You Need to Prepare for this One…

Ok, so I had a weekend that I’m pretty sure any soap opera would reject as a storyline for being too far fetched. I haven’t been feeling quite well enough to sit down and write the story for you yet, so I thought I would republish an old post to help get you prepared.

It has to do with luck. And my lack of it. And don’t be worried… at this point in my life I laugh about this stuff rather than cry about it, so rest assured they haven’t had to haul me off to the loony bin yet.

Then again, considering I can’t leave the house I’m not sure that would be an option anyway. :)

Here’s the “background” post … I’ll be back with the crazy tale in a day or so.

In the Immortal Words of Jack Nicholson…
[first published: April 30, 2009]

 I’m B-a-a-a-a-a-a-ck….

Oh, peeps… I’ve never been so happy to get a FedEx delivery in my entire life! If I would have gone one more day without my own laptop I was going to so closely resemble Jack in that photo that someone would have insisted on doing a remake just to utilize the expression.

From here on out, anytime I let myself get a little down about being homebound I’m going to remember how much more confining it would really be if I didn’t have this amazing technology that lets me be a part of the world while not being out in the world.

I’m lucky to live in the age of technology, people.

And while I’m blessed with technology, I also happen to be the person that causes technology to self-destruct. There have been times I have actually wondered if I give off some sort of electrical vibe that wreaks havoc on appliances.

This time it was the computer… which I knew was dying a slow death, but I was trying to live in denial for as long as humanly possible. The cd/dvd burner had died off awhile ago, prompting me to get an external dvd drive. I had also been using an external hard drive for awhile [photos take up a lot of room] but even with that, the computer kept running slower and slower… sometimes taking up to 20 minutes to restart. Not a good sign. But when the monitor went black, I closed the curtain on this production and went in search of a better alternative.

The craziness happened when I borrowed a friend’s monitor to hook up to the laptop so I could make sure I saved all the important documents. I was working away when I heard a ‘POP!’ and then saw and smelled smoke coming out of the electrical cord. I grabbed the cord to unplug it and – dude – it was HOT. So even though I had already closed the curtain, I still got to see the death scene, and it definitely had my heart racing!

But even that excitement is nothing compared to the worst technology month in history I had a few years ago. It was May, my birthday month. A time when all should be sunshine and flowers, and it was instead full of swear words you’d rather not have me repeat here...

It all began with me being cooped up for months, dealing with pneumonia. I was finally starting to get up and around, and decided I was going to try leaving the house [this was back in the day when I was still driving]. I showered, put on makeup and cute clothes, and was ready to go… only to get to my garage and discover a car that wouldn’t start. A few winter months in the garage led to a dead battery and a seriously disappointed me. But I was determined… I got the car jumped the next day and went out for attempt number two.

Only to get to the end of the parking lot and realize that my tire was nearly flat. Which means my first fun outing in months was to sit in the waiting room at the tire place right after I paid to replace the tire. I was off to a great start…

Until I threw my comforter in the washing machine the next week, and it got caught in some mechanism that caused the rim of the tub to break. I was feeling like a winner at that point. So I had the repair man come fix it, only when he did the repair he failed to hook one of the hoses back on correctly. After he left I put in a load of laundry, went in the other room to work on the computer, and didn’t realize until the water had seeped through the walls and into the room I was in that my house was being flooded.

I’m not talking about a little bit of water here, people. I’m saying when my friend Meg and her son Ben came over to check it out he was having a ball because he could jump in the puddles on my carpet and watch the water splash all about. We waivered between panic and laughter about the ridiculousness of the situation… but mostly we panicked. So, I spent four days at a hotel [days which included my birthday, thankyouverymuch] while a cleaning service set up huge machines to dry out my walls and carpet.

You think that’s the end of it, right? If you do, then you haven’t known me long enough. :) No, after that I got back home, went to use the bathroom and the handle to flush literally broke off in my hands. That prompted me to send out an email to everyone I knew, stating: “My life is seriously going down the toilet. I just wish I had a handle so I could flush it.”

Pain and Suffering

My friend Tam had a quote on her blog the other day that keeps popping back into my mind:

“Jesus did not come to explain away suffering or remove it. He came to fill it with His presence.”
                                                                            – Paul Claudel

It has me thinking about the distinction between pain and suffering. They are obviously closely related… even the dictionary overlaps their meanings. And they are certainly put together in every courtroom drama I’ve ever watched. But I think, in terms of our lives, they don’t have to go hand in hand because the physical can be separated from the emotional.

Not all the time. Especially not when we are trying to get through hard times on our own. Sometimes it’s a process, but when we are open enough to step out of the way and let God fill it with His presence, it’s a whole different ball game.

And it requires us to trust with everything we are.

I think I’ve written for long enough now that everyone knows pain is a constant part of my daily existence. I honestly can’t remember what it was like not to feel every joint in my body. I walk with my walker in my dreams… when I’m having a dream where I’m outside, I’m usually panicking and asking someone how I can get back indoors before I stop breathing. It’s just who I am now. My friends have gotten used to the fact that I wince and utter “ouch” and sometimes stop talking mid-sentence when the pain makes me catch my breath. I barely notice I’m doing it. I’m so accustomed to the pain now that I don’t consider it suffering as much as I used to.

But there are physical moments when the pain causes real suffering. The moments when it escalates and is unrelenting to the point of making me sick. I physically suffer. But when I let Him, I am filled with His presence in my spirit and I can feel strong in the middle of that weakness.

Emotionally, it’s called a pit of despair for a reason. A hole can be dug inside us so deep that it seems everything good has been excavated from our lives. We all have different ways that happens… I’ve lost abilities and freedoms and the potential for many things. You may have lost someone you’ve loved or found yourself in situations you never dreamed of facing. A pit is dug. And despair is the first visitor that wants to knock at your door.

It’s in those moments when I pray for God to get me out of His way. It’s those moments when I stop praying for what I want and start praying for Him to change my heart for what He wants. I pray that I can be aware of His opportunities. It requires me to trust Him completely. That doesn’t change my physical pain. It doesn’t change the loss. It doesn’t improve my earthly situation.

But it does change the suffering.

It allows me to not answer the door to despair and instead invite His presence into the pit. The pit that looks jagged and deep, which turns out to be a God-shaped hole in the center of our beings. A hole that is dug by circumstances and choices, and is filled with His grace.

I am in pain. He has made sure I don’t have to suffer.

Snuggies: All the Cool Dogs are Wearing Them

Now, before you all go judging me for my Snuggie-wearing dog… let me provide you with a little background.

My condo is cold. Now, I’m not just talking a little chilly. I’m talking C-O-L-D, cold. As in, today is December 1st in Iowa and I actually ran my air conditioner.

See, I’ve been dealing with this little thing called Cushing’s. And apparently, despite the fact that my body temperature hovers around 95.7 degrees [well below normal] I feel like I’m boiling from the inside out. The last time my sister Laura was here, she went into my closet to borrow a sweatshirt and then buried herself under a blanket.

I was sweating.

On the plus side, I’m totally prepared for menopause someday.

A little over a week ago, I had a discussion with my nurse about the fact that the H1N1 rampage that went through our town seemed to be subsiding. The result of that discussion is that I’m going to be letting people back in my house after months of seclusion, as long as they have no signs of illness and they aren’t in close contact with people who are showing signs of illness. I couldn’t wait to tell Susie on Thursday after the nurse left, and on Saturday her lovely family came over for a movie night.

All four of them spent the evening curled up under a blanket, huddled together on my couch, while I turned a mini fan on myself. I’m hot, people. And not in a good way.

So, I bought my dog a Snuggie. It was the humane thing to do.

“Don’t mess with me, people. I’m cold.
And a dog’s gotta do what a dog’s gotta do.”

Brought to You by the Letter I

There was an interesting suggestion last week that I write today’s post using all “I” statements. I have a feeling writing a story would be easier, but I’ll take the challenge! :)

I…

… have almost all of my Christmas shopping done. I started on Saturday and only have 4 gifts left to pick out. Two thumbs up for online shopping! I also have a way for you to do something charitable while shopping, without spending an extra dime! When you shop on Amazon.com, go to their site through this link: http://bit.ly/8cdQdr and they will donate a small referral fee to my friend Alece’s Thrive Africa mission. It’s like giving two Christmas presents in one! :) She really does amazing work.

… know my mom hates it when I say this, but just this one time it’s true:

… am an IDIOT. [Hey! That starts with an “I”, too! :)] I’m not an idiot all the time, but I certainly was on Wednesday. I had ordered Chinese food as a treat for Thanksgiving since I read that it is typically safe for whey allergies. I still don’t know if that’s true or not, because I never actually got to the main entree. [Here’s where the idiotic part comes in.] You know how sometimes Chinese restaurants put an eggroll in with the meal? This establishment put in a couple crab rangoon. I LOVE crab rangoon. A lot. And I took a bite. And swallowed. Yeah, well, it contains cream cheese. I knew the moment I swallowed what I had done, and then spent Wednesday night through Saturday on a lot of Benadryl trying to fight off the reaction that ensued.

… wasn’t kidding when I told you I was an idiot. Happy Thanksgiving to me.

… won’t ever mistakenly eat crab rangoon again. On a happy note:

… discovered that double stuffed Oreos don’t contain whey! I realize that is disturbing considering it claims to have a cream-filled center and actually contains no milk, but it’s a win in my favor so I’m not complaining. :)

… have found myself starting phrases with “I used to…” a lot lately with new friends. Statements like, “I used to love to dance…” or “I used to be a singer…” and “I used to be really active in my church…”

… wonder if I’ll ever get to the point where it doesn’t seem odd to be living a “before and after” life.

… am slightly embarrassed to admit that I bought Riley a Snuggie for Dogs.

… promise I’ll post a photo of him in it soon. :)

… wake up every morning thinking that today’s the day I’m going to get all my emails returned and get caught up on my inbox.

… still have an overflowing inbox.

… can now definitely say I’ve turned a corner with this whole Cushing’s thing.

… still look more like a woman named Big Bertha than I look like myself, but I’ve stopped gaining weight [woo hoo!], some of the swelling has gone down [which means I no longer see the tops of my cheeks when looking at the television… and yes, that was annoying], and every once in a while I have moments of real energy. I have a long way to go, but I am on the road!

… am currently trying to figure out a set up that would make it possible for me to paint some canvases again. Because in those moments of energy, I want to make you guys stuff. :)

… just realized how long this post is getting, and that I could seriously ramble on like this forever. So, I’m going to leave you with this:

… am finally in the Christmas spirit. Wanna know why? It’s not because my trees are up. It’s not because of all the Hallmark Christmas movies I watched this weekend in between football games. It’s not even because I busted out some Christmas music. It’s because my friend Shannon [known to you as the commenter named “chickadeesmama”] sent me a video of her sweet, beautiful, oldest daughter Hannah performing ballet to Come Let Us Adore Him – with a talent that is beyond her years.

… might be bursting with pride despite the fact that I’m not actually her mom. :) If your heart needs to be moved into the Christmas spirit, just watch the video below. [Hannah is the one on the far left.]

I did, and…

I loved it. :)

Ok, peeps… leave me some “J” topic suggestions for next week’s post!

Attitude of Gratitude

I’ve had people asking for the past week or so about my Thanksgiving plans.

Are you having company? How are you celebrating? Will you be lonely? Is anyone bringing you a plate of their Thanksgiving feast to share?

I’m thankful for people caring so much about me that they think about my Thanksgiving, and am so very blessed to be cared for the way that I am by people I’ve never even met. It never ceases to amaze me, although it really shouldn’t considering how invested I am in the lives of all of you as well.

In truth, I don’t have Thanksgiving plans simply because it’s not possible. My family will be at my parents’ house for a “Thanksmas” celebration, mixing two holidays into one. I obviously can’t travel, and it would be impossible for me to be around such a large group anyway because the odds of all 21 people being healthy at the same time are probably not in my favor. When I used to be able to get out of the house but couldn’t take the long car ride, I always had friends’ homes to go to, and am thankful for all the years they included me as family. But now I stay in my air-purified home and am thankful for the opportunity it affords me to breathe easier.

As was evidenced just this past Easter… I’ve never lacked in the food department on the holidays I’ve spent here alone. I often found it funny because no less than three friends, sometimes as many as five, would drop off a plate of food for me so I wasn’t missing out on the traditions… which means I probably had enough food in my house to last a week of celebrating! But this year, with the new food allergy issues, I can’t take the risk of eating foods without knowing what’s in them and how they’re prepared, so I’ll be sticking to the items in my own fridge for my Thanksgiving feast.

So, with one road block after another stopping me from the traditions of holidays past… you’d think I’d be really sad about missing out on everything. I sat down to write this after hanging up with a friend who said she was so bummed for me that I would be here alone on the holiday… because I realized that it’s really not bothering me very much at all.

And I couldn’t figure out why.

I mean, of course I’d love to be with all of my family again. Sure, I’d prefer to get out of the house and socialize with my friends. And YES, diving into mashed potatoes would have been delightful. It’s not that I prefer this.

It’s that I’ve learned to appreciate this.

I’ve learned to appreciate the simplicity in my moments. I’ve learned that being thankful in everything is more important than being thankful for something. I want to be grateful for everything in my life, not just the special moments.

I’m thankful for the years of traditions, and I’m thankful that now I get to reflect on them, remember them, cherish them. I’m thankful to know that my family will be together and my nieces and nephews look forward to seeing each other again. I appreciate hearing my friends’ stories about their family get-togethers and the insanity that always ensues. And, while I’m not in the middle of all of the festivities, I am still immersed in the blessings of my everyday life.

• I am thankful for the system that purifies the air in my condo so I can breathe.
• I am thankful for the opportunity to live in the comfort of this condo that is so perfectly suited to me and my needs.
• I’m thankful for the program that allows me to hire someone to do my shopping for me and clean my home, so I can live independently.
• I’m thankful for my home nurses who keep tabs on my health so I don’t feel overwhelmed by the responsibility.
• I’m thankful for this online community that has adopted me into their families, offering more love and support than I knew possible.
• I’m thankful for my faith and the peace with which God graces me.
• I’m thankful for family and friends who love me, visit me, call me.
• I’m thankful for the abilities I’ve been able to hold onto, and I’m thankful I had the chance to experience the abilities that are no longer mine.

I’m not in the least bit bothered to be here alone on the holiday of gratitude, because it’s the same as any other day. I am simply grateful. I appreciate my life because it’s the one He has given to me, and I don’t want to waste a moment of it wishing for anything else.

Besides, I have this ornery pup for company:

What more could I possibly need? :)

Brought to You by the Letter H

Aww, man… I was so excited when someone mentioned horses as an “H” word for this week’s post, because I know we have a bunch of photos of us with our horses growing up. I know, because I can picture them in my mind. Ones of our swayback horse Candy Candoo in the driveway, ones of Jake and Molly – yellow and red little foals – right after they were born. We have pictures at 4-H events and one of me standing on a barrel in the backyard helping my brother Jerry practice for the barrel races.

We had horses. We have pictures. But apparently, I don’t have the pictures.

Bummer.

Someday I’m going to have to confiscate my siblings' albums that obviously contain the pictures I can see in my mind… but I have a feeling they aren’t going to hand them over if they know said photos will wind up on the blog. :)

Most kids growing up ride their bikes with friends around neighborhoods, but we had more horses than bikes and more siblings then neighboring friends, so we rode our horses into the little nearby village of Irvington to get candy at the general store. I realize that sounds like I’m telling a far-fetched story about walking to school in the snow, barefoot, uphill both ways… but we really did have horses. And a village. And a general store.

Gotta love country life…

My brother Jerry had a stallion named Kid that was the worst horse ever. He was spirited and mean and only let people on his back so he could try to buck them off. Needless to say, I never tried to ride that horse. My brother Jim got a quarter horse named Bogie for Christmas one year… poor kid thought he got seriously screwed in the Christmas present department until Dad mentioned, after the rest of us had ripped into our gifts, that there may be something left out in the barn.

Isn’t that that the coolest thing? To walk out into the barn and find your very own horse for Christmas?

My horse, Sparky, was the smartest, oldest and orneriest horse. He was a smaller, black and white horse that Dad actually had when he was younger… once you got a saddle and reigns on him, he was a perfect animal. I could literally say “right” or “left” and he’d know what I was talking about. The only complaint is that he preferred to trot more than run, which can leave a tush pretty sore after awhile.

But believe me, that horse knew how to run. We know this because Sparky was an instigator when my siblings would try and catch their horses. He would see people walking up to the fence and take off in a dead run across the field… and every other horse followed right after him. I’m thinking when mom suggested for us to go for a ride, she was probably thinking she had a couple hours of peace and quiet… not just because of the riding, but because of the time wasted trying to catch the darn animals.

Now, I know you all have read the story about my brothers going for rides on their horses and propping me up by the kitchen sink to talk to them through the sprayer. And you probably think that’s as gullible as I could get. You should know better by now. In truth, it’s trumped by the times when I was very little and they couldn’t catch Sparky. Instead they drug out a plastic, spring-hinged riding horse and told me to ride on that in the yard while they rode around on real, live, actual horses.

And being the ridiculous, youngest sibling that I was, I did it.

I’m still waiting for the old “what goes around comes around” adage to kick in, but so far they seem to have gotten away with it.

While the six of us kids may have grown up with horses, the deepest love for the animal resides in my beautiful niece, Rebecca. When she was little she wanted nothing more than to be a horse herself, and would trot around the house on her hands and knees for hours on end. [You must click here to see pictures of her bucking…]

Becca’s obsession with horses has only grown, and she spent most of her time this summer caring for her horse, Brandy.

As it happens, the only old photo I could find was one of her mom with her horse Jenny when she was around Becca’s age. [She’s either going to think it’s fun to see both of these photos together, or she’s coming after me for posting it…]

Like mother, like daughter. :)

Ok, peeps… leave your “I” topic suggestions for next week’s A 2 Z post in the comment section!

Flashback Friday: Your Hair Is Pretty

Ok, so it’s been one of those weeks. Sometimes when I’m tired beyond words I get a little ornery and sarcastic… as some of you noticed in my last post. Bless Candy’s heart for thinking it was all the Benadryl, but nope… it’s all me. :) Tonight I can’t even seem to come up with something punchy to entertain you, but because I made a goal of writing three times a week I just can’t let myself skip writing a Friday post. Because that would be less than three and I refuse to take a step backward.

SO… because it’s Flashback Friday, I’m going to flashback to one of the first posts I wrote on the blog. I chose this one for two reasons:

1. It’s so old I’m assuming the majority of you have never read it.

2. It’s an ornery post about my niece that makes me laugh, so I figured it still fits the mood I’m in. :)

Here you go… and thanks for indulging me while I tell you, yet again, how freakishly adorable my nieces and nephews are. It’s not bragging when it’s the truth.

You know how sometimes you're just annoyed to death with someone but you bite the inside of your cheek for fear of saying something that will make everything worse? Or you're in the middle of a conversation and you need a great comeback but none come to mind? [For the record, not having a comeback is the story of my life.] If so, I may have an easy solution for you.

When my niece Anna was little she was the most articulate little thing you could imagine. Somewhere around the age of three or so, a large number of us were gathered at her parents' home on the weekend of an Iowa vs. Iowa State football game. Anyone from Iowa knows this is a sacred sport weekend for the rival schools, and being in the hometown of the Iowa State Cyclones meant the game was being taken more seriously than you can imagine. While a large number were gathered in the living room watching the game, a few of us stragglers were still finishing up dishes in the adjoining kitchen.

Enter Anna.

She walked into the kitchen wide-eyed with a hand on her hip, declaring the need for a family meeting. She informed her mother that she had heard "inappropriate language" (I kid you not) and there needed to be a discussion about it. Her mom, while all about open communication, knew better than to interrupt this particular game and convinced Anna to wait until the game was over. Thankfully, Iowa State won or this next part might not have been so funny or well tolerated.

When the game was finished the TV was turned off and somewhere around a dozen adults sat on couches with all focus directed at the three-year-old conducting the meeting. She made sure all eyes were on her and began...
"I was hearing inappropriate language when you were watching the game. I heard words like shit, damn and ell [meaning hell... cutest mispronunciation you've ever heard]. And in THIS family, we use loving words like good job, I love you, your hair is pretty."

At that point I had a pillow shoved so far down my throat to keep from laughing I thought I might die right then and there. And it would have been so worth it. She was the cutest little swearer I'd ever seen in my life.

And here's where I get to my point of this post. The next time someone is driving you to the brink, use LOVING words. Go ahead. Tell them their hair is pretty. I swear to God I'll never let it slip what you're really trying to say.