with the boy in front of me, she renewed the relationship until she decided he was cheating on her.  Her friends were telling her that her mother would never know.  As punishment, I took her phone for a week.  The following day, I went through her phone and found that she had another boyfriend.  She was talking to her friends about texting a boy, but I couldn't find any text conversation with a boy because she had deleted it.  I found cut-and-pasted conversations in her notepad, talking about "love."  I had known she had a crush on this boy and had asked her a few days before if they were "dating" and she told me no.  It turned out that she had hidden him in her phone under a girl's name.  It's not so much about the "boyfriend" because at this age, it's little more than a title.  However, we know from culture that "things" are happening faster and faster these days.  I want to protect my daughter which is why I have rules.  It's not as much about having a boyfriend as it is about breaking the rules, and lying, and sneaking around, and being deceptive.  So, this time the punishment had to hurt.  I took her phone permanently and grounded her from phone, internet, social media, sleepovers, and extracurricular activities indefinitely.  I think quitting drama club hurt her the most.  She started off defensive and angry.  We talked about how I cannot MAKE her obey, but that she has to decide whether or not she wants to follow Christ and what Jesus wants her to do.  She asked me if she had to break up with him.  I told her that judging by the last time, I couldn't make her do anything, but that she should figure out if she wanted to live in disobedience and what being Christ-like meant.  After a few days, she came to me and told me that she had ended the relationship.  I am not sure how to trust her or how long it will take to repair the broken relationship.  She has been complaining to everyone who will listen about how unfair the indefinite grounding is.  I'm sorry, but since when did these PRIVILEGES become RIGHTS?  Some days I really think about switching to an Amish-like existence.  I think it would be better for all of us.  And apparently her dad is criticizing my punishment behind my back, all the while telling me that he agrees and doesn't like her friends and doesn't believe she should be on the internet at all.  Nothing like some cooperation in parenting and undermining my authority.

Kimberly is 10 and in the 5th grade.  She has been having attitude issues for a couple of years.  I have been concerned about her mental and emotional health for a while.  She doesn't sleep well and was having some crying spells.  She followed her sister's suit this past year in going through puberty and that ramped everything up about 30 notches.  She went from being mama's girl and a touchy-feely kid to being mean, hateful, and not wanting anyone to touch her.  I tell her I love her and she says, "whatever."  I ask her what she's up to and she says, "what do you care?"  I try to hug her and she flinches like I'm diseased.  She used to crawl up in my husband's lap and begged me to marry him and now she treats him like something she stepped in.  And it's not just us.  I've caught her screaming at her brother that he is a freak.  She mouths off to her teacher.  And she tells off fellow-students. And before I even finished writing this blog, I discovered by accident that she'd been looking at pornography on the Internet.  Then I found out that she was contemplating cutting.  She not only told a friend of mine and admitted it to me, but apparently one of her friends reported it to an outside agency that reported it back to the school, so the principal pulled me aside.  She is now on a mild antidepressant.  Then her sister squealed on her, as payback, that she had a boyfriend too.  Talking with her about these things initially improved things.  The other day, she was throwing attitude at my husband and I and when I spoke to her, she started questioning her faith.  She said that she's glad it works for me, but it doesn't work for her.  She said that if God is real, He doesn't care about her because He isn't helping her.  This breaks my heart more than anything.  I know how hard life is and I can't imagine doing it without having God to help me, without having hope.  I don't have many expectations for my children as they grow up or any high and lofty dreams.  The one thing that I want for them is to follow Christ.  I want them to grow in his love and to be Christ-like.  I don't want them to struggle through life and make life-changing mistakes.  And I want to see them in heaven someday.

I've written about Billy's issues before.  He's 8 and is in the 2nd grade.  We have been dealing with his behavior issues for years.  He has been going to a psychiatrist and counseling for 3 or 4 years.  We have been arranging and rearranging medication for him as things work and stop working.  They never wanted to pigeon-hole him, but the working diagnosis is ADHD, ODD, and severe mood dysregulation, although his symptoms could also fit Asperger's, which we have long suspected.  We have had our fair share of problems with him.  Primarily his misbehavior was at home.  He occasionally would act out at school or church, but mostly, he saved his meltdowns for us.  He has jumped out his window, tried to run into a highway, threatened me with scissors, called 911 for the heck of it, screamed obscenities/threats/hate, and threatened to hurt himself, among other things.  When he gets really worked up, we have to hold him down for about 15 minutes and he seems to reset.  He obviously has sensory issues and we know that certain situations will overstimulate him and cause problems.  As this has been going on for so long with little change and he has become more and more violent, the counselor has recommended that we look into in-patient treatment for him.  This is not something that I want to do.  He's my baby and I can't imagine turning him over to strangers.  He is a mama's boy and I am afraid of how he would take it as well.  I will do whatever it takes to help him, but I pray that it doesn't come to that.  This year, he has started really acting out at school.  Numerous times, I get phone calls while I am at work from the school to come and get him.  He has been suspended once so far, if you don't count all the times he has been sent home early.  They have made accommodations for him over and over.  I have tried to get him an IEP or get him into a special ed program, but they don't want to test him yet so close to the end of the school year, and with so little data since he has only recently been acting out at school.  In the meanwhile, I feel like we are stuck between a rock and a hard place.  He is running away from the staff, biting/kicking/hitting adults, throwing chairs, knocking over tables, totally out of control.  And it is usually over small things.  The other day he punched one of the support staff in her stomach.  I'm thankful it wasn't the vice-principal, who is pregnant.  They had to evacuate his classroom one day because he was on a rampage.  I don't know where we go from here because it sounds like the school is at the end of their rope.  I am afraid they are going to expel him and then I don't know what we will do.  When I talk to his dad about it, he blames us, the school, the medication, the doctors, etc.  He thinks we need to send Billy to him, that he needs more time with his dad (even though he goes months without seeing them of his own volition).  I sent the kids there for spring break and Billy's first day back, he was out of control at school again.  His dad thinks I should quit my job and homeschool Billy, even though he is not paying child support and when he does pay, it's an insulting amount.  I completed paperwork for evaluations from Children's Mercy and K.U. Med Center to try to pin down a diagnosis because right now, we are not trusting his psychiatrist.  When I try to research his diagnosis, I have trouble finding it and what I do find says the opposite of what he says.  We quit going to the counselor because he quit counseling Billy and switched to family counseling, which obviously isn't doing Billy any good and wasn't helping anyone else since Kimberly refused to talk to him.  I wonder how much longer we have before the violence at school becomes a criminal matter.  How long til they start calling the police when he hits the adults?  This has to be controlled before he is big enough to do damage to people.  How long will the school drag their feet before they acknowledge that he needs special education classes?  After two months of asking, I finally put my IEP request in writing.  I got a letter that they will contact me within 30 days, which is very close to the end of the school year.  I'm trying to fight for my son to have his needs met and be in a safe environment and not a drain on the staff, but then sometimes I feel like I am defending myself to them.  I feel sorry for him, that he is constantly in trouble, but what are we supposed to do???

When it rains, it pours.  Can't have one problem at a time.  And the world doesn't stop because you are struggling.  You have to go to work, you have to go to the store, you have to go to church, you have to keep going, while people all around you have no idea the turmoil that is going on inside of you.  You smile, you say "fine" when people ask how you are,  you put on the perky persona at work since depression doesn't sell.  Yet all the while, you feel like life is crumbling around you.  Why doesn't everyone else notice?  Why can't they feel the pain radiating off of you?  Why doesn't the world stop spinning?  And then you look around and wonder what is behind all the masks you see.  The cashier at the grocery store, the customer at work, the crazy driver that just cut you off--what private pain are they hiding?  And so you keep smiling, not because you feel like it or necessarily because you want to hide your pain, but because you want to give a tiny ray of hope to someone else who might be hurting.

People Who Hurt

(I don't like Blogger's new format.  Used to be, when I didn't finish a blog, but later came back and published it, the date would revert back to when I started the blog.  That's not happening anymore.  This blog was written around January 2013)

I don't like confrontation at all.  I would rather just slink away and lick my wounds in private.  And that's what I've always done.  I'm sure it's partly because that's my personality and partly a learned behavior.  My ex-husband was not exactly easy to talk to and even harder to argue with.  His temper made me afraid to talk about any real problems...and there were a lot of them.  So, I internalize.  Blah, blah, blah, psycho-babble.

Now I've been forced into two confrontations in one week.  It't not enough that I have stress in my life from every side.  Job stress, children stress, health stress, continuous ex-husband stress, plus I'm having a depression relapse.  No, two individuals had to bring confrontation to me.

To the family member who got feathers ruffled because I didn't immediately accept a Facebook friend request from someone who (I thought) was already on my friend list and then posted that I was a fatty that she didn't care about and then claimed her account was hacked: whether you believe it or not, I AM a nice person.  Do you think I couldn't have hurled back some insults?  Do you think I don't get angry or can't think up hateful things to say?  But part of being an adult and a Christian is controlling your tongue.  Not saying what immediately comes to mind.  Letting Christ control.  I am not perfect and I screw up plenty.  I am not tooting my own horn.  But, I want to be more and more like Christ.  So, instead of responding in kind, I pray for you.  When I FEEL like yelling back and telling you what I think of you, instead I am trying to forgive you and love you anyway and bite my tongue.

To the "friend" who abandoned me with no warning, no provocation then months later after I have made peace with it, shows back up asking me why we aren't friends anymore: isn't it sort of hypocritical to a) abandon and avoid me without telling me why, then tell me that if you did something wrong, I should speak up and tell you about it; and b) ask me to tell you what you did wrong and then when I do, you get defensive and cuss me out and run away again?  I know you have stuff going on in your life.  I wanted to be there for you.  I tried and then you cut me out of your life.  I have stuff going on in my life too, but do you care?  Were you there for me when my grandpa died?  Are you here for me when I am going through medical tests and doctors' appointments?  Are you here when my son is being kicked out of school or my daughter is breaking the rules and sneaking around or when my other daughter is struggling with depression?  Where were you when I had a confrontation with my ex-husband about the kids?  Are you around to help out and babysit when I am overwhelmed?  Where are you when I am stressed and struggling?  Since you obviously can't remember how things went down, let me refresh your memory: I invited you to several get-togethers and you refused every one.  You can say you have thought of my children every day, but you declined invitations to birthday parties.  Our mutual friend told me that when we would plan a get-together, your first question was whether I would be there because you didn't want to hang out with me.  If I was going, you refused to go.  After posting some portraits on my Facebook photography page and then copying the link to my personal page, I read a post from you about how pathetic it is for "some people" to post pictures over and over and that it won't get you more likes.  Then later that day, I find I have been blocked from your Facebook page and that you unliked my photography page.  You talked me into starting the photography business and now you won't support me.  This was all so junior high-ish and I don't have the patience or the heart to chase after someone who doesn't want to be my friend.  So, I unfriended you on Facebook.  I didn't hear from you at all after that.  Except I heard you were asking about me and saying you missed me.  You had my number. You could have called me any time.  Then I get this text message late at night, saying you missed me, asking what you did wrong, etc.  I answered you honestly and kindly.  You denied it all.  What more could I say, so I said nothing further.  I don't want to argue, I don't need friends like this, so I find it best to just say nothing at all.  There would be no convincing you, so why try?  So, what is your response?  To cuss me out and accuse me of being childish.  You want me to forget you ever texted me, delete your number, and have a nice life.  I love the added touch of "I tried."  You tried what--to insult me?  To start a fight?  Then three months later, out of the blue, I get a Facebook friend request?  Really?  The last words I heard from you were to cuss me out and tell me to forget you and then you think we can just be friends like nothing ever happened?  I pray for you and your children and I forgive you for how you treated me.  However, I will not be a doormat.  I will surround myself with friends who love me and are there for me, not ones that use me and insult me.  I am so sorry for the troubles you have in your life.  I pray that you find a friend who will be there for you and that you can have mutual respect with, but it's not me.  I would have loved to have been there for you, but I have to have boundaries or else I end up taking on more hurt and disappointment than I can emotionally and mentally handle.

Maybe this post sounds harsh and mean, but I have to get my feelings out here so they don't stay bottled up or explode onto others.  I get angry too.  I get hurt too.  But, I am striving to be like my Savior.  Lord, bless these two who have hurt me and help me not to be bitter and angry about it.

Christmas Eve Gifts

Tonight, on Christmas Eve, I am humbled by the knowledge that God not only gave His Son for us, but that he continues to give gifts.

Today, I was wrapping up a gift for my brother, a book about John 3:16.  That reminded me of a short story that I shared earlier on this blog, which reminded me of the reason that I wrote that story.  I was standing in a church service, listening to someone reading that passage and thinking, though I knew better, that anyone would die for the whole world.  I mean, watch the movie Armageddon and you see that.  Immediately, I felt the presence of God around me and I FELT the words, "even if you had been the only one, I still would have died for you."  I felt weak and stunned and unworthy and yet loved at the same time.  I had never had such an amazing experience before and I have never looked at the familiar verse the same since.  As I recalled that day, I was again reminded of my unworthiness and yet my value to God.

It was a recurring theme today.  Earlier in the day, a friend had called me to tell me of the miraculous happenings at her sister's house.  Christmas was going to be extremely lean at their house, but out of the blue, a U-Haul pulled up to their house and people they didn't know got out and started unloading groceries and gifts for them.  It reminded me of when I was a single mom and was out of makeup and conditioner, two things that were luxuries I couldn't afford.  A knock at the door revealed strangers from a nearby church, passing out gift bags.  Inside the bag was conditioner and makeup.  The message was crystal clear: "I will provide.  I am concerned with the details of your life."  But, who am I to have God send some strangers to my door to deliver cosmetics?  My brother asked the same question earlier this year when a stranger approached him with a message from God, armed with details that he couldn't possibly have known otherwise.

When we went to the Christmas Eve service at church tonight, our pastor delivered an envelope to us, containing $200 from an "anonymous donor."  This is the second time something like this has happened to me.  Several years back, our Sunday school teachers gave us an envelope with a couple hundred dollars in it, saying they choose a family to bless every year and that year, it was us.  Now, just as I did then, I feel unworthy.  Yes, life has been difficult, but we have what we need.  God has been good to us.  I thought, "surely there must be someone else that needs this more than we do."  I thought of all the ways that I have failed and wondered why God would seek to bless me when I have let Him down in so many ways.  I thought of the times we have squandered money and felt guilty.  It wasn't long before I was crying, thinking again of how much God loves me even though I don't deserve it.

Just last week, my friend called to tell me that the same thing had just happened to her: the pastor had given her an envelope containing $500 after asking her what the church could do for them, since receiving an anonymous prayer request for them.  She was sure that it had been me because only I could know the struggles they were facing.  But, I am not the only one.  Regardless of who is humanly behind any of these random acts of kindness, we know that God is ultimately behind them.  He knows what no man can possibly know about our lives...and loves us anyway.

The life of His Son was more than we deserved.  His life was more precious than anything imaginable.  And yet, He doesn't stop there.  He continues to give, a loving Father at Christmas, giving gifts to His children.  O Father, make us more like you.

I Love You Too Much Not to Warn You (or to care what you think about this blog)

The question of whether a loving God would send anyone to hell is a stumbling block for many. It's a question Christians are often asked of their faith. If our God is love, why would He condemn any to a lake of fire? The conclusion of those who do not have a personal relationship with God is that either there is no God or that He is mean and vindictive.

God IS love. No, He isn't willing that any should perish (II Peter 3:9  "The Lord is not slow in keeping his promise, as some understand slowness. Instead he is patient with you, not wanting anyone to perish, but everyone to come to repentance."). Why else would He send His only son to die for us? He has pulled out all the stops to prevent those He loves from going to the place created for the devil and his demons. Those that end up in hell choose to ignore His gift., His exit strategy, His sacrifice, His love. They choose to go their own way. They are there by choice. This is the downside of free will: the freedom to make the wrongchoice.

Some Christians don't believe that there is a literal hell, that all the references in the Bible are figurative.  However, if you take the literal hell out if the equation, the whole theology of Christianity collapses. If there is no hell, why is there a death? Death is decay brought on by sin. If there is no hell, what is the point of death? Why shouldn't we go on living forever, or be raised to heaven, one and all? And if there is no hell or death, there is no consequences for sin. And if there is no consequences for sin, is there sin at all? If there are no consequences, how do you tell right from wrong? If there is no consequence, couldn't we live however we want and do what we want.? If there is no sin, why did Jesus die? If there is no hell, no sin, why would he have to die? If there is no consequences, no death, then he couldn't die. This destroys the whole crux of our faith. If Christ didn't die for our sins, why are we here?  If he didn't die for our sins, we should stop right now.  We have no hope.  We should pack it in and go home.  If he didn't die for us, then the Bible is a lie and we shouldn't trust any of it.  But, the good news is that he DID die to pay the debt against us.

When I was in high school, a classmate constantly ridiculed me for my faith and teased me about worshiping Satan. Before we were even upperclassmen, he was shot and killed accidentally. It broke my heart, thinking of his rejection of Jesus' gift of salvation.  A not so close family member died around the age of 40 from hard living. Although I hadn't been close to her, the funeral left me broken and weeping. The striking aspect of the funeral was the complete lack of hope. The wailing and sobbing was poignant, a stark contrast to the funerals of those who trust in Christ. One of the worst experiences with death I have ever had, if dwelt on for too long, reduces me to panic attacks because of the heartbreak it represents. My former father-in-law thought he had plenty of time. He said he'd make things right with God eventually, but for the present time, he wanted to live the way he wanted to live. He died a couple of weeks after he told me this, at the age of 40.  I loved him very much and it still breaks my heart to think of him in hell.  But, that was his choice.  His choice was to reject the Savior.

Please don't make the same mistakes that these made.  You don't know how much time you have.  Don't wait.  Waiting is saying no.

I am reminded of a couple of songs, whose authors are much more eloquent than I:

Thorns on his head
A spear in his side
Yet it was a heartache that made him cry
He gave his life
So you'd understand
Is there any way you could say no to this man?
If Christ himself was standing here
Face full of glory and eyes full of tears
And he held out his arms
And his nail-printed hands
Is there any way you could say no to this man?
How could you look in his tear-stained eyes
Knowing it's you he's thinking of?
Could you tell him you're not ready to give him your life?
Could you say you don't think you need his love?
Jesus is here with his arms open wide
You could see him with your heart
If you'd stop looking with your eyes
He's left it up to you
He's done all he can
Is there any way you could say no to this man?

What if you're right?
And he was just another nice guy
What if you're right?
What if it's true?
They say the cross will only make a fool of you
And what if it's true?

What if he takes his place in history
With all the prophets and the kings
Who taught us love and came in peace
But then the story ends?
What then?

But what if you're wrong?
What if there's more?
What if there's hope you never dreamed of hoping for?
What if you jump
And just close your eyes?
What if the arms that catch you, catch you by surprise?
What if He's more than enough?
What if it's love?

What if you dig
Way down deeper than your simple-minded friends?
What if you dig?
What if you find
A thousand more unanswered questions down inside?
That's all you find

What if you pick apart the logic
And begin to poke the holes?
What if the crown of thorns is no more
Than folklore that must be told and retold?

But what if you're wrong?
What if there's more?
What if there's hope you never dreamed of hoping for?
What if you jump
And just close your eyes?
What if the arms that catch you, catch you by surprise?
What if He's more than enough?
What if it's love?

You've been running as fast as you can
You've been looking for a place you can land for so long
But what if you're wrong?


I am reminded of an article that I read online not that long ago.  An atheist said that if we as Christians truly believe what we say we believe, then we should be out there telling people, regardless of what they may think of us.  He said he respects someone who believes they have hope and the answer, sharing it with others.  If I had the cure for cancer, what benefit would it be if I kept it to myself?  How selfish!  What I have is infinitely more precious and necessary.  What I have written may offend you, but if I truly believe it (and I do) and if I truly love you, then I can't walk on eggshells. There's no time to be politically correct.

Papa

My grandpa was larger than life.  He was a large man with massive hands.  He made his living as a carpenter and even though I only knew him as an older man, he was still one of the strongest men I ever knew.  And yet, he was gentle, funny, and loved the Lord.  He was so tickled when we named our son after him, that he carried him around and showed him off to everyone, buttons bursting.  Anytime Billy was misbehaving, grandpa just smiled in that way that meant he thought that little boy could do no wrong, and said, "He just takes after me!"

Nine years ago, he was diagnosed with Parkinson's disease and his health began to decline.  It was hard watching my hero becoming more frail, crying, and saying his goodbyes as though he might not make it to the next Christmas or the next family reunion.

Three years ago, he went into the VA hospital and came out with a permanent feeding tube.  While visiting him there one day, I was sure he was very close to leaving us.  I immediately rejected the idea because after my dad's death and my divorce, I couldn't take losing another man from my life.  However, he was still strong and kept going.  He did a couple of stints in a nursing home and several trips to the VA hospital.  He learned to eat again twice before he completely lost the ability.  He was also suffering from longer and longer bouts of dementia.

Gradually, I realized I had to let him go.  He told me that he was tired and wanted to go "home."  I knew it was selfish to want him to stay in this fragile body on this troubled earth.  So, every time I saw him, I would hug him and tell him that I loved him, prepared for it to be the last time I would see him on this earth.

About two and a half weeks ago, my mom texted me that they had taken him to the hospital by ambulance.  This is not the first time, but this time, they had to put him on a ventilator.  They tried a few times to take him off the ventilator, but he wouldn't breathe on his own.  He had two kinds of pneumonia, sepsis, and had decreased brain activity from small previous strokes.  After lots of discussion, they decided to take out his ventilator a week after he had been admitted.  We packed up and drove to Wichita.

I stayed by his side as much as I could. For one, I felt like it was the least I could do for a man that was the backbone of our family.  For two, my mom and my grandma needed my help and support.  And three, I think I was trying to make up for not being there for my dad when he died.  I won't go into the next week and a half of watching him fade away in hospice. I don't want to dwell on what it was like listening to him choking and gurgling or on the tears we shed, but on his life and the example he left behind.  He is exactly the kind of man I want my son to grow up to be like.  I have no doubt that I will see him again and that he is with Jesus. He went home and I can imagine him strong and whole, walking with his Lord, whooping and hollering his praises.  I wouldn't wish him back to this life of pain and suffering for anything.

One moment I will never forget.  A day or two before he died, he was mumbling a lot.  He was never fully conscious, but he was looking around more that day and focused his eyes on grandma for a second.  I walked to his side and patted him and said, "I love you, Papa."  He mumbled a response.  He had been unresponsive since entering the hospital, so this was unexpected.  I said, "I know you love me too," because I could hear in his mumbling what he always said to me, "I love you, too, sis."  I will treasure that goodbye for the rest of my life, until we are reunited in heaven.

The morning he died, I had stayed the night at the hospital.  My mother had been debating about taking a shower, afraid to leave for even a moment.  I had been reading about hospice care and knew he couldn't go on much longer without food or fluids.  But, I encouraged mom to go take care of herself.  Not long after she went down the hall to the family bathroom, as grandma and I sat talking, there was a hitch in his breath.  We had been so attuned to the sounds he made that when it suddenly stopped, we immediately started.  Grandma started to cry and said, "Oh, it's happened, he's gone."  I told her to wait a minute, that one of the signs of the end was pauses between breaths.  Sure enough, he took another breath.  We both gathered around his bed and she held his hand and stroked his hair while I patted him.  She prayed, "Jesus, take him," and I whispered a thank you in his ear.  The nurse's aide came in to care for him and when she saw his breathing pattern, she went to get the nurse.  We debated about whether or not to go get my mom.  Grandma thought it was best that she wasn't there, but I knew mama would be upset that she wasn't.  So, eventually, we decided I should go get her since we had no idea how long this may go on.  I knocked on the door and told mom what was happening.  She said she would be there as soon as she was done, thinking that it could last for a while.  When I came back in, the nurse's aide was back with the nurse and the chaplain.  I saw papa take a breath as I crossed the room to his bedside and then he was gone.  Of course my mother was upset that she hadn't been there, but grandma believes that he was waiting for her to leave, that he hadn't wanted any of his children there.

I have never been a particularly strong person, but I am glad I was there.  I am glad that I was able to do something for him and for my family.  I'm also glad that I was able to experience some personal growth through this.  If no other good came from his death, it brought my brother and I closer together, as we sat in the hospice waiting room, talking for hours.  That, in itself, was worth all the tears.