Uncertainty and impatience.

When I was in my late teens and probably even early twenties, I would have told you that my greatest fear was uncertainty.  I feared the unknown, and I feared making the wrong decisions.  The good Lord knew this about me, and so he turned my life upside down to the point that the past seven years have been almost nothing but uncertainty.  (I don't pretend to know the Lord's motives or whether my suffering was from his hands, but I do believe he has used and is using it to teach me to trust him rather than fear the unknown.) I am learning to trust him even when I can't see past today, and I'm learning to discern his voice.  To be honest, the sicker I was, the easier it was to simply trust him to get me through the day, because that's all I had and I didn't have the strength to look beyond that day.

But now, even though it's slow and nowhere near where I'd like it to be, my health is improving to the point that I'm beginning to think about the future--beyond today, beyond next month, next year.  I have a million dreams and desires, some of which I truly believe are God-given, but my body is not ready for those desires to be fulfilled right now, which only leaves me discontent and impatient.  Why hasn't he healed me yet?  Why am I still stuck where I am?

There's another side of that, though.  A part of me--knowing the roller coaster of ups and downs that this migraine journey has been--wonders if healing will ever come, if there will ever be more to life than this.  Will I ever be able to live on my own without financial help from my parents?  Will I ever be able to have a fulfilling job, doing full-time what I believe the Lord has called me to do?  Will I ever have a family of my own?  Will I ever even be able to maintain a social life and have real friends?

Right now the "Will I ever..." side is winning--winning to the point that I'm grieving the life I'm afraid I will never have.  Perhaps it's the realization that I'm still in the same place I was 2 years ago.  More likely it's being given a glimpse of hope of this one tiny aspect of "normalcy" and then having it taken away.

So often I'm optimistic regarding this season of my life (oh, how I hope it's only a season).  But some days my only response is grief, frustration.

This disease has wreaked havoc on my life in so many ways, ways that most people don't even realize.  It has completely stolen my identity.  It has severed relationships with many of my closest friends.  I haven't been on a date in over 7 years. (Meanwhile, most of my friends or used-to-be-friends-that-I-no-longer-keep-up-with are happily married with children.)  It has changed not only how others view me but how I view myself.  Not to mention all the things I can't do and places I can't go, the accommodations I'm no longer shy about asking for.  The cognitive dysfunction that's present even when I'm not in excruciating pain.  The way no one (except the people I live with and a few God-gifted souls) knows how to talk to me or act around me.  (They ask how I'm doing but don't really want an answer because that will make them feel uncomfortable and they won't know what to say next.)  Having to live with my parents when I'm getting closer to 30 years old every day because I can't maintain a job that pays enough for me to be able to afford living on my own.  Meanwhile, getting reprimanded at the job I do have (and am truly grateful for because it is exactly what I need right now even if it isn't the type of job I want) because I can't work as efficiently as a healthy person could, even with getting to work early and staying late as often as I possibly can.

As my doctor so adequately put it at a recent appointment, "For a long time, you have not been Kaci; you have been a migraine with Kaci hidden in there somewhere." 

That pretty much sums up how I feel.  I want to be Kaci again.  The last time I didn't have a constant migraine, I was 16 years old.  The last time that migraine didn't control every aspect of my life, I was 20; I'll be 28 next month.

Holy Father, I lay my life in your hands.  I had placed it there before, but lately I've been trying to pick pieces of it back up again, foolishly thinking I can do something good with them.  Forgive me, and I know my weaknesses and know I will keep picking pieces of it back up again and again, but each time, Lord, gently remind me that you can do far more with my feeble life than I ever can.  Tune my heart to your voice and your voice alone.  Drown out the enemy's lies.  Help me to be content in every moment and in every aspect of my life.  Help me not to compare my life to others' or to some fairy tale idea of what I dreamed my life would be like.  Above all else, Father, use my life to bring you glory, whatever that may look like.  I do mean that wholeheartedly, but it's also a difficult prayer to pray because the way you choose to bring glory to yourself may not involve the things my flesh wants.  Your word tells me that if I delight myself in you, you will give me the desires of my heart.  That is my prayer.  Become my full delight, so much so that my desires for my life are transformed into the desires you have for my life.

Be still, my heart.

I got the opportunity to go to Tegucigalpa, Honduras, this summer and help with what POI is doing there; but let's be honest, the real reason I went was to be able to meet this precious little girl who has won my heart even though I have never heard her voice or touched her little hands.

I began sponsoring little Keisi in March of 2014.  She was 6 years old then, and the only reason I chose her was because she and I had the same name.  I didn't know what a precious soul she was and kind heart she had.  I have enjoyed loving on her from a distance, but meeting her in person was one of the greatest blessings I have ever received.

Keisi is very shy.  In fact, several months ago, POI did video interviews with the children and sent them to their sponsors.  Keisi was too timid to even talk to the camera; she just gave me a little wave, so I was kind of nervous about how she would respond to meeting me.

The first full day we were in Tegucigalpa, I was assigned to do recreation for VBS in Keisi's neighborhood.  (The person who made assignments had no idea my sponsored child was in that neighborhood; it was totally a God thing.)  Early in the morning, Mrs. Ruth found her and brought her to meet me.  As you can see, she was very reserved at first.

Then I introduced myself in Spanish that was probably full of mistakes, but she seemed to forgive each and every one of them, and I showed her that I was wearing a bracelet she had made for me and written her name on with the help of one of the groups who took a trip to Tegucigalpa over spring break.

Seeing me wearing the bracelet she had made for me made her little face light up and she decided she could talk to me a little.  She said she had a photo of me, so I told her that I had photos of her too, and I showed her that the background of my phone was her picture.  Upon seeing her picture on my phone, first she smiled this huge smile and then, this timid little girl reached over, unprompted, and gave me the biggest, most heart-melting hug I have ever received.  I truly can't imagine a more meaningful hug.  I could have melted into a puddle right then and there.

 

Keisi went home that day and told her mother that I was at the POI center, so the next day her mother came to meet me, and she thanked me for all I'm doing for her little girl.  She said that Keisi takes very good care of all the gifts I have sent her (In fact, the sandals Keisi wore all week were some I had sent her with a spring break group.) and that she talks about me even though she had never met me.  Keisi's mother also let me know (when I asked if they had any specific needs) that she and her 5 young children are sleeping on the floor.  Praise God that through POI, I am able to help meet that need and little Keisi will no longer have to spend her nights sleeping on a concrete floor.  So now I have not only made a connection with this 7-year-old girl but with her mother as well.  That was truly a humbling experience.

My eyes brim with tears as I think of the impact that this tiny girl has made on my life when it was I who set out to make an impact on hers.  By the last day we spent together, she came and found me, grabbed my hand, and said, "Vamos!" (Come on!) as if we had been best friends for years.

I now keep the following photo as the background on my phone.  It's from that last day, and Keisi's countenance is so different from the moment we first met.  We are friends now; we are family.  I am her madrina (godmother), and she is my ahijada (goddaughter).  This face is the face of a child who feels loved.

I hope and pray that the Lord gives me the opportunity to wrap my arms around this baby girl again and again and again.  Thank you, POI, for giving me this amazing opportunity.

Small victories.

I said my earlier post was yesterday's prompt, but then I realized I'm two days behind.  This is actually yesterday's prompt: What small thing gives you hope for living with Migraine?

After 11 years of trying all sorts of medications (I stopped counting in 2012 when the number was close to 40.), acupuncture, crazy diets, nerve blocks, Botox, a TENS unit, two inpatient hospital stays, two outpatient infusions, and two surgeries, all with no improvement, it can get frustrating.

But I cling to the small victories; I celebrate them.  A win is a win, no matter how small.  My victories are things other people take for granted, like being able to go to a movie (even if I have to wear earplugs), getting to have dinner with a friend, being able to clean my room, staying on my laptop for more than 10 minutes without feeling nauseated, going an entire week without missing work, even being able to watch an entire movie on TV.

Those things always boost my spirits and give me hope that one day migraine won't control my life anymore.  My hope will not be shaken.

Source of hope.

Today's (actually yesterday's) MHAM prompt: Who helps you hope?  Which person in your life has helped you most to hold on to hope despite your Migraine disease?

This is a tough one.  There are many people in my life who have supported me on this journey.  I'm thankful for every single one of their prayers and kind words, but they are not the source of my hope.

Jesus Christ is the source of my hope.  

Someone recently told me I had the biggest faith of anyone she knew.  Her statement was encouraging, but what I didn't tell her is that if my faith were even an ounce smaller, I would fall apart.  I would let Migraine and depression take control of my life.  My faith and hope in Christ is what sustains me.  It's not a matter of striving for righteousness, although that's always my goal as a daughter of Christ; it's a matter of survival.

Hope.

Each year during the month of June, the American Headache & Migraine Association has a Migraine and Headache Awareness Month blogging challenge.  They post different writing prompts every day for the entire month.  I missed yesterday because I just remembered about it today, so I'm going to do yesterday's post and then today's. 

Prompt for June 1:  What is your favorite quote about hope and how does it apply to your Migraines?

This quote isn't directly related to hope, but it's a quote that gives me hope.

C. S. Lewis once said, "Hardship often prepares an ordinary person for an extraordinary destiny."

The Lord is using my chronic illness to prepare me for something extraordinary.  He's molding my heart, strengthening my soul.  He's teaching me to fully rely on him, to love others unconditionally, to be compassionate. All traits I was missing before my life got turned upside down by chronic migraine.

I have lots of big dreams, some of which I believe come directly from the Lord.  There's no way I can make those dreams reality right now, but He's in control.  I firmly believe that He's going to use me in extraordinary ways to bring glory to Himself.  And that's what keeps me going.

A mile in my shoes.

June is Migraine Awareness Month.  I don't normally participate in these types of things, and the last thing I want to talk about is my health, but lately I've connected with several other migraineurs (not migraine sufferers, not migraine patients; those make us sound like victims) and have realized that our stories need to be shared.  Migraine disease (Yes, it's a disease. If you don't have the disease, you don't get migraines.) is vastly misunderstood.  It's not even understood by doctors.  The research budget for it is pennies per patient even though it affects 13 percent of the U. S. population; that's more than 37 million people in the U. S. alone.  Some of those people only get one or two migraines a year, while 2-3 million have migraines more than half of the time.  Then there are the "lucky" few like me, who have attacks daily.

Living with migraine sometimes feels like you're trapped in your own body.  It's an invisible illness, so nobody can look at you and know that you're in excruciating pain, on the verge of throwing up, and have blurred vision, among other things.  When I see someone I haven't seen in several years, they ask, "How are you?" meaning in regard to my health.  Of course, I answer with "I'm good," even though I want to say, "I've missed work and was bedridden 5 days in the past 2 1/2 weeks.  I take over 20 pills every day just to function.  My head feels like it's going to explode.  Having to be in a crowded room is agonizing.  Just talking makes me want to throw up.  Your perfume reeks.  Since you hugged me, the smell of it is going to linger in my hair for the rest of the day, which will make the migraine I already have become debilitating.  You think you're talking at a normal pitch, but to my migraine ears, it sounds like you're yelling.  I'm totally faking it right now, so can I please stop smiling and go sit down by myself?"  After I tell them I'm good, which they blindly accept as truth, they tell me, "You look good."  Dear, I look the same whether I'm having the worst migraine of my life or am feeling fantastic.  Migraine doesn't change the way I look.  Except that I've gained 60 pounds from medication side effects and not being unable to do anything except sit on the couch or lie in bed.  But thanks...  I guess...

But migraine has also robbed me of so many things.  Social life?  Forget it.  Romantic relationships?  That's a joke.  I haven't been on a single date since my migraines became debilitating 8 years ago.  I failed out of architecture school my junior year of college after being at the top of my class the first two years.  I had a school district official essentially tell me I should quit my job as a high school teacher because I was missing too many days.  That was the day I quit and moved back in with my parents.

Day-to-day life with migraine is challenging as well.  I have a constant headache, but I have to be super careful not to do anything to make it worse or I'll be out of commission for at least one day and up to three following.  I can't watch TV in a dark room and sometimes can't watch TV at all.  I can't go to the movies.  I have to make sure I eat consistently; a late lunch is not an option.  I can't go outside much because both heat and cold trigger migraines.  Even washing my hands in the winter can make my body too cold and trigger a migraine.  I have to go to bed at the same time every night because too much or too little sleep will trigger an attack.  No perfume or scented lotion.  No candles.  No loud places.  I even wear earplugs in church.  No multitasking, like being on the computer while the TV is on.  Really I can't stay on my laptop for very long at all before I start feeling nauseated.  Can't do anything that gets my heart rate up.  And the list goes on and on.

This just barely scratches the surface.  But migraine is much more than just a bad headache, which is what most people believe.  It's a complex neurological disease with many symptoms; headache is just the most prominent.  It's genetic.  In fact, because I carry the gene, I have a 50 percent chance of passing it on to my children if I ever have them.  If my husband and I both have migraine in our family history, our children would have a 90 percent chance of having the disease.

I'm not writing this for you to feel sorry for me.  I don't want pity. I've accepted that this is my journey, and I fully believe that God is using it to change me and strengthen me.  I just want people to be educated and for the stigma surrounding migraine to be lessened. 

Daughter of God.

Identity is a fragile concept.  As a woman, I've lived my life constantly comparing myself to other women--as far back as some of my earliest memories.  She's thinner than I am.  She's smarter than I am.  She gets more attention from boys than I do.  Oh, and then there's the attention from the opposite sex that competes for my identity.  Am I pretty enough?  Am I feminine enough?  Am I too independent?

This just barely scratches the surface of the hits my identity has taken as a woman.  It's a constant onslaught of pressures to please and compare, to measure up to a bar that's constantly moving out of reach.

Growing up in church and being a part of Christian women's groups in particular, I've heard my fair share of finding-your-identity-in-Christ talks, but the pressures from the world were always louder.  I thought my identity was in Christ--I mean, I was a Christian, right--but I constantly struggled with insecurity and comparison.

I don't know what finally flipped that switch for me.  Perhaps it's been just growing up.  Perhaps it's been having my whole world shaken so that the surface-level things no longer mattered.  I don't know.  But I can now truly say that my identity is in Christ.  There is a freedom and security that comes from that, that is nearly indescribable.  For the first time in my life I like who I am.  I don't have to find my worth in anything but my Father, and He says I am fearfully and wonderfully made.  He delights in me.  Nothing I can do will change His feelings for me.

Finding my identity in Christ frees me to not only love myself, but to love other people.  I don't have to worry about what other people think, because their opinions don't define me anymore.  I no longer have to hide who I am or try to be someone else, because I know my personality and my passions come from my Father, and I am striving daily to be more like Him.  He is who I want look like and who I want to please.

Glimpses.

I often get frustrated with my limitations and my weaknesses.  I've cried out to God on many occasions, begging to know WHY--Lord, couldn't I do so much more for you if I didn't have these chains holding me back, if I were free, if I were whole?

Every time, He's gently reassured me that He is sovereign and that He sees the big picture.  He takes my hand in His and whispers, Daughter, for this moment in time, you can bring me more glory through suffering well than through being healed.  Trust me.  Believe me.

I trust His words wholeheartedly, and His words alone would be enough if that's all He ever gave me. But recently He's chosen to give me glimpses into some of the ways He's using my suffering to bring glory to Himself and to speak into the lives of others.  It's been truly humbling to see and hear of others moved by my faith and my story, because I know that there is nothing good in me other than Him and that I would have lost all hope long ago if He had not sustained me.

Through these tiny glimpses, God is breathing life into me just as He did to Adam in the garden.  He's renewing me.  He's giving me strength to continue to suffer well, even when I don't know what tomorrow holds.  He's saying, Well done, My Child.  Keep striving.  Keep trusting Me.

Community.

Having a chronic illness can be very isolating.  I know people love me and care about me, but my limitations make it difficult to maintain friendships and I tend to keep people at arm's length a lot of times because I don't want them to really see what's inside and decide it's too much for them (This has happened before.)

Last night I felt good enough to go to my growth group; I've missed the past several weeks.  There were only five of us there and these sweet ladies all started genuinely asking how I've been.  For some reason, I went with the real, honest, raw truth this time.  I shared my frustrations and my fears.  I cried.  They cried.  I can't remember the last time I felt so loved or felt so safe.  There is nothing they can physically do to make my life any less challenging right now, but just allowing them to share that emotional burden felt like a weight was lifted off my shoulders.  And now I know I have a deeper connection with each of those four ladies because I've trusted them with a piece of my heart.

God calls us to live in community, but I don't think I had ever seen the fullness of what that meant for me until last night in that cozy living room with those dear friends.

Ladies, if ever you happen to read this, thank you for allowing God's love to flow through you.  Thank you for making me feel safe enough to be vulnerable.  I've been pondering your kind words all day.  You are beautiful souls, and I'm blessed to know you.

Who I am.

In a recent Internet search for any type of therapy I haven't tried (no luck), I came across a long-time chronic migraine sufferer (although I hate to use that word, sufferer; what's better, patient?) who said, "This illness isn't who I am."  She was very adamant about it, and it was like a huge life-changing epiphany she'd had.

That statement was true for me for the first 4-5 years with migraines, before they started to take over every aspect of my life.  Everyone who knew me didn't know I had a chronic illness.  I was still in control.

But then the migraine took over.  I didn't get to choose anymore.  Friends stopped inviting me to things because I was "the sick kid".  People whose names I didn't even know told me they were praying for me.  It wasn't that I was gone; I was still there, but the me people saw was shrouded by migraine.

Now, eleven years into this journey, when I meet new people (which is rare because of my limitations), I get excited about the prospect of being just Kaci, because they don't know, but migraine has become so ingrained into who I am that all it takes is one question or one missed social obligation and it's out there; I'm now migraine Kaci again.

I don't miss the just Kaci of eleven years ago.  She was young and dumb and entitled.  But I kind of like 27-year-old just Kaci, and I wish more people knew her. 

They say that if you want to see who a person truly is, watch them go through something hard.  The past 6 years has been my hard.  And it's allowed me to see who I really am.  I've grown tremendously.  But it's also created this shell around me--part coping mechanism, part stigma, part good-intentioned compassion--so that very few people ever see past the migraine surface.  Even close friends become afraid to get too close.

Sadly, my illness does define me in the eyes of most people who know me.  There's no way around it.  But through it all, He's making me into a better just Kaci, and if it's for no other purpose than to glorify Him, then that's okay.  He sees through the shell.

Death of dreams.

From the time I was a little girl, I've had dreams for my life--some of them small and insignificant, some lofty and grand, some selfish, some noble.  The details of those dreams have changed as I've matured and life has led me in various directions, but the ones dearest to my heart have remained intact.  During my weakest moments, I turn to those dreams and strengthen my feeble grip on them as if somehow they can sustain me.  Somewhere along the way, I got it in my head that those must be God's dreams for me too.

Then a few days ago--I can't even remember who I was talking to or what she said--but her words triggered this weighty realization that the dream I have held most tightly to for as long as I can remember may be the one dream I have to let go of.  If God heals me, then that dream is a possibility, but He may never choose to heal me; and if he doesn't, then I will likely have to let that cherished dream fall through my fingers.

I grieved over that reality.  I wept over the death of the life I always thought I would have.

But then I did the scariest thing I have ever done: I surrendered.  I opened my clenched fists that had been protecting those sacred dreams and emptied them before my Father.  What I could do with those dreams on my best day would be like the mud pies a child offers his mother.  I don't want to offer God mud pies because I'm selfishly holding on to childish dreams.  My prayer in that moment became, Father, do in my life whatever brings you the most glory.

All of the dreams I cherished were good things, but I never want my quest for good to hinder God's plans for best.  Getting to be a part of bringing Him glory will bring me more joy than any of those tiny dreams ever could.

Whispers.

As this constant companion of a headache has returned in the last couple months, so have the enemy's whispers:  You're worthless.  You can't do it.  You'll never finish school.  You'll never have a fulfilling job.  You'll never know the companionship of a husband or the love of a child.  How dare you dream when you can't even manage to spend an afternoon out of bed?

Sometimes those whispers grow until they're deafening.  It's hard not to believe them when I'm so helpless to stop the constant pain.

In the moments the whispers become screams, all I can do is cry out in desperation.  I don't know what to pray.  I have no words.  But then the unmistakable voice of my Father breaks through the cacophony, in a whisper so small yet so crystal clear, it drowns out all others: Daughter, you are fearfully and wonderfully made. This body of yours is my masterpiece.  You're not a mistake.  You're my child, and I want only good things for you.  Dearest, I have not healed you yet, but only because I have something better in store.  Just wait.  Trust me.  Believe me.

Faith in the silence.

In Psalm 69, David is crying out to God in desperation.  He says, "I'm in over my head" (v. 1), and later, "I'm hoarse from calling for help, bleary-eyed from searching the sky for God" (v. 3).  In verse 6, though, he switches his focus: "Don't let those who look to you in hope be discouraged by what happens to me, dear Lord!  God of the armies!  Don't let those out looking for you come to a dead end by following me--Please, dear God of Israel!"

David is concerned about how his unanswered prayer is affecting the faith of those who look to him.  I don't think David is trying to manipulate God here.  He's wise enough to know that would be fruitless.  I think David is asking God to protect the hearts of those whose faith is vulnerable, but more than that, I think he is asking God to increase his own faith and change his perspective so that others are strengthened in the Lord by his reactions. 

Think of Paul.  He went through some dark times, and God didn't always immediately rescue him from his trials, but his perspective was such that God is using him even today to minister to people.  Some of Paul's most influential words were written from a jail cell.

How is the faith of others affected when God seems to be silent in regards to your difficulties?  Do they look to you and say, "Oh, she's been praying, and she's still in that place, so God must not care"?  Or is their response, "How does she endure with such faith and joy?  That has to come from a supernatural place!"?

Dear friend, God's answer isn't always to change our circumstances.  Sometimes the most profound rescue is when He changes our hearts.

Thankful.

As my (2 or 3) faithful readers know, I've been dealing with this migraine business for almost 10 years now.  It's been a struggle.  I've had days when I couldn't get out of bed because of pain and days when I didn't want to get out of bed because of depression.  I've had to miss countless social functions and completely change my life to accommodate this unwelcome guest.

After years of praying for the struggle to end, I've finally come to a place where I can not only accept the suffering but even be thankful for it.  It sounds twisted, I know.  But God has steadily been revealing to me that I am the person I am because of what I've been through and am still going through.  He could have taken this pain away at any moment, so there has to be a good reason that he hasn't.  In some strange way that I may never understand, I can be more useful for him in my pain than I could be as a healthy person.  That's still hard for me to accept sometimes, but I believe so fully that God is truly good and has my best interests at heart that I can trust him completely.

C. S. Lewis once said, "Hardship often prepares an ordinary person for an extraordinary destiny."  I believe that wholeheartedly.  Think about all the people in the Bible who God used in big ways.  None of them were without suffering.  Esther was forced into a marriage.  Moses was taken from his mother as a baby.  David was chased by Saul.  The Lord uses hardship and suffering to mold us into the people he wants us to be. 

I'm not at all the person I was ten years ago and even five years ago.  Back then I had it all together.  I was in control.  I knew where I was going in life, and I knew how to get there.  Boy, was I disillusioned.  Today I know that the only good things in my life are from God, and I have relinquished control of even the little things.  My faith in him has grown exponentially.  He's humbled me in ways that only suffering can do.  He's taught me to lean on other people and allow them to help carry my burdens.  He's shown me what's important in life.  And if changing me is the only reason for this ordeal, it's enough.

I still pray for healing, and I still get discouraged and frustrated on occasion, but I know that my Heavenly Father holds me in his hands, and I know that he wouldn't let me suffer for nothing.  He's preparing me for something great, and one day all this will be worth the struggle.

Strength in suffering.

I recently read a blog post by a fellow migraineur named Kerrie, entitled "True Strength."  Kerrie was outraged by a post she'd read in a chronic pain Facebook group that said, “Pretending to be happy when you’re in pain is just an example of how strong you are as a person.”  She argued that being able to be vulnerable and open about your struggles is the true show of strength. 

I completely agree with her.  It's much easier to put on a brave face and pretend like everything is okay.  When you are real with people about your pain, it's scary.  Letting people in is scary.  I used to think the way the author of that Facebook post thinks.  I pretended I was fine and lied to everybody around me, especially my family.  I didn't realize that I was hurting myself and hurting them.  I just wanted my family to not worry about me, but in shutting them out, I made them worry even more because they knew I wasn't telling the whole truth.  And wearing that mask hurt me just as much as it did them.  I didn't know just how much I needed the support of others.  Being strong means doing it by yourself, right?  Wrong.  Being strong means knowing when to let others help carry your burdens.  I wonder just how different all those years could have been if I had just been honest with myself and with those around me.

If you want to read Kerrie's post, here it is: The Daily Headache: True Strength.

Besides being honest with those around me, something else that's been helping me be strong in suffering lately is the book of Philippians, particularly the first chapter.  Paul is writing a letter to the church at Philippi while he is in jail.  First of all, he doesn't just shut down and mourn his circumstances while he's there; he continues his ministry, just in a different way.  Also, he acknowledges that God is using him even in his suffering.  Tim Keller tweeted recently: "God doesn't use us despite our suffering.  He uses us through our suffering."  Along those same lines, Paul says, "And I want you to know, brothers and sisters, that what has happened to me has actually served to advance the gospel."  Wow.  Talk about faith.  I've been trying (with God's help) to think about my illness in that way.  I often feel like I could be of so much more use to God if I were healthy, but He knows exactly what He's doing.  He can heal me at any moment He chooses, and there's a reason He hasn't yet.  I may not see the whole picture now, but I'm thankful to be able to play whatever tiny part the Lord gives me--even if it's through suffering.

God's spoken world.

This week I started a book called Notes from the Tilt-A-Whirl: Wide-Eyed Wonder in God's Spoken World.  I'm not very far into it yet, but I must say, it is beautiful!  The writing style is different; it's a little tilt-a-whirl-ish, circling among multiple topics simultaneously.  It's almost a stream-of-consciousness but not quite as crazy and definitely not as annoying.  Reading it feels like having a conversation with a friend.

The author is super down-to-earth, not a lofty philosophical theologian type.  In fact, he's a college literature professor who's never published in the spiritual/religious genre before.  (Oh, it's a Christian book.  Guess I should have mentioned that.)  In fact, he even uses curse words and slightly crude images here and there.  You may think I'm crazy or "un-Christian-ly", but that's refreshing to me.  It's real.  It indicates freedom in Christ, a religion built on relationship instead of rules.

Rambling aside, here's what I wanted to share:

The author, N. D. Wilson, talks about the language of God.  We so often get frustrated when we don't hear God speaking to us, but the truth is He is speaking--all around us, every moment of every day.  We expect God to speak in English, but why would He?  He's not American.  Or British or Australian or Canadian for that matter.  Why would God even need words to communicate?  I mean, He's God for crying out loud!

Wilson says we don't hear God not because He isn't speaking, but because we are listening for the wrong language.  God's language is His creation.  He spoke it into existence, didn't He?  He spoke and a mountain appeared.  We look at that and say, "Oh that's too hard; I'll make a shortcut," and we choose the word mountain to mean the actual thing.  God doesn't need shortcuts.

But mountain isn't the answer I needed, you may say.  That's fair.  But God speaks things through His creation as well.  Just one example: "Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin, yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these." (Matthew 6:28-29)

Listen for God's voice today.  His words are all around you.

P.S. I highly recommend this book.  You can borrow my copy when I'm finished.

Fiction for a change.

I'm a day behind on posting my WFMAD writing for yesterday.  (Imagine that.)  I decided to try some fiction today.  Enjoy!  (And if you don't, don't tell me.)

She had walked these same halls before, sat at this same desk in this same office under these same blinding fluorescent lights, but today was not the same as any of those days before.  Today was different—not just because it was a new month and a new year—no, today she was a new person. 

Nobody had noticed anything yet.  As she walked through the office building, got her coffee in the break room, everyone nodded their usual hellos and good mornings, but they were too preoccupied with their own small lives to notice even such a drastic change in hers.  Rather than make her feel insignificant, though, it made her feel strong.  She could fool everyone; they would never know until it was too late—if they noticed at all.

She sat at her desk in front of her computer, cup of coffee in hand, just like she had every other morning.  But she didn’t check her email.  She didn’t browse the day’s top news stories.  She simply sat.  And thought.

The world was still the same—still spinning on the same axis, still orbiting the same sun.  The people were still the same—still hurrying on the sidewalks below, still yelling insults into their cell phones.  So why was she different?  What had changed?  She had to admit she liked the change—it made her feel powerful, secure—but she didn’t understand it.

She had the vaguest notion of something strange happening as she slept, but she couldn’t be sure.  Had someone entered her house while she slumbered?  Had an intruder somehow done this?  She had no way of knowing.  She’d thought to get an alarm system when she first moved to the end of the lonely street, but things always came up and the money was never there. 

She had no nearby neighbors to notice if someone strange had been lurking on the street.  And of course she lived alone.  It had never bothered her until now.  Of course, bothered wasn’t really the right word.  Wasn’t she happy about this change?  Wasn’t she glad it had happened—however it happened?

Yes.  She was happy.  She needed this.  She stopped asking questions and simply accepted it.  Whatever it was, it was going to change everything.

Wfmad and wishes.

One of my favorite YA authors does a writing challenge every year she calls Writing Fifteen Minutes a Day.  It lasts for a month, and she gives prompts on her blog every day, which you can choose to use or not.  Here's the link if you're interested: http://madwomanintheforest.com/wfmad-day-2-your-abundance-of-time/.  I'm going to try it.  I always love any excuse to write.  I might (read will) fail here and there--I'm already a day behind--but that's okay.  We'll see what happens.  Here goes!

Eleanor Roosevelt once said, "It takes as much energy to wish as it does to plan."  Yet we spend our time wishing and then lamenting the perceived death of those wishes.  Why not plan their existence instead of planning their funerals?  What kind of place would the world be if people spent their time planning instead of wishing?  What kind of life would I have if I did the same? 

Why do we prefer wishing over planning?  I think it's because wishes can't disappoint.  You'll never fail at wishing, but you can--and likely will--fail at executing those wishes.  We value our pride over progress.  We crave the safe and familiar, because we know it keeps us secure and keeps our pride intact.  If we try something new, we're making ourselves vulnerable to failure and rejection.  Nobody likes that.  But without failure, we would never know success.  How often is success achieved the first time trying something?  Hardly ever.  If we stayed in our little bubble without ever trying anything, sure, we wouldn't fail, but we wouldn't have a chance to succeed either.  If we gave up after that first failure, we wouldn't ever make it.

Think of some of the greats of history:  Albert Einstein, Benjamin Franklin, Martin Luther King, Jr.  What would have happened if Martin Luther King, Jr., had said, "I have a dream," but didn't act on that dream?  If he had just wished for a different world and not planned for change?  Where would we be?  Or what if Franklin doodled bifocals and lightning rods in his journal but never planned to create them?  The world is nowhere without wishers who plan and act.

My mom says her mother used to tell her, "Wish in one hand and crap in the other and see which fills up faster."  While a little crude, the saying has some truth.  Wishing gets you nowhere.  Wishes aren't tangible.  Wishes don't change anything.  We can't wish for change and just hope somebody else acts on a similar wish.  We must act.  We must plan.

What are your wishes?  Maybe they're wishes for a new career or even a new hobby.  Maybe they're wishes for rebuilding relationships or being a better role model.  Wish all you want.  The more wishes, the better!  But give those wishes legs to walk, hands to reach out.  Make something of them.  A wish alone is worth nothing, but a wish paired with action is worth everything.

The beauty of God's timing.

In the church, we always tell each other, "Just wait for God's timing.  He'll take care of it."  We pray, "Lord, I really want this, but I know you'll give it to me in your own time."  But the whole time we're saying those things, we're crossing our fingers and hoping we're right.  We use "God's timing" as our go-to mantra when things aren't working out the way we think they should.  It's our way of convincing ourselves that we're going to get what we desire and that God doesn't ever tell us no when we ask for something.

When I say we, maybe I really mean me.  I talk about God's timing a lot, even to Him, but rarely do I truly trust in His timing the way I say I do.  If I really trust in Him and know that His timing is perfect, why do I get frustrated when things don't happen now?  Why do I ask Him for the same things over and over again?  Or worse, why do I take matters into my own hands?

God has taught me a lot about faith over the last few years.  Hebrews 11:1 says, "Faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see."  Sure  and certain--those are strong words.  It doesn't say "pretty sure" or "mostly certain".  My brain usually tends to operate in the pretty and mostly category.  That way I don't get my hopes up and get let down.  Because, see, when I put all my faith and trust in the Father, I don't have anything to fall back on.  There's nothing in my power I can do to make it happen.  If it doesn't work out, I can't fix it.  But here's the thing:  There's no such thing as not working out with God.  Everything He does is intentional.  Every lost job.  Every heartbreak.  Every failure.  He has orchestrated them all perfectly.  His scope goes beyond my immediate desires and what I feel are immediate needs.  His timing takes into account not only my entire life, but the lives of all His children.  That's the beauty of it.  When I think of it that way, I don't have to cross my fingers anymore and hope He'll take care of me.  I can sit back and be entirely sure and completely certain and perhaps even learn something in the process.

Lighting and filters.

In photography, lighting is everything.  The light in which you look at a subject creates the mood and the feeling of the scene.  It isn't the other way around.  The vibrancy of the subject doesn't create the lighting.

Life is sort of the same way.  The brightness of our lives--our feelings of contentment and happiness--depends less on what's happening and more on the light it's happening under. 

When a photographer walks into a photo shoot, he doesn't just go with whatever lighting the room has to offer.  He brings his own lights.  Even if he takes a photo outside where the lighting is kind of monopolized by the sun, he uses filters.  Why do we so often think in life that what we see is what we get?  That whatever happens in life has to determine our outlook?  That the light that's there is the only light we can use?

In Christ, that almost isn't even an option.  When we come to know Him, He changes our filters.  He becomes the light through which we see the world.  Our views on life are no longer determined by our financial situation or health or job or anything that's out of our control.  He sets up the lighting.  He places the filter on the camera.  A difficult coworker becomes a person who needs Christ.  A lost job becomes a chance to follow our dreams.  A traffic delay becomes a time to listen.  Christ changes the way we notice things, and He also changes the things we notice.  The negative aspects of life tend to fade into the background, while the positive aspects become more pronounced.  We cherish the good moments in life and shrug off the less-than-good ones.  When we look back, we don't see the dark times but the ones His light is shining on.

Christ is doing this in my life right now, and He's teaching me how to let Him do it more and more.  Sometimes it's difficult to relinquish the final product of my photographs to Him, but the more I let Him use His lighting and His filters, the more my life looks like His masterpiece.