A Little Behind

TEN days.

It was bound to happen, right?

I'm ten days behind.

The Type A in me (which is a solid 95%) is so ashamed.

I never wanted this daily Bible reading to become another item on my list to check off, but here I am, very much out of sorts because those little "checks" aren't happening.

Guess this is why I should be reading my Bible.

I think I have some good excuses, though.

I homeschool.

My daughter's high school homework load has been astronomical and has kept us both up late on many a night this last month.

It takes a significant amount (but not more than is prescribed, mind you... not even as much as is prescribed - thought you'd want to know that) of pain medication for me to function at a reasonable level these days - and unfortunately, a big side effect of the med is a good deal of brain fogginess.  Hard to concentrate.

I did a little traveling.  :)

Mark and I took a 6 day getaway to New York City last week.

It was glorious.

We have dreamed of and planned for this trip for many, many years.  In fact, the trip was scheduled for the fall of 2008 - when we unexpectedly found we were EXPECTING and so getting through another pregnancy became the focal point of our lives.

So three years later, we finally got to take our trip.

It was everything we hoped and prayed it would be.

The weather was perfect.

The city was fascinating.

The shows were wonderful.

The man I was with is the love of my life.

We had time together like we haven't had in YEARS.

Liberty Island

Top of the Rock

American Museum of National History

Central Park

It was time well spent and I think God was smiling on us.  

So what if I'm a little behind, right?

Surprised by Love

I'm stuck in Numbers.  I mean really stuck.  I think I'm now 6 days behind in my daily reading.  It was bound to happen, right?  I'm a busy lady.  Four kids, homeschooling, and so on and so forth...

Plus, my pain medication makes me sleep like a baby... right through my alarm clock.  

Numbers and post-narcotic fog aren't a great combination.

I'll catch up.

It'll take a few cups of coffee, but I'll catch up.

I'm sure there's gold to find in Numbers.  Just gotta dig for it.

I'm continuing to pursue gratitude in my day to day struggle with pain and the "shaking" that comes with it.

Today, Mark comes to mind.

I fell in love with Mark in a moment.  Literally.

One minute I was expressing my love to the Father and the next moment I found myself head over heels in love with a man I hardly knew.

We were in Juarez, Mexico, co-leading a missions team of teenagers from my church in Colorado Springs.  Mark had been hired to lead the trip and I was paired with him as the female leader.  

In retrospect, I think it was a set-up.

Regardless, this guy with long, curly black hair and a huge personality seemed to me to be out of my league so I turned off any initial "stirrings" and focused on the job at hand.

I tend to do that.

Turn my heart off.  

God usually has to turn it back on for me.

Our first night in Juarez we gathered the team in the upstairs room of the orphanage for a time of worship.  It was a sweet time of singing and sharing.  As I led the team in "Oh God, You Are My God" I was overcome with gratitude for all that God had done and was doing in my life so I stopped singing.  The team followed my lead and the room became very quiet.  After a minute or so of silence, Mark began singing the song once again.

In that moment, as I was completely focused on my love for God... a thought came to me - out of nowhere.

"I can't live without this person."

I think I gasped.  

Audibly.

I know I cried.

Love was ignited and I was completely overwhelmed by it.

And then, true to form, I chose to despair.

"How could a guy like Mark ever love ME?  God, why would you do this?  He's NEVER going to feel the same way!"

"He lives in TULSA!  That's in OKLAHOMA!"

I spent night after night during that week in Juarez tossing and turning.

I lost 5 pounds. (didn't mind that part so much)

Little did I know that God was doing something in Mark as well.

The day after I had my "moment," Mark was back in the upstairs room with the team leading them in morning devotions.  I wasn't there because one of the teen girls had somehow locked herself in the bathroom and I was stuck trying to communicate with one of the NON-ENGLISH SPEAKING orphanage custodians as we tried to keep her calm and get her out.  Good times.

As Mark led the kids in their quiet time, he sensed the Lord speaking to him and saying, "Remember all those things you have asked me for in a wife?"

"Ummm, yeah.  Where did this come from?"  (This is what he told me later he said in reply)

And the Lord said, "Well, they're all in Kaysie."

Now, the difference between what God was doing in Mark and what God was doing in me is pretty important here.

I had actually had initial thoughts of my own before my "moment."  Mark had not.  His God moment was his FIRST moment of any kind as far as I was concerned.

In retrospect, I think God spent that week stirring Mark's heart towards me, while teaching me to trust Him.

I wonder why He insists on constantly teaching me lessons on TRUST?

By the end of the week, with some help from a couple of friends playing matchmaker, we had some idea  of the mutuality of our feelings (though we never discussed it) and a spark of hope had ignited in my heart.

I remember such a sense of wonder in it all.

I remember being amazed that this guy would like me - maybe even LOVE me.

I was surprised when I knew for sure that he did.

And grateful.

Three weeks later we were engaged.

Yep.  When you know, you know.

Seventeen years later I still find myself surprised by Mark's love for me.

I'm selfish, perfectionistic, controlling, distrustful, pessimistic... broken.

He loves me anyway.

It surprises me still today.

I Remember When...

Still plugging away at the Old Testament.  Halfway through Numbers now and it's definitely more interesting than Leviticus.  I've read the Old Testament several times before, but this time, as I read, I'm reminded of something Mark noticed when he read through the Bible several years ago.

God wants us to remember.

So many times, throughout the stories of the Old Testament, the Israelites would be led to stop where they were, build an altar or a monument of some sort, and take time to say thanks to God for whatever He had done for them in that place.

They marked the place where it happened.

This way, whenever they came across that spot again (or whenever someone else traveled by), they would remember (or learn about) what God had done there.

Surely these markers of remembrance (or "remembrance stones" as I've heard them called before) helped them when times got tough.

I've lost count of the times when people, who were/are much wiser than me, have told me that gratitude is one of the greatest weapons I have when in battle against Fear, Anxiety, Depression and countless other enemies of my soul.

It's true.

When I spend time reflecting on a moment in time when I KNOW God met a need or desire, or comforted and carried me through a crisis, my heart is calmed and the places within me that are shaking are steadied.

This is a good time for me to be doing that.

Today I am remembering a Christmas when I was about 11 years old.  I know... Christmas - and it's only October.

But I've got Christmas on my mind.

Anyway, this particular Christmas things weren't going too well with my family.  Money was tight.  Actually, there just wasn't any money.  My mom was struggling to find ways to keep us fed and my dad... well, he was struggling.  As Christmas approached it was pretty clear that without a miracle that day would be like any other day in our house.

My mom begin to encourage my brother and me to pray.

Now, I'll tell you I don't really remember praying.  I remember my mom praying.  In fact, I have strong memories of getting up every morning for school to find my mom had been up for hours, with her Bible and a prayer notebook.  I knew what she was doing.  I knew how desperate things were.

I was already pretty cynical and pessimistic at 11.  It seemed safer to me to keep my requests to myself.

I do remember telling my mom that I wished I had just $25 to use for Christmas shopping.

It's important that you know that as a general rule, we didn't talk about our situation with others.  I'm sure word got around.  It wasn't a very big town.  But we didn't do the talking.

This was true that Christmas.  My mom prayed.  That was pretty much it.

So, about 2 weeks before Christmas my mom received a phone call.  A man in our church had decided he wanted to give a handful of children $25 for Christmas shopping.  My brother and I were two of them.

Cool, huh?

I was thrilled.  I'll never forget the day we got to go shopping.  We felt rich.  I bought my mom a pair of earrings.  Patton bought dad a tobacco pouch.

But that's not the significant part of this story.

Besides shopping money, there was ONE THING I really, REALLY wanted for Christmas.

And I didn't tell anyone.

I didn't pray for it either.

Too risky.

I just kept it quiet and tried to prepare myself for the disappointment that I knew would come on Christmas morning.

Christmas morning came.  I woke early.  Patton and I were notorious for waking at the crack of dawn on Christmas day.  I walked toward the living room, and there... kneeling before our Christmas tree, with her Bible open on the floor at her knees, was my mom.  She was crying.

But she wasn't crying tears of sorrow or disappointment.

She was crying tears of thanksgiving.

And she was surrounded by gifts.  There were many, many packages under the tree.

Really, it seemed like magic to my eleven year-old mind.

Until we began opening presents.

There, in the midst of it all, was the ONE THING I really wanted.

It's going to sound silly when I tell you what it was.  In fact, it doesn't really even matter what it was.

What matters is that He knew.

And in that moment, I knew... He loved me.  He knew me.  He SAW me.

It marked me.  And today as I tell the story, I remember.

And I'm grateful.

Leviticus and Dread

Leviticus.  Wow.  One million rules to follow and another million rules about what to do if you don't.

Yep.  Let's just say that I'm not popping out of bed every morning excited to read my Bible.

There's a sense of dread accompanying my daily reading these days.  I could probably push past it and, with a little study, find some real gems in this particular book.  For instance, I'm sure the picture of the scapegoat (a literal goat) that once a year took the collective sins of the Israelites upon itself and was released into the desert to wander until it died would resonate deeply within me if I took the time to meditate on it.  Probably not gonna happen.

So there's a sense of dread to the reading.

I just want to get through it.

Be done with it.

I'm really looking forward to Joshua.

Yesterday I went to my Bible study on David.  We've been at this particular study now for several weeks and I'm loving it.

I love Beth Moore.  She has a way of getting to the heart of things.  I respect her because it's obvious she studies hard, follows God hard and has experienced "hard."

Not often, but occasionally, it feels as if she's talking directly to me.  Yesterday that was my experience.  

She identified for me the "something" I've been battling these last few months that I had yet to put my finger on.

Dread.

I have been asking God to do something for me for ten years now.  And I'm realizing He's got something else in mind.  Something I dread.

Beth put it this way, "You are begging for God to do X - and He's determined to do Y."

I've always hated algebra.

Spent many hours wrestling with those nasty little variables.

Beth reminded me yesterday that Jesus understands this feeling of dread.  He experienced dread in the Garden of Gethsemane.

Dread unlike anything I could ever imagine.

But here's the key - and this is what struck me from Beth's teaching - Jesus knew what was coming for like YEARS before it actually happened.  And he was still able to walk with confidence and purpose - free from the dread of what was to come.

He wasn't paralyzed by it.

In fact, he didn't allow Himself to experience dread until the night of His arrest - in the Garden of Gethsemane.  That night He fell on His face before God and poured His heart out - His anguish and dread over what was to come and His fear of it.  He even asked God to take it away.

He asked God for X - but God was set on doing Y.

It's safe to assume that Jesus knew before He fell to His knees and succumbed to the anguish in His heart that God wasn't going to give Him what He asked for.  God had something else in mind.  But Jesus cried out for it anyway.

Seems like the act of begging for release - for something different than what is in front of you - is understood by Jesus.  Acceptable to Him.  Acceptable to God.  It didn't offend God when Jesus allowed dread to overwhelm him to the point of terrible anguish and prayers for release.  It wasn't sin.

But there comes a point when the begging has to stop and you have to move forward.  I've had a hard time getting to that place.

I HAVE BEEN PARALYZED BY DREAD.

The difference between Jesus' experience with dread and my experience with dread is significant to me because it's making me ask if at my core I continue to struggle with trust.

Jesus trusted God implicitly and that trust allowed Him to pour His heart out to God, then settle it and move forward - without the answer He had hoped for.   He understood that God's will had to do with a higher purpose... and He found hope in that.

But I've had so much dread in my heart, there hasn't really been any room for hope.

I know better.

God's will for me may not be easy, but I can trust that He loves me, sees me and will be with me.  I can hope that He will make something beautiful and purposeful out of the pain of my journey.

I'm going to try to move out from under the power of dread and into the freedom that comes with hope and trust.  And I'm praying... expecting... that He will meet me there.

Sven

I'm currently in the middle of Exodus and the (let's be honest) EXHAUSTINGLY detailed descriptions of the building of the tabernacle.

Sigh.

I know many, many people find the tabernacle fascinating.  Me, not so much.

Though when you think about the fact that these were ancient people... nomads... doing this detailed artisan work in the middle of a campground - well, that is pretty amazing.

Anyway, I'm pretty much just getting through this section of Exodus.  Glad I have my Beth Moore "David" bible study to work on.  So, so good.

On another note, some of you have asked so I thought I'd post a little update on my back - and use my blog as a way to process where I am with this right now.

Ten years ago I was told I needed spinal fusion surgery for a herniated disc.  I said no way (Hello... I had THREE babies at the time) and began trying other ways to get better.

Chiro - FAIL

Exercise - FAIL

Inversion Table - FAIL

Pain medications - FAIL

Massage - FAIL (but feels great trying!)

Yoga - FAIL

Physical Therapy - FAIL (has helped, but unfortunately it doesn't change my condition)

Spinal injections - FAIL (well, has helped some but again, condition is the same)

Decompression Therapy - FAIL

Prayer - ???? (jury's still out on this one)

Yep, I've pretty much tried it all and quite honestly, if there's anything else out there to try... I'm not up for it.

So, after ten years of struggle (and another little surprise baby boy) I find myself with a back that is now unstable.  I have several degenerative discs (most of us do and it's not always a big deal - but for me it is) and likely fractures in my lower spine with a condition called spondylolisthesis.  This means surgery.  And not just any surgery.  Spinal fusion surgery.  A TWO LEVEL Spinal Fusion surgery.  The very surgery I have worked to avoid all these years.

When the surgeon made this clear to me a few weeks ago, I felt my old "friend" Anxiety/Depression creeping back into my life.

I like to call him Sven.

It's been a difficult few weeks with Sven hanging around.  Makes being a busy mom of four rather challenging.

To top it all off, I woke up a few weeks ago in the early hours of the morning to find both of my legs numb and heavy.

Um, that's terrifying.

My left leg came back to life right away, but I have struggled over the last five weeks to regain the strength/feeling in my right leg.  This last round of injections has definitely helped, but the leg continues to give me trouble.

I have hoped that I can put this surgery off another few years so that little David can be in school and protected from the trauma/drama of Mommy being out of commission for several weeks (more likely, several months).  Plus, it'll be easier for me to recover if I don't have the pressure of caring for a toddler.

We'll see how the leg fares and hope for the best.

In the meantime, Sven's not so welcome presence has become more and more of a burden.

I've thought (and been told by docs) that anxiety/depression is to be expected after years of chronic pain and with the disappointing news that I've gotten worse and not better.

But even with the help of an anti-depressant, I've continued to struggle and have wondered why.

Then, this weekend - in a Facebook conversation with one of my AMAZING physical therapists - I was hit with a truth that struck the core of me.

She said (among other things), "I just hope you aren't looking at (this) surgery as failure..."

This message came through on my phone as I was pushing my grocery cart through Wal-Mart.  And all of a sudden... tears.

Those of you who really know me know tears are rare.

And these tears took me by surprise.

She was right.

I did (DO) see this surgery as failure.  A personal failure.

I feel like I have been unable to get better and so have failed my children - my husband.

Wow.  How broken is that?

Once again, I am faced with my core struggles.

Control.  Perfectionism.  Self-sufficiency.

I have believed that I could fix this.  I SHOULD fix this.

Isn't it amazing how the belief systems that I created as the co-dependent child of an alcoholic continue to haunt me in my adult life?

I have been through countless hours of counseling and recovery.

I have read books.  I have grieved.  I have "let go."

And here, in the middle of a completely separate issue, Sven rears his ugly, but very familiar head and catches me off-guard.

Kinda like that monthly cycle that you always know is coming and yet you always find yourself "surprised" when it shows up (sorry, guys - just couldn't think of a better comparison).

At 42, there's still that kid in me that decided it was her job to fix things at home.  Make sure everyone was okay.  Keep dad at bay.

Now, the truth is that kid is a MUCH smaller part of me.  I'm grateful for that.

But I'm hoping for more.  And I believe more is possible.  I know God sees me and understands me.  I trust that He will continue to work in me.

I also believe that as He works, Sven's visits will come less frequently and have less of an impact on me.

In the meantime, I'm thankful for the insight of those around me that help me recognize the things I miss on this journey.  Thanks, Maegan.

I'm going to process this new revelation as I walk through what's next with my back.

Be intentional about reminding myself I have no control here (something that is VERY difficult for me to do).

Accept this journey as part of God's plan for me - even though I don't understand it.  I really do trust that He will bring something good out of it.  Not just for me.  For my children.  For my husband.  Maybe for others as well.

And I hope, as I walk through it, Sven will let go and move on.

I've had enough of him.

Darkness That Can Be Felt

Just finished reading the Great Exodus of the Israelites from Egypt.  I never get tired of that story.  The boys have been reading it as well and it's been great discussion material.  We've been wanting to watch The Prince of Egypt this week, but so far it's been too busy around here for a movie.  Maybe this weekend.

One of the things that struck me with this reading was "The Plague of Darkness."  I noticed that when the Lord instructed Moses to stretch out his hand so that darkness would spread over Egypt, he called it, "... darkness that can be felt."

Now, as a child I was never really afraid of the dark.  I mean, I had a pretty wild imagination and I remember being afraid of crocodiles under my bed and giant spiders on my wall... but quite honestly, I had bigger fish to fry as a kid.  The dark wasn't too big of a deal.

But I see now that this was a different kind of dark.

You could FEEL it.

It was a physical darkness, yes.  But if you could feel it, then it must have been darkness that was so deep and heavy the effect was also emotional and spiritual.

And yes, I'm afraid of that kind of dark.

It's the kind of dark that can crush you.  Fear settles in on you and despair is quick to follow.

You cry out but the darkness is like a vacuum and you're sure no one can hear you.

I know that kind of darkness.  I've experienced it.  And so I can understand how this particular plague would've driven the Egyptians to a place of complete and total despair.

I wish we could get an aerial view of Egypt at this moment in time.

I can imagine what it might look like.

Complete and total darkness with the exception of one small area.

The Israelite camp.

There - there was light.  And hope.

It was right next to them so don't you think that if the Egyptians could've seen it, they would have run to it?

I would have.

In the midst of my own seasons of darkness, I have found myself searching for light to penetrate the heavy, suffocating dark.

And in every circumstance, it has always been right next to me.  I just had to run to it.

Jesus.

He is the light.

He is MY light.

I still experience darkness.

We live in a broken world and we are broken people so darkness will come.

But His light always dispels the darkness.

EVERY TIME I RUN TO HIM.

Moses and Me

So, three weeks later and my Daily Bible Reading continues to inspire me to rise early each morning and have at least a semblance of a quiet time before the kids begin to stir.  It's only about 30 minutes, but it's pretty much all mine and I cherish it.

The chronological approach has been interesting.  I'm in Exodus now and I love that what I'm reading corresponds with what Charlie is doing in our church's Bible Blast program each week.  I don't think that will last long, as the kids skip a LOT of the "who begat who" and so on and so forth in order to move through the main stories over the course of a school year.  But for now, it's been a good thing.

This weekend we're hoping to have a movie night and watch The Prince of Egypt.  We've all seen it before, but it's been quite a while and I love this movie.

I find Moses' persistence when face to face with God amusing.  He is determined to convince God that he's not really the best man for the job.

God.

The Creator of all things.

The Holy One of Israel.

The Big Guy.

The Bible goes so far as to say that God burns with anger against Moses and at one point, He even moves in to KILL Moses, but Zipporah (Moses' wife) is able to obtain mercy on Moses' behalf and God backs off (the way she does is this well, a little wacky and far beyond the realm of what's considered "okay" these days - you'll have to read that for yourself).

Crazy stuff.

But I do that.

Argue with God, I mean.

God, you want me to homeschool?  Are you kidding?!!!

God, you're giving me another baby?  Are you CRAZY?!!!

God, you want me to say what?  Give THAT?!!

I wish I second-guessed God less often.  I don't know that it causes Him to burn with anger towards me, but I can imagine that it hurts His heart.

The funny thing is - like Moses, I don't so much doubt God as I doubt myself.

Maybe they're one and the same?