Tis the season when family and friends gather. Food and drinks are shared. And the barrage of questions begin…How are you? What’s new? What’s next? What about…? The list goes on. The intent is meant well, a genuine interest in you. Meanwhile, the answers aren’t always easy and the questions can be uncomfortable.
When you’ve been through something traumatic, you might not want to relive it. Or maybe you’ve improved but aren’t out of the woods yet.
You’re clueless of “what’s next” and the thought scares you to death.
You don’t really have anything “new” going on, but you won’t want to seem ho hum (or worse boring).
The most common response to “how are you” is typically “fine,” which could be short for frustrated, insecure, neurotic, and emotional. Let’s face it—we’ve all faked a smile and said “fine” because it’s easier. Preparing for the holidays can sometimes feel overwhelming. Maybe nothing necessarily “bad” has happened, it can just all be exhausting…defensively causing your guard to go up.
Am I in a bad place? No. This is simply me thinking ahead and telling myself to read the room. Listen—attentively, giving the person in front of me my ears AND eyes. Sometimes we miss things when there’s background noise vying for our attention. I fondly remember talking with someone who made me feel incredibly special. Even though she was hosting the event, I felt like our conversation was in a beautiful snow globe. Magical—protected from everything else happening around us. Could I tell you what we talked about? No. But I can absolutely fondly remember that peaceful feeling.
So my friends, here’s my prayer for us as we enter “the most wonderful time of the year” (thank you Andy Williams). It comes straight from the Apostle Paul, who reminds us of God’s free and boundless grace. “May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that by the power of the Holy Spirit you may abound in hope” (Romans 15:13 ESV). Kids believe in Santa. Let’s remain steadfast in believing we can not only find but bring peace wherever this season takes us.
I haven’t shared anything REA/L in awhile…life has been a bit too unbelievably chaotic. Have there been blessings mixed in? Absolutely! Those joys have been the bulk of my posts this year. These are the things I want to have pop up in my memories. The unpleasantries, however, I’d prefer to erase…
Within our family of four, we’ve had six surgeries among us this year with one more on the horizon. The specialists, appointments, treatments, therapies, etc have dictated the bulk of our schedules. Out of necessity, we’ve collectively danced with more fluidity than ever before…typically it’s just one of us (mainly me) that assumes the patient role. This time it’s entirely different and not in a good way.
My surgeries were incredibly personal and deemed medically necessary for prevention. Cancer ravaged my father, and with my bizarre “ecosystem,” avoiding that horrific parasite bestowed the best option. I discovered in the minimal sharing of the “why” I had a double mastectomy was met with confusion. “So you didn’t have cancer?” No, I’d reply almost apologetically, I did not. While I am fortunate this is the case, my chapter of recuperation is still unfinished.
Two weeks after my surgeries, our youngest needed knee surgery from an injury. She is still working her way back to even—making fantastic progress might I add. Rehab is never easy, and she is diligently putting in the time required to return to the activities she loves. It’s laborious. There have been tears of frustration and pain. The “other side” drives her so this too will be in the rear view mirror.
About a month later, the “c” word entered our household. It was utterly out of the blue. There were no symptoms. He didn’t fit the risk profile. And yet…
“I’m so sorry,” he says when we get the results. Tells the kids the same thing. They both immediately respond with the obvious: “This is not your fault!” He unfortunately doesn’t readily accept this. In his mind, he is the caregiver. He is glue. It’s his “responsibility” to ensure everyone has what they need. His provider gene runs strong. This is unwelcomed and unfamiliar territory, for all of us. Less than two weeks after diagnosis, treatment begins, and here we remain, praying all this will totally eradicate his cancer.
Last month, our oldest had oral surgery to remove four impacted wisdom teeth. I think people trivialize this type of surgery, relegating it as “routine,” which is regrettable. There’s something wholly unnerving about being knocked out while having people inside your mouth, looking at the unrecognizable person in the mirror, and struggling to eat, drink or talk.
Welp, there it is—the life data dump of our last six months. It’s a lot. And yes, we are all intimately aware our family has already been through “a lot.” We cling tightly to each other, especially when one of us tries to retreat, because that’s how we are wired. Eventually someone will figure out “the fix,” even if the solution is simply space. This too shall pass is our mantra, which is only moderately easier to swallow when spoken within our four walls. The absolute truth that guides us daily is this: the Lord will see us through, as He has so graciously done countless times before. “There’s a blessing buried in it,” he says as we leave the infusion center today. Yes, my love, there always is.
I am in a state of “too.” Too much stress from too many things going awry too frequently to handle this two seconds leaving me entirely too tired to keep my emotions in check. I feel like a two year old on the brink of a total meltdown: screaming, crying, both. I cannot find a light at the end of this weighty two ton tunnel. The load is oppressively crushing.
“Relax,” he says. “It’ll be ok—everything is fixable.” Fixable? Yes, deep within the recesses I can fundamentally accept this; however, there’s not enough surface tension to hold this truth. I am done…too “too.”
Have you been there? I have a frequent flier card for this place that I wish I could shred. Each visit more unpleasant than the last. Some might say, “It’s just ‘x’ you should ‘y.’” Here’s the thing: the value of my variables might very well be significantly different from the ones in your equation. I know full well that we all have “stuff,” and that it’s perfectly normal. What’s conflicting is my “stuff” never seems to fit into a “normal” box, and it keeps happening all too often, leaving me worn thin. It is in these threadbare moments, when I pray with open hands upon my knees, where I do not possess the words to proclaim or confess any conviction, that He meets me most intimately.
There is no masking my vulnerability. No explanation required. A seemlessly simple shift of my “I can’t…too much” situation to the One who is infinitely able takes delicate unraveling as I’m horrifically knotted, which has absolutely nothing to do with His capability and everything my reticence. Again I ask, have you been there?
“We know that everything God made has been waiting until now in pain, like a woman ready to give birth. Not only the world, but we also have been waiting with pain inside us. We have the Spirit as the first part of God’s promise. So we are waiting for God to finish making us His own children. I mean we are waiting for our bodies to be made free. We were saved, and we have this hope. If we see what we are waiting for, then that is not really hope. People do not hope for something they already have. But we are hoping for something that we do not have yet. We are waiting for it patiently.”
Romans 8:22-25 ICB
Waiting in pain (v 22). Waiting with pain…waiting…waiting (v 23). Saved…hope…waiting (v 24). Waiting again (v 25) then “PATIENTLY.” That’s the excruciating part! You see, the conversion is straightforward. We release and He removes, exchanging the pain for something far greater. It’s the patience in the waiting that’s difficult. Coming to grips with the fact that everyone else is also in some form of pain. We are not the only ones onboard the “waiting” boat. While our specific circumstance likely varies from another’s, we—the collective WE—are more than equipped to wait (through the power of His Holy Spirit). The tricky part is HOW we decide to do it. We know the correct answer: patiently; however, the process can be painfully elusive.
This brings me full circle to the “too thin” concept. We have sufficient means to “wait,” what we lack is a reasonable plan of how we should navigate the journey. Patience grants us access to a smoother cruise controlled lane—all that is required is removal of the desire to manage the speed.
So as I sit constrained in this uncomfortable place, wrecklessly driving myself down the wrong path, I must relinquish authority over the wheel and the gas peddle. Once freed from this burden, I still might not feel His skillful hand covering mine, but it does not mean He isn’t there. He is simply waiting patiently for me to let go of my binding “too thin” belt so I can finally relax…and receive enough.
With a splitting headache, I made myself get redressed. Black skirt, rouged sleeved blouse, and heels since I was unsure of the evening’s dress code. Better to be slightly over than under. Quick kisses on checks, and I was out the door. It had been awhile since I’d gone to an event solo.
“Event” is a bit of a stretch. This was a meeting. First one of its kind I’d attended. Not knowing what to expect was nervociting (nervous and exciting at the same time). Compounding matters was the location I’d never been to coupled with navigating rush hour traffic. The parking lot only held a smattering of vehicles, so my timing was spot on.
Thankfully, my name was on the list when I entered, making check in a breeze. I began taking a lap around the room, and a familiar face appeared. We exchanged pleasantries. I apologized for my lackluster demeanor—head still beating through my skull, causing everything to be more difficult than it would normally.
Continuing on, I see a mini boutique set up, which I of course found something to purchase knowing it would benefit the club. With a fresh water bottle in hand, I turned and faced the tables where people had already begun sitting. This is always the fun part: finding the right group to join. Strategically, I choose the one front and center where, it appeared, plenty of open seats were available. To my relief, this assessment was correct, and I quickly introduce myself as “new.”
As the room filled, my headache became more demanding. I search for my AirPods in an attempt to drown out some of the noise with calming music. No dice, left them at home. Why on Earth did I decide to come tonight? I take a deep breath and tell myself it’ll be ok. I can do this, it’s just a couple hours.
The meeting begins. Following the agenda provided on the table, things move relatively swiftly, then finally the guest speaker was introduced. It was apparent from her bio that she was firmly entrenched in this group. Energetic, she bounced around the various avenues she’d taken to arrive before us today. It was inspiring listening to the way each twist and turn led to another; however, at this point in the evening, it took great effort keeping up with all the words. My brain’s processing powers had started slowing when these words slapped me to attention:
“When nothing comes out…”
She was referring to her work as an artist, rather, when as an artist, her creative side suddenly stopped flowing. She couldn’t paint. Not that she was physically incapable of putting brushstrokes on a canvas, it was just blank. Nothing was coming out. Simulataneously, her boys were at the age where they required more of her attention, so she switched focus, concentrated energy on her family, and that was ok. She was exactly where she needed to be. Painting would wait, which was hard but ultimately ok as well.
For months now, I’d have a momentary flash of something to write, then POOF! Gone. Nothing was coming out. No matter how hard I grasped for the thread that tickled my brain, I was left empty handed. The proverbial pen had dried up. I often wondered…was that it God? Did I write all that you’d have me say? While some might have called it writer’s block, I knew in my heart this was something else.
Have you ever had a “dry season,” where it feels like you’ve somehow wandered into a desolate dessert? Where you feel lost, maybe abandoned, like someone just plucked you from one place and dumped you into another? Join the club. It sucks. All that had come easily for me was suddenly ripped away. I was left uncomfortable, insecure, staring at my own blank canvas.
When nothing comes out, or things don’t go the way you think it should, it feels like a wasteland. But even in the most barren spaces, where gaps and cracks of what “should be” are painfully more visible, a great cavern of sorts—solidarity still exists. Congratulations! You’ve officially joined a club where the membership is free but not binding. Others have gone before you. Some are right there with you. More will find their way in too. Just remember: you do not have to remain in the club.
You might not find this as revolutionary as I did in that moment but simply hearing an unspoken “I’ve been there too” was lifegiving water to my parched pen. It didn’t matter that I hadn’t written in months. That chasm was bridged when I recognized and received the outstretched hand before me.
It’s ok.
I was not alone.
This slump, season, or series of unfortunate events cannot derail us from any plans God has already set into motion.
“I alone know the plans I have for you, plans to bring you prosperity and not disaster, plans to bring about the future you hope for.”
Jeremiah 29:11 GNT
Whatever cataclysmic “thing” that’s eating at you, don’t think for a moment that He isn’t right there, in the thick of it, watching over you. He is infinitely mightier than anything that might come against. Know that. The very moment you confessed Jesus is Lord, you were granted membership into a club of eternal grace. A place of goodness and powerful source of hope.
I had no idea why I made myself attend this meeting, especially feeling like I did, but I was so thankful I did. Sharing her confession of faith and obedience instead of rebellion was exactly what I needed to hear. Peace replaced shame. Passion resurrected. Hope restored.
After the meeting wrapped up, I waited patiently to thank her for her words. She said she had prayed that she’d touched someone with her testimony. Yes, indeed, Jane you did exactly that.
Friends, it’s in sharing our vulnerable moments, where we cry out, question, and sometime rebel, that He is closest.
“For he will give his angels orders concerning you,
to protect you in all your ways.”
Psalm 91:11 CSB
Currently, I am finishing this while sitting in a dentist chair, mouth half numbed, awaiting my doctor’s return with a book on my lap. This opened a door of conversation and brought the opportunity to share my struggles. In my newfound confidence, I uttered the words “I’m a writer,” something I had not claimed in months. My “by chance” meeting with Jane, on a night I could have easily missed, allowed me to once again provide an avenue back to Him. In exposing my weakness, when nothing was coming out, God filled the cracks and granted access to once more be His vessel.
Your vulnerable admission that you don’t have it all together could be the very thing someone else needs to hear, at just the right time.
In a recent conversation with someone whom I dearly love, she asked how my recovery was going. Here’s the exchange that followed:
I’m ok. Just need to remember how to be a patient again. You’d think with all the times I’ve been in the “patient” situation it would be easier.
Nah, I get it. Every time you fight your way back to feeling good again, it’s even harder to sit still and work back up to fully functional again. It makes sense. ❤️ But you come back better each time. 😉
This. I so needed to hear this today. Maybe you need it as well. You come back better. Again, and again. I’m not sure if she intentionally used that word twice in one sentence, but it stood out to me.
We all go through stuff, have trauma, and it’s ok to feel an obesity of emotions. Then afterwards, we gotta stand up again (and again). Choose to fight—not in a violent, rather overcomer way. FIGHT!
Find
Incredible
Goodness
tHrough
Trauma
“You can’t wait until life isn’t hard anymore before you decide to be happy.”
Jane (Nightbirdie) Marczewski
It’s the in spite of, not the trauma, that should steal our focus. The wildflower growing out of the sidewalk. The rainbow in the storm. The unavoidable laughter through tears. THAT kind of joy, an impregnable goodness, is infectious in the best possible way.
The world needs more of this. See, share, spread this. FIGHT, my friends.
Do you find yourself saying tomorrow, soon, or someday in relation to realizing a positive change in your life? I do. Quite frequently, if I’m honest. I think about it, whether it be fleetingly or obsessively. Sometimes I’ll go so far as making elaborate plans or rigid schedules in search of change but no amount of talk or thought provides measurable forward momentum.
This leaves me feeling stuck, which sucks. Think we’ve all been there. But what do I usually do next? I pick apart all the why’s this always happens and round we go. A vicious cycle. Stuck.
Today, I had a revelation. The best part of being stuck is this: getting unstuck. Seriously. While completely obvious, it’s the undeniable solution to my problem. It’s actually my unvocalized yet ultimate goal— removal from an undesirable place and onto a better one. All it requires is one small change to get the ball rolling.
But here’s the thing: we have to actually remove ourselves from the undesirable place. Again, obvious; however, it’s far easier to stay planted somewhere familiar than uproot ourselves. While we may despise our current position, at least we know what to expect.
Isaiah 43:18 tells us “Do not cling to events of the past or dwell on what happened long ago.” Ie we don’t have to take up residence where we don’t want to be. God can transition us, if only we’d stop looking down the road of our past. By simply shifting our eyes, we are able to “Watch for the new thing [God is] going to do. It is happening already—you can see it now! [He] will make a road through the wilderness and give you streams of water there” (Isaiah 43:19 GNT). That’s incredibly good news friends! Truths we need to repeat to ourselves daily and share with others. All we need is one small change: where our eyes are focused.
“So let us throw off everything that stands in our way. Let us throw off any sin that holds on to us so tightly. And let us keep on running the race marked out for us. Let us keep looking to Jesus” (Hebrews 12:1b-2a NIRV).
God does not want to see us stuck! It pains Him when we are tethered to anything that separates us from Him. We were created to be in relationship with Him. Keep our eyes on Him. Run toward Him. That’s how we win!
“He is the one who started this journey of faith. [God sent His Son] And He is the one who completes the journey of faith [Jesus’ death and resurrection]” (Hebrews 12:2b-c NIRV). “So think about Him. Then you won’t get tired. You won’t lose hope” (3b NIRV).
So in my REA/L moment with you today, let’s pray this together: Lord, I’ve allowed myself to be stuck far too long. Thank you for revealing these strongholds today. I submit to you my stubborn ways and seek to shed them. Through the power of your Holy Spirit, grant me strength to lay these at your feet so I may be untethered. Turn my eyes toward you, Lord. I desire to run along side you. My hope is in you and you alone. In Jesus’ name, Amen.
2020 has been a lot of things, change being the most prevalent. Change in plans. Change in how we operate. Change in our world. And change is hard. Really hard. Our bodies often resist change…until it’s no longer change, rather a new normal.
I used to hate that phrase, “new normal.” If it’s new, then it probably doesn’t feel at all normal! It masks the truth: change is happening, and I haven’t decided whether or not I like it. Most of us are experiencing copious amounts of “new normals,” in various parts of our lives.
It certainly didn’t feel normal not spending Thanksgiving with our extended family.
Seeing shelves in stores emptied as a desperate attempt to control something in our lives isn’t normal.
Watching business close, walking past locked doors, and witnessing owners pleading for their livelihood is not normal.
Nope, I still HATE the phrase. I have spoken (for you Mandalorian fans). I don’t particularly like change. It makes me uncomfortable. Leaves me a bit anxious. Tests my faith, which is difficult for me to admit.
As my husband drove me to physical therapy this morning, we happened to pass by a familiar face I’d not seen in quite a while. I sent her a quick message and put my phone away. I didn’t see her response until 4+ hours later, because everything about PT was just plain hard!
My regular therapist wasn’t there. I usually go much later in the day. The room was set up differently. I was doing things that didn’t at all feel familiar. I could tell my body was not accepting all these changes well because it was new and NOT normal.
After coming home and crashing (literally poured myself into bed and slept for about three hours), I found my friend’s response. She shared a scripture. It was one I knew well, and upon reading it, I had to stifle a laugh.
It began: “Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds…”
I’m sorry, I have to stop right there. Joy and trials should not be in the same sentence. It’s an oxymoron. Literally. We do serve a funny God!
“… because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance.”
I know that I don’t like being tested. I know that I am often weak. I know I’m not always steadfast. None of which, I believe, sets us up for perseverance. Period.
“Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature”
Um, I think I just proved above I am not mature with the whole test thing. Did you not hear the virtual stopping of my foot like a two year old? Arms crossed. Face fixed. And stubbornness exuding from my core?!
“… and complete, not lacking anything.”
I want to be complete! I want to lack for nothing! But do I really have to be mature? Must I endure the testing of my faith? How can this possibly produce perseverance? Seems to me it’s bringing forth my inner most child-like temper tantrum.
Ok, enough is enough. Let’s put it all together.
“Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.” James 1:2-4
While change (or trials) may not FEEL at all joyful, we still have a choice in how we consider it. What kind of mindset we’ll don while facing it. Whether we’ll be open enough to accept what’s coming could actually be good for us in the end.
Believe me, it’s a tough concept. We are most comfortable when things are stable. Unchanging. But that’s our immaturity showing. Our flimsy faith.
In order to be complete, we sometimes have to undergo a metamorphosis. That means change. A trail, maybe even refined by force or fire, before re-emerging, beautifully changed. From great tragedy comes great triumph.
A tiny seed, split, turned into a mighty oak.
A wiggly worm, cocooned, brought forth into a butterfly.
A grain of sand, irritant calcified, produced a pearl.
We love the finished product, rejoicing in its miraculous transformation. We don’t lament what it used to be. And yet, we often miss out on our own potential “rebirth” due to our reticent change resistance.
Now the words “consider it pure joy” makes a bit more sense, because we all want to be “complete, not lacking anything.” While our faith may be tested, God’s goodness is unwavering. He remains solidly sovereign. And that, my friends brings us hope to traverse any trial, joyfully.
Take that, 2020. While you have changed us in countless ways, we will continue clinging to Him in anticipation of something more that completes us. Because He is a good, good father. And the best is yet to come!
I remember watching Gilligan’s Island and loved the comical character interactions with their slapstick humor. While you knew the premise of these strangers’ chance collaboration was born from tragedy (shipwreck), that fact seemed to fade into the background because each episode hilariously highlighted their failed attempts to leave the island. Which brings me to my point: in the midst of misfortune, it’s okay to still laugh, find joy.
The other day, I tried getting our puppy Ember inside. That, in itself, was a difficult task when there are so many distractions. Now, if you factor in my inability to cross the threshold outside in a wheelchair, my broken speech calling, and a willful puppy, you’ve got a regular variety show right there. But suddenly, I had a brilliant idea: I would simply whistle for her and sweet Ember would come running in, tail wagging, with lots of kisses as our reward for accomplishing such a monumental task! Problem solved! Even now, I’m smiling as I type this.
I put my lips together to begin whistling and was puzzled nothing happened. Odd. I tried again. Nope, not a sound. Unfortunately, with my neurological connection issues, I’m currently unable to do all the things I did a month ago, and apparently, whistling was one of them. I sat there and cracked up! I’m sure it was quite the spectacle. I tried, unsuccessfully, a few more times—lips pursed, willing a sound to emerge, resulting in a whole lot of giggles.
You might find it odd that this inability caused laughter. I suppose it should have been frustrating. Instead, I simply added it to my mental list of “need to work on.” By finding joy in the situation, it instantly removed itself from the obstacle category. It became a future, yet to be realized, victory. A simple shift. When I am faced with so many struggles, this one was unnecessary to battle at that moment. It’s as if I tangibly pushed it aside, as you would one of those plastic sliders in a child’s interactive book. Out of sight and mind for now.
Gilligan’s Island wouldn’t have been remotely the same if the characters solely focused on their shipwrecked plight. While we knew their difficult predicament, we wouldn’t have eagerly returned each week to watch a desperate and depressing episode, without the promise of humor. It was the lighthearted fun, mixed within the underlined struggle, that kept us hooked. Kept things palatable. Kept us coming back, hopeful.
This is where I choose to reside, on my own island. Reveling in the day’s latest comedic tragedy. Laughing whenever I can. Looking for pockets of joy hidden underneath the heavily blanket. In the midst of darkness, choose to focus on the light, my friends. Proverbs tells us that a joyful heart is the best medicine. Let’s drink in these moments of sweet delight, making the rest of it easier to swallow.
I have a friend group that’s absolutely precious. I love them individually, and together, we are a force to be reckoned with for sure. We pray for each other, listen through the vents, and laugh…a lot. These ladies are such a blessing to me, and I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that if I called any one of them in an emergency, they would be there in the drop of a hat.
Why is it, then, that I still withhold certain things? If I know I am unequivocally loved and accepted completely, why do I feel it necessary to wrestle with worry when I can share with those who care? What makes some things okay to reveal and others too dicey, too close to home? How can I be held dearly and yet feel so alone?
Can you relate?
By now, if you’ve been following Let’s Get REAL Together for any length of time, you may have noticed my brain thinks in acronyms. Here’s one that slapped me in my face when I was in bed, experiencing another episode, and feeling very much ALONE.
All
Lifelines
Oftentimes
Neglected
Erroneously
In my head, I recognize I am NOT alone. But in my heart? It feels cavernous… empty… isolated. Alone.
Maybe it’s me, giving the devil a foothold in my mind.
Maybe it’s my pride, withholding when I feel weak.
Maybe it is what makes me so dependent on God.
He created Eve for Adam because it is not good to be alone (see Genesis 2:18). He gave us His Holy Spirit (see 1 John 4:13) to draw upon when we feel weak and/or afraid (see Joshua 1:9). He died for our sins (see John 3:16) so we have the opportunity to cast all our anxieties at His feet (see 1 Peter 5:7).
The list and scripture references are endless, as is His love for us. And this, my friends, is why we are neglectful and erroneous in our thinking we are ever alone. Yes, the feeling may feel very real. Yes, the feeling should absolutely be acknowledged. HOWEVER, we have to be mindful in what we hold as truth. Feeling alone is just that, a feeling. Period. Nothing more.
It is when we attempt to validate this feeling with false facts or omitting truths that we become negligent. I am guilty of it. More times than I’d like to admit. And if left unchecked, it can literally destroy you on a cellular level. The mind body connection is undeniably, scientifically proven. Which is why we must emphatically follow this scripture:
“We demolish arguments and every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God, and we take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ.”
2 Corinthians 10:5 (NIV)
So the next time you feel alone, or scared, or overwhelmed, or insert whatever is counter to the fruit of His spirit (see Galatians 5:22-23), remember you ALWAYS have a lifeline to call upon. God is ALWAYS available, ALWAYS patient, and ALWAYS loves you. And yes, I am talking to myself in the mirror, while praying, my friend, you allow this to permeate you as well.
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