Trying to Take Back Christmas: Grieving and Changing Traditions (Another U-Turn)

Every year when Christmas rolls around, it's like I'm on a zipline that's about to go off the cliff. I'm deathly afraid of heights, so it's not something I would do willingly. But that's just it, Christmas comes every year and every year I face the traumas around my daughter's death one week before Christmas. So here I am, strapped to this zipline at the top of the cliff and Time pushes me off and all I can do is close my eyes, hang on with all my might, and wait for it to be over. And just like every year, when it is over, I open my eyes to a mess of Christmas decorations that I get to tear down with all the bitterness of my heart. 

Believe it or not, Christmas used to be my favorite. I couldn't wait for Christmas to come. I decked my halls with a lot more than holly! Red and green colors would burst from every corner of the house. But the grieving journey has other plans for me. For whatever cosmic reason, I decided to change my color scheme that year to blue and white. The Christmas tree hung tons of blue and white balls and it was beautiful. It was one week before Christmas, we were at my mom's house putting together Christmas baskets with goodies. My daughter Sarah died during her nap in my mom's room that afternoon. After we got back from the hospital, without her, I spent the whole week in that very room, breathing in what was left of her spirit. The day after Christmas, we finally came home for the first time. Sarah's nickname was "blueberry" because of the blue hemangioma on her nose and our tree with all it's blue balled ornaments, looked like a blueberry bush. At that moment, I saw it as this beautiful message that "Sarah was still among us for Christmas." That was my beautiful reminder. For years, I would put all those blue ornaments on the tree, faithfully bringing her message back to us. It was comforting. 

But then something switched in me. I got really sick and extra sensitive to everything around me. I stopped celebrating her birthday the way I normal would. All the things I did over the years to help me cope with Sarah's absence were now incredibly hurtful. I had needed those things during those years, and now I didn't. I needed something else now. I'm still sorting through certain triggers around Christmas, but a big one this year were those damn blue ball ornaments on my tree that no longer made me feel her, they made me feel her absence all the more. They took me back to that awful day when we came home for the very first time with empty empty arms. Those balls reminded me now of my emptiness, that hole that no God can ever fill until I see her again. 

So after talking with my wonderful therapist, I decided to not only take them off of my tree, but to destroy them. Just me and my husband set out to destroy this awful trigger. I stood at the tree and bagged up all the blue balled ornaments of that awful day and started towards the back door. But I was stopped by my 12 year old son Isaiah. The only child that was actually here when we lost her.

"What are you doing with those?" He asked me, staring me down. 

"I'm taking them down and getting rid of them this year." I tried to be delicate with my voice. 

"No! No! No! Put them back! Put them back!" tears were welling up in his eyes. The desperateness in his voice broke my heart and I started crying with him.

I didn't even think about his feelings with these.  "I'm sorry sweetie, but I have to do this. They are too painful to keep. This is something I have to do." 

"Put them back, please, put them back!" He just kept repeating it through his tears. After that I took him to a private place so we could talk and it was decided, after both of us bawling, that we would put a mini tree up in his room and he can keep one single ball from the bag. As a mother who understands that he has his own unique journey of grief, I had to compromise in this.  

So with my heart now torn to shreds, I went to the garage with my husband who had a tarp down and ready and we smashed the shit out of those ornaments. They were not easy to break either, because they were plastic. Especially the ones that we more solid plastic. It made us angry that they weren't glass that would break easily. But that's just it, isn't it? It's not easy removing triggers from your life. I can smash these ornaments, but the traumatic memories they triggered will always be there. I felt like this was our ceremony of trying to "take back Christmas." This time of year will always be hard, but I want to love Christmas again. I can't promise that this will do it, but it will definitely help. And it's already easier to breathe without staring at those ornaments all day, every day. 

My encouragement to you, if you struggle with grief this holiday season, is don't let traditions prevail if they start hurting you. My husband even added, "Well, it's like we always kept putting those ornaments up for tradition so we don't offend ourselves." Allow things to change as you change. It's okay to give yourself permission to do so. Life changes us so much as we continue to grow and experience new things, new trials, and new victories. Let these traditions change with you as you need them to, in order to cope the only way you know how. 

~Love yourself enough to prove it. 

Elora, The Therapy Puppy

 If you follow me on facebook, you know that my puppy broke her hip. If you don't, now you know my puppy broke her hip. I have not officially introduced my puppy to my actual blog, so I will do so now.

We had decided 6 months ago that I needed a therapy dog. Being chronically ill and having chronic pain can be very isolating. I also deal with depression, anxiety and PTSD that I takes meds and am in therapy for. Having a therapy dog brings joy to those that are hurting, no matter the hurt. So it's been on our radar to keep our eyes open for a dog once we settled in our new house this last spring.

My sister's dog had puppies. Thee cutest puppies you've ever seen. She spotted one especially that she wanted our family to have. She was near and dear to my sister, but also very sweet. At first, I was hesitant because everyone knows puppies are work! But I do have 5 kids at home to help out when I can't do it, so I tested them with the job of helping me potty train my 2 and 4 year old and well.... by the time the puppy was 8 weeks and ready for a home, she came home to us and now I don't have to buy nearly as many diapers! woohoo!

Elora Dannon (Wing)

We named our puppy Elora Dannon (Wing). (for all the cool folks, that names from Willow. It's so fun to call out, "Elora.... Elora Dannon!" and have this sweet little puppy come running to you) She had so much energy, we thought she'd favor the kids. Not so! She's so attached to me. She goes where ever I go, unless there's paper products on the floor to get to, of course. I'm in pain in some kind of way every day, so to have her next to me, or on me cuddling close, or curled around my head at night, I've been brought so much joy by her presence. Her and I have bonded quicker than I thought was possible and she has been a great therapy puppy.

Well. Yesterday afternoon, my 2 year Ruth (-less Honey Badger), was carrying her around and fell. Ruth is fine, but Elora was not. I knew something was terribly wrong with the way she wouldn't stop crying and then limping off a particular leg. We took her into the Pet ER and xrays showed that her hip has a clean break! My heart sunk and I started bawling even more. (I had of course, been crying on and off this whole time) He said that if we didn't have the surgery, she would have life-long severe chronic pain, with the possibility of losing her leg eventually. He said, with surgery, she wouldn't be 100% but she would be almost that, learn to walk on her leg again and live a long happy life. I remember hearing the words, "She won't ever be 100% but she will be close" and thinking... 'What two peas in a pod her and I are now. Both unable to achieve 100% but can get as close as we can.'

This is her right hind hip that has a clean break. 

How much for the surgery? $2000! I heard the words surgery and knew it was gonna be bad. We are a one income family, so you can imagine the impossibility for us to have that kind of money, let alone spend it on a pet. But Elora was so special and she is such a perfect little therapy dog for me, my husband right away declared, "We are not giving up on her!" I was so happy to hear those words, but how were we gonna do it? The sweet receptionists at the pet hospital encouraged us to start a "Go Fund Me" page for her surgery. With all the more serious things I've gone through in life, I felt so silly doing a "go fund me" page for a puppy. My heart was so torn and I couldn't stop crying, even in front of the doctor and receptionist. The receptionist said, "You gotta swallow your pride and try." So we went home with pain meds to keep her comfortable, to give us a couple days to come up with the money and started a "Go Fund Me" page. In less than 24 hours, we are just a couple hundred dollars away from meeting that goal to afford her surgery. All these people came together for Elora and for me and my family, to be able to give her a good life, and allow me to keep my therapy dog.

I can't even begin to explain how humbled and grateful I am that so many care enough to help and that with many people doing just a little bit (some of you a lot!), it makes the greatest impact. I am overwhelmed.

Although I am so glad to be able to get this surgery done for her, I am still broken about how much pain she has and that this happened at all. My heart hurts for her. We are able to keep her comfortable in the mean time, but it just rips at my heart. It has taken a big toll on me emotionally, which effects my CFS/fibro. Her spirit, though, has lifted me still even with her own broken hip. She still wags her tail when she sees someone she wants attention from. She still gives kisses to everyone, even the Ruth-less Honey Badger who got her into this mess. She still rolls over on her belly to have it rubbed. Her spirit has been motivating and inspiring to me, to say the least. It's amazing what these therapy dogs do for people in need of them. They are so noble and loyal. If you suffer with any form of sickness or pain, especially mental illnesses too, consider a therapy dog. They are so healing in so many ways.

Now I commence cute pictures of her below! Enjoy! And Thank you again, for those that have contributed to our fund for her surgery. Tears in my eyes, thank you so much!

(if you wish to help us with the last bit of our goal go to our page here and donate!)

Yoga with Elora. 

My 6 year old has a favored calm spirit. 

Every night and morning. At my head. 

Ruth-less Honey Badger with Elora. They do love each other. 

I wake up every morning with her next to my head. Every. Morning. Love it.

Bad morning. Loving puppy cuddles. 

She lets us cradle her often. Such a baby. :) 

follows me everywhere. 

Me, passed out on the couch with a mother migraine. Her passed out next to me. 

More migraines, the cuddles never stop. Seriously love her. 

"I have no promise of tomorrow."

Matthew 6:34  "Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own."

Proverbs 27:1 "Do not boast about tomorrow, for you do not know what a day may bring."

"I have no promise of tomorrow."

I say that all the time these days. Usually when I say it, I mean: "I'm feeling ok right now, and I may wake up tomorrow feeling debilitated. So if we are going to do this, we need to do it today." 

Of course this mentality only gets me so far when I must force myself to pace because I can only go so far and use so much energy. But God knows I try to do many things I shouldn't. I pay for it in the end, but I pay for it regardless. I boom and bust (good days and bad days) no matter my tactics for trying to ease off the extremes. Trying to create a balance that's more like the Lady Bug kiddie roller coaster, and UN-like the Dragon. But I'm kinda stuck on that Dragon right now. 

Those verses at the top have been a natural presence that drives my decisions about my life these days. I used to not have to think about these verses. I knew of them, and always thought they were nice verses, but now? Now, whether or not I'm going to embrace this moment of health with my children and husband or friends and family, or go out and get [this] done hangs on the balance of this very rationale. "I have no promise of tomorrow." "I don't know what tomorrow is going to be like."

It's amazing how different I see things; now that I'm ill. I watched a documentary that's on Netflix called Beautiful Broken Mind.  Lotje Sodderland, talking about her experience after having a stroke, said that she now has all this pain and frustration with having to relearn certain things she could do easily before, but then she explains that she experiences a whole other side to the world that she couldn't even hardly explain how beautiful it was. 

When I was listening to her speak about it, even though our stories are very different, I could relate to what she was explaining. 

That paradox. 

It sucks that I'm in pain most of the time. It sucks that so many of my days are spent on the couch or in bed because I can't do anything else. The quantity of mommy time and wife/husband time is diminished. I have lost friends, even though they mean well, I'm just a hard friend to have around right now. It sucks that I don't have any promise of tomorrow. 

But...

It's beautiful that I am forced to live in today. Most of the time, I can't even see past today because I can't process it. And that's ok with me. I'm sure it drives everyone around me crazy (Ha). And when I am "here" and have my good days, they are my GREAT days with my kids and husband (who get the best of me) and friends and family. I feel a high from being well enough to do things like walk through a store or do some housework or get behind the wheel of our minivan!! (that's a rare moment for sure!)

It's a very euphoric feeling. Feeling human. But enjoying being human

IN THIS DAY. 

I wish I could explain it better, 

but I can't. 

Update on Me: Chronic Illness Awareness (while we are at it!)

It has been beyond challenging to write lately. The fog that these illnesses leave me in is debilitating most times, no matter how much or little pain I'm in. But I've promised myself that I would keep writing or at least keep trying. So here I am.

The diagnoses keep coming and so do the pills. I take so many pills, that are both prescription and supplements, I never would've thought this would be me. The picture is just my morning doses.

Good news is I'm responding well to certain meds that help stabilize me enough to keep me out of danger. The bad news, I'm still very "sick." I still have my good days and bad days and very bad days. I will have bouts of days (sometimes a couple weeks) of good days that bring me under the delusion that I'm better. But then I flare again, and it's a reality check of how sick I still am. My good days consist of low pain, low-moderate fatigue, and 20%+ brain fog. My bad days consist of (having at least a few or all of these): high pain, migraines, chest pain, burning arms and/or legs, stiffness, back/neck pain, feet pain, ankle (from my past sprains) pain, ringing ears (6 months going strong), nausea, loss of appetite, dizziness/vertigo, major sensitivity to light and sound, and lots more brain fog.

The depression and anxiety that comes with chronic illness is just as debilitating sometimes. Being stuck in constant pain, fatigue, and fog can leave you feeling very alone and frightened. Watching everyone else doing things around you while you sit, makes you feel like a burden. The never ending question of, "Will this ever lift?" ransacks your thoughts like a dog gnawing at it's bone. It's depressing. Then comes the anxiety of being in situations that bring you more pain, and/or embarrassments and the judgments that come. Sometimes, it's pretty obvious I'm in pain. You can see it in my swollen pale face. But most times, my challenges are invisible to the world. I've been forced to give up so much. So many of my outlets for release have been taken from me, most the time.

I finally gave in to seeing a therapist. I was noticing that not only did my body flare because of the weather, or I overdid it, or I ate something, or it's my time of the month, or my body just felt like doing whatever the hell it wanted to and that day it decided to set my arms on fire..... Sometimes, my emotional instability will cause a flare. When I was making that separation, I realized that not only do I need to work on my body physically, but emotionally/mentally as well. The way I cope with stress is so unhealthy due to my tears and shutdowns ultimately leading to my body shutting down with pain and fatigue. So.... to the therapist I go!

Me with Merlin (my newly named icepack). 

I've also been doing a good job at failing at my new diet plan. The struggle is real! Especially when you are ill and all your comfort foods are "no no's."

So this is just a small glimpse into life with chronic illness. There are so many different kinds of chronic illnesses out there and I do count my blessings when it comes to things I can still do, that others can't.

If you are suffering with chronic illness, I am so deeply sorry. Know that you are not alone and find support groups whether in person, or there's some great ones online. Keep pushing doctors to find out your diagnosis and proper treatments. And love yourself enough to rest as you are able.

If you know someone who is suffering with chronic illness, believe them. Learn about their diagnosis' (the most romantic thing you could do) and how you can help them practically. Buy them fuzzy pajamas, slippers and socks, heating pads, ice packs, movies and don't forget the sweets! (that is, according to their diet restrictions) Give their caretakers a break. Love on them by appreciating that every day they live out their awful disease. Your support means everything to us.

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.

Dancing with December

O December

You never evade me.

My heart betrays me.

It’s a painful price to even look at you.

8 years passed.

In my head, she dies again…. Every time.

All treasonous senses so religiously remind me.

Time’s repetitious dance is my enemy.

If I could blot you out, I would.

Useless to pray you away.

My old love for you remembers better days.

Days filled with light passed, now clouded by darkness.

Days with joy and excitement passed, now knocks dread.

Warm family closeness wrestles isolation.

Why must I take your hand as you escort me through memories I wish I could forget?

Your swift movements lure me in, arms remain warm as the silent snow falls.

I feel your attempts to cover my eyes from the sight of her empty face, but it’s no use.

I hear your song, “Because of the One we celebrate this season, we have Hope…”

It’s not that I don’t take solace in those words. I do.

It’s just the measure of my heartache is that great.

And you know this. Every year you know this.

You are one of the precious few who know me this well.

So this ornament, made with my own careful hands, will whisper in my ear

"Just breathe." 






(In memory of Sarah Layne Wing 9/7/06 - 12/17/06)

Awake: Surviving Depression

It's been 3 months since I've written anything. There's good reason to my hesitancy in publishing anything within those months. I've been unwell. Days turned into weeks, weeks into months of laying on the couch, in so much pain and weakness, watching my children fall into routine of taking more responsibilities because I was unable. Headaches and fatigue ruled my life and my mind became captive to it. My thoughts had no clarity, in fact the only thing that I could make out were words that said, "You are a burden." Those words drove me to desire death, so that my loved ones could go on with someone else, someone new, someone able. I never attempted suicide, but dreamed that God would just take me somehow. I had already been in the thick of the headaches, and the Spirit of God gave me strength and an oasis to spend the time I did with my Uncle Bud before and during his death. I found myself jealous of my uncle's passing, wishing it had been me. Any logic that was left in me said, "GO TO THE DOCTOR!!"

 I gave up. I surrendered. I tried all my natural home remedies. Any time I brought God up in it all, I condemned myself or felt God being passive to my suffering. I was in a physical, mental, and spiritual fog. I had successfully isolated myself away from most of my family and friends (because I "was a burden" remember?) My husband, (who is the best husband in the world, by the way) would come home from his stressful job to all the housework at home, five little kids yearning for his attention, needing his referee-ing. Not knowing what to say to me, he just held me. Whenever I asked, he held me. I would cry guilty tears of not getting anything done around the house. He'd coach me saying, "This too shall pass" but those words were muffled to my ears. I was stuck in "the now." I was overwhelmed with the endless torment my body had apparently betrayed me with, waiting to die, wanting to die. My husband took me to my first appointment.

I remember sitting there in disbelief that it had gotten this bad. My health. My depression. They were spiraling together, sinking me down and tying me to the bottom. My bonds were just too tight. Out of boredom of waiting in the doctor's office, I surfed through my email and found an article titled, "You Are Not Alone." I took a deep breath.

The doctor found my thyroid issues, and we started the long trek of balancing that out. Then continued on more meds for my depression. I had started this unique therapy with my Uncle Ed (who is a gifted counselor) called "EMDR Therapy" and it has greatly improved my mental clarity. Two mentors, who are some of my best friends, never left me in the dark alone. They walked with me, listening to my anger and desperation, never judging, turning my face to the hope of tomorrow. I finally started feeling better and then sprained my ankle, making me bedridden once again. Another bond, another weight. I felt so defeated. I asked God why He wanted me this way? Why He isn't protecting me or healing me to be able to live the way He says He wants us to? But I continued to take my meds, do the therapy, allow my body to heal, talk to my mentors, and ask my husband to hold me.

I still have my bad days of headaches, but each week seems to get a little better. As the bonds fade, my mind becomes clearer. This is not some miraculously quick healing for me, but the miracle here is what I have become even more aware of during this process. I found my Beloved Lord again. Not as this passive God who just stood and watched me writhe in pain, nor as a condemning God for not being the wife/mom/friend that I needed to be. He was in the doctor who sat and heard my ailments and knew what would help me. He was in my Uncle who so gracefully counseled me in the safety of his love for me, with a therapy he knew would help me. He was in my mentor and friend that sat across from me til midnight every Tuesday night at that restaurant, relating to my struggles, reminding me that life is hard, but we can do life together and we'll get through this. And He was in another mentor that corresponded words of wisdom and understanding, challenging me to grow and to see beyond myself. And my favorite, was when He held me through the arms of my husband, "this too shall pass" "this is only a season" "I know you are hurting. I know. And I love you."  I had found myself again too. My notorious God-given "strong-will" that has gotten me, truly, this far in life and then... I didn't want to die anymore. (I mean, don't get me wrong, heaven is going to be awesome, but...) I wasn't so ready to leave right now.

I want to live. I see God everywhere.

In this slow healing, I am learning patience, grace, new appreciations, and new perspectives.

I finally made it to church this sunday, after months of being absent, and my pastor put it perfectly, teaching us (from the example of the Hebrews being freed and wandering the wilderness for so long) that you can be taken out of slavery, but it is through the wilderness, the slavery can be taken out of you.

God has, indeed, freed me from my bonds through Jesus Christ, but it was the bonds that were in me that I was feeling still. This world is the wilderness, for which I will learn how to live in this freedom from my bonds.

And every morning, I wake up, making it a point to say, "I am fine."

The Richest Feeling in the World

One day before he died, his wife washed him with water and washcloths. 

I've had the privilege of sitting with my uncle in his last week before he died. These moments (pictured) were some of the last moments this wife had to serve her husband, literally the day before he died. He'd been in the hospital for weeks and she wanted to wash him. Being hooked up to so many tubes she got a bucket with warm water and washcloths and washed him. There was some time I had with him alone, before this, while she went away to get ready for the move to hospice that was to take place in just a few hours. I brought my dad's journals with me (journals he wrote in while he was sick before he died) in hopes to read them to my uncle to give him some comfort. Words that may make him feel he is not alone in this final journey on Earth.

"A favorite honeymoon memory is....
       On our wedding night, we stayed at a flea bag motel called the Hickman Motor Lodge, making distant plans for a distant honeymoon that we have cared less and less about, to some ever-changing location. The tree of love has many branches and roots. God has let me see the roots of my tree; a privilege I thank Him for.     My Honeymoon- that special bloom in a marriage- began March 1, 2000 when doctors told me even "Ziebart" won't help my body. I have fallen in Love with Lyn more than ever in my life, more than I have words to express. From the depths of my soul I am overwhelmed with a closeness I could have never imagined. I have never felt so full of Love and so loved, so safe, so cared for, as I do now. I love everyone ten times more, but I love my mate 100 times more. God, Lyn, my family - I am the richest man in the world... 
    ...... to infinity and beyond!"  
                                                                              ~journal entry written by Joseph Ruppert, Jr. 

When I got finished reading that passage, I looked up at my uncle and witnessed the gladdest smile, his wrinkles like sun beams brightening his face, his eyes were closed with gratefulness and he said, "Yes! THAT is soooo true! I love her sooo much!"

Suffering Always Leaves Behind a Gift

This last couple months has been extra hard for me. I was extra depressed, not able to deal with certain anniversaries and I have been having health issues. I had decided enough is enough. I signed myself up for some counseling and finally went to the doctor for whatever drugs that may help me. The doctor actually found that I had hypothyroidism, which explained almost all of my symptoms. So... I'm crazy, but I'm not crazy....  I'm still seeing my counselor for the chronic stress part of things.

Things kinda got worse before I started feeling better (for now), so I feel like I'm coming out of this dark cave of sickness and finally getting some light on my face. 

So.... in efforts to get back to blogging more regularly, I wanted to share with you this nugget. This video always reminds me of the gift that suffering can bring. I hate suffering. I have fought and wrestled with "why we are here if all we do is suffer" as it seems to be so much of the time, especially when I'm in these caves of darkness, and I know I'll continue to wrestle. The cave consumes me and tells me lies that this is all there is. But it's simply not true. When I suffer, those are some of my most intimate moments with God. When I suffer, it shows me empathy that I can then share with others who are suffering and lost.
I know the cave. I can acknowledge that it's there.

But it is not all there is.

And you will get out. 

And it's not until you get out, that you see the gift that it left. 


Enjoy this video "Rain" by Rob Bell from his Nooma series. (it's 10 minutes long, but it's well worth the encouragement)