Stuck

Yesterday was a really tough day. After feeling a throbbing pain in the same spot in my abdomen since Wednesday, I called my doctor's office and spoke with his nurse. After describing my symptoms (aching right side of abdomen, sweaty, clammy) she told me to go to the ER. I did NOT want to have to go. I've been to that ER three times in the past year (once for a stomach ulcer, once for panic attacks and now this). Just thinking about the cost of it made me weak in the knees. With me not working, we cannot afford more medical bills.

But, when a medical professional tells you to go to the ER, you go to the ER. The VERY LAST thing I wanted was to wake in the middle of the night with a ruptured appendix or something like that. So, about 2 in the afternoon, my Mom took off with my kids and I went to the ER. Four hours later, my bloodwork came back normal and an ultrasound of my gallbladder proved that it was not blocked (though has likely been spasming for still undetermined reasons)

I drove to my mom's house to pick up the kids feeling like a total failure. What kind of loser has to go to the ER three times in a year for these kinds of things? Maybe if I had managed my diet and health better, I wouldn't have gotten an ulcer. Maybe if I had more grit and less OCD, I wouldn't have started having panic attacks. Now this? What even was this? Couldn't I just suffer through a little more abdominal pain like a normal person? Couldn't it be absolutely nothing? Why did I cost us so much money and inconvenience by having to get this checked out?

When I got to my mom's I picked up the kids and was just ready to go home and get in the bed, pull the covers over my head and forget about the day. But, in an effort to try to whip up some small amount of whimsy on behalf of my three year old, I paused as we drove down my parents' long driveway to shine my headlights on some deer that were crossing from the wooded area on one side to the pasture on the other. I kept asking Story, "Do you see them?" And she would chime back, "I don't see them." So I inched closer and closer and closer to the fence of the pasture, until I was completely off the driveway. Eventually, the deer walked off and I was ready to get back to Plan A: hide under covers. But, when I tried to move my car forward, the wheels just spun. Put it in reverse. The same. Horrified, I put the car in neutral and got out to push. If there ever was a moment of me overestimating my own strength, it was that one. The car didn't even budge. I called Andy.

The gas light was already on in my car, so I knew that I needed to turn it off. We sat there, in the cold and the darkness for thirty minutes waiting for Andy to arrive. I gave Story my phone and Grey a baggie of Fruit Loops and let the shame sit with me for a while.

Have you ever felt this way? Like you just want to dig yourself a hole and crawl in? Like you just cause trouble and cost money? Like you can't get it together?

As I sat there, a song came to mind. It was Psalm 139: 13-14. I had listened to it that morning when taking Story to preschool on a Seeds Family Worship Lullaby album. (if you're unfamiliar with Seeds Family Worship, they are verses set to music. Great stuff. The best for helping memorize scripture) I began to sing it in my mind. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made. 

While waiting at the ER, I perused Facebook and saw a lot of things about the right to life stuff that's been going on lately. I read a couple of articles. And liked a couple of posts. Psalm 139: 13-14 is used frequently when defending the right to life.

But as I sat there in the dark, with shame throbbing alongside the fist-sized pain under my ribs, that verse took on a new shape for me. For me, it's easy to look at small children and have mercy. It can be harder to look at grown people and do so. But it's hardest of all to consider my failings and act in kind.

But, when David authored this Psalm, he was a grown man. He had some great victories, and some epic failures. He was both a fearful warrior, and a deceptive defender.  This tends to be lost when we consider him a "man after God's own heart." He cost a lot of people their lives. But he believed in God. He revered Him, and he saw himself as something fearful and wonderful.

Could I do the same? Could I not only see a child in a womb as fearful and wonderful? Could I see myself that way? There. In the mud? With an epic medical bill on the way? It didn't come naturally, but I chose to. I chose to show compassion. And love. Because that's what God commands.

This type of thing is really new to me. I have scoffed for the longest time at anything that implies or promotes self-love, self-care, self-compassion. I feared that such things could only lead to vanity. But, I'm beginning to think that I've been wrong. I read Story the Berenstain Bears book about the Golden Rule this week. Printed on the first page is Matthew 7:12 So in everything, do to others what you would have them do to you. It might be subtle, but there's an implication here that what you would do to yourself would be the kind thing, the compassionate thing, the loving thing. Therefore, you should do that to someone else.

Last night, I sat in the dark, waiting for Andy's headlights, and I chose kindness. I chose to praise God for making something good, instead of telling myself over and over again that I am not good. It kept me from sinking into an abyss of self-loathing. It kept me buoyant enough to tend to my children and their needs, to consider their anxieties and to extend that kindness to the backseat.

As I waited for Andy's headlights to pull into the driveway, I thought of a parallel. Life can be dark, and I sometimes feel as if I am waiting for the Light to show up and rescue me. But, in the waiting, I need to choose kindness. Compassion. Mercy. Love. Because life is fearful, wonderful and vulnerable- whether that is the life of an unborn child, a teenager, an adult or... myself.

Bare trees, bare souls and the love that made them both

I like January. I like how stripped down it is. Plants, schedules, closets (thanks Marie Kondo) even the sky seem to have settled into a simple beauty. The base layer of life. Some people might think it's bleak, but I am sort of reveling in the simplicity.

In my spirit, there's a similar paring down going on. A simple revelation. A base layer of faith that I've been getting in touch with. 

I walked from room to room this morning, opening blinds (I'm trying to learn something from the natural rhythms of the Earth these days. Light and dark. Rest and wake. Sow and reap.) I looked at the lovely pink tone of the January morning sky. And simple truth lit across my heart. 

I did not come into the world innately good. I came into the world innately loved. 

There's a lot of good that I've tried to cover myself up with. For fear that I would not be accepted. I wanted to prove that I should be accepted. Wanted to do something worthy. Be someone worthy. Sometimes it seems like each and every day is just a trial waiting to be stepped into. Who will see me? Judge me? Like me? Reject me? Certainly I need something to arm myself against this. A career or my children, a higher degree or a cute outfit. A glass of wine or a cup of coffee or my iPhone. My dad is a lawyer, maybe it's in my nature to come up with a defense. 

But something about January and pink skies and bare trees has me breathing deeply, bravely. My defenses are tired. Or maybe that's just me that's tired. Too tired to pick them up. It's a good tired. Bare trees can be really beautiful when you take a moment to look at them. Bare souls can be, as well. 

Maybe all I need is this love? This love that brought me into existence and will see me through every day. This love that will never demand that I prove myself worthy. Only asks that I would love back. 

We love Him because He first loved us. 1 John 4: 19