I have always believed in the power of prayer. I don’t believe its the Lord’s desire to see his children in pain, nor live with chronic pain, maladies, or other issues. Doesn’t that sound a bit cruel?
If I’m walking with my child, and they trip and fall, I don’t watch them cry and wait for them to get over it. Instead, I help them get up, and if there is something in my power to make it easier, facilitate healing, or make the pain go away, I administer that. And if I don’t have the power to make it better, then I take them to the doctor.
The Bible is replete with references to the Lord as the divine healer. That isn’t a recommendation or thoughtful adage….it’s something we should depend on. In fact, I’ve always wondered why, when a church has healing services, the leadership doesn’t address all the glasses in the room. Am I right? Glasses are a sign of an incomplete body part, that needs healing.
In my own life, I’ve tried extra hard not to rely on medical care as a crutch. That will sound harsh, but it’s not meant to be. What I mean is, I don’t go running to the doctor for every little ailment. When I was in the hospital recovering from c-section, I took half the pain pill so I wouldn’t be loopy. I probably wouldn’t have been loopy, but I was taking that approach just in case. And when I stubbed the heck out of my baby toe, I KNEW I had broken it. It was my first broken anything, so in a way it was a badge of honor. Did I go to the doctor? Nope. Instead, after about two weeks, it felt so itchy, so I looked it up, and lo and behold the “itchy” was a sign that the broken bone was attempting to heal; it was the histamines at work.
When I shared this with my adult child, they questioned my reality. They claimed I couldn’t “self-diagnose” and wouldn’t “really” know it was broken. I mean, how do our kids think our ancestors worked with their remote locations but by knowing their own symptoms? Good lord! SO, I went to the urgent care, paid to have the X-ray (grrrr) and, gee, I was correct. I had broken my toe. There was nothing they could do by that point. Oh, and let’s not forget we already knew of the “tape two toes together” trick, which is what they still use 40 years later…sigh. We are in trouble if our adult kids can’t rely on instinct even on occasion.
Of course, like all young people, they simultaneously think they are above reproach, and more intelligent than their parents. Isn’t that what the 20’s is for? Harumpf. Rebellion, I say. Isn’t experience the best teacher or is that an alternate universe?
One leftover from my youth that I just can’t quit shake, though, is the exact same thing. I know better for me. Which brings me to my current situation. See, about five years ago I was hit hard with overwhelming all over pain. I mean, I could barely get out of a chair without help, or I’d have to get on my knees and lean on a table;I actually had to use the stair rail like it was my job; and the pain was not managed with OTC meds. It was merciless. Finally, I went to a rheumatologist. As it turns out, I was diagnosed with “fibromyalgia” and osteo-arthritis. To be fair, it was a shock. Still, the doctor prescribed some pain meds, which turned out to be an antidepressant, and did an X-ray of my knees, claiming I have mild arthritis in my knees.
After that first initial bout with Fibro, I felt much better with the med. However, I wasn’t depressed, I was pissed! I wanted to be pain free, and I wanted to treat the problem not the symptom. So, I stopped seeing the doctor, quit the med cold turkey across a few days, and settled into my routine of managing pain when I could.
I started taking liquid Tumeric, Alleve when necessary, and watched the barometric pressure. When a rain storm was coming, I would feel much worse. Oh, and interestingly, I felt much better across the fall and winter than in the spring and summer.
The kids were suffering from my unexplainable bouts of pain, and that bothered me so much. I have no trouble going to the pool and jumping in with the kids, and this pain was frustrating. However, this year, as winter turned to spring, the pain was overwhelming. It was the addition of a new symptom that did it for me.
People with fibro can have all over pain, yes, but one insidious attribute of the condition is feeling irritable with each touch, by clothes, by anything. When that hit, I knew I was in trouble.
Praying for full and complete healing as that is God’s best for me, and you, is essential. However, as much as I’d prefer a radical and complete healing, I will have to do my part in the waiting period. Ever see a kid fall off a bike? The first thing they do, if they can, will be to get out from under the bike, while crying, and try and help themselves. If they trip and fall, they will get up and hold the painful area while attempting to remedy the issue. They do what they can-depending on age and maturity, of course-to help themselves and then rely on older people, usually parents, for next steps.
I guess I’m there. I can’t live with all over cinching pain, knee and hip pain, finger joint pain, headaches, piercing pain from what may be a ruptured ovarian cyst, as I need to manage the pain in the waiting. So, that’s what I’m going to do.
As it is it has been four months since I broke that baby toe, and the side of my foot and that joint still hurt some. I guess that’s part of breaking something. I have no idea. Perhaps this journey to pain relief will affect that left over pain, too.
It’s not a defeat to fight the good fight for yourself and your health. It’s often recognizing what is out of your power and control. And that is the sign of maturity.
Month: March 2021
Never Project
Children can really be a call to action in people’s lives. From the moment one discovers they are expecting, they begin planning, preparing, fantasizing, and praying. They put hopes and dreams on a person well before they are ever born. They claim with their mouth that they only want what God has in store, or that they hope and pray that they are “just healthy,” or even determine that they will give their child so much that they, themselves, did without. All those things seem nice, but are they platitudes?
Unless an early sonogram is done, people aren’t always aware of life-altering changes to their perfected ideal of parenthood. This person-with-no-name already has so much pressure on them to perform. Perhaps the first performance is to be cute.
Have you seen a baby right after the trauma of birth?
Definitely not cute.
Things that aren’t as evident are those things that are internal: a gluten allergy, an epipen emergency, scaly skin, constant allergies, autism, cancer cells. Do we plan and prepare for those eventualities? Nope.
Still, we parent those personalities that were meant to be in our care. We definitely do not get the luxury of determining outcome. One curiosity is how the child tends to change our trajectory. With each revealed nuance of the child’s personality, the parent may shift the aim. If we have the skill of perception, we may be able to observe the child’s skill set, their strengths, and their weaknesses. In times of frustration, elation, desperation, or confusion we may, while praying over our children, ask the Lord for insight…what can I DO here!? We may receive an action item, an idea, or a response.
Implementing said item, we hope to continue onward with our efforts in raising a person. I often tell my kids that my aim is not to make them function for today, but to prepare them for the reality of tomorrow. That reality is, of course, their own life…where they instinctively not only come into their own, but often attempt to shimmy out of the familial body suit in light of something they believe is their own creation, their own design.
Only, that’s not true. They are influenced by their own thoughts, beliefs, behaviors, and community. I would say that well before I took charge of my own trajectory, I was influenced by those who were each, independent of one another, making small adjustments to the trajectory of my life. Maybe I felt compelled toward college, or even marriage, or even having children-I wanted 10 when I was six-or becoming an executive, or quiet, or the best representation of my family name that I could be. Wait…..what was it I dreamed about again?
No one had conversations with me about things that were of interest to me. What were my passions? And, for that matter, did I have any passions? Yet another conversation not had.
When my dad passed away I spoke at his funeral. I began my portion of the eulogy be saying that, when someone dies, a million question marks hang in the air of questions and conversations never had. So true, is it not?
No one told me how costly having children would be, or how many choices adults are faced with. I had zero insight on what I needed to do, let alone be, and so figuring out the deciding factor between what is and is not important or part of a daily existence in the adult realm was foreign to me. Still, I had some goals.
When I was about seven, I recall using my old Bible, bound with faux leather, words of Jesus in red, the margins of most New Testament pages colored in with red pen for flare-I thought it needed it-as my prop. Holding it open, to the New Testament of course, staring at Jesus’ red words, I began to preach to myself in the mirror with all the fervor I could muster, mimicking all the men I had seen preaching. No one told me women couldn’t preach. I remember all the church solos and singing opportunities and competitions I participated in, and how lackluster and mediocre I felt, but with all the arrogance I could muster was determined to be the de facto singer extraordinaire for churches everywhere. I remember my friend Liz and I writing about what we wanted to do when we grew up, and in Freshmen Honors Biology I pledged to be a nurse to her as doctor. I didn’t think as grand as her because no one introduced me to the “reach” career vision. For that matter, I didn’t realize how many and what type of nurses there were. For true, I thought I’d be the traveling-worshipping-nurse-pastor’s wife, but only to a good looking pastor. And, the only person who was considering pastorship who gave me a glance was a smarmy skinny pale kid at church whose name I didn’t know. I dropped the PW role rather quickly.
As my life unfolded I took a path I had not prepared for, nor considered, and felt like I was fighting, to some degree, my parent’s untold expectations of me as compared to some ghostly competition standard they held. It was a harsh dozen years.
Married at 18, college took almost a decade, and singing in church with a small lead role later. I also became a teacher.
My children have been “raised in church.” I also spent time praying with them, pointing out things to them as they came up, and taking them to so many church services. I sent them to camps and pushed them begrudgingly toward activities I thought would help move their trajectory, ever so slightly, in a good direction. I even made one of my adult choices to pay to send my kids to Christian school. Over time, their attention to the Lord wained, and they attended church because I said so. They gave in ever so slowly to the influences in their lives. Their stories aren’t over; my intercession for them is my job.
So, it’s somewhat disappointing when your own progeny decide to make personal choices. These choices don’t align with my believes, or tenets of my faith. Still, my trajectory is changing once again as I realize that, without fail, and I mustn’t fail, I need to somehow telegraph love and support, while still being a standard bearer. Of all the confusion that those first years of adulthood can hold, what can I do to ensure they feel loved while they make choices?
Their choices.
Their accountability.
Therein lies the rub, doesn’t it? We do not want to relinquish our responsibility over our children. We bought their underwear, bandaged wounds, threw birthday parties, paid for expensive item they couldn’t live without, encouraged authenticity and independence….we are invested in ways linked all the way back to our hopes, dreams, and expectations of parenthood. While they grew, we were watching other parents and how they parent and influence their children; we had books about parenting; we prayed; we presented our own ideals in high definition; ensured we did the best that our sphere of influence projected was going to work and be good, like a hologram in the sky we follow for doing-good points.
Reasoning minds being involved, there is no way to develop hope in another’s existence apart from the Lord’s direction. All that independence and authenticity we pushed on our kids like peanut butter with a happy puppy actually took root, and we, our own independent selves, must divest ourselves of that pesky responsibility we took on so long before.
It’s raw.
Swirling emotions can overtake, even with the most resolute mind.
We must remain stalwart.
Now that some of my children are grown, I have so much more clarity. It’s never a good idea to project any outcome for another. In fact, most of the hope we hold is through intense, sometimes painful, and often intense prayer to the Father who can, in his sovereignty, move a person’s trajectory to any aim he desires.
Goals, then, for those precious souls I so desperately love, narrow down to one: a conscience decision to follow Christ’s direction, with a happy heart, and everything submitted. And I, in my irrelevance to their independent life, can be a standard bearer and remain stalwart, planning, preparing, fantasizing, and praying, in my perfected ideal of parenthood, following my passions, having conversations, and continuing to write my story.