* I realize the spacing is weird. I don’t know why. *
Tears in my eyes today.
This life of faith? It’s hard.
Kate asks us to: focus.
Being medically weird plain sucks.
Like being a desert and nobody has a map.
Blood tests earlier this week. I’m used to the poking and the prodding now. Wasn’t expecting my doctor to tell me that I was completely healed, but I was hoping for progress in that direction. Instead, I got, “Oh, hey, actually everything is a little worse.”
Pretty much no improvement across the last year-and-a-half.
I had this tumor, an extremely rare side effect of high-estrogen birth control, which I took to address hormonal imbalances. Got rid of the tumor, but that didn’t get rid of the problems. I have Non-Alcoholic Fatty Liver disease, which usually arises as the result of “obesity, high cholesterol or Type 2 Diabetes.” Don’t have any of these, and yet the organ is all jacked up and inflamed. I feel nothing but disdain for my liver. It’s stupid.
I don’t eat red meat and the meat I do eat is very lean. I’ve limited dairy (but ice cream is a definitely weakness). I go out and take walks as often as the chronic fatigue will let me. I’m doing what I’m supposed to do. Yet Janky McJankerstein is all like, “Nope. Not gonna get better.”
I want to punch my liver, except that would just make me fall on the floor and cry. A too-tight hug makes me wince.
So, yes. I’ve been discouraged for the last 24 hours. Irritated, too. My first question is, “God, how is this fair?” That’s the question we all jump to, isn’t it? I don’t drink. I don’t smoke. I don’t do drugs. I don’t eat greasy fast food anymore. I have a desk job, so I make sure to get up and walk around every so often, though I know I need to do more of that. I’m making an effort. I’m trying. And just…nothing. Other people walk around this earth treating their bodies with contempt and it’s all hunky-dory.
Thankfully, He has given me a curious mind. My prayers of frustration and confusion give Him the space to begin shifting my perspective. I feel the slightest bit different today than I did yesterday. Still mopey, but now with a side of determination. The doctor is trying something experimental with me. I go back in two months to see if its helped. In those eight weeks, I’m going to do my own experiment: eating vegetarian. It can’t hurt. I want to see if the doctor’s experiment and my experiment come together in a positive way. The worst that will happen is that nothing will change.
I’m tired. I’m so tired. Sprawled out in the dust, face covered with sweat and tears. Again, I am faced with the choice: Will I trust God or not? If not, I’m doomed. I will succumb to the suckiness of it all. If yes, He will pour iron into my soul, the kind that strengthens me for one more fight, one more day. One more step up that steep mountain.
I’m choosing, right now, to trust. He was there when I was practically sawed in half last winter. Every aching breath. Every medication induced wave of nausea. Every tear, every nightmare, every stabbing, searing pain. He was there, crawling next to me, urging me, carrying me, pulling me through the muck and the mire.
I call myself weak, a coward. He calls me a warrior. I say I’m not a fighter, He says it’s time to throw a punch. I say I am finished, He says that by His grace I’m not out.
It’s not over ’til the bell rings, and it ain’t rung yet.
I pick up my scratched sword and my dented shield. I straighten my dirty helmet. The Devil, oh, he wants to knock me out. He wants me to turn away from all I know to be true out of fear and forgetfulness. I look to my King. I take my orders.
I battle on.
…so I wouldn’t get a big head, I was given the gift of a handicap to keep me in constant touch with my limitations. Satan’s angel did his best to get me down; what he in fact did was push me to my knees. No danger then of walking around high and mighty! At first I didn’t think of it as a gift, and begged God to remove it. Three times I did that, and then he told me, ‘My grace is enough; it’s all you need. My strength comes into its own in your weakness.’
Once I heard that, I was glad to let it happen. I quit focusing on the handicap and began appreciating the gift. It was a case of Christ’s strength moving in on my weakness. Now I take limitations in stride, and with good cheer, these limitations that cut me down to size—abuse, accidents, opposition, bad breaks. I just let Christ take over! And so the weaker I get, the stronger I become.
&npsb;– 2 Corinthians 12:7-12 (MSG)