Give Thanks to the Holy One

Hello =). How are you today?

It is a treat to tell you how I am this time: Today is the first day in quite a while that my body has felt solid, like I won't just keel over at the drop of a hat. I had gotten used to feeling severely hollowed out to the point where it was getting hard to remember feeling anything else. Praise God for this reprieve!

Yesterday I had the initial doses of the recommended medicines for the new hormone imbalance. It is a delightful surprise to find them working well this quickly! My body still hurts but it no longer feels like each next step or breath may be more than I can manage. It feels so much better, in fact, that I went on a short walk this afternoon! It was a few blocks - less than a quarter of a mile - but it felt perfectly heavenly. I was excited enough that I had to work at not darting ahead too quickly to catch my breath.

As grand as my body feels today compared to most of the past two weeks, everything has a cost. The new medicines are already aggravating the rash on my hands. Also my body was tired enough after my walk that it seemed best to skip dance class today. If I had gone I certainly would have not been able to move much. I promise you, though, that I would have celebrated each moment that my body was able to stand on its own two feet.

I haven't always been able to stand on these two feet God gave me - not for years as a child, and not for seasons as an adult. When I was living in Colorado there were times when I would weep in church from the fatigue and pain, and from the hurt of being physically unable to stand to sing praises to the Lord. I would rock back and forth in my seat on those days. It didn't seem like there was hope of getting better this side of heaven.

And then God did what God does. He answered prayers in unpredictable and unexpected ways. Eventually He brought me to Portland. Here He surprised me by allowing my body to walk for miles on end during the three visits I made before my move. The sheer pleasure of those walks was almost indescribable! The vitality of all that movement was such a welcome, breathtaking contrast from life at the Rocky Mountain foothills. I prayed to Abba often that upon my move here He would allow me to walk here "every day no matter what."

Of course you know that hasn't happened. I truly treasure the memory of each of those early Portland walks, though. And I haven't given up praying that prayer. God is still God and He still does what He will. I work at keeping mindful of the fact that any day may be *the day* when Abba allows me to start walking here "every day no matter what."

And in the meantime I keep on singing:

Give thanks with a grateful heart
Give thanks to the Holy One
Give thanks because He's given Jesus Christ, his Son.


And now let the weak say "I am strong,"
Let the poor say "I am rich,"
Because of what the Lord has done for us.

Give thanks.

What about you? What are you thankful for today? I would love to celebrate with you!

Ever have one of "those" weeks?

This has been one of "those" weeks. The contrast between how I envision things unfolding and the reality of how things actually transpire is striking. Sunday I was too worn out for church. Monday started like this: I dragged myself through dance class - working hard at not falling over and discovering in the process that my balance and depth perception have faded in synch with my stamina. Rather than being energized as I had hoped I found myself enervated. By sheer force of will I pulled myself through internship hours in the afternoon. God did all of the heavy lifting in session with clients. Even so it was a struggle to make it through my Gospel community small group Monday evening. That night I slept for 12 hours straight. I spent all of Tuesday unwilling and unable to shed my pajamas. Wednesday brought a sense of being slightly closer to functioning. My heart was gladdened to join in morning Bible study two miles from home. Wednesday afternoon I had an appointment with Dr. C. I had called him Tuesday because it felt like my body was hollowed out almost entirely as though there was no margin of energy left to build on anymore. Dr. C spent three hours examining and testing me. As usual we laughed and he cast things in as positive a light as humanly possible. He determined that my body is experiencing an imbalance of hormones and he made changes to my meds to address this new development.

Today I had an appointment to see Dr. H, my chiropractor, who is also the person who referred me to Dr. C last year. Dr. H and his team discovered that the top bone of my spine had been pressing in on my brain stem for no one knows how long. Consequence? Disruption in my brain's ability to communicate effectively with my body and allow my body to heal itself efficiently. Because I was born with cerebral palsy there is a chance that the bone had been pressing on my brain stem for my entire life. Old habits are hard to break. Dr. H was able to adjust that bone off my brain and into proper alignment last year. My body keeps wanting to pull it back out of alignment, however. Dr. H is typically upbeat and positive like Dr. C so I told him candidly about Dr. C's findings yesterday and how my body has functioned in the two weeks since my previous visit to Dr. H's office, including last week's stomach virus. I expected Dr. H to encourage me. Instead he more or less stated the obvious: that my body is not responding well to treatment. My body is not solidifying gains. Each time Dr. H sees me my spine adjusts well before I leave his office, but the next time I come back my body has lost any gain it had made according to his post-treatment assessment. Today for the first time Dr. H looked a little like he wanted to give up. It was a new look for him, though not a look I am unaccustomed to seeing on the faces of doctors.

Truthfully, it is hard for me to deal with my doctors' frustration and disappointment. When I first saw Dr. D in Boulder four years ago she told me that she thought we would have me healthy quickly. She actually uttered the phrase "only a couple of months." Fast forward three years: During our  last visit shortly before my move to PDX last year she apologized to me for having offered that false hope. I had been much more ill than she had initially understood, she said. Then she wished me well and hugged me goodbye. All of my doctors in Colorado hugged me goodbye, actually. When doctors hug you it is a sure sign that you have been unwell for quite some time. Years ago I saw this cute greeting card. A local artist had designed a picture of hundreds of spoons spiraling around a cup of steaming hot coffee and had written beneath that the t. s. eliot quote "I have measured out my life in coffee spoons." At some point during the past four years I hijacked that quote and personalized it to say "I have measured out my life in waiting rooms."

Two weeks ago my daily Bible reading plan began with 2 Kings 15-16. The passage marks another episode in the history of the kings of Judah and Israel where most every one of the kings does what is evil in the sight of the Lord and is punished, typically by a coup of some sort. Verses one through seven of chapter 15 tell the story of King Azariah of Judah (the southern kingdom of the divided monarchy) who, like his father King Amaziah, has the rare distinction of having done what is right in the eyes of the Lord. Nevertheless, Scripture says "the Lord afflicted [King Azariah] with leprosy until the day he died [at the age of 68], and he lived in a separate house...[until he] rested with his ancestors and was buried near them...." How about that?

King Azariah spent a long life contending daily with a debilitating disfiguring disease - a disease that in his culture especially prompted fear, shame, and isolation based on perceived uncleanness. The passage does not disclose whether King Azariah sought treatment for his disease. Ten chapters earlier, however, Naaman, army commander for the king of Aram, had sought treatment and been cured of leprosy through Elisha acting at the behest of the king of Israel (the northern kingdom of the divided monarchy).

A pagan officer of a foreign army had been cured of leprosy - and somewhat reluctantly, at that: Naaman initially refused to do what the prophet told him he must do to be cured; his servants eventually persuaded him to follow Elisha's instructions, leading to his healing. The fallen, sinful part of my heart insists that surely an honorable king of God's chosen people could hope to be dealt with as generously as a stubborn foreigner who followed other gods. The part of my heart being redeemed by the Holy Spirit remembers that God is sovereign over all, sending rain on the evil and on the good. Perhaps King Azariah for some reason never sought to be healed of the leprosy that surely kept him lonely, denying him life in the palace and even burial in the family plot. Perhaps King Azariah repeatedly asked God to heal him and God said no. Either way, I've spent more than a bit of time over the last two weeks thinking about the ironic plight of the faithful yet outcast king. When I get to heaven maybe I'll ask him the rest of the story.

In the meantime I'll try to focus on praising God and thanking Him for the innumerable reasons He continues to pour out for me to CHOOSE joy! To count just a few: I am grateful beyond measure for the freedom to worship Him and share my faith in the cross of Christ openly. I am moved to joyful tears when I think of all the years He pursued me when I wanted nothing to do with him. He has never once left me where He found me - especially when I have deserved it most. He has given me the hope of life eternal in heaven and genuine fellowship for the journey here on earth. He thought to pair rainbows with rain, and to allow us all to share in appreciating the beauty of his creation. He knows how it makes me laugh when my dog farts so loud that she scares herself and takes off running. (I get the feeling that He finds that funny, too, though I'm not sure which one of us He's laughing at, truly.) He hears us when we pray. He really listens. And when we don't know what to pray his Spirit intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words. He delights to choose us for salvation, the worst of sinners redeemed by his Own innocent blood. Like the old hymn says, "It was Love that took my place on the cross of Calvary, it was Faith - redeeming Faith - that paid my ransom full and free, over sin, without, within, I have the victory through Grace, marvelous Grace, that lives in me!" Praise you, Abba! I love you. Please help me to live like it. Amen.

Stability and Movement

Wow you should see outside today! The Oregon sky is Carolina blue with not a cloud in sight. Everything seems more vibrant, more itself somehow.

One of my girlfriends and I have been talking about what it means to be fully oneself. It seems to boil down to a commitment to be who we were created to be in Christ and as individuals within His body. It is a lifelong process rather than a milestone moment in time. It involves taking risks we would rather not take, feeling and experiencing things we would prefer not to live through, accepting the present as it is, and hoping for things we would rather not be disappointed about in the future, which sometimes feels like the biggest risk of all. It also involves being surprised by joy and overwhelmed by God's loving care along the way, whether those hopes are fulfilled as we had envisioned, answered in some other way, or apparently dashed.

Last night was rough. I barely slept although I was worn out from a long week of trying to slip back into the flow of work more completely. The restlessness in my body was off the charts. It was my first night in a while trying to sleep without pain meds. I had stepped down the dose to a single pill per day, and it was time for me to drop that last pill. It never occurred to me that it would be hard to sleep without the pain pill. Over the past four weeks I have developed what for me is a very effective, soothing nighttime routine. My MD from Boulder would say that I have "excellent sleep hygiene." Apparently there are times when excellent sleep hygiene isn't worth spit.

This morning I had a movement workshop to attend. Cards on the table, I would have blown it off because of being wretchedly sleep deprived if not for the fact that it was session 4 of 5 sessions prepaid months ago. To the workshop I went. I tried to psych myself up by telling myself that maybe the movement would build irrepressible energy in my body and leave me feeling wonderfully refreshed. That idea, also, wasn't worth spit. Halfway through the movement portion of the program my body stopped moving. I just couldn't go anymore. I stepped out the studio door and down the hall to the ladies' room. I prayed a desperate little prayer to God. Honestly, I can't remember at this moment exactly what I said to Him. What I know for sure is this: Lately I have been praying for Him to bring to light any hidden bitterness, anger, resentment, or unconfessed sin in me so that He can clean and bind the wounds and by His grace heal me. When I walked back into the studio and took my place on the dance floor now barely able to move again I felt Him remind me of that prayer and then question me, "Child, you've asked me to deal with all these things, but what about your fears?" It was too much. I began to cry. Not wracking sobs of pain but tears of relief and possibly of shame at having tried to keep hidden from Him once again what He already knows. So by His grace I named the fears He brought to mind, one by one, laying them at the foot of the cross.

I told my Abba, our Abba, that I am afraid that I will not get well. I told Him I am afraid that my health will keep getting worse. I told Him that I am afraid I will lose the movement that He has given me back over the last year, the movement that has brought my heart such sheer delight. I told God that I am afraid that I will never have a family this side of Heaven, and that I will always feel alone. I told Him that I am afraid if I let people see the real me that they will pity me. Abba calmed my heart and helped me surrender those fears - built up over many years, deeply rooted in the scarred soil of an unhealthy youth - in a matter of minutes! It is true what Scripture says about God's perfect love casting out fear, praise Him!

I prayed and cried my way through the last half of the workshop. The fact that I cried silently in public without feeling devastating shame, incidentally, is a minor miracle itself, hard evidence of God's healing hand on my life. In the home I grew up in it was dangerous to cry. Crying even at home but most especially in public - even at funerals - invited punishment, including the infliction of physical pain. Because of the dread of those consequences crying took on the feeling of dying for me. For years it felt as though if I allowed myself to shed a single tear I would be consumed or devoured by all the pent up grief and pain. In those years if I cried a single tear it turned to heaving sobs which left me feeling as though I would never breathe normally again. Praise God, He did not leave me in that emotionally paralyzed place.

Today, having dried my tears but made no effort at concealing them, I had nothing to say during the workshop debriefing when the facilitator asked the group how we had experienced stability and movement in our bodies during the dancing. Having continued my conversation with Abba since then, however, I have arrived at this thought: Jesus Christ is our stability, and God's Holy Spirit is our movement. Nothing I ever do or experience will change Christ's sacrifice for me or my identity in Him. Everything I do or experience has hope in it because His Spirit is continually at work in me, refining me and remaking me so that I am more and more like Him. Jesus cried in public, too, you know. More than once. And when He cried He always talked to Abba, too.

The Waiting is the Hardest Part

I've floundered about what to write next. The past week has been another roller coaster ride. Late last week I thought I was feeling better. I decided to cut back on my pain meds. It didn't go well. I needed soothing. Someone had told me about this hot springs nearby where you can go for a mineral bath and wrap for a very reasonable fee. I researched it. It sounded detoxifying, healing, refreshing, and relaxing. I decided to go for it. It was a mistake.

I have this allergic rash on my hands. It started 4 years ago as a tiny patch of irritation on one finger that would not heal. Over the years it has spread to both my hands. At times it looks like eczema, and at other times it appears more like psoriasis. There are times when it resembles nothing else common, and times when it disappears altogether for a while. My doctors have not been able to agree on what exactly it is or hit on any treatment that makes it manageable for long. At this point all we know for certain is that it is triggered and exacerbated by things I'm allergic to including environmental and food sensitivities.

The massive doses of steroids I had to take for the shingles quelled the rash. The mineral bath and wrap made it rebound with a vengeance. The problem is that the rash is not only painful and unsightly. It is also debilitating. There is a constant risk of infection because the skin is so degraded. My skin deteriorates to the point where if I am bathing and washing my hands every day I am not able to do the dishes, clean house, or work in the yard. My body is allergic to synthetic fibers including latex. Rubber gloves don't work. Cotton gloves work until they become wet or covered with other things my body reacts to, such as chemicals in most soaps and grass. It is a vicious cycle.

The challenge is figuring out how to live my life while managing the rash and its consequences. It is easier now that my body doesn't have to contend with the added complication of altitude sickness. It is also easier now that the systemic inflammation in my body has decreased and I am no longer in overwhelming constant pain or experiencing immobilizing chronic fatigue every day. Yes, I still hurt occasionally and I am often tired. Now, though, the pain passes and with rest the exhaustion abates. I am incredibly grateful to God for those miraculous kindnesses in the middle of this ongoing illness.

I am also confused from time to time about what I am supposed to pray for in this situation. Frankly, God has already given me so much healing that at times it seems downright selfish to want and ask for more. Yet that is exactly how I feel and what I do. The apostle Paul wrote that he prayed three times for God to remove the thorn in his flesh. God's response to Paul was that God's grace is sufficient and His power is made perfect in weakness. Part of me wonders if I have already received that answer from God but have chosen to ignore it in hopes of wearing Him down into giving me a different response. So I focus on what Jesus said in the Garden: If it is possible, take this suffering from me, yet not my will but Your will be done. And I beg God to help me see everything the way He would have me see it. I pray earnestly for me to lead a life that glorifies Him, delights Him, and brings Him great joy. Then I ask Him to delight me and bring me great joy, too. I pray for Him to help me not be so blinded by the hardships that I miss the moments of sheer delight.

One of those moments happened Friday, the day before yesterday. At the end of a long day I was meeting with my supervisor. It was past time for me to take my pain medication and I was hurting but doing my best to carry on and finish the work day well. I told my boss that one of my clients had to take their kids to the vet. He chuckled, regained his composure and asked me to repeat what I had just said. So I told him again that one of my clients had to take their kids to the vet. This time he laughed out loud and asked me if I heard myself. I said yes, then spoke the sentence more slowly and realized my mistake. He and I both laughed until we had tears in our eyes spilling over. It is difficult to say which one of us needed that moment of mirth the most. Within the last two weeks a member of my supervisor's immediate family has  been diagnosed with advanced inoperable cancer. God knows. And He knows what we need to keep moving forward through the muck of this sin-sick world. I keep coming back to Gitz' take on joy: the unwavering conviction that God is in control and has blessed me to be a part of what He is doing, not despite my circumstances, but because of them.

So I do my best to follow her lead and Choose Joy. And in the meantime, while I wait on the Lord, I revel in praising Him for His goodness and mercy, even as I pray for more of it to be lavished on me. I pray the same for you, His Beloved, wherever you are as you read this. As a matter of fact, I pray for you every day. My prayer thus far has always been the same: That God would bless you and draw you closer to Him through our time together here. If there is something more specific that I can pray for you, will you please let me know? It would be such a privilege and a pleasure to lift you up before Our Father, in the name of His Son, and by the power of His Spirit! You can reach me privately at imanikesi@gmail.com or post your requests publicly in the comments section here.