As of last week I sent out an urgent prayer request. After gamma knife radiation to remove two more tumors, I’ve been experiencing some very extensive neurological symptoms. I’m by no means claiming this, but at the current time I’m suffering from cerebral edema and damage to my neurological pathways.
Regardless, we’re believing God for a complete miracle. That through this intense loss and suffering coming a restoration 10 times over. Just like our friend Job in the Bible received. We are believing like the Israelites marched around the walls of Jericho for 7 days that this too will fall.
There is a very different dimension to what has happened with my health this time. So different than anything I’ve lost before. It’s a different devastation than anything I’ve previously overcome.
Every morning for the past 12 days before my eyes open from a foggy, messy, restless sleep, a tiny part of me leaps for joy to think that it might be the morning that I wake up and this nightmare just might be over. This might be the morning that as I open my eyes the world no longer is out of balance and disproportionate. Maybe as I lift my head from the pillow I could feel a quickening rush to my senses and muscles that allow me to actually utilize the strength I know my body has somewhere deep inside. Maybe as I walk down to the hall to make some tea my feet won’t drag across the floor as I pass landmarks to make sure I don’t get lost. Then, as I sit in the front room to feel the morning sun on my face through the window, maybe this morning thoughts will come to me, I’d be able to think clearly, I’d be able to feel my emotions, feel something other than confused. Today I believe that the world won’t be spinning in slow motion anymore. This morning could be the morning...this next moment could be the moment that I could be capable, coherent, and able.
Every one of these 12 mornings, have been full of heartbreak. I live with the hope that every moment is full of the potential that I could see a breakthrough. That this hell would be released. But when that moment doesn’t come, it is shattering. Then I’ve got to muster up the hope that I’ve just gotta hold on a little longer, that victory is coming soon.
As I wait, I have to take it day by day. In the midst of my frustration, my mom lets me rest my head on her lap. She talks about Jesus, and hope, and how God will use this trial. When friends come to visit it leaves me feeling more grounded and a tiny bit in touch with who I am and not just how I’m feeling. Yesterday I was able to enjoy a few little things. Dad and I attempted to do a little shopping. Then we spent some time riding around on old people carts at Lowe’s, as I resisted the temptation to buy more houseplants (if you know me you know I have quite the obsessive collection). To top it off we went to a quiet coffee shop as I sipped on a rose cardamom latte, sitting on a sunlit couch, feeling the coffee and sun rays warm me from head to toe. It’s so nice that even on a breezy cold day in Colorado from behind the glass, the sun is so strong it still can warm you to the core. My dad and I sat there close to 2 hours. With little to say, and lots going on in my head, I was able to focus on gratitude in that moment. Grateful that this morning I had my quiet, very patient Dad willing to sit by my side in the silence and not even have to utter a word. Grateful for the sun, the coffee, this tiny moment of release I have found. There was so much to be grateful for in that quiet.
“The Lord giveth quietness”
Job 34:29
During this silence He brought peace, and stillness just like He did when He calmed the storm in Mark 4.
It was a good quiet. A good peace. A good alone.
But there have been days since this happened that there has not been a good quiet. I’ve felt so alone at moments. I’ve spent some days home alone and it has been good. When I’m alone I can pray, think and I feel somewhat normal and functioning. I don’t feel so confused or disoriented. When I’m around people, or out all of my issues are magnified. So a big part of me just wants to be alone. But there can be too much alone. Alone in my symptoms, alone in my struggle. Feeling so isolated in this empty, shell shocked head of mine.
So again, I take it day by day, being grateful for the limited moments of being able to enjoy the company of others and to feel like my old, social self. And in those moments I find the stillness, and the quiet that the Lord gives.
Every moment that brings me a bit of joy, can be clouded by these lingering, unmoving symptoms. These symptoms are filling every moment of everyday, clouding everything I do. The stress and worry of what will come next for me casts a dark shadow. So I run from the shadow into the little sliver of light bursting through the window panes in the mid-morning. But it’s exhausting running from the shadows, keeping myself above the discouragement and the noise. Everything in me is fighting the surrender of this at every moment. I find myself so frustrated and broken and bitter one second, then immediately running to the light the next because I cannot stand to live in the shadow.
I love the Lord, because He truly is keeping me above the waves. With the help of everyone’s fervent prayer and fasting I find myself protected and covered. My whole heart truly wishes that I could just give a big hug to every single one of the hundreds of people all across the world that have committed to prayer and fasting during this time. I keep receiving messages of encouraging songs, poems, devotionals, verses, sermons, and honestly, I make the effort to read and listen to every one. These things have been a lifeline. And although i am struggling to communicate and respond to all, please know, from my whole heart : Every action, thought, and prayer towards me brings me to happy tears. I am so moved, not by just those who have reached out, but in a very supernatural way. I have the supernatural covering and comfort of all of you. It is so hard to express, but man, I just wish I could show you, how much you are making a difference.
I’m so grateful that during this time where I do not fully have my mind, I know the person that is holding my mind at the moment. And His name is Jesus. How comforting it is to know that if there is a time when I cannot have my mind, my Savior does. He’s holding everything in it's place, and protecting everything.
It’s beautiful that in the midst of my loss, in the midst of my trial and pain which seems so unknown and so different than any other experience, I have a God that remains the same.
“The name of the LORD is a strong tower: the righteous runneth into it, and is safe.”
Psalms 18:10
“Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever.”
Hebrews 13 :8
In the midst of not being able to feel emotions, when I call upon the Holy Spirit, my Comforter, I feel Him near. He fills me with His presence and that is all I can seem to feel.
When I run from the shadows, when I turn from the dark tunnel of not seeing past my infirmity, surrender it to Jesus, and take it day by day, moment by moment, I’m able to see the light.
Keep praying for more light.
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