Living With Chronic Illness: "Dear Flaring Kailan..." A Letter to Myself.

Living with chronic illnesses takes it's toll on my emotional/mental health. It's like being stuck on a never-ending roller coaster... and I HATE roller coasters!

On my bad days, (when I'm flaring) I feel like I'm "in the depths of despair."* The world goes on with or without me and I'm forced to choose to be ok with it going on without me. And then my mind travels to the ecstasy of dying. I think, "If the world can go on without me, then why do I even try? Why not die right here?" Its certainly the thing that will ensure the pain will stop. Yes... my bad days are dark days. It never fails. I cry a lot and bleed with love for my caretakers while hating my body.

But then, something happens! The flare lifts enough for me to breathe again. My energy is returned only in very small increments and then I taste life again. My eyes open wide and I feel thankful to still be alive. Thankful for having survived what I've survived. I do a little cleaning and cooking and actually hold conversations with my beautiful, quickly growing, children. My sarcasm returns with the husband and we actually laugh together. It feels like "a high." (I've never smoked weed before, but I can imagine being "high" feels a little like this)

I feel like two different people with these extremes.

So I decided last month to write a letter to myself. I wrote it while I was "high on life" and directed it towards my "flaring" self. I wrote it in hopes to reach out to myself, to save myself. I loved myself enough to at least try.

I had to pull that letter out today. I've been in so much pain this week and I could feel myself going down into my depths. I decided to share it with you as an example for you. I encourage anyone dealing with chronic illnesses to do the same. Wait till you are having a decent day where you are glad to be alive and encourage yourself. Pull it out on your bad days and hold it tight to your heart.


Dear "Flaring" Kailan, 

     Take a deep breath. Slow way down and hold this Truth as close as you can to your heart. You will survive. This is not forever. This flare will eventually lift and you will feel more confident then. You will feel hope again. I know you hate this part of the ride, but it will not last forever. Your kids love you, you are their favorite. Your husband loves you, you are always his best friend. Remember he's always so optimistic? Trust his heart. I know your fantasies of ending it all, but trust ME. When this lifts (because it will) then you will want to live. You will be back. Your laughter, play, silly-ness, singing, reading, writing.... it will all be back. I love you. This disease has changed your life, but it has not changed who you are and what you mean to everyone around you. 

                                                                    With all the GRACE in the world, 
                                                                         "Better Days" Kailan 


I made myself cry. Thank you Kailan.

What would you say to yourself? 



(*Anne of Green Gables)

Open Letter to the Chronically Ill Parent: "There is no replacement for you!"

I am so honored to share my space here with a very good friend of mine Melissa Glennon. We knew each other from church years ago, but have recently reconnected since I've been chronically ill. She's married with a quiver full of children. She is so faithful, always asking me how I'm doing and praying for me. Her friendship has meant the world to me. The unique thing about her is that she grew up with a chronically ill parent, who still battles with it today. I've talked to many chronically ill people, and the common "woe" (besides the obvious pain and suffering) is our "mommy guilt" or "daddy guilt." The guilt that comes when we can't do certain things and our children also suffer the consequences.  I'd bring my "mommy guilt" cry to Melissa and she'd encourage me like no one else could. I found myself using her words to help me comfort others. Then I thought... "I should just have her write an open letter for me to share." And of course, she's amazing so she wrote this very sweet open letter to her dad, who suffers with chronic pain. I'm so thankful for her letter, it encourages me as I continue to raise my own children in the dynamic of chronic illness. My hope is that you find comfort in her unique perspective also.

Melissa writes:

"Dad,

  

   You carried me on your shoulders. I distinctly remember the flip flop my stomach made when you swung me into the air and placed me up to see the world. You took us fishing and always baited my hook. You played catch with me, you wrestled with us, and built us snow forts. You led our family to know, love, and trust in God. I was loved deeply and I knew it!

   As I reflect on my childhood and growing up with you having chronic pain the most striking revelation is that my memories aren't centered around pain. I don't remember many moments where I felt that my dad was different or our family life was affected by the pain. It was simply the way things were and I knew no different. We knew your limitations and lived our lives accordingly.

We all believed that your first back surgery would "fix" you. Your pain seemed less for awhile and we were all so happy! But then came another surgery and another and another... And your pain never got better. I don't remember you complaining about the pain but I also don't remember asking you how you were doing. I am sorry! I am sorry that I was selfish. I remember thinking at times, "He could do it if he really wanted to." Or "He doesn't feel that bad." I wouldn't be able to empathize with you until years and years later.

   I remember you going to the Mayo Clinic to take pain management classes and it being a defeating time for you. Living with the pain seemed like the only option left. I remember being sad that there seemed to be nothing left to fix you.

   Your faith in God never wavered. And if it did, I didn't see it.  I still look at you today as a man of strong faith and that is something that has comforted me my entire life.

   Fast forward, a decade or two, and I am pregnant with my fourth child. Unbeknownst to me, I have a rib out of place and I am in horrible pain. I am unable to turn my neck. Pain shoots down my arm and I can't sleep or eat. After three weeks of pain and stress, a heavenly chiropractor finds the problem and my pain is gone. It was the closest thing I had ever gone through to where I could relate to what you have dealt with for the past 25 years. There really are no words to describe the sadness I feel for your daily affliction. For years, I have prayed that God would heal you, completely, "Take away his pain." One day while praying this it hit me, "What if God's way of taking his pain away would be to take him to heaven?" It stopped me cold. I am not ready to lose my father, and the selfish part of me wanted you to stay... Even if that meant you lived in pain. Again, I am sorry for my selfishness but I love you.  I will continue to pray for complete healing and trust that God's will be done.

   Thank you for loving me, my mother and my siblings, so completely through all your pain. I know you feel bad that you can't do more for us, but I never saw it like that. You have always been more than enough for me. I love you Dad!

To all parents out there with chronic pain: Thank you for loving your children through your pain!! There is no need to feel guilty about what you think we are missing out on. We would rather have you in our lives than any thing else. There is no replacement for you. We love you!"


This was very sweet. I wanted to share her dad's response when she sent him this very letter. 

"Melissa,  I think this is an excellent letter and I hope other parents out there have a daughter like you!  After being injured in Vietnam I learned to deal with pain, so I had a lot of time to prepare me for what lay ahead for me.  You don't deal with chronic pain alone and I'm thankful for my prayer group at work, the Mayo Pain Clinic and of course your mom ( my best support person ), who knows better than any of you what chronic pain is all about without having it.  There is no need for you to ever feel guilty, after all life is what molds our character and I think we're all hanging in there as a family!  Thanks for taking the time & sharing your thoughts.  Love, Dad "

I Believe Jesus: Finding Hope While Chronically Ill

It was so quiet and beautiful being out in the plains of Iowa. I sat on my folding chair, watching the nervous groom precede his wedding party down the aisle. I thought about how delighted I was to actually be there and witness this with my own eyes. It was very hot that night. I had prepared myself to be overheated and in pain, so I had my medication with me, along with my ice packs in a mini cooler bag and a battery powered fan. The faithful trees shaded me. I had pushed so hard to be there that night. I kept saying "the universe is against me!" as I watched all our kids, including myself, come down with colds. I was flaring and sick and still my mother sacrificed her plans to take my sick kids so I could push myself to go to this wedding. It was special. Not only was an amazing young couple getting married, but my husband was officiate for the first time. I was proud of all of them. It was simple and beautiful and I was honored to be a part of it in this small way.

Not only did I have my physical obstacles, but I admit I came with a heavy heart. I'm tired. Tired of being sick. I ebb and flow with wanting to live vs. wanting to die. I question God as to why I have to be sick all the time. Not only have I not gone to church because of my sickness, but my heart still distrusts the whole business of church in general. Once you've gone through the hell of feeling outcast and betrayed by a church, it's hard to trust again. I have been so depressed, spinning in this never ending circle of healing the emotional so I can heal the physical, whilst fighting the physical trying to keep my head about me. It's a cruel cycle of catch 22. But it's left me feeling weary. Broken. Unfixable. Futile toiling. Breaking me bit by bit. And it was winning.

But I made it to this wedding. I sat in that congregation of family and friends joined to witness this couple's love for each other. I was proud of myself.

The vows began. They wrote their own and it was the bride's turn. I was so moved by their sweet words to each other but then she started speaking the words that were about to grab my heart. Within her vows she said, "If Jesus believes that marriage can last a lifetime, then I believe it too because I believe Jesus." It was an epiphany for me. Tears fled from my eyes in an instant and I had to take a deep breath so I didn't make too much of a spectacle crying like I was. People must have thought I was being way too emotional. Ha. If they only knew how my heart swelled as I longed for that touch from my Savior. I know the words she was saying were meant for her husband just then, but the power that radiated from her mouth to the ears listening in, I was truly humbled by this young bride's faith. I immediately started to interpret to my heart as I chewed on that phrase. She even kept it a simple mantra throughout her vows. "If Jesus believes it, I believe it too because I believe in Jesus." Oh! My weak spirit! My weak faith! I was being restored with each tear I had to wipe away.

* Jesus said, "Come to Me, all who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest. Take My yoke upon you and learn from Me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls."

If Jesus says I will find rest, if Jesus promises restoration then it will be.

Because if Jesus believes it, then I believe it too. Because I believe Jesus.

I have learned much from this experience of being chronically ill. It has stretched me like no other obstacle has. And I had forgotten Jesus'promises. I had forgotten how much I believe in Him. And how much He believes in me.




Thank you sweet Mallory, the young beautiful bride. May He bless you both.

*Matthew 11:28-29

When I Fell and Couldn't Get Back Up: Chronic Illness

How do I explain what's happening to me?

Last July (2014), I fell sick. And never recovered. How do I convey to you, the hell I'm going through?

I lay in bed most days, most hours and watch the world go by.... without me. How do I explain my grief?

Sometimes the pressure and pain and the heavy fatigue is so great that I stare off, listening to my heart pounding and the sound of my breathing, waiting for my last breath to take me away from it all. How do I put into words my despair?

This has changed me. It's changed my husband. Planning things is like trying to write on wet paper. There's a dry piece with Plan B on it. How do I explain my guilt?

I watch my husband come home from his stressful job to taking care of our 5 kids at home, cooking, cleaning.... things that were my job. I am so dependent on him. How do I explain this helplessness?

I'm fortunate to have found a doctor that believes me, even though when I tell him my concerns for worsening symptoms, his response is "unfortunately, this is part of the disease." No answers. Not enough research out there to tell me why I'm, all of the sudden, living in this hell when I was a healthy young woman, excited about turning 30. I'm trapped in a young body that is giving out like an elderly person. How do I say how lost and alone I feel?

I am also fortunate to have friends and family that will lay next to me when they know I can't come to them. Every time I look at my husband, I cry because my dad was right.... I have never felt more loved than I do right now. Those that take me seriously, when they are near me, I hear God whispering in my ear, "See? I haven't left you."  How can I begin to explain that kind of comfort?

But when people look at me, they don't always see a sick person. They hear me speak somewhat coherently and hear me lecture my kids, and flirt with my husband and laugh at jokes, assuming that I'm not sick. They say my 5 kids at home is the answer to my "tiredness." How do I even begin to rant about how offensive and suffocating that can be?

I've had to give up so many things. Things I can't physically or mentally do anymore. My kids watch me in disappointment, too young to be satisfied with my best efforts to care for and love them. I can only hope they will grow up someday, remembering all the times I still held them when they cried and understand that I tried my best to be there and maybe they'll excuse me and forgive the disease.   Injustice. It's like a thief, it has stolen a presence.

I have been diagnosed with SEID (systemic exertion intolerance disease, formerly known as Chronic Fatigue Syndrome) and Fibromyalgia. The most recent diagnosis is Hashimoto's (auto-immune) Disease. Everyone is unique in their symptoms, diagnosis cocktail, and finding their recoveries, that is if they ever do find it. No two are alike. But it's still good company to talk with someone that's going through hell similar to my own. Not a day goes by without thinking about my illness. It's like a chain that's always making my skin bleed, never allowing me even a full day to heal.

I can't even cry my eyes out without pain and pressure shooting through my head.



It is very hard to focus enough to write, so you won't be hearing as much from me here as often as I used to write. I've been put on pause, for the most part, until we can figure out a recovery plan that works for me, if there is one out there. If you know someone with "a chronic illness that you can't see", hug them gently and take them seriously. Talk with them. Respect the boundaries of their disease and help any way you can. Those are the characteristics of the most helpful, supportive people in my life right now.

Value is in the Heart of the Beholder

With spring around the corner, I got this itch to get ahead on some spring cleaning. Leaning along the wall in my bedroom, in vertical stacks, are old frames that I've kept safe for years. I finally decided to move them. Looking at each picture made me reminisce about old times, good times. Then I found "the Jesus picture." Normally, I'm creeped out by "Jesus pictures" but not this one. Since I was a little girl, I've always loved this one. Simple. Drawn with pencil or charcoal, I could never tell. It was always calming to me because the face reminded me of my dad. In fact, when I was little, I remember asking him if it was him. There wasn't a time where I'd pass this picture and not gaze at it and appreciate the artist. Even if it was just seconds, my eyes would lock on it all the time. My mom told me that the picture (with the frame) were bought at a garage sale in Dallas Center 40+ years ago, by my grandparents.

 Wiping away the dust off this old frame that I've kept for my mom the last few years, I picked it up. And in one fell swoop, the back came off, the picture and glass starting falling out as well, and here I was trying to piece it all back together. "Who's bright idea was it to tape the back of this frame?" I thought.

back of the frame. Yep. That's paneling taped to the back.  

I didn't think anything of the blank extra paper that was in there, assuming it was a typical backing piece of paper for the integrity of the picture. But then, the color struck me. "That looks old... really old." I thought.

the "old paper" I first saw. 

My curiosity, as always, got the better of me. I wanted to pick it up, touch it, and see what kind of design may have been on the other side, if anything at all.

I carefully fished it out of the framing. I quickly saw the other side was a type of document. I read the words at the top, "Guthrie County High School at Panora, IA"

"Cool! It's local!" I thought to myself. I saw the name "Mary E. Whisler." It was a high school diploma. I didn't recognize the name at all, but then my eyes scrolled down the document and then I locked in on the date.

"May 13th, of 1887"

Can we just take a moment and do this?....        "!!!!!!!!!"

"Guthrie County High School, at Panora, Iowa. To the Friends of Public Education, Greeting:
Be it known, that Mary E. Whisler has completed the Classical Course of Study prescribed for the Guthrie County High School, and is therefore certified to receive this Diploma. In Testimony, Whereof, the names of the Offices of the Board of Trustees, and the name of the Principal of the Guthrie County High School are hereunto subscribed this 13 day of May 1887." Signed Principal Ray and two Trustees (that I can't for sure make out there names). 

Almost instantly, my fingers were tingling with excitement, very aware of the sensation of aged paper. I've never held paper this old in my hands before. I put it back down carefully and yelled for my husband who was in the shower. He couldn't hear me. My children came into my room wondering what all the excitement was about. I explained to them this precious document, trying to help them understand how old it was. I told them, "America was only 100 years old when this diploma was made!" My ten year old son's eye grew wide, matching my excitement. Then I couldn't wait any longer, "Joshua! (my husband) Get out of the shower! You've got to see what I found!" Oh, the sweet man. He got out quickly and I watched as his face brightened with enthusiasm. We all dolled over the document, taking in all it's age. My husband got to work on the internet to find the name. I contacted my mom and aunt to see if they knew the name. They didn't but called all sorts of family/friends to help figure it out. I remember sitting there with the document laid out before me, just staring at it. Touching it delicately, like you would a painting. And then, I bent down and yes.... I smelled it. Several times. That old rich scent of wood and paper surged through my senses, making my imagination go wild with what life was like for Mary E. Whisler to achieve her high school diploma, likely dressed in those huge beautiful dresses I see in the old Jane Austen movies. This was exciting.

But I didn't know what to do with it. Surely there was a family or a museum that would love a document like this. It survived so well in this old frame with the back taped. (seriously, who's idea was that?)

I found another big frame, in much better shape, and re-framed the diploma to keep it safe. I gave it to my mom and we agreed her the task of finding out where it would best be given. A former boss of my mom's,  Lynnea Andersen, who is originally from Panora, helped Mom find more information. Lynnea called her dad and he gave them names and numbers of the family members of Mary E. Whisler. Mom talked to the only 2 living relatives of Mary and it was agreed that the best place for the diploma was at the Panora Museum.

I can't wait to visit the museum and see that very document that I found, and held, and yes, even sniffed, waiting for the world to enjoy it.


Special thanks to: (my mom) Linda Ruppert, (my aunt) Carmen Cratty, Lynnea Andersen, her father, Mary E. Whisler's family members, and the Panora Museum for taking special care of it from here on out.

Mastery: Letting go of being free of your struggles

In a crazy cycle recently, (where my depression spirals because I rarely feel well, making me crumple in a fetal position, crying, wanting my life to be over because I feel so worthless) I came to a certain resolve. I wanted to be free. Free of the depression, free of the stress, of the health issues. I would plead to God to take it away, but still I struggled... every day... trying to find the reason why I want keep fighting, even though I don't feel well.

Can we ever really be free? Free of illness? Chronic illness? Free of mental issues? Depression? Anxiety? Anger? Debilitating conditions?

Scriptures say “we are free.” What the hell does that even mean? I mean, let’s talk spiritually speaking here. We are stuck in this world, this fallen world. Jesus came and said the words Himself, “if the Son sets you free, you are free indeed.” But in context, He was talking about sin though. We are free from the bondage of our own sin. (note to self: that doesn't mean the sin against us from others and obviously, this didn't stop the consequences of the physical fallen world, since we still get sick and die, BUT...) We are made spiritually new. (And when we rise, we will be made physically new) We will be found clean in the face of God when we meet Him, because of the freedom we have received from the Son. Does this give me hope? Yes.

But, but, but…..

What about today? What about now? I don’t mean to sound impatient, but not only have I been dealing with this illness, this depression for so long now but…. Where is the respite? I believe in miracles, but after watching Dad die of cancer, I learned that miracles come in different forms and not always the way you want them to happen.

I went through a serious bout of more depression recently that circled around that fact that I may never be free of this illness, this depression, this fatigue cycle. Once again, God was just a figure standing there with His back turned away from me. “Not this one. Not this time” was what I kept hearing in response for my pleading with God to release me from this struggle. I didn't understand why. I still don’t understand why. But something had to give. I wanted to give up but that’s where it got complicated. Can’t give up something that is in you, something that you are dealt, something that you've lost. Giving up was impossible, unless I was willing to kill myself. Sure. I thought about it. I thought about releasing my husband from a sick wife, releasing my kids from a sick mother. But then… I’m too much of a pansy and well… my babies are… babies. I couldn't even think about doing that to them. It was devastating losing my dad at 16, I didn't want to put them through something like that. No. I wanted to live… But I want to LIVE. Like really live, like tear up the yard because all my plans are ridiculous and so…. *Kailan*. Like paint and decorate weird things on my walls for company to find as they creep through our house. Like not only school the kids in just the basics of education, but really take them out and let them experience things to the fullest. Like actually play with them again. You know? LIVE!

But if I can’t be free…..where’s my hope in that? Sure, I may get better some day. I may not. But what I do know is that “today” I must.

I started reflecting on something then. God told Cain that he must master his anger. (I use this lesson a lot in parenting) Was Cain wrong to be angry about Abel’s offerings? (because Abel gave better than Cain) No. But he was angry at the wrong person. His anger was a trigger, given by God, something beautiful. But his first mistake was getting mad at the wrong person, second mistake was he didn't heed God’s advice. Third mistake…. He went ahead and killed Abel in his anger, permanently silencing him and permanently stirring his own demise…. All because he couldn't- wouldn't master it.

I found myself realizing that if I wasn't going to be free of depression, and maybe even this sickness, then I must learn to master it, before it kills me.

So the research went into hyper-drive. The first things Jesus did was help the physical. I needed to be my own Jesus. (is that sacrilege to say?) I needed to help myself physically. Things like getting my ass back into the doctors office and not giving up on that part of things. Eating healthier, drinking more water, and taking my vitamins. I don’t have a second head that’s going to do all this for me. (well... it seems I do have a second head, but she isn't very helpful) I have to stand up for myself and master as much as I can for my body’s sake. I’m still figuring all this out.

Then the emotional/mental; counseling and talking with intimate friends, people I trust. Letting them in. Doing things that fill me up. I’m an introvert, so my things are reading, writing, making music and art. An extrovert may want to get out and run with a bunch of people… (oh wait… my husband does that.) A big one here is forgiving my bad days and embracing my good ones. I’m still figuring all this out.

Then the spiritual: I’m on shaky grounds here. I question everything I knew. Sometimes I struggle in vain…. Heh… most times I do. I try to keep my head about me, but then lose it. I get mad at people when they start talking spiritual to me about my health issues. “You’re going through this for a reason.” (makes me feel like a puppet on a string) “God will never give you anything you can’t handle” (right. And that’s why Christians kill themselves…. Or are killed. And actually, that line is often misquoted, so boom.) “Can’t you just shake it off and keep moving?” (shake it off… without breaking out in song, I ****ing wish I could shake it off and move the body that has it’s own agenda…. Ah! Dang it. Now that dang song is struck in my head) But in all seriousness, I'm letting myself wrestle with my faith. I love God. He is awesome. I just don't always "feel" His awesomeness. And maybe that's ok?  I’m still figuring all this out.

I've made up my mind though. I’m going to master this.

I watched the movie “The Gabby Douglas Story” recently. (awesome movie on Netflix, btw) and as I watched this sweet girl’s young life unfold, I saw the struggle, the passion, the desperation, and the hope. I saw this extraordinary family come together around this girl with extraordinary talent, but ultimately, it was up to her to find her teacher, do the work, fall and rise, and master her skills. She killed it at the Olympics, by the way.

There’s going to be a lot of days when I fail, but this is my trying. Mastering this doesn't even mean that “all will be well”, it just means that I have a plan to discipline myself. On my good days, I’m going to play and laugh, get stuff done, make my weird "kailan" creations. On my bad days, I’m going to cry, not eat when I don’t want to, slow down, forgive myself, cuddle a lot (since that’s the main thing I’m able to still be good at) and go to bed early. Mastering this means I’m going to stop telling myself that I’m not worth it. Or that I’m not a good wife and that he could do better/ have better. Mastering this means I’m going to change that self-talk. I am valuable to Him. I am talented. I am really really good at cuddling no matter what state I’m in. I have a husband, my support system, who goes to the moon and back for me because he thinks I’m worth it. I have friends that love me and all my quirks.

Any time I want to simply be free of my depression and illness, I just get more depressed.

That only leaves me one logical living choice. I must master it.

And so far…. I’m starting to have real hope.

My "Lost" Girl

photo by Tesh, my 5 year old

I was doing some yard work this last weekend.... I know.... shocker.... anywho... it was finally nice outside and a lovely city animal helped itself to our trash can, breaking open a trash bag and making it rain trash all over the yard. While the hubs was gone running, I decided it would be good to get out of the house and pick up some trash! :D Yay!

Only 2 kids came outside with me. My 3 and 5 year old. They were having a blast! (and by blast I mean, bickering every 2 min. over the swings and something about where the umbrella was on the slide.... I quit listening to specifics after a while... anywho... ) As they played in the back yard, I was minding my own drama free business, with my gorgeous grocery sack in hand, picking up glorious amounts of trash around the yard. This animal must have been taking some anger out with all this trash. Good night! I walked around the house, slipping out of sight, looking for stragglers from the wind blown consequences and faithfully found more. I could hear the laughter and bickering and laughter and bickering coming from the backyard, all pleasant noises telling me exactly what they are doing, where they are in the yard, all that good stuff. I moved to the front, still being able to hear them and determined to get this yard clean. Thankfully, there wasn't too much in the front... how embarrassing right? (let's keep all that in the back... shall we? at least the animal had that much respect ;)

So I come around to the other side of the house, still out of sight, all the same playful bliss noise coming from the back. As I scrape across the driveway, inching my way back to the original crime scene where our garbage cans are I'm thinking, "Man! We use a lot of paper towels." Then I hear my 5 year old yelling,

"Mom? Mom?!.... Mom!! ... Mom!!" I stepped back into sight, "Hey sweetie! I'm here!"

"We were lost! We were lost and I couldn't find you. We were lost!" she exclaimed.

"You weren't lost, silly girl!" Yes, I chuckled, we have a small yard and there's no way to get lost. "You never were lost." I tried to explain, she cut me off -

"No, we were lost! We were!"

 "I knew where you were this whole time. I just went around the house. You couldn't see me, but I heard you the whole time, and came to you because I knew right where you were. That is not lost. You were just scared because you couldn't see me."

the "lost" girl

She finally conceded.... I think... she at least dropped the argument anyway. So when she's 16 and she tells the world that I "lost" her when she was 5, She is totally lying!!! ehem... misunderstood... moving on...

But that made me think. That whole encounter. Her brain fascinates me, but is it not true of us as adults when we think about God and whether or not He's absent based on our feelings/fears/confidence/etc.? I wonder if God chuckles when we argue are "lost-ness" or their lost-ness. (when I say my made up word "lost-ness", it reminds me of the Loch Ness monster which has nothing to do with this post.)

Why do we even use that word when speaking about such things?    "lost"

Maybe I'm arguing semantics but I know when I feel "lost", I'm swelled with fear and anxiety. I know God cares for me, and that He loves me and that I am His...But I can't "see" Him. I can't always feel Him....  But I do know He'll always know right where I am. He never does lose me.  

It's simply impossible. 

I'm sure there's a title here...

It is such a struggle to write. I love writing. But sitting down, with 5 kids running a muck, interrupting me every 2 minutes, and having been dealt with a lot of sickness the last month, I have wondered whether or not I should be writing right now. But when I think about taking one of the few things that keep me sane as I sit outnumbered by minions in my own house, I realize how absurd that truly is. So I must continue to figure out how to protect this time to keep working on projects and sharing with all of you. (or the few of you.... ;)

I rung in the new year with a sinus infection! It's been awesome. (catch the sarcasm) I'm still on the mend from this painful illness. My headaches have been better though, that's a plus! They are still around, but so weak most of the time, all it takes is for me to eat and get out of the situation I am in and then I'm ok. I told a friend recently that working through my chronic stress and depression is like mastering life with an amputated leg. (no, I'm not comparing it to it's entirety, because, yes, I do still have my legs) But I feel as if I was strolling along life with a certain speed, with certain clarity, and then BAM, I'm sickly, headaches all the time, weak, irritable, stressed, anxious, triggers everywhere, all of it. It's taken sacrifices though, things I used to do, or be able to handle, I just can't right now. And I have to be ok with that. I have to learn my limits, my boundaries, my body's health needs, and allow the spiritual process of all of it to fall into play. But it's been hard. Very very hard. And I don't do well at this most of the time, but I can't tell you how thankful I am for my husband and my close friends.

My husband..... he's on this new kick. He's always been way more fit than me, always has more energy (being an extrovert) and I'm pretty sure he's related to Hercules in some way. He started running a couple weeks ago, in our east-side, scary when dark, just outside downtown still within city limits (what is that called? anywho) . At first he would be gone for 15 minutes. Next time turned into 30, within the next week turning into an hour. It was then he realized that he could really run... and far... stretching to 5 and 6 miles after just a few weeks. He wanted to make his New Years resolution something that seemed impossible and something he's never done before. But he wanted it to be something, that only a still small voice could say, "yes, you can accomplish this." He decided to start training for a full marathon that he will register for in about a month or so, and race in October, here in our city. I know my "Hercules" can do it. I've been watching him with pride as his health has improved, his stamina has strengthened, and his mental focus is ready. Of course, I'm pretty disappointed that he lost his "man" belly. I liked hugging and snuggling to that. But I support him, he needs this, and he deserves this. (for putting up with all my crazy, God bless him.) Follow his journey here.

In all this excitement, I was constantly reminded of my own health. My throat, almost every night, still hurts from being sick. And because it's been so long of it, I found depression visiting me like an old friend. (although, she's never been a good friend) She sits with me and tells me quiet things like, "Look at how sick and weak you are. And look at him. He's living... and you? You are dying. Poor kailan. Never will you really live."

I looked at my thriving husband and started crying. I knew I needed to talk to him and I did and he found me. (in fact, I don't think he ever "lost" me) He was on to her sly ways and guessed right, when pegging why my depression would set right now. Oh... to be understood! He's so romantic when he does that.

My heart was pleading for him to take me with him on this health journey. That his energy would pull me up from these depths and help me to "run" with him. (er... get healthier... write... stay sane...you know, translate it in a kailan-friendly way.... I will never be the adrenaline junky that he is.)  He gladly agreed to hassle me about diet, vitamins, doing low key exercises like yoga. Truly, I need to let his energy right now be an encouragement to me. Although our journeys and outcomes will be different, they can still be accomplished. Even though it feels impossible right now for me to be healthy again, mastering depression (not free, but I choose the word "master" very particularly and I'll write about that later), I need to let that even quieter voice (quieter than her voice) tell me, "You can accomplish this because you are Mine."

As I sit here, with a tinge of a headache creeping on me as I finish this, I know that it's time to step away from the computer, eat some lunch, and trust that I will make it.