Yesterday was my battle with restlessness that I knew would come eventually. It didn't help that mom thought I should stay home from church since I'm supposed to be keeping my leg elevated all the time. It was a good call on her part, but it still hit me how I really can't do anything. Consequently, I'd ideally like to pop some percocets and be out for the day, but my family also won't let me become an addict. The nerve. My mother really has been so good about taking care of me not only physically but mentally and emotionally. She knows I don't really enjoy watching TV or reading for very long periods of time, so she went with the only other stationary "activity" I enjoy--conversation. Unfortunately I was too restless to even feel like talking, so I decided I'd be the Grumpy to my mom's Snow White. It wasn't pleasant for her, but she was still very helpful and understanding. I decided bedtime was 8:30 last night, so I scooted myself up the stairs and got into bed. Even though I wasn't tired enough to fall asleep, I still felt so calm right when I laid down. I quickly realized where that calm was coming from and proceeded to have a nice couple of peaceful hours with God before I fell asleep.
"Do not be wise in your own eyes; fear the Lord and shun evil. This will bring health to your body and nourishment to your bones." -Proverbs 3: 7-8
"My son, perserve sound judgment and discernment, do not let them out of your sight; they will be life for you, an ornament to grace your neck. Then you will go on your way in safety, and your foot will not stumble; when you lie down, you will not be afraid; when you lie down, your sleep will be sweet." -Proverbs 3: 21-24
Monday, May 24, 2010
Friday, May 21, 2010
Moses Supposes His Toeses Are Roses
Just so that you are aware of my current condition...
Yes, that big white lump is made of many many layers of bandages that make icing my knee feel ineffective, but I do it anyway to appeasemy mother my doctor.
Apparently using this contraption is appeasing my doctor as well even though neither he nor any of his little constituents bothered to tell me that such a machine existed, let alone that I would be using it 6 hours a day for two weeks. I got a call the day before surgery from the ABC Medical something group, and they needed to know my physical address so that they could deliver the knee machine. I gave them the information they wanted and promptly called my mother to ask her what was going on. She didn't know either. So we contacted my doctor's office to find out that I do need this thing to keep my knee from locking up after surgery. Would have been nice if they'd told me before how I would be spending 84 of my hours in the following two weeks. In describing this contraption to Peterso, I told her it's like a kiddie ride for my knee. Yes, it is that exciting, and more importantly, it does not hurt at all. But I am loving these pills I'm taking. They're great forputting me to sleep at night taking away the pain.
My mom's been fielding the calls from people asking how I'm doing, and she doesn't fail to mention that no one has bothered to send me balloons or anything. I mean, I did get a vase with three yellow roses from some random woman who goes to the church my mother works at... so what two of the roses were already withered when she gave them to me. Tiny insignificant detail. I got some beautiful roses from Mr. Parker, my pseudo-grandfather. They did, however, arrive in a bucket:
I still feel the love, though, and mama put them in a vase:
I really don't mind the lack of gifts, because recovery to me is more about envisioning the hope and possibilities of what God will be using me for as a result of this huge boost in my physical condition. Hope is a far greater gift than balloons and flowers.
Plus, I went to the Gloucester Library the day before surgery and "borrowed" a bunch of awesome CDs that now illegally reside in my iTunes library. :)
Yes, that big white lump is made of many many layers of bandages that make icing my knee feel ineffective, but I do it anyway to appease
Apparently using this contraption is appeasing my doctor as well even though neither he nor any of his little constituents bothered to tell me that such a machine existed, let alone that I would be using it 6 hours a day for two weeks. I got a call the day before surgery from the ABC Medical something group, and they needed to know my physical address so that they could deliver the knee machine. I gave them the information they wanted and promptly called my mother to ask her what was going on. She didn't know either. So we contacted my doctor's office to find out that I do need this thing to keep my knee from locking up after surgery. Would have been nice if they'd told me before how I would be spending 84 of my hours in the following two weeks. In describing this contraption to Peterso, I told her it's like a kiddie ride for my knee. Yes, it is that exciting, and more importantly, it does not hurt at all. But I am loving these pills I'm taking. They're great for
My mom's been fielding the calls from people asking how I'm doing, and she doesn't fail to mention that no one has bothered to send me balloons or anything. I mean, I did get a vase with three yellow roses from some random woman who goes to the church my mother works at... so what two of the roses were already withered when she gave them to me. Tiny insignificant detail. I got some beautiful roses from Mr. Parker, my pseudo-grandfather. They did, however, arrive in a bucket:
I still feel the love, though, and mama put them in a vase:
I really don't mind the lack of gifts, because recovery to me is more about envisioning the hope and possibilities of what God will be using me for as a result of this huge boost in my physical condition. Hope is a far greater gift than balloons and flowers.
Plus, I went to the Gloucester Library the day before surgery and "borrowed" a bunch of awesome CDs that now illegally reside in my iTunes library. :)
Monday, May 17, 2010
The Helper's Helper
A big dose of respect is due to my mother. I gripe and moan about my relationship with her on here, to my friends, to my sister, to God, to my mom herself, and especially in my head so much that it's really getting difficult to see all of her many good qualities.
All the ways I feel she's holding me back from growing--I'm doing the same to her.
All those times I wince at another back-handed comment she makes--I throw just as many at her.
There's really no room for me to judge anyway, but there's especially no room when I've still got this plank stuck in my eye.
So I wanted to share this as well as mark it for my own records. At church last night, my mom's mom came up to her and told her how much Charlotte (my mother's aunt) was raving over how great my mother was taking care of mom's grandmother. See, my great-grandma was taken to the hospital two Fridays ago with intestinal problems. Turned out she had a blockage as a result of a UTI she had just gotten treated, and it was all pretty intense and scary since my great-grandmother is so old. She's doing well currently, but since most of my great-grandmother's sisters died from intestinal issues, we're never gonna feel like she's out of the water. From the first incident of my great-grandma being taken to the hospital, my mom was all over spending nights with her in the hospital and being the one to finally take her home and stay with her at home to make sure she was still eating and having to take her back to the hospital when grandma started throwing up again and staying with her another night in the hospital. My great-grandma had 6 kids (5 still alive) and now has numerous grandchildren and great-grandchildren. There were a lot of people who could have been taking care of this woman, but the one who jumped on the ball and helped her get up and down and even helped her in... unmentionable ways, was just one of her many grandchildren, and that was my mom. My mother has always been the ultimate servant. She feels no other need greater than the need to help. I can think back to being a child and mom would take us to the homes of some really destitute folks. It would sometimes make me feel uncomfortable, but now that I look back, I know my mom was trying to help them however she could. A homeless woman slept on our couch one night. All the memories are hazy because I was so young, so I really can't even measure the lengths my mom has reached out. She's really a much more amazing servant of Christ than I can recognize and give her credit for.
I was in tears with her last night over how many issues I've constructed between us that don't have to be there, and she was trying so hard to be understanding and help me through them. She really does love me too much to watch me suffer, and by her greatest calling, she just wants to help.
All the ways I feel she's holding me back from growing--I'm doing the same to her.
All those times I wince at another back-handed comment she makes--I throw just as many at her.
There's really no room for me to judge anyway, but there's especially no room when I've still got this plank stuck in my eye.
So I wanted to share this as well as mark it for my own records. At church last night, my mom's mom came up to her and told her how much Charlotte (my mother's aunt) was raving over how great my mother was taking care of mom's grandmother. See, my great-grandma was taken to the hospital two Fridays ago with intestinal problems. Turned out she had a blockage as a result of a UTI she had just gotten treated, and it was all pretty intense and scary since my great-grandmother is so old. She's doing well currently, but since most of my great-grandmother's sisters died from intestinal issues, we're never gonna feel like she's out of the water. From the first incident of my great-grandma being taken to the hospital, my mom was all over spending nights with her in the hospital and being the one to finally take her home and stay with her at home to make sure she was still eating and having to take her back to the hospital when grandma started throwing up again and staying with her another night in the hospital. My great-grandma had 6 kids (5 still alive) and now has numerous grandchildren and great-grandchildren. There were a lot of people who could have been taking care of this woman, but the one who jumped on the ball and helped her get up and down and even helped her in... unmentionable ways, was just one of her many grandchildren, and that was my mom. My mother has always been the ultimate servant. She feels no other need greater than the need to help. I can think back to being a child and mom would take us to the homes of some really destitute folks. It would sometimes make me feel uncomfortable, but now that I look back, I know my mom was trying to help them however she could. A homeless woman slept on our couch one night. All the memories are hazy because I was so young, so I really can't even measure the lengths my mom has reached out. She's really a much more amazing servant of Christ than I can recognize and give her credit for.
I was in tears with her last night over how many issues I've constructed between us that don't have to be there, and she was trying so hard to be understanding and help me through them. She really does love me too much to watch me suffer, and by her greatest calling, she just wants to help.
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Battles
Remember how gardens heal hearts?
Turns out life's only gonna crush those hearts again.
In a good way.
Because the Promise is Good.
I love my friends at home so much more with each passing year. In fact, I feel like we're even closer now than we were in high school even though our time together becomes increasingly limited and sporadic. This one's off doing research for the summer. That one is going to Germany. Those three are working at camps. That last one is married. It's almost impossible to get us all in one place anymore, but we still make earnest efforts to scrounge up whatever group is present to make the most of these dwindling days of the "school phase" of our lives. One year left. Ridiculous.
But that's not the point. The point is "each passing year." We see the changes in each other. We've been together long enough to say things like, "Oh yeah, I predicted she'd be one of the first ones married." To me this is hugely significant, because I love and respect my friends for a lot of the challenges they've met and victories they've had over the years. But, when I turn the spotlight on me, I can think of one change that probably isn't as apparent to them as it is to me--and that is my faith in God.
My heart is fickle, and this includes my heart for God. I've addressed this issue before, but it's worth hitting on again (since God is bringing it to my attention again). I don't know how to share my faith with my friends. I, quite honestly, feel moronic even trying to think of what I would say to explain some of my changed perspectives and the ways in which God has been revealing Himself to me. In those moments when I'm sitting around a fire with my friends and they're all so very content with their lifestyles and where they're headed, I straight up deny Jesus his glory by nodding my head in satisfaction of my friends' accomplishments. I consciously think, "These people don't need Jesus." This thought is wrong on so many levels, I'm not even going to go into its fallacies on this blog. I figure part of my issue is not having full assurance of my faith and also not quite getting how much of worshiping God is about God and not about me.
It's time to pray for courage, wisdom, and how to love my friends as a product of my faith in Christ. I will not be crushed and defeated two summers in a row.
Turns out life's only gonna crush those hearts again.
In a good way.
Because the Promise is Good.
I love my friends at home so much more with each passing year. In fact, I feel like we're even closer now than we were in high school even though our time together becomes increasingly limited and sporadic. This one's off doing research for the summer. That one is going to Germany. Those three are working at camps. That last one is married. It's almost impossible to get us all in one place anymore, but we still make earnest efforts to scrounge up whatever group is present to make the most of these dwindling days of the "school phase" of our lives. One year left. Ridiculous.
But that's not the point. The point is "each passing year." We see the changes in each other. We've been together long enough to say things like, "Oh yeah, I predicted she'd be one of the first ones married." To me this is hugely significant, because I love and respect my friends for a lot of the challenges they've met and victories they've had over the years. But, when I turn the spotlight on me, I can think of one change that probably isn't as apparent to them as it is to me--and that is my faith in God.
My heart is fickle, and this includes my heart for God. I've addressed this issue before, but it's worth hitting on again (since God is bringing it to my attention again). I don't know how to share my faith with my friends. I, quite honestly, feel moronic even trying to think of what I would say to explain some of my changed perspectives and the ways in which God has been revealing Himself to me. In those moments when I'm sitting around a fire with my friends and they're all so very content with their lifestyles and where they're headed, I straight up deny Jesus his glory by nodding my head in satisfaction of my friends' accomplishments. I consciously think, "These people don't need Jesus." This thought is wrong on so many levels, I'm not even going to go into its fallacies on this blog. I figure part of my issue is not having full assurance of my faith and also not quite getting how much of worshiping God is about God and not about me.
It's time to pray for courage, wisdom, and how to love my friends as a product of my faith in Christ. I will not be crushed and defeated two summers in a row.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
G is for Garden... and God!
Nothing heals a heart like a garden.
Now, Adam and Eve may have had a different opinion, but a part of me thinks they'd still agree.
"The Lord God made garments of skin for Adam and his wife and clothed them. And the Lord God said, 'The man has now become like one of us, knowing good and evil. He must not be allowed to reach out his hand and take also from the tree of life and eat, and live forever.' So the Lord God banished him from the Garden of Eden to work the ground from which he had been taken. After he drove the man out, he placed on the east side of the Garden of Eden cherubim and a flaming sword flashing back and forth to guard the way to the tree of life." -Genesis 3: 21-24
God's first incident of wrath upon man. God's first punishment. God's first banishment. All in a garden. Why don't gardens have some sort of stigma then? There are never-ending weeds to pull, yes, and we have to nurture flowers like babies when nature won't cooperate and do her job. (Rain, why don't you?) But there is no more inviting place than a garden when you want to meet up with God. Perhaps this is because God walked in the garden in the cool of the day (Gen. 3:8). As I've been gardening every morning this week, it has seemed as though God is still walking through the garden, and we can both look at the roses and see that they are Good. I look at a rosebud on the cusp of bloom and I see God. I look at a rose in full bloom and I see God. This is not a natural practice for me. Usually I'm squinting into the distance questioning whether or not that far-off figure is really God. In a garden, it's unmistakable. Once you strip away man's office buildings, factories, shops, houses, and paved roads--once you take away man's great accomplishments and man-made comforts, you're left with what is naturally present. In the rawest physical form, you have God. Yes, it is by God's power all of these other things have come into existence, but as I've written before, it's too easy to glorify myself when my hands have been involved. I can plant a seed, but I can't make it grow. Not my territory, not my ability. In a garden, you either submit to this truth or potentially hit a frustrated fail.
Such is life?
"The Lord God made garments of skin for Adam and his wife and clothed them. And the Lord God said, 'The man has now become like one of us, knowing good and evil. He must not be allowed to reach out his hand and take also from the tree of life and eat, and live forever.' So the Lord God banished him from the Garden of Eden to work the ground from which he had been taken. After he drove the man out, he placed on the east side of the Garden of Eden cherubim and a flaming sword flashing back and forth to guard the way to the tree of life." -Genesis 3: 21-24
God's first incident of wrath upon man. God's first punishment. God's first banishment. All in a garden. Why don't gardens have some sort of stigma then? There are never-ending weeds to pull, yes, and we have to nurture flowers like babies when nature won't cooperate and do her job. (Rain, why don't you?) But there is no more inviting place than a garden when you want to meet up with God. Perhaps this is because God walked in the garden in the cool of the day (Gen. 3:8). As I've been gardening every morning this week, it has seemed as though God is still walking through the garden, and we can both look at the roses and see that they are Good. I look at a rosebud on the cusp of bloom and I see God. I look at a rose in full bloom and I see God. This is not a natural practice for me. Usually I'm squinting into the distance questioning whether or not that far-off figure is really God. In a garden, it's unmistakable. Once you strip away man's office buildings, factories, shops, houses, and paved roads--once you take away man's great accomplishments and man-made comforts, you're left with what is naturally present. In the rawest physical form, you have God. Yes, it is by God's power all of these other things have come into existence, but as I've written before, it's too easy to glorify myself when my hands have been involved. I can plant a seed, but I can't make it grow. Not my territory, not my ability. In a garden, you either submit to this truth or potentially hit a frustrated fail.
Such is life?
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Summer Perspectives
I have this silly routine of taking my could-be-stable mental state on a crazy whirlwind of what-ifs and what-nows during these times of transition. I realize it's crazy, but oddly enough, it really is hard for me to just let a transition flow as smoothly as it typically can. My eyes have welled up with tears approximately five times today, and I've been home for less than 24 hours. Call it neurosis. Call it insanity. I'll probably keep my hands off The Bell Jar for the time being, but I won't keep my hands off these computer keys or off the Bible. And I won't keep my heart and mind from prayer. Call it God? Call it a calling? I want so desperately to be where God wants me to be, and I want to do what God wants me to do. I read books (like the Bible) that tell me to do these things and want these things. I agree. God agrees. At least our thoughts are in agreement, eh? Well, sure...
What's not in agreement is my perspective on home/where I currently am/where God wants me to be at this moment. Because this place is small and because it houses memories of my lazy, unambitious, Godless past, I struggle for a present vision. Fighting old expectations and working at a cohabitant relationship with my mother are not on the list of things that *make me feel purposeful* -- which would be my excuse for running away this summer and finding a brand new environment bursting with new potential and new meaning in my life. New people. New lessons. New adventures and new fun. I'm reading Mark Batterson's Wild Goose Chase, and it almost feels like he's telling me to run out there and pursue these new adventures for God. However, I know where my heart is right now. My heart is scared, deceitful, unwilling, and it straight up wants to flee from this joint and fly up to these lofty realms of "purpose" I've created in my mind. I'm not seeking God adventures. I'm seeking an escape from God-given opportunities for spiritual and mental growth. It'd be easy enough to trick myself into thinking God is calling me elsewhere if I can find missions opportunities or housing opportunities and jobs far off, but I know that right now I need to not only face this struggle but face it with God. The most apparent blessing in this is that God is on the other side as well. My mother and I want nothing more than to encourage one another toward Christ. With God rooting for both sides, how canwe He fail?
What's not in agreement is my perspective on home/where I currently am/where God wants me to be at this moment. Because this place is small and because it houses memories of my lazy, unambitious, Godless past, I struggle for a present vision. Fighting old expectations and working at a cohabitant relationship with my mother are not on the list of things that *make me feel purposeful* -- which would be my excuse for running away this summer and finding a brand new environment bursting with new potential and new meaning in my life. New people. New lessons. New adventures and new fun. I'm reading Mark Batterson's Wild Goose Chase, and it almost feels like he's telling me to run out there and pursue these new adventures for God. However, I know where my heart is right now. My heart is scared, deceitful, unwilling, and it straight up wants to flee from this joint and fly up to these lofty realms of "purpose" I've created in my mind. I'm not seeking God adventures. I'm seeking an escape from God-given opportunities for spiritual and mental growth. It'd be easy enough to trick myself into thinking God is calling me elsewhere if I can find missions opportunities or housing opportunities and jobs far off, but I know that right now I need to not only face this struggle but face it with God. The most apparent blessing in this is that God is on the other side as well. My mother and I want nothing more than to encourage one another toward Christ. With God rooting for both sides, how can
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
