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.
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