I wanted to give an update about my Uncle and how he's doing.
He is doing great!
By the grace and mercy and healing of God, he is doing well.
The doctors took several different tests as he sat in the ICU (for 3 days), and they all would come back negative with nothing wrong.
The nurses told him that patients aren't ever able to just walk out of the ICU to go home. ... and he did.
My uncle nearly lost his life a couple times that Saturday day. He wasn't able to stay conscious. He would stop breathing. His body temperature got very low. He was hardly able to walk when he was conscious.
I was preparing to lose him that day. and I didn't.
How?
Uncle's words exactly: "God is so good. Praise God I was healed. My faith has grown more than I thought it could. Praise Jesus."
A few months ago, some friends and I were doing a study on Acts and it would talk about healings, and we would be slightly stumped. We knew it was true, but we wondered why we didn't really see it today. Was it our unbelief?
I, personally, have watched so many of my close loved ones die. People that did believe in miracles, but God must have had different plans for them. After all, my father being one of them, died well, making an even bigger proclamation of God's existence and His power, even in the face of death. However, talking about miracles was a bit of a sore subject for me, having lost my father and then my daughter.
" a time to give birth and time to die." (Ecclesiastes 3)
I am claiming this miracle with my Uncle. There were so many witnesses to this, that you can't deny it. People saw him when he was apparently dying. People saw him in transition. People see him now, living to tell to the tale.
The very people that first found him, face down on the ground, also witnessed him standing at their door, just days later; living, breathing, saying "thank you" for their love, prayers, and service.
There were so many people involved from different places. Different denominations. Different church buildings. Different families. Different upbringings. Different towns. Different living situations. with their own different gifts, with their own different weaknesses.
Those differences are exactly my point. When those differences collide into one mind, into one prayer, into one praise.... true church happens.
I feel so blessed to have been able to witness this, and, the truth be told, I witness it every single time the dread of a trial comes to our family. Because what happens is; one mind, one prayer, one praise.
Acts 2:46-47a "And day by day continuing with one mind in the temple, and breaking bread from house to house, they were taking their meals together with gladness and sincerity of heart, praising God, and having favor with all the people."
True church, people.
Not only did Uncle receive healing physically, but he is being healed emotionally. As well as others, like myself, that are receiving healing from this event. Sorry, you had to take the bullet Uncle.... but thank you :)
May you find the true church whenever your family and friends are together, in the name of Jesus. May you find the love of Jesus, in the arms of people that love you, in the service of people that are sincere, in the little hands that reach to you to pick them up, in the "voices of old" teaching wisdom, in the laughter of gladness and silly-ness, all the way to the tears of pain and grief. May you open your eyes to the church that is living and breathing around you, day after day.
Praise be to God!
Thursday, November 15, 2012
Monday, November 12, 2012
An Element of Healing
I received a call from a friend that I've known since I was little. Her phone call caught me by surprise. It was dinner hour on a saturday night, Josh and I were getting ready for a wedding, as the kids excitedly bounced around the house because they were going to Grandma's house soon.
My friend was explaining to me that they found my uncle face down in the cemetery, next to his daughter's grave, which was close to my daughter's and Dad's grave.
They had all just gotten home and her family's house was right next to the cemetery, overlooking it all. I've known this family to make it their ministry to keep a loving watch on the place, giving people their privacy, but lending water and support for those seem to be struggling for long periods of time.
My friend was telling me that my uncle became conscious as her dad came to him trying to wake him, he yelled to her to bring a chair, and so she did. Studying to be a nurse, she was able to check his heart rate, and even was able to check his blood sugar which all seemed oddly fine. My uncle, although his head hurt badly, refused them calling the ambulance, (big surprise.. not) and so they insisted he call someone to come get him. He got ahold of his 17 year old grandson, who he's raised as a son (along with his 2 brothers) ever since his daughter died, 7 years ago. Along with his cousin, his grandson (my cousin) drove him, heading towards the hospital with strict instructions to do so.
After this phone conversation, I was so thankful that she called, and I burst into tears while Josh held me. My uncle has been unhealthy and it was a miracle he was still living as long as he was. I called my mom right away (for it was her brother), who had just heard about it too, from both this family that found him and my sister, who is the wife of a police man that was working and heard about it. It was unanimous that I was going to the hospital, and not to a wedding.
Later, as we were putting puzzle pieces together, we found that when my cousin drove my uncle toward the hospital, my uncle stopped breathing again and went unconscious. My cousin got off the interstate, pulled over. He (and a cousin who was with him) pulled my uncle out of the car, and he started CPR. They called 911 and the paramedics intubated him and took him to the hospital, where we were all waiting impatiently for him to arrive.
When we first arrived to the hospital, I gave another uncle of mine a huge hug. He looked so good for having had a stroke not even a week ago. I squeezed him, taking his warmth in, not knowing what to think about these events. (my mother is one of 5 children in her family) Memories were flooding my head of my childhood, of my uncle who was now fighting for his life, of when he was in his prime, charismatic-ly singing his praise songs, always joking around, bringing a zest to the room with his presence.
We were able to finally see my uncle waiting in triage. He was laying flat, sedated, on a respirator, covered in a heating blanket because his body temperature was low. The body temperature thing actually made me feel a little better for I know that if there's an internal issue, your temperature will spike before you die. If you die, once you are cold because the life is out of you, there is no bringing you back. And my uncle was still alive. The question was... is he going to get better or worse... tonight? tomorrow? No one knew anything.
The nurse told us there was a great possibility that he could hear us, even though he couldn't respond. Several family members were there and we decided to pray over him. As we prayed, he gave us his first response by squeezing his wife's hand, although it was weak, it was encouraging.
As the room of family kept conversation, I would find myself back over to him, standing there, staring at his face, afraid to touch him. I kept hearing a whisper in my head, "sing to him. sing to him." My hesitation put this weight on my chest. But there was a moment when everyone stepped outside the room, out into the waiting area to call people, or get drinks. That left my niece and I alone with him. God paved a moment for me to sing to him in peace.
When my dad was very sick and close to the end, with his weak dying breaths we once sang, "Purify My Heart". I could hear my dad's voice, that song came to my mind, so I started singing. I sang a few songs to him at that moment, being left in peace. I came to a certain song that sang,
"Bless the Lord, oh my soul, oh my soul, worship His holy name. Sing like never before, oh my soul, worship His holy name."
As I sang that song, my uncle's head tilted towards me, ever so slightly. It made me smile, knowing that he could hear me.
I finished singing the last song as everyone was starting to pile back into the room. When the doctor came into the room, he yelled his name, rustling my uncle up a bit, and he responded very well, wiggling fingers and toes, looking up at him for a second. A sigh of relief went through the room. I said, "He obeyed! That's good on 2 different levels! He's responding, and he obeyed instructions!" the truth of that joke was all too funny.
Waiting longer, the doctors finally moved my uncle to a room in the ICU. With tests all coming back normal, we were at a loss at to what to expect.
It was getting later and later into the night, family was going home to rest, leaving my aunt (his wife), my mom, my cousin, and me. The nurses decided it was time to see if he'd be able to breath on his own, so they brought him out of the sedation, and lowered the power of the ventilator. My cousin and my mom were at either side, holding his hands. I was standing close to the foot of his bed, and he was looking around with weak tired eyes as we all waited for him to breathe. Mom suggested I sing to him again, my cousin agreed, so I started singing "Purify my Heart" again. (just in case he missed it the first time) With my mom and cousin's eyes on him, my eyes were on his breathing monitor. We needed that number to be between 12 and 30 for normal. So as I sang the first song, his breathing went up to 20, but it was sporadic so I slowed my singing in hopes to calm him a little, but was glad that he was doing so well. When the song was done, his number went down to a 12. (which was still ok) Then I started singing "Amazing Grace" per request of my mother. I started singing and it relaxed him so much. I watched that number 12 as I sang those soft verses, move..... 12... 13... 12... 11... 10... 9... 8... I stopped singing, and told him to breathe, he did and I saw that number 12 again and so I hesitantly started singing again.... and again... 12... 11... 10... 9... 8... 6... I stopped singing, and told him, "I'm not going to continue singing if you don't breathe, now breathe!" He looked at me, and started breathing again.... with even more hesitation, I didn't want to continue singing at this point... It felt like I was singing him to his death. Before I started singing again, he started to gag on his tube, and his body started to panic. We all tried to get him to calm down, but our efforts only could do so much. He wanted to talk to us, but couldn't. The nurse suggested we leave the room to let him concentrate on his own, we painfully obeyed this instruction and started to leave the room. I kissed him on his forehead and held his hand, telling him "I'll finish the song later. I love you." He gripped on to my hand, and gave me panicked eyes. I knew he didn't want us to leave. My mom said "see you later, buddy" and motioned me to follow her. I couldn't.. I literally couldn't... his grip on me was so tight, I literally could not get out of his grasp. I had to her come to me and told her about what he was doing.
"Let her go, buddy. You have to let her go. We'll be right back." He was panicking, trying to talk with no sound coming out of his mouth. Mom could see I was making little progress with getting my hand out of his. "Don't do this, buddy, you need to let her go. We'll be right back, we promise." My aunt came to the bed, trying to help the effort, but my uncle was relentless. His grip was incredibly, surprisingly strong.
Finally, slowly, but surely, I was able to free my hand. My aunt took over as I left the room quickly, and I broke down. To leave someone who is silently shouting to you to stay, took all of my self control to know that the nurse may be right to have us leave. He needed to do this on his own.
After failing that test, they sedated him again to let him sleep. He wasn't breathing on his own, and had 4 apnea episodes during that short time, it wasn't safe to take him off the ventilator just yet. We all decided to go home, get some rest, and come back in the morning.
Late in the morning, I arrived to find my cousin sitting next to him. My other uncle had been there and gone, and my mom was coming soon. Uncle was asleep and calm, and my cousin was telling me that he failed another breathing test earlier that morning. I sat next to Uncle and I noticed a chain bracelet on his arm. I gently examined it, trying not to wake him, and before I knew it, his eyes opened and he caught me. Uncle automatically was trying to say something to me, but I couldn't make it out. He started gagging, trying to cough. His wrists were strapped to the bed. I was holding his hand, watching helplessly. I looked to my cousin and he started trying to calm him down. I found myself praying out loud for him to be calmed. I noticed phlegm coming out of his mouth so my cousin ran to the nurse. She came in to suction him out and that was painful to watch as he writhed in pain and panic. He lipped the words, ' I can't breathe'. I relayed that to the nurse, and she explained to him that she's essentially sucking the air out of his lungs when she sucks any fluid out. When she was done, he calmed down.
He remained awake though, as we sat on either side of him. He motioned he wanted to write. Genius! I, being the writer I am, had plenty of paper and pens in my purse, so I quickly got them out and held them to him and he wrote messages to us. "What is today?" "Fountain of Life" (his church) "Pastor" "in my phone" "he needs to be here now!" "tube is hurting BAD" I explained to him why he needed it in right now. "take out, hurry" "how is (grandson)"
Totally relieved to be able to help him more, mom came, and we tried to hunt down his pastor. Uncle kept gagging and panicking and it was torture to watch this grown man being tortured as we waited for the doctors to help him. The nurse told us to stop letting him write and to have him rest. As we were preparing to leave him for a little bit to let him rest, he once again, with all his might, wanted us to stay. This time he was clenched to my cousin. I left the room, and found my mother soon after me, breaking down into helpless tears.
After some settling, I get a call from my Uncle Ed (my dad's brother). He has impeccable timing. He didn't know about any of this, so as the story unfolded, his encouragement was the water I needed to continue.
After that phone call, I ran into an old highschool friend who was visiting his dad who was dying of cancer. He was there, to say good-bye. I was able to relate to him, and his pain. Coincidence? .... No ... God was using me and placing me right where he wanted me.
After that, I went to check on Uncle again, finding my cousin still sitting quietly with him, Uncle was sedated slightly again and calm. When he opened his eyes, starting to gag again, I told him quickly that his pastor was on his way. (I had finally found him) Uncle was able to calm down and the waiting game continued as we watched him sleep, then gag, then sleep... and so on. He failed another painful breathing test, and had little hope of what was to happen. He wrote the message, "I CAN" "I can"
My aunt showed up with the pastor beside her. The pastor held his hand and after a few minutes of watching him, began to pray. He laid his hands on him, claiming the healing power of God, he claimed God's breath of life as he laid his full hand on his chest. He would repeat, "in Jesus name, in Jesus name, in Jesus name" You could see that Uncle was praying with him.
The doctor came in and said, "I think he's strong enough to breathe." He went on explaining more, but after that news, we all had smiles on our faces, and Uncle's eyes, for the first time, were relieved, and he gave a thumbs up. He signed the numbers, "6... 3... 0..." I said them out loud while he was doing it, and the pastor interpreted... "6:30 service tonight! Alright!" Uncle gave another thumbs up, and we left the room while the doctors took the tubes out.
Entering in that room again, with Uncle's smile as big as an old man's tired smile could be, he told us all he could remember. He was mad that the nurse didn't let me continue singing the night before, he told us of the "nice family that brought a chair for him in the cemetery and water, and they were sooo kind. God bless them." He showed his gladness for me to be able to "read him" as well as I had. He was so grateful for all the faithful family that was there and for all the prayers that we sent his way.
Now that he had his voice, we all felt better to let him rest. I sat in the waiting area, finally relieved for him, and another cousin sat beside me and asked how I was doing. I told her that a part of me wants to know when this constant trial of events for our family will end, but that the other part of me felt like I was once again, "in my element." and it felt good.
I felt free of my depression at that moment, and I felt useful again. In a confidence, because of my own trauma, I was useful in another's trauma. This is my family, whom I love, and I was doing God's work by "being with them".
I've said it before in this blog and I'll say it again.
Serving in the way that you were created to serve is a powerful element of healing.
2 Corinthians 1: 3-7
"Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort; who comforts us in all our affliction so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God. For just as the sufferings of Christ are ours in abundance, so also our comfort is abundant through Christ. But if we are afflicted, it is for our comfort and salvation; or if we are comforted, it is for your comfort, which is effective in the patient enduring of the same suffering which we also suffer; and our hope for you is firmly grounded, knowing that as you are sharers of our sufferings, so also you are sharers of our comfort."
My friend was explaining to me that they found my uncle face down in the cemetery, next to his daughter's grave, which was close to my daughter's and Dad's grave.
They had all just gotten home and her family's house was right next to the cemetery, overlooking it all. I've known this family to make it their ministry to keep a loving watch on the place, giving people their privacy, but lending water and support for those seem to be struggling for long periods of time.
My friend was telling me that my uncle became conscious as her dad came to him trying to wake him, he yelled to her to bring a chair, and so she did. Studying to be a nurse, she was able to check his heart rate, and even was able to check his blood sugar which all seemed oddly fine. My uncle, although his head hurt badly, refused them calling the ambulance, (big surprise.. not) and so they insisted he call someone to come get him. He got ahold of his 17 year old grandson, who he's raised as a son (along with his 2 brothers) ever since his daughter died, 7 years ago. Along with his cousin, his grandson (my cousin) drove him, heading towards the hospital with strict instructions to do so.
After this phone conversation, I was so thankful that she called, and I burst into tears while Josh held me. My uncle has been unhealthy and it was a miracle he was still living as long as he was. I called my mom right away (for it was her brother), who had just heard about it too, from both this family that found him and my sister, who is the wife of a police man that was working and heard about it. It was unanimous that I was going to the hospital, and not to a wedding.
Later, as we were putting puzzle pieces together, we found that when my cousin drove my uncle toward the hospital, my uncle stopped breathing again and went unconscious. My cousin got off the interstate, pulled over. He (and a cousin who was with him) pulled my uncle out of the car, and he started CPR. They called 911 and the paramedics intubated him and took him to the hospital, where we were all waiting impatiently for him to arrive.
When we first arrived to the hospital, I gave another uncle of mine a huge hug. He looked so good for having had a stroke not even a week ago. I squeezed him, taking his warmth in, not knowing what to think about these events. (my mother is one of 5 children in her family) Memories were flooding my head of my childhood, of my uncle who was now fighting for his life, of when he was in his prime, charismatic-ly singing his praise songs, always joking around, bringing a zest to the room with his presence.
We were able to finally see my uncle waiting in triage. He was laying flat, sedated, on a respirator, covered in a heating blanket because his body temperature was low. The body temperature thing actually made me feel a little better for I know that if there's an internal issue, your temperature will spike before you die. If you die, once you are cold because the life is out of you, there is no bringing you back. And my uncle was still alive. The question was... is he going to get better or worse... tonight? tomorrow? No one knew anything.
The nurse told us there was a great possibility that he could hear us, even though he couldn't respond. Several family members were there and we decided to pray over him. As we prayed, he gave us his first response by squeezing his wife's hand, although it was weak, it was encouraging.
As the room of family kept conversation, I would find myself back over to him, standing there, staring at his face, afraid to touch him. I kept hearing a whisper in my head, "sing to him. sing to him." My hesitation put this weight on my chest. But there was a moment when everyone stepped outside the room, out into the waiting area to call people, or get drinks. That left my niece and I alone with him. God paved a moment for me to sing to him in peace.
When my dad was very sick and close to the end, with his weak dying breaths we once sang, "Purify My Heart". I could hear my dad's voice, that song came to my mind, so I started singing. I sang a few songs to him at that moment, being left in peace. I came to a certain song that sang,
"Bless the Lord, oh my soul, oh my soul, worship His holy name. Sing like never before, oh my soul, worship His holy name."
As I sang that song, my uncle's head tilted towards me, ever so slightly. It made me smile, knowing that he could hear me.
I finished singing the last song as everyone was starting to pile back into the room. When the doctor came into the room, he yelled his name, rustling my uncle up a bit, and he responded very well, wiggling fingers and toes, looking up at him for a second. A sigh of relief went through the room. I said, "He obeyed! That's good on 2 different levels! He's responding, and he obeyed instructions!" the truth of that joke was all too funny.
Waiting longer, the doctors finally moved my uncle to a room in the ICU. With tests all coming back normal, we were at a loss at to what to expect.
It was getting later and later into the night, family was going home to rest, leaving my aunt (his wife), my mom, my cousin, and me. The nurses decided it was time to see if he'd be able to breath on his own, so they brought him out of the sedation, and lowered the power of the ventilator. My cousin and my mom were at either side, holding his hands. I was standing close to the foot of his bed, and he was looking around with weak tired eyes as we all waited for him to breathe. Mom suggested I sing to him again, my cousin agreed, so I started singing "Purify my Heart" again. (just in case he missed it the first time) With my mom and cousin's eyes on him, my eyes were on his breathing monitor. We needed that number to be between 12 and 30 for normal. So as I sang the first song, his breathing went up to 20, but it was sporadic so I slowed my singing in hopes to calm him a little, but was glad that he was doing so well. When the song was done, his number went down to a 12. (which was still ok) Then I started singing "Amazing Grace" per request of my mother. I started singing and it relaxed him so much. I watched that number 12 as I sang those soft verses, move..... 12... 13... 12... 11... 10... 9... 8... I stopped singing, and told him to breathe, he did and I saw that number 12 again and so I hesitantly started singing again.... and again... 12... 11... 10... 9... 8... 6... I stopped singing, and told him, "I'm not going to continue singing if you don't breathe, now breathe!" He looked at me, and started breathing again.... with even more hesitation, I didn't want to continue singing at this point... It felt like I was singing him to his death. Before I started singing again, he started to gag on his tube, and his body started to panic. We all tried to get him to calm down, but our efforts only could do so much. He wanted to talk to us, but couldn't. The nurse suggested we leave the room to let him concentrate on his own, we painfully obeyed this instruction and started to leave the room. I kissed him on his forehead and held his hand, telling him "I'll finish the song later. I love you." He gripped on to my hand, and gave me panicked eyes. I knew he didn't want us to leave. My mom said "see you later, buddy" and motioned me to follow her. I couldn't.. I literally couldn't... his grip on me was so tight, I literally could not get out of his grasp. I had to her come to me and told her about what he was doing.
"Let her go, buddy. You have to let her go. We'll be right back." He was panicking, trying to talk with no sound coming out of his mouth. Mom could see I was making little progress with getting my hand out of his. "Don't do this, buddy, you need to let her go. We'll be right back, we promise." My aunt came to the bed, trying to help the effort, but my uncle was relentless. His grip was incredibly, surprisingly strong.
Finally, slowly, but surely, I was able to free my hand. My aunt took over as I left the room quickly, and I broke down. To leave someone who is silently shouting to you to stay, took all of my self control to know that the nurse may be right to have us leave. He needed to do this on his own.
After failing that test, they sedated him again to let him sleep. He wasn't breathing on his own, and had 4 apnea episodes during that short time, it wasn't safe to take him off the ventilator just yet. We all decided to go home, get some rest, and come back in the morning.
Late in the morning, I arrived to find my cousin sitting next to him. My other uncle had been there and gone, and my mom was coming soon. Uncle was asleep and calm, and my cousin was telling me that he failed another breathing test earlier that morning. I sat next to Uncle and I noticed a chain bracelet on his arm. I gently examined it, trying not to wake him, and before I knew it, his eyes opened and he caught me. Uncle automatically was trying to say something to me, but I couldn't make it out. He started gagging, trying to cough. His wrists were strapped to the bed. I was holding his hand, watching helplessly. I looked to my cousin and he started trying to calm him down. I found myself praying out loud for him to be calmed. I noticed phlegm coming out of his mouth so my cousin ran to the nurse. She came in to suction him out and that was painful to watch as he writhed in pain and panic. He lipped the words, ' I can't breathe'. I relayed that to the nurse, and she explained to him that she's essentially sucking the air out of his lungs when she sucks any fluid out. When she was done, he calmed down.
He remained awake though, as we sat on either side of him. He motioned he wanted to write. Genius! I, being the writer I am, had plenty of paper and pens in my purse, so I quickly got them out and held them to him and he wrote messages to us. "What is today?" "Fountain of Life" (his church) "Pastor" "in my phone" "he needs to be here now!" "tube is hurting BAD" I explained to him why he needed it in right now. "take out, hurry" "how is (grandson)"
Totally relieved to be able to help him more, mom came, and we tried to hunt down his pastor. Uncle kept gagging and panicking and it was torture to watch this grown man being tortured as we waited for the doctors to help him. The nurse told us to stop letting him write and to have him rest. As we were preparing to leave him for a little bit to let him rest, he once again, with all his might, wanted us to stay. This time he was clenched to my cousin. I left the room, and found my mother soon after me, breaking down into helpless tears.
After some settling, I get a call from my Uncle Ed (my dad's brother). He has impeccable timing. He didn't know about any of this, so as the story unfolded, his encouragement was the water I needed to continue.
After that phone call, I ran into an old highschool friend who was visiting his dad who was dying of cancer. He was there, to say good-bye. I was able to relate to him, and his pain. Coincidence? .... No ... God was using me and placing me right where he wanted me.
After that, I went to check on Uncle again, finding my cousin still sitting quietly with him, Uncle was sedated slightly again and calm. When he opened his eyes, starting to gag again, I told him quickly that his pastor was on his way. (I had finally found him) Uncle was able to calm down and the waiting game continued as we watched him sleep, then gag, then sleep... and so on. He failed another painful breathing test, and had little hope of what was to happen. He wrote the message, "I CAN" "I can"
My aunt showed up with the pastor beside her. The pastor held his hand and after a few minutes of watching him, began to pray. He laid his hands on him, claiming the healing power of God, he claimed God's breath of life as he laid his full hand on his chest. He would repeat, "in Jesus name, in Jesus name, in Jesus name" You could see that Uncle was praying with him.
The doctor came in and said, "I think he's strong enough to breathe." He went on explaining more, but after that news, we all had smiles on our faces, and Uncle's eyes, for the first time, were relieved, and he gave a thumbs up. He signed the numbers, "6... 3... 0..." I said them out loud while he was doing it, and the pastor interpreted... "6:30 service tonight! Alright!" Uncle gave another thumbs up, and we left the room while the doctors took the tubes out.
Entering in that room again, with Uncle's smile as big as an old man's tired smile could be, he told us all he could remember. He was mad that the nurse didn't let me continue singing the night before, he told us of the "nice family that brought a chair for him in the cemetery and water, and they were sooo kind. God bless them." He showed his gladness for me to be able to "read him" as well as I had. He was so grateful for all the faithful family that was there and for all the prayers that we sent his way.
Now that he had his voice, we all felt better to let him rest. I sat in the waiting area, finally relieved for him, and another cousin sat beside me and asked how I was doing. I told her that a part of me wants to know when this constant trial of events for our family will end, but that the other part of me felt like I was once again, "in my element." and it felt good.
I felt free of my depression at that moment, and I felt useful again. In a confidence, because of my own trauma, I was useful in another's trauma. This is my family, whom I love, and I was doing God's work by "being with them".
I've said it before in this blog and I'll say it again.
Serving in the way that you were created to serve is a powerful element of healing.
2 Corinthians 1: 3-7
"Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort; who comforts us in all our affliction so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God. For just as the sufferings of Christ are ours in abundance, so also our comfort is abundant through Christ. But if we are afflicted, it is for our comfort and salvation; or if we are comforted, it is for your comfort, which is effective in the patient enduring of the same suffering which we also suffer; and our hope for you is firmly grounded, knowing that as you are sharers of our sufferings, so also you are sharers of our comfort."
Thursday, November 8, 2012
To Whither Waves
wow... I haven't written in a while. I guess, I've gone longer before. I'm sure a slim few of you are wondering why I haven't written in a while... well... there's 2 reasons....
1. I'm gonna tell you a secret... I'm writing elsewhere.... :) I'm not very far into it, but I'm finally starting to write a book. a life long dream of mine, coming into reality as I type away about my life. I'm taking my experiences of all my trials and triumphs and putting them into a possibly 3 part book, "making the intangible tangible" (my interesting key phrase there). I don't know when it'll be done, but as I write into that book, it takes away from this blog, so forgive me, and thanks for your patience.
2. Aside of the fact that I'm writing elsewhere, there's a reason I'm not that far into it. I can't write about past experiences when I'm in my corner of depression, which has been coming in huge periodic waves the last few months. My corner leaves no room for concentration, which is vital for book writing.
It seems I have forgotten how to cope with stress. Stress has been a part of my life for a long time. (as you know, if you know me or have read through my blog) There are stressors I'm dealing with, insecurities that torment me, and my corner won't quit beckoning me. A friend pointed out to me that my corner is more like a cage, and I feel like I can't get out, even though the door is open. He is right.
My corner has a demon that lies to me, telling me my friends do not love me. It tells me how worthless I am, how useless I am. It makes me feel as if God has turned His back from me. I hate my corner even though I run to it. It comforts by torture, like begging to be whipped so it can end your guilt. But it never goes away.
I still feel the Spirit at work in me, giving me warnings, using me to help others, but then still.....
Just like the Jews in the old testament kept forgetting about God and worshiping idols, so I forget and run to my corner, my cage, ...listening to the lies.
I do not write these things to boast for some twisted entertainment, I am quite ashamed of this. This is not me. This cage is not something of old, but has slyly shaped it's way into my quiet, isolated, introverted alone time that was meant for me to be with my King. It was meant to be my retreat, the place I go to rest and know that I am His. I know this angers Him more than it angers me. I'm being stolen and consenting to it.
I am in the middle of a battle ground.
I have a Sword. I have forgotten how to use it in these times. Why can't I remember to use it? Why am I forgetting?
As I have "played therapist" on myself..... I come to these conclusions. (huge thanks to my close friends that have put up with me through all this and have faithfully counseled me in love and great patience)
1. I'm crazy.....
solution= (while patting myself on the head...) "That's ok. Everyone has a dose of crazy."
2. I'm being oppressed.... (observation from myself, however confirmed by some friends)
solution= "use my God-given voice to speak out Truth, making any demon flee, keeping my focus on my Beloved, who is my real target."
3. I've noticed that when I started writing my book, writing more songs and continue to experience certain spiritual gifts that have been given me, the more I've been attacked.
solution= "normal, to be expected... but not accepted." (I'll reiterate that now) I need to expect it, but not accept it. Why have I owned this dark corner? It was not made by someone who loves me, but by someone who wants to devour me. My Love did not shape this place for me, nor prepare it for me. I have been unfaithful. I have been seeking shelter underneath tissue paper. I have been holding the hand of a liar. I have been finding comfort in fire. I have been finding rest in the dragon's lair, as he waits for the right moment to bite. sounds a little like hell, doesn't it?
This trend needs to end. I need to find a way to calm these waves that send me running to my corner. I need to get back what was stolen. It will not be easy. It will be hard. very hard. I will need discipline. I will need prayer.
But most of all, I need to understand and embrace the Truth that God will not let me go. He will not give up on His bride. He is whispering my name and I hear His voice. Because He waits for me, I wait for Him. I am precious to Him and always will be, no matter what. I need to remember these things.
God, help me.
John 16:33 "These things I have spoken to you, that in Me you may have peace. In the world you have tribulation, but take courage; I have overcome the world."
1. I'm gonna tell you a secret... I'm writing elsewhere.... :) I'm not very far into it, but I'm finally starting to write a book. a life long dream of mine, coming into reality as I type away about my life. I'm taking my experiences of all my trials and triumphs and putting them into a possibly 3 part book, "making the intangible tangible" (my interesting key phrase there). I don't know when it'll be done, but as I write into that book, it takes away from this blog, so forgive me, and thanks for your patience.
2. Aside of the fact that I'm writing elsewhere, there's a reason I'm not that far into it. I can't write about past experiences when I'm in my corner of depression, which has been coming in huge periodic waves the last few months. My corner leaves no room for concentration, which is vital for book writing.
It seems I have forgotten how to cope with stress. Stress has been a part of my life for a long time. (as you know, if you know me or have read through my blog) There are stressors I'm dealing with, insecurities that torment me, and my corner won't quit beckoning me. A friend pointed out to me that my corner is more like a cage, and I feel like I can't get out, even though the door is open. He is right.
My corner has a demon that lies to me, telling me my friends do not love me. It tells me how worthless I am, how useless I am. It makes me feel as if God has turned His back from me. I hate my corner even though I run to it. It comforts by torture, like begging to be whipped so it can end your guilt. But it never goes away.
I still feel the Spirit at work in me, giving me warnings, using me to help others, but then still.....
Just like the Jews in the old testament kept forgetting about God and worshiping idols, so I forget and run to my corner, my cage, ...listening to the lies.
I do not write these things to boast for some twisted entertainment, I am quite ashamed of this. This is not me. This cage is not something of old, but has slyly shaped it's way into my quiet, isolated, introverted alone time that was meant for me to be with my King. It was meant to be my retreat, the place I go to rest and know that I am His. I know this angers Him more than it angers me. I'm being stolen and consenting to it.
I am in the middle of a battle ground.
I have a Sword. I have forgotten how to use it in these times. Why can't I remember to use it? Why am I forgetting?
As I have "played therapist" on myself..... I come to these conclusions. (huge thanks to my close friends that have put up with me through all this and have faithfully counseled me in love and great patience)
1. I'm crazy.....
solution= (while patting myself on the head...) "That's ok. Everyone has a dose of crazy."
2. I'm being oppressed.... (observation from myself, however confirmed by some friends)
solution= "use my God-given voice to speak out Truth, making any demon flee, keeping my focus on my Beloved, who is my real target."
3. I've noticed that when I started writing my book, writing more songs and continue to experience certain spiritual gifts that have been given me, the more I've been attacked.
solution= "normal, to be expected... but not accepted." (I'll reiterate that now) I need to expect it, but not accept it. Why have I owned this dark corner? It was not made by someone who loves me, but by someone who wants to devour me. My Love did not shape this place for me, nor prepare it for me. I have been unfaithful. I have been seeking shelter underneath tissue paper. I have been holding the hand of a liar. I have been finding comfort in fire. I have been finding rest in the dragon's lair, as he waits for the right moment to bite. sounds a little like hell, doesn't it?
This trend needs to end. I need to find a way to calm these waves that send me running to my corner. I need to get back what was stolen. It will not be easy. It will be hard. very hard. I will need discipline. I will need prayer.
But most of all, I need to understand and embrace the Truth that God will not let me go. He will not give up on His bride. He is whispering my name and I hear His voice. Because He waits for me, I wait for Him. I am precious to Him and always will be, no matter what. I need to remember these things.
God, help me.
John 16:33 "These things I have spoken to you, that in Me you may have peace. In the world you have tribulation, but take courage; I have overcome the world."
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