These Are the Words I Would Say

Quick rehash: My ability to communicate in verbal form is far, far inferior than my ability to write. Writing is clear and concrete and speaking is this horrific Gordian knot of nonsense. Part of the problem is my inability to emote correctly. Excitement? I can do that. Outrage? Sure! Comedy? Hands down. Anything else? LOL, no. It’s not happening, I don’t know how to express myself, shut up, go away.

Rehash part two: This blog is super melodramatic (I realize that’s a redundant superlative. Deal with it). But that’s because I don’t express myself well in real life. If it can’t be communicated by hollering or sarcasm, it’s not happening. I’m sure you’re beginning to see a thread of continuity here. Anyway: things are not all doom and gloom in the real world, because I am actually a super light-hearted, witty joy to be around.

Now that we’ve laid that bit of context, we come upon the crux of the problem. I am often burdened to tell certain people certain things. It feels like someone has literally given me words to say and I HAVE to say them. I didn’t come up with this thought, but there it is and it needs to come out. But those things are normally very serious and personal and emotional. As a counselor, I can occasionally get away with crap like that. As a normal human being, the situation can be a bit trickier. Not everyone is ready to have deep truth poured into their life out of the blue while sorting their mail. I, technically, am not always ready to be pouring that truth.

Sometimes I get a bit of a reprieve because I can text the little truth bomb to the recipient. It takes some of the pressure off because they can process on their own time. Or they don’t have to make eye contact with me while I say it (maybe I’m the only weirdo who can’t handle prolonged eye contact, but it’s WAY more intrusive to look someone in the eyes than to see them naked. I’m weird. Who’s surprised?). Or they can discard it without further thought because it was just a text. It’s less formal than being taken by the hand, stared into and then receiving what may actually be gibberish or deeply moving.

I’m fairly certain these things come from God, if possibly rather indirectly through accumulated knowledge and intuition. Which makes it more pertinent for me to share. But it’s still very embarrassing, because changing the emotional mood of a room can be so tricky. What if they’re not ready to hear? What if I have entirely misread the whole situation/struggle/interpretation?

That being said, I have some words because I’m too much of a coward to share them in person and I can’t find the right time to say them. This is my problem, not yours, and I’m sorry I don’t have the guts to say this in person. But I love you and hope you hear them at some point anyway.

Message The First:

I see you. I know how hard you’re working to keep everything together. To not forget anything. To be strong and efficient and on top of everything. And I see you telling yourself truth and working not to borrow trouble from tomorrow. But I also know it’s scary.

It’s scary enough from my position and he’s not my husband. I haven’t lived with him for several decades.

I just want you to know that I think you’re doing so well. And thank you for being willing to be honest with me about how it’s all going. I want you to know you don’t have to be brave for me or any of the rest of us. We want to support you where you need to be supported. You don’t have to have a game face to protect us.

I want you to remember that Jesus was so distraught in the garden that he sweated blood. That accepting God’s will, trusting Him, doesn’t always look like a big smile and straight back. That God has space for your fear too. He gets it. He’s been there. And He knows you’re trusting Him even with your doubts and your tiredness and you desire to really feel like you believe Him.

I want you to know that He’s proud of you. Period. End of sentence. He does not require a reason or a list of activities to merit His love or favor. You got it. It’s done.

Message The Second:

You make me laugh so much. But I also recognize that humor is our armor, our protection. It keeps us from being vulnerable and it also hides our fears and secrets from those we love. I often worry that if people saw the ugliness inside of me they wouldn’t love me anymore. Even worse, I’m afraid they’ll be so scared they won’t trust me with myself. But I can handle it. The sad part is, so can they. And they never get to help me with my burdens because I don’t show them.

All that to say, I’m sorry I can’t have a more serious conversation with you. Know that I will laugh and be stupid with you whenever you want. I don’t mind. I want you to be happy and comfortable and if that’s the price, I’ll gladly pay it.

But I do want you to know that no matter what you choose or what happens, I love you. And not because you fed me ice cream and sodas and magical breakfasts and took me for rides in Corvettes but because of all the things of who you are: good or grouchy. Which means that even if (and when) this gets bad, I’m not changing my mind. I still choose you.

I want you to know that this is your choice. Yes, we are all going to be affected by whatever you choose. But ultimately, it’s up to you. And I want to challenge you to make your choice out of love, not fear. Not fear of being a burden. Not fear of the pain. Not fear of needing help or looking weak or feeling out of control. Don’t let fear of what could or will happen keep you from what you truly want to do.

I want you to know that when someone loves you, you automatically become a weight on their soul. That weight keeps them grounded and it makes you a burden. But you cannot positively impact someone without having weight in their life. If you ever become “a burden” it is only because we have made the choice to have you in our lives. We want you here. And therefore your life will impact us. And that’s okay. Our lives impact you, too.

So please know that whatever happens in the next few months, I’ve made my choice. And my choice is because I love you. I choose to support you in whatever you decide to do. I love you. For all of you. Forever.

What Stress?

I’m a tad stressed out.

 

I wasn’t stressed out. I was taking everything in stride and it felt a little like running down hill, but it was manageable. And I (hahahaha) thought I was coping because I was being flexible and just adapting.

Turns out I was in denial and that’s why everything seemed to be going so well.

WELL, reality hit about ten days ago and it has been MURDER. I much prefer my cocoon of absolute fantasy: You know, I’m calm and productive and perfectly balancing my personal and business and familial responsibilities and I’m sleeping enough and I’ve done yoga and I’m experiencing but not succumbing to my emotions and my hair looks good.

To sum up, since I haven’t been faithful about this blog in years, here’s what’s going on:

I started a business. I work four other jobs. I’m trying to practice self care and dig deep into relationships I left behind here in Florida while I was at college AND build new ones. I’m no longer on meds, so I’m managing my depression with sleep, supplements, a crazy diet, amongst other things. My nana’s health is iffy, so we continue to travel to GA about once a month. And Pop now has cancer.

To paraphrase my mother: I’m not just failing to juggle all the balls in my life, I’m actively throwing them down and some are exploding on impact.

For those of you who read this blog while I was in college, the frenetic energy and doomsday hyperbole are nothing new. Apparently, this is the only way I know how to function. BUT AGAIN: I thought I had turned over a new leaf. I don’t know what else to tell you.

I have created to-do lists to keep up with my to-do lists. I am still making plans with friends to hang out and going to the parks and getting pedis and all this stuff in a desperate attempt to cut out time for myself. But I keep feeling like I’m living syllabi week over and over and over (syllabi week is where you find out all the homework you’re going to have to turn in over the course of the semester and you panic because you see an entire 5 months in one hour. It’s petrifying).

So what do I do?

I color an imaginary boyfriend for Twigg. Because my coping skills are peak. Take that, stress.

No One to Talk to and Nothing to Say

I feel like I have no one to talk to.

I say as I am surrounded by love and support and understanding listeners. I’m sorry I’m an ingrate, y’all. This is normal.

Because obviously no one in the history of ever has experienced what I am currently experiencing.

Oh, wait! Literally millions of people have experienced this situation.

But primarily, it’s because who am I supposed to talk to? My family, who is also carrying the brunt of this and their own grief and confusion? My friends, who have their own lives and families and tragedies and brain fillers? OR how about the faceless internet? That’s more appropriately oblique. Yes, let’s do that.

Let’s tell the electronic void that it’s taken me twice as long to do everything today as normal because I’m so sleepy I can’t function. Let’s tell whatever stranger that I couldn’t tell the difference between depression and grief if it bit me in the butt right now. Let’s tell the whole world that has no interest in me whatsoever that I’m dying inside and don’t know what to say.

I haven’t been able to cry yet. Not about the cancer.

But I did cry today over a text conversation where I was trying to skirt around why I don’t want to buy a product literally because I avoid direct sales WITHOUT making the other person feel bad for liking the company and the reason I don’t know when I can meet up for dinner is because I don’t know what’s happening tomorrow much less a week from now, not because I don’t want to hang out. Because it feels like those two things ARE intertwined and they’re not and I can’t handle one more difficult thing on my plate even if it’s something as stupid and simple as saying “no and yes” and picking a date.

I feel so alone.

But I’m surrounded by people. Who care, who understand, who want to help.

And I don’t know what to say.

Emotional Choices

I tend to wack out a punchy blog title, write the blog, hit publish and go. Because I know what I want to write. I just let it flow forth, zero editing, almost no planning, and poof. Done.

But I’ve been…stalemated. Writer’s block doesn’t really cut it. Writer’s constipation may be more accurate, if not more nasty.

Typically, this blog is my emotional dumpster. I can throw whatever I like in here with very little judgment. I don’t have to worry about it being socially acceptable (although I do worry. Let’s all just be honest). And I don’t write it for everyone to like me (but again: applause and fame don’t suck). I write so that I can purge unwanted emotional chaos from life and think through things and record them so I don’t have to remember them on my own.

But sometimes you hit a place of emotional morass that you just kinda go…hm. No. Not happenin’ today, not happenin’ tomorrow, that is is just one big pile of nopety nope nope. You’d like to hand that Gordian knot off to some other hero to unravel, conventionally or otherwise. Even strict documentation of the confusion, instead of interpretation or heaven forbid solution, is too much.

Like now.

Pop has cancer. And it’s not good cancer (haha, I know. What kind is good? The kind they can wack out relatively quickly with no stitches and it’s over. That kind is the least bad kind). We don’t technically know *how bad* the cancer is, but it’s definitely nowhere close to warm and fuzzy and is probably in the vicinity of DEFCON 2.

And there are lots of things I’d like to say and be honest about and express. And I can’t because there are real people attached to those things. And I can’t because expression is a little too real. And I can’t because I don’t want to make a hard situation worse by drawing attention to things that won’t be an encouragement.

I don’t like glossing over and making things pretty and comfortable. Real life isn’t comfortable. And you survive by bonding together with other people who recognize that life isn’t comfortable.

But how do you do that when not everyone you know is at the same stage of survival as you? When not everyone can handle the truth the way you tell it? When you don’t know if it’s more loving to lie or stay silent or scream?

What do you do?

How do you choose?

Lord’s Day: Many Thoughts…Most Brief

There are so many things I want to write about today.
There are the songs we sang this morning: Mighty Is the Power of the Cross and Jesus Messiah. Both are beautiful, both have wonderful, deep meanings, both speak to me every time I hear them. In Mighty Is, the verses are soley composed of questions. “What can take a dying man, raise him up to life again? What can heal the wounded soul? What can mend our brokenness? What restores our faith in God? What can lead the wayward home? What can melt the heart of stone? What can free the guilty ones? What can save and overcome?” and the answer is the cross. Because the cross is our eternal symbol of God’s completely sacrificial, totally radical love for us. And His perfect love changes everything. Jesus Messiah is one of the most stirring songs, a passion song and I just love it. And if the words weren’t beautiful enough, the harmonies and tension are just fantastic.

But today is also an anniversary. The second anniversary, in fact. Two years ago today, the mother of one of my dearest friends passed away. I count Brie as one of my sisters, because she basically lived at our house. She legitimately lived in the house directly behind ours, and she hung out with us all the time: church, fun, family time, devotions…She lived here. And then her mom got breast cancer. And it was horrible. I am a Christian, and I know God is in control and that He chooses to do what is our best and brings Him maximum glory. But that knowledge only made the situation…I can’t even say bearable, but you can be in a bad place and hopeless, or you can be in the same state of turmoil and last grasp on to the anchor that is God. And for a while, her mom beat the cancer. She was in remission for about a year before the cancer returned. I don’t really want to go through her last months, the stuff we did, the stuff Brie had to deal with, and suffice it to say that when our friend was still a young teen, her mom died at the age of 33. And it didn’t make sense. Her mom did get saved during her final illness and praise the Lord for that. At the same time, I am still willing to trust in God’s sovereignity. But Him being in control doesn’t make the immediate fact that a child’s mom is dead any less horrible. It just means that He will redeem even that tragedy. Brie, if you read this, know I’ve been thinking about you all day and I love you very much. And so does God. And His love is perfect.

And that brings me to another thing I want to talk about: Trusting God by Jerry Bridges. Pretty certain I’ve mentioned it on here before, and I mean really people, it’s amazing. It has some really hard truths, but why wouldn’t it? It really challenges how I’ve viewed God’s control over…everything, my responses and responsibility and also how good it makes him. After I write my report/finish the book I might post some individual quotes and comments. But this book is worth owning. I highly recommend it.

We saw another kid from the youth group graduate tonight. And I just have to say: Polk County is full of class. We just are. I struggle with being a lady rather frequently, but oh. My. Goodness. I don’t think many of those people were even putting up a fight. They had just let it all hang out. And I do mean that literally.

Moving on…
My dad taught a lesson on growing in grace. And it rehashed a good bit of stuff I have recently learned, which was encouraging and challenging. I love learning about grace. And the more I don’t deserve it, the more beautiful it is.

And DFL stuck around while the family waited for O’s mission meeting to be over. And we just chatted. And laughed. And discussed line dancing some more. Also, Steve poked me with his umbrella.

Good day. Hard day. Day for reflection. Day of celebration.
This is the day the Lord has made.

Dr. Bob: Update and Request

Chapel was hard today.
There was a lovely testimony from a lady who had been on staff here for decades. But then Dr. Bob came up. I love Dr. Bob. I respect Dr. Bob. And I was waiting to hear what place in the Bible he wanted us to turn to so I could start taking notes. Instead, he starts telling us about the WORLD fund. I was a little confused, but sometimes Dr. Bob rabbit-trails. No big deal. After that, he starts talking about his adult daughter. That was the hard part.

His daughter has cancer. She’s had it for about five months. One of the tumors has been pretty well eradicated, but she has a thymic carcinoma that is rather sizable. The thymus is small, but really important. Apparently the tumor is big enough that when the doctors are finally able to remove it, they might have to remove one of her lungs. They do have a promising chemo treatment, but it’s going to require her to be in Texas for five weeks.

That was bad. It really was. But what was worse was that I understood Dr. Bob. He got up there and he poured out his heart to the student body. There were roughly 5,000 people in the FMA. He started off, “I know a lot of you have been asking about how Roxanne is doing and so that’s why I’m going to tell you. I didn’t want you to think that we didn’t want you to know or that we didn’t care for you to know. We were only keeping silent because we didn’t want you to bear any additional burdens.” And then a father proceeded to say all these horrible things that are happening to his daughter. A daughter who has two kids here at the university. Now, I’m obviously not a father, but I am a kid here at university. I have had to tell people hard truths about my mom as prayer requests.

There’s always different people who ask: the ones who just want to know so they can have the latest inside story and then those who really care and those in the “inner circle” who you are super close to. Telling either of the last two typically isn’t hard. But sometimes, it actually is harder telling those close to you exactly what’s going on. It requires you to admit these hard truths. It also, in a twisted way, makes you feel bad that they’ll have to hear this hard thing. Like Dr. Bob said, you don’t want to be a burden. But on the other side, that person desperately wants to HELP with that burden. That’s the entire point. They love you and care and want to help. And they can’t help if they don’t know.

I saw a very great, kind, gentle man be very humble and vulnerable in front a lot of students today. I know some of them were sleeping. Some were probably not paying attention. And in all honesty, fine. That’s fine. But my heart went out to him because he was unselfish enough to let us share his burden. I was also really touched by his faith in God. He readily admitted he was struggling. But he just as readily admitted that God was the only refuge, the only way out, the only safe place. God has a plan and He is still good and He is our refuge.

So chapel was hard. But it was an encouragement.
I love Dr. Bob.

A Time for Prayer

Yesterday was Day of Prayer. It is a day when students get a half day of rest. The first part of the day is spent in different groups, praying about specific topics and there are two worship services. Lunch is served and the rest of the afternoon is class free. It is very relaxing, focusing and needed.

Tonight is the night prayer services are traditionally held. Because of these two events happening so close together and because of the focus on trials recently (many chapels and classes), I’ve decided to dedicate this post to one of my friends who I think desperately needs our prayers.

My friend’s name is Christa and she has Cholangiocarcinoma. That means that she has cancer in the billary ducts that lead in and out of her liver. The cancer has also spread to her lymph nodes and she has other liver complications as well. Those complications could be taken care of with a liver transplant, but since she has this cancer, she’s no longer on the transplant list. This is a very agressive cancer and it has 100% return rate, so even if they manage to get rid of the cancer this time, it will definitely return.

She’s nineteen. She’s in a lot of pain. So much pain her doctor is considering doing a nerve block, because right now, meds aren’t touching it. She has to have a feeding tube because she can’t manage to eat or keep anything down.

But Christa and her family are still staying grounded in God. They are still implicitly trusting His goodness and power. They know that if He wants Christa to get better, then He WILL heal her. But if He chooses not to, then that is the best thing that could happen.

Christa’s family was part of our co-op growing up. A “co-op” is a small (or large, depending on how many families you have) group of families that get together to do school subjects together. Different parents alternate teaching based on strengths, the kids can learn how to take care of and interact with different age groups and it’s a lot of fun. It’s basically creating a larger family unit. Christa became part of our co-op in high school. I was not as close to her as I was to Jess, because I’d known Jess longer, but there were only four of us older girls, so we were all good friends. Parties, group activities, school all centered around this small group of people.

And now this girl that I knew but didn’t know very well but I knew well enough is very possibly dying of cancer. I feel like I don’t deserve to grieve because I wasn’t her best friend. I don’t really understand why God would choose this for her. All I know is that He is good. That He is enough. That He will work this out for her greatest good and His greatest glory. I’m terribly sad. And confused. And I feel guilty for both grieving and not grieving enough.

But this is not about me. Ultimately, it’s about God. And that’s what I’d like you all to pray for: that throughout this whole seemingly ugly mess, God’s grace will weave together a beautiful picture of His love and mercy. Pray that Christa won’t lose heart, that she’ll still rest in the God she knows “has big hands”(that’s what she told her doctor). Pray that her parents will also stay strong, will be able to live out their theology, will trust in God’s promises. That ultimately, God’s will be done. Because that is our dearest goal, our redeeming truth. That God’s will is best and safest.

Dear God,
I don’t know why you chose this for Christa. But I know you love her. I know we don’t have to understand. I know you promise to be with us through hard times, that when we’re weak, that’s when we’re most strong because we trust in You. I desperately want that for Christa, for us. Please heal her, if that’s Your will, but God if it is not, then we still know you love us. Thank you for being so good, so powerful. Thank you for Christa, her testimony, her mom’s testimony. We love you.
Amen.