Failure is a silly thing to be afraid of. Everyone fails at something. IN fact, almost everyone fails at almost everything they try. I remember telling my mom when we drove home from college one summer that I was terrified of failing (not being rejected, but full on flat-on-my-face failing), but the only example I could give was of failing to train our horses.
Is it failure if you don’t put your whole heart into it? And if you don’t put your whole heart into it, aren’t you setting yourself up for failure? My horse Sky was terrified of being tied up to our hitching post. This may be because, right before we bought her, the farrier had cut her hooves too deep and caused severe pain. Our friends (who found her and kept her for us while she recovered) said she might be lame, but it was worth giving it a shot. She had her quirks, one of which was taking off at a full speed gallop when I got off to take a picture, but I loved that horse. I did, however, fail to train her to the point where she would walk docilely to the post. I didn’t give her all of my time---there were boys and classes and movies to see, and so, in a way, I guess I failed to give her the best possible training. But now, I don’t really see that as a failure.
I use the word failure often these days. Almost nonchalantly I inform people that a few months ago my kidneys failed but I “responded to treatment.” I’m not afraid that my kidneys are going to fail again—I know what I can and can’t do, and I know the warning signs to keep me from reaching Stage 4 again. (There are 5 stages of Kidney Disease/Acute Renal Failure—in stage 4 you still have a fighting shot at not ending up on dialysis or with a transplant—I gladly took that shot)
I want to live the rest of my life not being afraid of failure. Heck, if a major organ was able to fail and come back from it, I guess I can bounce back from a little rejection or failure.
I want to be able to apply to graduate schools again, knowing I’m a different person and the person they rejected last year has grown up quite a bit. (And will continue to grow before I’m ready to commit to more school)
I want to be able to audition for anything from the local theater’s production of Guys & Dolls to American Idol without thinking that if I never tried I’d still have the ability to say “I could do that”
I want to have the courage to end friendships that hurt me, and nurture the friendships that help me grow.
I want to have the strength to finish strong in this Master’s Program, however long it takes me.
I want to be able to reach out to people who scare me, whether it be by applying to teach in scary neighborhoods or just looking a beggar in the eye as I fumble for change.
I want to get into a romantic relationship without my escape plan already planned out.
I want to be able to start a project, finish it, and not question whether or not I should have done it differently.
I want to sing using my real voice. The one I keep hidden 99% of the time because it’s okay if I fail when I’m borrowing someone else’s style and tone, but not if it’s just me.
I want to live my life without fear. That doesn’t mean that I’ll abandon common sense (most of the time), nor does it mean that I think a life without fear would be a life without pain. But Walter Blythe (Anne’s son) once said (in a favorite book of mine Rilla of Ingleside) that *paraphrasing here…. The fear of pain is so much worse than the pain itself. I think that’s true of my fear of failure. My fear of failure has kept me from things I’m already good at, and things that I’m terrified to try because they are things that I might not be good at.
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Friday, April 18, 2008
For Such a Time as This
I love the story of Esther. I love that her story points to the great love God has for his people, that he provides even for those far from the Promised Land. But mostly, I love God's timing and sense of drama. In a world without internet and cell phones, things happen pretty quickly-they have to or the Jews wouldn't stand a chance. It's just a good story.
There have been several times in my life when I've had moments where I've said "A-HA! This is why I'm on this planet--for such a time as THIS." Long talks over coffee or sitting on a log at camp, watching a student understand for the first time and hearing those beautiful words, "hey, this is easy!" or just relaxing after a meal with friends and family, singing around the piano. I have never doubted that there was a purpose for my being on this planet.
But why THIS? After 2 months of being sick, and having very few of those moments, it's so easy to question what the point of this could possibly be. I'm 23 years old, love being around kids, sharing the gospel, teaching and singing. How can my sitting in bed glorify the God I claim to serve? Even now, as I type this, I don't have an answer. I've been reading some of Amy Carmichael's writings, and received a book of stories of godly women from a dear friend. I think I'm learning, slowly, that I don't have to *do* anything to be glorifying God--being in right relationship with Him is far more beautiful than being a busy bee, serving others.
Don't get me wrong. I would love to be back to my old self, because I think she was pretty neat--she really cared about the people around her. But more often than not in my life, I have equated serving others with serving God. Call it a Mary/Martha complex, if you will. I have grown up in a house where my parents have given generously, have modeled hospitality and have loved others with an abandon that still takes my breath away. What I'm now grasping, is that the love and care they have for others stems from deep within, from their relationship with Jesus Christ--the firstfruits of a love so 'deep and wide' that little 4 year old arms could never stretch enough to describe it.
I can't *do* very much for others right now. That doesn't mean that I can't grow into the woman God has planned for me to be while sitting in bed. My mind and hands are restless because of my medication, but my heart is restless because it knows it has much to learn before I can claim to be in right relationship with the One who promises peace; His stories, so filled with perfect timing and that sense of drama can continue to lead me down the path of understanding.
There have been several times in my life when I've had moments where I've said "A-HA! This is why I'm on this planet--for such a time as THIS." Long talks over coffee or sitting on a log at camp, watching a student understand for the first time and hearing those beautiful words, "hey, this is easy!" or just relaxing after a meal with friends and family, singing around the piano. I have never doubted that there was a purpose for my being on this planet.
But why THIS? After 2 months of being sick, and having very few of those moments, it's so easy to question what the point of this could possibly be. I'm 23 years old, love being around kids, sharing the gospel, teaching and singing. How can my sitting in bed glorify the God I claim to serve? Even now, as I type this, I don't have an answer. I've been reading some of Amy Carmichael's writings, and received a book of stories of godly women from a dear friend. I think I'm learning, slowly, that I don't have to *do* anything to be glorifying God--being in right relationship with Him is far more beautiful than being a busy bee, serving others.
Don't get me wrong. I would love to be back to my old self, because I think she was pretty neat--she really cared about the people around her. But more often than not in my life, I have equated serving others with serving God. Call it a Mary/Martha complex, if you will. I have grown up in a house where my parents have given generously, have modeled hospitality and have loved others with an abandon that still takes my breath away. What I'm now grasping, is that the love and care they have for others stems from deep within, from their relationship with Jesus Christ--the firstfruits of a love so 'deep and wide' that little 4 year old arms could never stretch enough to describe it.
I can't *do* very much for others right now. That doesn't mean that I can't grow into the woman God has planned for me to be while sitting in bed. My mind and hands are restless because of my medication, but my heart is restless because it knows it has much to learn before I can claim to be in right relationship with the One who promises peace; His stories, so filled with perfect timing and that sense of drama can continue to lead me down the path of understanding.
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Cranberry Orange Scones
The restless frenetic energy of prednisone, coupled with my recent obsession with the food network and food blogs has led to some surprising successes in the kitchen. While not as gratifying as getting an A or watching a student 'get it' I must say there's something amazing about cranberry orange scones.
Not just any cranberry orange scones--gluten free cranberry orange scones. My mom is allergic to wheat, but not so allergic that she doesn't try and eat all the breads I'm trying--she just feels ill afterward. So I decided to make her scones.
The recipe I had was for typical wheat scones, and included a hefty amount of butter and buttermilk--neither of which I can eat on my current doctor-imposed diet. So, with a little online research I decided to try subbing butter and buttermilk with fat-free cream and cottage cheeses. *Note-in the past my substitutions have always turned out very badly* Because of my vague understanding of the science of baking from watching hours of Alton Brown 'Good Eats,' I decided to just keep adding the dairy products until the dough looked like it usually does when I use butter.
Using the Kitchen-aid in my spotless pantry, I watched as the dough turned to perfect scone consistency. In triumph I added the orange zest and dried cranberries. I was convinced that I had succeeded.
Except I hadn't. At all. The flour mixture I used contained bean flours, and even the zest and cranberries couldn't cut through the acrid taste. Bean flours are great if you're making an artisanal bread---not great when you just want to taste sugar-ey goodness.
With my energy flagging, I glanced around the pantry to find something to save my concoction from the compost heap. Triple-Sec. I like Rum Cake. Why not add a touch of citrus flavored alcohol? It was worth a try. I added about a shot and tasted the dough. Better.
By this point, I had been up and moving for more than I ought to, so I wrapped the dough in wax paper and popped it into the refrigerator, from whence I retrieved it and baked it today.
And they're good. Really good. If you've had the ones at Starbuck's that are a bit too dry and taste vaguely like preservatives and cinnamon, you need to try one of these scones. Unfortunately, I will never be able to recreate the recipe, because I simply started throwing in what looked about right. And that's really the problem with baking, you never know when a disaster will end up being a masterpiece.
Not just any cranberry orange scones--gluten free cranberry orange scones. My mom is allergic to wheat, but not so allergic that she doesn't try and eat all the breads I'm trying--she just feels ill afterward. So I decided to make her scones.
The recipe I had was for typical wheat scones, and included a hefty amount of butter and buttermilk--neither of which I can eat on my current doctor-imposed diet. So, with a little online research I decided to try subbing butter and buttermilk with fat-free cream and cottage cheeses. *Note-in the past my substitutions have always turned out very badly* Because of my vague understanding of the science of baking from watching hours of Alton Brown 'Good Eats,' I decided to just keep adding the dairy products until the dough looked like it usually does when I use butter.
Using the Kitchen-aid in my spotless pantry, I watched as the dough turned to perfect scone consistency. In triumph I added the orange zest and dried cranberries. I was convinced that I had succeeded.
Except I hadn't. At all. The flour mixture I used contained bean flours, and even the zest and cranberries couldn't cut through the acrid taste. Bean flours are great if you're making an artisanal bread---not great when you just want to taste sugar-ey goodness.
With my energy flagging, I glanced around the pantry to find something to save my concoction from the compost heap. Triple-Sec. I like Rum Cake. Why not add a touch of citrus flavored alcohol? It was worth a try. I added about a shot and tasted the dough. Better.
By this point, I had been up and moving for more than I ought to, so I wrapped the dough in wax paper and popped it into the refrigerator, from whence I retrieved it and baked it today.
And they're good. Really good. If you've had the ones at Starbuck's that are a bit too dry and taste vaguely like preservatives and cinnamon, you need to try one of these scones. Unfortunately, I will never be able to recreate the recipe, because I simply started throwing in what looked about right. And that's really the problem with baking, you never know when a disaster will end up being a masterpiece.
Saturday, April 5, 2008
A Dangerous (?) Addiction
Prednisone is a wretched drug. I'm counting down the days until I'm not on it anymore. The side effects are wretched, but it saved my life, so yeah. I'm not addicted to Prednisone.
I'm addicted to foodporn.
At the nail salon today, the Food Network was on silent as Kenny G's saxophone wailed in the background. Paula Deene came on, and within 5 seconds I turned to my mom and told her which episode it was from. I have a crush on Alton Brown (the nerdy one from 'Good Eats) that far exceeds my celeb-crush on JTT back in elementary school. I want to be friends with the people at Charm City Bakery and I watch Ace of Cakes with jealousy and awe. I could watch 'Follow that Food' on the Fine Living Network for hours--the combination of travel and food makes me itch to try the new dishes. Even before I got sick I would try the recipes from that show and curse the fact that my Guinness Roasted Potatoes weren't as pretty as those on the tv or the fact that we didn't have fresh creme fraiche for my homemade tomato soup.
I also discovered, horror of horrors, food blogs. Shauna from "gluten-free girl" helped me get through the days of no-sodium--I read a year's worth of archives and I'm still browsing through her recipes to find treats for my mom. (Who is allergic to wheat) From there, I've moved on to most of the people she has linked, revelling in the pictures of food, imagining the recipes. I judge these bloggers by their photographs, by their ability to blend their love of food with recipes that make me want to rush to the farmer's market. I've laid in bed for countless hours in the last month, transfixed to the screen, wanting something I can't have.
Which is why I call it foodporn.
One of the less painful/annoying side-effects of Prednisone is it makes me hungry. All the time. If I'm not hungry, I assume there's something wrong--and thus far, this has proved true, meriting my return visit back to the hospital and some changes in sleeping medication. But back to the feeling like I'm starving part. I eat at least 5 meals a day. Not weight-watchers friendly snacks, but meals. When I'm strong enough, I use my strength to allow my brain, that is filled with potato cakes and frittata and polenta and ciabatta bread and tapas and stews and pasta sauces and pad thai and stir fry, to flow through my hands and into my belly. When I'm not, I eat cereal, yogurt, fruit, veggies or whatever my mom brings me--she who claims to be a poor cook has created meals and snacks according to whatever diet the doctors had at the time. But she and I are both glad on days that I have enough strength to putter and chop and knead and saute and stir fry.
Kristin & Greg gave me an Amazon gift certificate for my birthday. I used it to buy Christian novellas, rose trimmers and a cast iron wok. The first day I could stand for more than a few minutes I made a ginger tofu stir fry that makes my mouth water. Although I read the novellas within a couple of days and have slowly broken in the trimmers on my roses, the wok feeds my addiction. I used it on Wednesday to make fried rice, and then I made it into a fried rice soup. In the wok. Excellent.
After my doctor's appointment today, and the news that my cholesterol/triglycerides are still chilling in the stratosphere (but have come down from the ionosphere, so that's an improvement), I need to continue to avoid fats. Which means my brain is bursting with bacon recipes, and it seems that almost every Paula Deene recipe I see calls for Crisco. Every so often I get visions of watching The Biggest Loser with Christy, while Katie & Maia ate Easy Mac and Sharee wandered in with a bowl of noodles, and wonder why I wasted so many moments in college eating chips for dinner when I could have been making Basil Salmon in Puff Pastry or Fresh Coconut Ice Cream. Oh that's right...we had no money for food. And though I never went the Cookie Dough roll for a day (as Ben did our freshman year) or the Red Baron route, I am sad that I've spent so much of my life eating Pizza rolls and corn dogs. I'm also sad that before all of this "research," I made so many mistakes--the roasted chicken that was 4 lbs heavier than I'd used before and thus led to making Allison's guests wait for over an hour, the tuna casserole I subbed Vanilla Soymilk for that my roommate Brynn watched me choke down as leftovers for a few days, the innumerable batches of cookies, biscuits and breads where I tried to "improve" on the original recipe. I've learned so much. In my week "vacation" at my sister's house, I enjoyed her ability to make me delicious meals with seemingly no effort. For her, I think it's natural--I needed more research.
7 weeks ago I had 40 balls that I juggled (poorly) soaring through the air. These days I spend a lot of time thinking about food.
I'm addicted to foodporn.
At the nail salon today, the Food Network was on silent as Kenny G's saxophone wailed in the background. Paula Deene came on, and within 5 seconds I turned to my mom and told her which episode it was from. I have a crush on Alton Brown (the nerdy one from 'Good Eats) that far exceeds my celeb-crush on JTT back in elementary school. I want to be friends with the people at Charm City Bakery and I watch Ace of Cakes with jealousy and awe. I could watch 'Follow that Food' on the Fine Living Network for hours--the combination of travel and food makes me itch to try the new dishes. Even before I got sick I would try the recipes from that show and curse the fact that my Guinness Roasted Potatoes weren't as pretty as those on the tv or the fact that we didn't have fresh creme fraiche for my homemade tomato soup.
I also discovered, horror of horrors, food blogs. Shauna from "gluten-free girl" helped me get through the days of no-sodium--I read a year's worth of archives and I'm still browsing through her recipes to find treats for my mom. (Who is allergic to wheat) From there, I've moved on to most of the people she has linked, revelling in the pictures of food, imagining the recipes. I judge these bloggers by their photographs, by their ability to blend their love of food with recipes that make me want to rush to the farmer's market. I've laid in bed for countless hours in the last month, transfixed to the screen, wanting something I can't have.
Which is why I call it foodporn.
One of the less painful/annoying side-effects of Prednisone is it makes me hungry. All the time. If I'm not hungry, I assume there's something wrong--and thus far, this has proved true, meriting my return visit back to the hospital and some changes in sleeping medication. But back to the feeling like I'm starving part. I eat at least 5 meals a day. Not weight-watchers friendly snacks, but meals. When I'm strong enough, I use my strength to allow my brain, that is filled with potato cakes and frittata and polenta and ciabatta bread and tapas and stews and pasta sauces and pad thai and stir fry, to flow through my hands and into my belly. When I'm not, I eat cereal, yogurt, fruit, veggies or whatever my mom brings me--she who claims to be a poor cook has created meals and snacks according to whatever diet the doctors had at the time. But she and I are both glad on days that I have enough strength to putter and chop and knead and saute and stir fry.
Kristin & Greg gave me an Amazon gift certificate for my birthday. I used it to buy Christian novellas, rose trimmers and a cast iron wok. The first day I could stand for more than a few minutes I made a ginger tofu stir fry that makes my mouth water. Although I read the novellas within a couple of days and have slowly broken in the trimmers on my roses, the wok feeds my addiction. I used it on Wednesday to make fried rice, and then I made it into a fried rice soup. In the wok. Excellent.
After my doctor's appointment today, and the news that my cholesterol/triglycerides are still chilling in the stratosphere (but have come down from the ionosphere, so that's an improvement), I need to continue to avoid fats. Which means my brain is bursting with bacon recipes, and it seems that almost every Paula Deene recipe I see calls for Crisco. Every so often I get visions of watching The Biggest Loser with Christy, while Katie & Maia ate Easy Mac and Sharee wandered in with a bowl of noodles, and wonder why I wasted so many moments in college eating chips for dinner when I could have been making Basil Salmon in Puff Pastry or Fresh Coconut Ice Cream. Oh that's right...we had no money for food. And though I never went the Cookie Dough roll for a day (as Ben did our freshman year) or the Red Baron route, I am sad that I've spent so much of my life eating Pizza rolls and corn dogs. I'm also sad that before all of this "research," I made so many mistakes--the roasted chicken that was 4 lbs heavier than I'd used before and thus led to making Allison's guests wait for over an hour, the tuna casserole I subbed Vanilla Soymilk for that my roommate Brynn watched me choke down as leftovers for a few days, the innumerable batches of cookies, biscuits and breads where I tried to "improve" on the original recipe. I've learned so much. In my week "vacation" at my sister's house, I enjoyed her ability to make me delicious meals with seemingly no effort. For her, I think it's natural--I needed more research.
7 weeks ago I had 40 balls that I juggled (poorly) soaring through the air. These days I spend a lot of time thinking about food.
Thursday, April 3, 2008
Lists
Things I'm glad to report:
1. My Serum Albumin was 3.5 then 3.7 this week *translation- the protein I was losing through my kidneys is staying in my blood
2. My BUN and Creatinine are back to normal *translation--kidney function is normal
3. Post-ATN diuresis is slowing down *translation--I'm not losing 6 liters a day anymore and having to try and drink that much
4. Dehydration/Electrolyte Imbalances are under control
5. I saw friends and Young Life kids a few times in the last week--yay Young Life
6. I bought myself a Wii for my birthday to use as Physical Therapy
Tough Numbers
1. It has been 45 days since I first went to the hospital
2. I have seen a friend(s), in person, 14 of those days
3. I have been on high dose Prednisone for 45 days
4. In 11 days I get to start tapering off
5. If I don't relapse, I should be down to normal doses in 60-80 days
6. If I don't relapse, I should be down to low doses in 6 months
7. If I don't relapse, my immune system should be normal in 14 months
Things that make me smile
1. How my tulips are beautiful and my irises will bloom soon
2. When my dog tries to drink the water from the jacuzzi while it is on
3. How clean and organized I can make everything
4. When friends text or call to talk about something other than my health
5. How Disneyland has taken handicap accessible and made it handicap friendly--making using my wheelchair more of a joy and relief than a
6. Watching my dad play Wii Sports
Things I plan on doing in the next month
1. Cooking a meal from every continent
2. Working in my garden
3. Working on my novel
4. Researching for a thesis--new thesis maybe?
5. Being able to drive again
6. Walking a 1/2 mile
7. Not going back to the hospital
8. Finally putting up pictures on the wall
9. Scrapbooking?
1. My Serum Albumin was 3.5 then 3.7 this week *translation- the protein I was losing through my kidneys is staying in my blood
2. My BUN and Creatinine are back to normal *translation--kidney function is normal
3. Post-ATN diuresis is slowing down *translation--I'm not losing 6 liters a day anymore and having to try and drink that much
4. Dehydration/Electrolyte Imbalances are under control
5. I saw friends and Young Life kids a few times in the last week--yay Young Life
6. I bought myself a Wii for my birthday to use as Physical Therapy
Tough Numbers
1. It has been 45 days since I first went to the hospital
2. I have seen a friend(s), in person, 14 of those days
3. I have been on high dose Prednisone for 45 days
4. In 11 days I get to start tapering off
5. If I don't relapse, I should be down to normal doses in 60-80 days
6. If I don't relapse, I should be down to low doses in 6 months
7. If I don't relapse, my immune system should be normal in 14 months
Things that make me smile
1. How my tulips are beautiful and my irises will bloom soon
2. When my dog tries to drink the water from the jacuzzi while it is on
3. How clean and organized I can make everything
4. When friends text or call to talk about something other than my health
5. How Disneyland has taken handicap accessible and made it handicap friendly--making using my wheelchair more of a joy and relief than a
6. Watching my dad play Wii Sports
Things I plan on doing in the next month
1. Cooking a meal from every continent
2. Working in my garden
3. Working on my novel
4. Researching for a thesis--new thesis maybe?
5. Being able to drive again
6. Walking a 1/2 mile
7. Not going back to the hospital
8. Finally putting up pictures on the wall
9. Scrapbooking?
Friendships
While listening to a sermon on Job yesterday, I grew increasingly frustrated. Not my old frustration with Job, that it's a story that I can learn from and that has a lot of good lessons for everyone if you can just muddle through the language, but a true frustration with Job's friends. In the past, I was able to dismiss them as just being really bad friends--the kind you should walk away from if ever things get bad. Tim Keller helped me see that Job's friends were either cynical or moralistic...a pretty good example of the reactions I've received. He talked about how everyone says the wrong thing in response to another's suffering. Now, in the past week I've laughed at the websites with lists like "Top 10 things not to say to a person who is sick," but it's true. No one knows what to say--or what to do.
Prednisone is a wretched drug that makes all the bits I don't like about myself come to the forefront with a vengeance. My tendency to want things to be neat when I'm upset has now turned into an obsession with organization. My tendency to despair without a visible goal has turned into an understandable depression without a focus on finishing school and applying for teaching jobs in the fall. My tendency to retreat inward instead of letting people see my pain has, to my detriment, succeeded in virtually cutting me off from everyone except the most persistent of friends and family.
In the past, when I realized a group of friends had failed me, or was, as I liked to term it "leeching" and not pouring back into me, I would bow out gracefully...slowly but surely removing myself from the scene. I have several very good friends that have consistently been there when I needed them, but ours aren't friendships that require seeing each other every day. It's the interim friendships that are hard to lose--the ones I saw several times a week before getting sick, that say well-meaning things like "If only you lived closer I'd come visit you." My immediate reaction is, "A HA--I am a better friend to them than they are to me, I should continue my retreat." Thankfully, my mom is a wise lady and reminded me that we should always try to be better friends than what we receive in friendship from others.
What a hard statement that is! My immediate reaction when reading Job is to make it as personal as possible... to name which of my friends has been a moralist, which has been a cynic, which has discouraged me in their attempt to figure out what God has planned in all of this. In a way, that's the Job story I remember. But this book contains the essence of what I believe; God shows up and reminds Job of how very big God actually is. In beautiful poetry the strength of God's power, nature, and person are defined. Keller reminded the listeners that it's just as arrogant of us to say that God isn't involved in something as it is to say that we know why God is doing something. (He was far more eloquent, but hey)
I have no idea why I'm the one who is sick. My mom wishes it was her and makes statements about how much more sense it would make if it was her often. I had a friend tell me over a month ago that of all the people she knows, I'm the one that can handle this the best. I chose to take that as a compliment. I've tried to say "well, this will make me a better teacher because ______" Other people around me have tried to say that this will give me more *insert positive trait here* In all of this, we as feeble human beings are trying to wrap our little minds around something that, by nature, we can only see an iota of. The truth of the matter is, we live in a world that was broken by the entrance of sin. That brokenness manifests in cruelty, in evil, in death, in fear, and in sickness. I believe that my God did not think of me before the beginning of time and create me to be sick or even to die. I was created to live in perfect Harmony, and because of what Jesus did on the cross, and continues to do in my life, I will get through this aspect of our broken world, and I will experience that Harmony.
At Young Life camp last summer, I was explaining to one of my girls the difference between Heaven and Hell. If Hell, like CS Lewis says in 'The Great Divorce" is people moving farther and farther away from each other, isolating themselves from others because they've chosen to isolate themselves from God, then Heaven is like the best party ever. Perfect unity with God and other people. No crying, because there's nothing breaking up the harmonies. I told that girl the truth, that I like her a lot, even love her, and want to party with her someday.
Part of me can't wait until a time when my friends don't have to try and say the right thing, when I won't get frustrated with myself or others when I don't see them as much as I'd like, when we just get to party together in perfect harmony. The truth is, I can't think of a single person I've come in contact with in my entire life that I don't want to enjoy that party with someday. And as much as it sucks to be sick, and even though this could be something I deal with for the rest of my life, there are people that need to know what Job knew and what I'm learning--being in conversation (even when the conversation mostly consists of me asking why) with the God of that party is worth it. I'm not done here because I still have friends who don't know about the party. Job never turned his back on God--that's how I want to be remembered. Oh, and Job's friends? The last bit of Job 42, right before God restores Job's fortunes, God tells them that Job "will pray for you." May I be one to pray.
Prednisone is a wretched drug that makes all the bits I don't like about myself come to the forefront with a vengeance. My tendency to want things to be neat when I'm upset has now turned into an obsession with organization. My tendency to despair without a visible goal has turned into an understandable depression without a focus on finishing school and applying for teaching jobs in the fall. My tendency to retreat inward instead of letting people see my pain has, to my detriment, succeeded in virtually cutting me off from everyone except the most persistent of friends and family.
In the past, when I realized a group of friends had failed me, or was, as I liked to term it "leeching" and not pouring back into me, I would bow out gracefully...slowly but surely removing myself from the scene. I have several very good friends that have consistently been there when I needed them, but ours aren't friendships that require seeing each other every day. It's the interim friendships that are hard to lose--the ones I saw several times a week before getting sick, that say well-meaning things like "If only you lived closer I'd come visit you." My immediate reaction is, "A HA--I am a better friend to them than they are to me, I should continue my retreat." Thankfully, my mom is a wise lady and reminded me that we should always try to be better friends than what we receive in friendship from others.
What a hard statement that is! My immediate reaction when reading Job is to make it as personal as possible... to name which of my friends has been a moralist, which has been a cynic, which has discouraged me in their attempt to figure out what God has planned in all of this. In a way, that's the Job story I remember. But this book contains the essence of what I believe; God shows up and reminds Job of how very big God actually is. In beautiful poetry the strength of God's power, nature, and person are defined. Keller reminded the listeners that it's just as arrogant of us to say that God isn't involved in something as it is to say that we know why God is doing something. (He was far more eloquent, but hey)
I have no idea why I'm the one who is sick. My mom wishes it was her and makes statements about how much more sense it would make if it was her often. I had a friend tell me over a month ago that of all the people she knows, I'm the one that can handle this the best. I chose to take that as a compliment. I've tried to say "well, this will make me a better teacher because ______" Other people around me have tried to say that this will give me more *insert positive trait here* In all of this, we as feeble human beings are trying to wrap our little minds around something that, by nature, we can only see an iota of. The truth of the matter is, we live in a world that was broken by the entrance of sin. That brokenness manifests in cruelty, in evil, in death, in fear, and in sickness. I believe that my God did not think of me before the beginning of time and create me to be sick or even to die. I was created to live in perfect Harmony, and because of what Jesus did on the cross, and continues to do in my life, I will get through this aspect of our broken world, and I will experience that Harmony.
At Young Life camp last summer, I was explaining to one of my girls the difference between Heaven and Hell. If Hell, like CS Lewis says in 'The Great Divorce" is people moving farther and farther away from each other, isolating themselves from others because they've chosen to isolate themselves from God, then Heaven is like the best party ever. Perfect unity with God and other people. No crying, because there's nothing breaking up the harmonies. I told that girl the truth, that I like her a lot, even love her, and want to party with her someday.
Part of me can't wait until a time when my friends don't have to try and say the right thing, when I won't get frustrated with myself or others when I don't see them as much as I'd like, when we just get to party together in perfect harmony. The truth is, I can't think of a single person I've come in contact with in my entire life that I don't want to enjoy that party with someday. And as much as it sucks to be sick, and even though this could be something I deal with for the rest of my life, there are people that need to know what Job knew and what I'm learning--being in conversation (even when the conversation mostly consists of me asking why) with the God of that party is worth it. I'm not done here because I still have friends who don't know about the party. Job never turned his back on God--that's how I want to be remembered. Oh, and Job's friends? The last bit of Job 42, right before God restores Job's fortunes, God tells them that Job "will pray for you." May I be one to pray.
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