Tagged: faith

My Kryptonite List

 Photo Credit: mypixbox via Compfight cc

Photo Credit: mypixbox via Compfight cc

{CONTENT WARNING: Strong language and raw subject.}

In my little world, I had a list.  It was a list of things I was convinced I could not do without.  My Kryptonite List contained what would destroy me if it was taken away or was harmed.  The list included people and situations.

Once I was defined by my work.  I sacrificed everything for years before realizing work is a means to an end.  It’s not the means or the meaning for life.  Scratch that from the list.

Church was my end all and be all.  Who I was in the pews or on the platform mattered more than anything.  That is until it didn’t matter as much as marriage, sanity and safety.  Check that one off.

My children were everything.  Identity, self-esteem, self-worth all wrapped up in little wiggly bodies gnoshing on mac-n-cheese.  Until mental illness, insidiously connected to mothering through postpartum depression, taught me I was still a distinct human being from these creatures.  They needed me whole and my job was to help them remain whole.  Check.

My dad was my safety net, my rock, the mirror in which I could peer and see good things every time.  As he took his last shuddering breath, he left my list.

One of the only pieces of kryptonite remaining for me was my husband.  Big, goofy, funny, smarter than anyone, and a good guy, that’s my husband.  He stayed on the list because he chose me.  When we were dating and I went through a dark time, he stuck around and married me anyway.  Postpartum, situational poverty, job loss, death, he was there.  Until now.

A few days ago the kids called me at work and said dad wasn’t moving and was on the stairs.  They were trapped upstairs.  I raced out of the building to find him there, the kid’s terrified eyes staring at me.

I called 911 when he couldn’t make eye contact with me or respond.  I called a friend who is familiar with medical emergencies to get the kids.

His blood sugar was 28.  Normal is 70.  He was minutes from a coma.  The doctor said I saved his life by calling the ambulance.

Three days later, he is still in the hospital.  They have theories on what is wrong, but they can’t confirm anything.  We simply don’t know why his body produces so much insulin that he needs to be on two IVs with glucose to be close to normal.

I’m alone with the kids and I don’t know from day-to-day what will happen.  People keep asking, “How are you?”  I can’t say what I really want to.

I’m pissed off.  Seriously? After EVERYTHING we have been through?

I’m scared.  What will I do to get through the days alone?

I’m sad.  I recently was praying for a breakthrough in our lives.  I got an ambulance.

I literally can’t walk.  How can I heal my ankle when I have to navigate a two-story house and two active little fellas?

My husband is now off my list.   There is nothing left on it.  I need to figure out how to get rid of my Kryptonite list.  I’m thinking I need to replace it with something a little more positive.

Tonight here is where I am starting.

James 1:2-4 (AMP)

Consider it wholly joyful, my brethren, whenever you are enveloped in or encounter trials of any sort or fall into various temptations.

Be assured and understand that the trial and proving of your faith bring out endurance and steadfastness and patience.

But let endurance and steadfastness and patience have full play and do a thorough work, so that you may be [people] perfectly and fully developed [with no defects], lacking in nothing.”

I want to lack in nothing.  I don’t want to stand in the way as these times do their thorough work for my full development.  Though I am angry, sad, scared and most definitely alone and hurting, I refuse for this to be for nothing.

Tonight as I ache at this life which has chosen me, I make a choice.  I’ll take God up on his offer from James 1.  I’ll let this situation do it’s work.  I’ll pray more than I ever have.  I’ll love God more even though I am mad at Him.

Maybe soon I’ll have a different list, one with miracles on it.  Earlier I saw my first entry.  Tonight I stood in the corner and watched my husband with our sons.  Though tired and uncomfortable, he was giggling with them at goofy YouTube videos.   Love and laughter might be the antidote to my kryptonite.

Hospital video giggles.



Things I Would Be Thankful to Have Less of:

Cancer steals the life of the one with the diagnosis and rips away pieces of the lives of all those who love and care for them.

Jeans Size, seriously if the junk in my trunk expands any further I’ll need my own zip code.

Stuff, which at one point I thought I needed and then forgot why I needed it and now just stare at and wonder how it came to rest underfoot.

Things  I Am Thankful to Have More of:

Time with the one with cancer. We are months ahead of the curve, every day is a bonus

Comfy Wool Socks in the frozen hinterlands where I live, obnoxious wool socks are the difference between a cranky night and cozy one.

Warm, wooly socks. Image courtesy of http://www.clker.com

Faith is a precious commodity I ceded to bitterness and an attitude with God because things didn’t go my way (an understatement-they didn’t just go another way, they stomped on my heart and stole my life).  Faith is nibbling at the crusty, hard baked shell around my spirit.  Would like to have more of it.

Things I am Thankful to Have in Abundance:

Laughter at and with my kids, they are so weird they make me feel normal.

Friends who text when I can’t remember how to turn the phone on and who always ask me how I am because they truly want to know.

You reading my blog.  Of late I am learning harsh lessons on the value of time, sharing yours with me is a gift for which I will always be thankful.

What would you be thankful for less of, more of or have in abundance?  I want to read what you write too.

Simple Faith and Plain Truth

I started this blog/project full of the good intentions at the beginning of any good thing. I was going to drive into a healthier, more spiritual and loving future in my pink cadillac of blogginess. I did, for a bit, until I looked down and saw the flames. My tires were burnt off and the rims were sparking, the friction of the reality of my journey too much to bear. The cadillac ended up in a ditch.

This entry is a tow truck of sorts. It’s reaching into the ditch and pulling me out. It’s setting me back on the road. The sparkly pink cadillac parked for now. I sit, on the roadside of this journey, in a comfy recliner, wrapped in my boo-boo blankie.

I’ll address exactly what pushed me off the road in another entry. For tonight, I’ll share what pulled me out. Job did the job. Say that three times. Job did the job.

Job is that martyr in the Old Testament. He’s the one God and Satan made a bet upon to see who would win. In my head, Satan chest bumps God and says, “Watch this!” and then proceeds to throw Job’s life into the cosmic cuisinart. Job has always been preached as a sort of cautionary tale against feeling sorry for yourself. “Look at Job! He lost everything and STILL honored God! What’s your problem?”

I always was more than a little puzzled by this. God, sort of, hung Job out to dry. Doesn’t square with my image of the squishy Huggie Bear version of the Almighty.

The last three years have been a Job experience in my life. Death, debt, loss, judgements by friends, failure, illness have all made me understand Job’s journey all too well. However, I never read the chapter of Job until recently. What I am finding there is surprisingly encouraging.

To say Job went through hell and back is a colossal understatement.  His children were killed while partying.  His fortunes were lost.  His skin and body were afflicted to the point where worms lived in the sores.  His friends were judgmental and his wife wished he was dead.

I had been taught Job was this long-suffering Persian Pollyanna who, whilst scraping the pus from his sores, would bless God.  He didn’t.  He complained.  He cursed the day he was born.  He begged to die.  He suffered and shared his suffering with us through scripture.  He was just as stuck as I am.

Job 9:32-35 (MSG) “God and I are not equals; I can’t bring a case against him.
We’ll never enter a courtroom as peers.
How I wish we had an arbitrator
   to step in and let me get on with life—
To break God’s death grip on me,
to free me from this terror so I could breathe again.
Then I’d speak up and state my case boldly.
As things stand, there is no way I can do it.”

In the Amplified version it speaks of  an Umpire to lay hands on both God and Job.  How much I longed for someone to blow the whistle on my playing field of pain.

Two truths emerged for me.  God is God and I am not.  Simplistic to be sure, but I really got it this time.  He is who He is and I am who I am.  We will never be equals, this Creator of the Universe and I.  He is so much MORE than I.  He demands so much more than I can give.  He has a right to these things, because He created them.

The second truth, I am not Job.  I am not alone.  I have an arbitrator.  Timothy wrote it best.

1 Timothy:4-7(MSG) “He wants not only us but everyone saved, you know, everyone to get to know the truth we’ve learned: that there’s one God and only one, and one Priest-Mediator between God and us—Jesus, who offered himself in exchange for everyone held captive by sin, to set them all free. Eventually the news is going to get out. This and this only has been my appointed work: getting this news to those who have never heard of God, and explaining how it works by simple faith and plain truth.”

Jesus is my Umpire.  He blows the whistle and sets me free.  Doesn’t mean I will never suffer.  Doesn’t say that.  What it does say is that my freedom from the suffering works by simple faith and plain truth.  Simple.  Plain.  I can do that.

I can do that and so can you.  So tonight, I choose to place simple faith in this plain truth.  Someone gave Himself in my place so I could be free.

All the pain, all the suffering, all the loss will somehow be part of my freedom.  I don’t know how.  I don’t know why.  I do know I am climbing out of the ditch grasping at the hook within this promise.  I am not alone.

It’s that plain.  It’s that simple.