In sickness and in health.....

My wedding day, though nearly nine years ago, is still a vivid memory in my mind.  Soft, yellow sunflowers, love song melodies, a reading from Ecclesiastes, my dad's shaky arms as he walked me down the aisle, my Grandfather's tears.  But what I remember most is the look on my husband's face when we spoke our vows that day.  Those old, well-worn words - I could tell he meant them.  He was serious about what he was promising me that day.

For better or for worse.

For richer or for poorer.

In sickness and in health.

Forsaking all others.

Til death do us part.

Those words are so romantic and so real.  We opted for traditional vows rather than writing our own because I felt like those are the biggest promises - to be there.  To stay in even when the going gets rough.  To keep choosing the other person even if life is trying to offer you different choices.  When money doesn't flow like it used to or things feel awful or just mundane and you find yourself asking questions like "Are we really going to last?"  Or when you get sick and your body is broken and you have to lean on the other for tangible, physical support - nothing takes sexy and flirty out of a marriage like sickness.

My RA pain has been awful.  The mornings are the worst and starting my day usually begins with many challenges because my hands don't work and my knees and ankles feel like someone glued them with cement overnight.  And I get emotional on top of my inability to move correctly.  I'm frustrated with not being able to get my body going the way I'm wanting it to.

Every morning, Todd helps me put on my bra as my fingers aren't nimble enough for the small clips.  (TMI, but this is my reality).  On the really bad days, he helps me with my pants or blouse or shoes.  And every time he does these things I cry, and he will just hold me and tell me he's sorry.  I read sorrow in his face, knowing he would carry my pain for me if it were possible.

My tears come from this place of deep emotion where I am angry that I cannot do these things for myself.  I'm angry at myself, at my story, at my past.  Physical pain has a way of bringing to surface things that have been safely stored in the heart.  But the tears are more than anger too.  I feel deeply loved by this man in all of my misery and neediness.  He helps me with such care and gentleness and when I call myself useless or good-for-nothing or that I'm nothing but a burden to him because I can't get on my knees and give our son a bath or because I've had to ask him to clean our shower - he reminds me that he is here for all of this.  This is what he vowed, what he promised, and he meant it.

The same face he looked at me with when we spoke our vows, is the same face he gives me when he reminds me of what is true.

It seems that marriage is always full of give and take.  There is this constant ebb and flow where one has more to offer when the other is down for the count.  And maybe that's how it is supposed to be.  Lifting the other up when they can't do it for themselves.  Right now, it's his turn to hold me for a little while.  And this man I love....he does a really, really good job at holding true to his promises.

Even with all the pain, I am one very blessed, very loved and very cared for bride.

On Growing Up

I turn 34 next week.  To my own surprise, I have been able to relax comfortably into my 30's as they are not as scary as my 24 year-old self thought they might be.  Something about THIRTY-FOUR sounds grown up though. 

Like, legit grown-ups are 34 right?

Just the other day I was talking to Tommy about how we need to start teaching him how to tie his own shoes.  He was overwhelmed at the thought of it because naturally it's easier to have someone else do this for you and he was certain that he wouldn't be able to figure it out.  I explained that he will spend his whole life growing up and having to learn to do new things - learning how to tie your shoes is just one of those new things.  And me and dad will be there to help him until he figures it out for himself.  I told him that growing up means learning and changing and doing things that are new and sometimes uncomfortable or even scary.

And in this conversation I was having with my five year old son, I was saying them to myself.  No one needed that reminder more than me.

My recent flare up with Rheumatoid Arthritis has triggered some other things in regards to my health and physical body.  The last couple of weeks have been full of doctor's visits and bloodwork and X-rays and new medications and vitamins and plans to get healthier with the help of all of the doctors I have been so purposefully avoiding.

For years now, I've been in denial.  I have been resistant to change.  And I have been scared of what it would mean or look like to go down any of these paths.  It has been in my head that seeing a doctor about any health-related issue was equivalent to failure because I couldn't get better or fix something on my own and I should have been able to somehow.  And as I have embarked on this new journey, I have realized that choosing to see a doctor doesn't mean failure or defeat.  It means that I am choosing life, health, and hope.  I am learning that doctors and overall medical scary-ness is simply part of my story and choosing to seek a doctor, to trust a doctor and purposefully submit to one is both a victory and an act of repentance for me.  It seems as though God has written even this piece into my story.  To redeem yet another place for me as He is always so faithful to do.

And maybe growing up looks like asking the people for help that can really help you.

I'm not sure I was truly ready for any of this until now.  The seeing a doctor thing and figuring out what I really need to do to take care of my body.  But at the age of 34, I think I'm finally in a place where my desire to take care of myself has caught up with my desire to act on it.  Even if it's scaring the crap out of me and it's a major drag.  Because it does and it is.

But maybe that's what growing up is all about.  If you know me or my story at all, you would know that I have a history of learning things the hard way.  Sometimes I need to make mistakes, and then make some more exactly like them before I can learn what it is that I'm needing to.  I mean, we can hear things and we are taught things and are guided in certain directions.  But until we make those decisions for ourselves and act on them, we haven't really grown up at all.

Last week as I was wrestling through decisions and sitting with the weight of lab results and doctor's advice, I went to God with all that I was thinking and feeling and fearing.  And it was as if He told me this very thing.  It's time to grow up Jenn.  I've grown you here - I've been growing you here.  You're ready for this.  It's time.  And He reminded me that If I could give up sweets for 40 days during Lent and if I could train and complete a half-marathon (which, hi, I sort of never wrote about that) then I could certainly do more.  My body is ready.  And so is my heart.

I've officially decided it's time to grow up.  Though I'm not sure how much of a decision it really was.  I think growing up is one of those things that has been happening inside of me for quite some time.  And now that I am faced with big decisions and weighty news, my grown up self is acting on them in grown up ways.

All of this is a birthday gift to myself.  Maybe not exactly what I'm wanting, but it's exactly what I've been needing.

So, Tommy will be learning how to tie his shoes.  And I will be at doctor's visits and doing new things to care of my body as I pursue wellness.  It's time to do the things that we don't really want to do.

Because no one else can do it for me, 
Because I am growing up and I'm not the same.

Because I can.

And because He has been growing me, pruning me, preparing me for this very season.

Spring is coming.  And something new is ready to break through the surface and burst forth.

Foolishness, surrender and rheumatoid arthritis

It's easy to feel foolish.  Like when you make that one mistake that leaves you feeling like an idiot.  Or when you assume something to be true and it ends up not being that way.  We can make asses of ourselves and say dumb things.  (I do this frequently).  Or in my case, thinking that this thing had gone away forever - when it hasn't.

I guess you could say, I am feeling foolish.

When pain consumed my entire body head to toe, and then suddenly disappeared, I decided a miracle happened.  And whatever my blood-work had said before or whatever the diagnosis had been, I claimed that something miraculous took place.  And maybe it did.  It was miraculous that my Rheumatoid Arthritis, diagnosed as a severely aggressive case, went dormant. 

Well, until now that is. 

I've been in denial for months.  It started in October of last year.  I remember waking up with that familiar feeling, though at the time, was only a slight discomfort and stiffness in my fingers.  And as the months progressed, pain came with it, spreading to knees and elbows and ankles.  I was keeping it "at bay" with over the counter pain relievers and after the morning time, I was fine again.  I guess I kept hoping it would go away as miraculously as it had before.

But, it hasn't.  It's only gotten increasingly worse.  And I've been left sitting in my foolishness.

The last two weeks have been especially terrible.  My hands were taking longer to stretch out from their deformed state in the morning - these frozen, stiff fingers curled under.  And the pain was so bad in my hands that it would wake me up at night just shifting in my sleep or adjusting my covers.  And I realized that it was my choice to be feeling this pain - all I needed to do was go see my doctor.  But in going, I would have to admit that something was wrong again.  That my body needs help.  That there is damage happening in my joints and I need to have all of this checked out again so I still have a chance to live and thrive even if it means medications and treatments that, honestly, scare the hell out of me.

Calling my doctor felt like surrender and defeat.  Like this thing has beat me and I lost.  I couldn't heal myself enough or do something right enough to make this auto-immune thing go away forever.  As if I had made it go away on my own the first time.  But I've been beating myself up, going to shame and self-contempt.  Feeling broken and diseased.  And again, feeling foolish.

I recognize this pattern.  I do the same thing anytime I feel the need to see my counselor.  Or when I need to go back and rehash a piece of my story that is making my heart bleed out all over again.  I have these expectations of myself to have my shit together all the time because somehow I believe I should have arrived and have all of the answers for all of the things and be able to live fully and whole and alive all the time. I hate asking for help.  And I have a love-hate relationship with the feeling of surrender that comes with it.  Both great fear and great relief at the same time.

In the last few days, when I've allowed myself to slow down enough to be still, I have found myself spinning in anxiety.  Traveling down the what-if roads of my past and future, and afraid of what will be diagnosed in the present.  It is always hard to fight to stay present in these moments instead of jumping into the next season prematurely. 

When I can quiet my heart enough, I hear Him though.  He is faithful to speak to my heart even when I've done nothing but doubt and question and distance myself from Him.  His sweet, soft voice that whispers the familiar truths - My grace is sufficient for you.  My strength is made perfect in your weakness.  Be strong, be courageous - for I am with you.  I will never leave you or forsake you.  Don't worry about tomorrow.  Come to me with your heaviness and heartache and I will give you rest.  I love you.

He never calls me foolish.

I go in on Monday and in the meantime, she gave me some meds to help with the inflammation and pain.  Tonight, I am sitting in that middle ground of surrender where I am greatly afraid and so incredibly grateful for some rest and relief.

RA and Waiting

Last year, I was diagnosed with Rheumatoid Arthritis. And at the beginning of this year, I learned that I had a very aggressive type of RA that needed to immediately be treated with medication. However, I opted out of the medicine until my doctor deemed it absolutely necessary.

Almost miraculously, every symptom I had went away in February and I felt normal again. Like I had never even had it all, even though I knew what it was like to not be able to put on my own bra or turn the key in my car. Everything had gone away. I've spent the whole year living basically RA free.

And then this last Friday came around. I spent the day cleaning my bathroom and doing laundry and by the end of the day my feet hurt so bad I could hardly walk. And to my dismay, the pain stuck around for the rest of the weekend and spread to my knees as well.

It seems as though the symptoms have returned. This morning, my hands were swollen - and not painful or stiff, but the first signs that it could be something more. A feeling of dread washed over me at what this might mean.

It's not the pain I'm afraid of. It's not even the limited ability to function that has me down. And yeah that sucks, but the physical pain is the lesser pain.

It's the truth of what I have in my body that's gnawing at my heart. That taking the medication necessary to treat this disease is a death sentence to my dream of having another baby. The medication I need cannot be taken if you are pregnant or trying to be, as it would cause major complications and birth defects for the baby or even kill it inside of me. And it's too soon to know if the return of the symptoms means that I will have to get on the medication sooner than I'd like to, but the mere thought leaves me full of emotion.

I'm looking back on some of this year with regret. At places where evil gained ground and robbed Todd and I of several months of joy with one another. At taking my ability to move with ease for granted and almost pretending like my RA just didn't exist. It feels tempting to believe that I've lived foolishly and I've just wasted time.

This morning I'm left with questions and yet another choice about what I will decide to believe about God in this.

In the last couple of months and more so in the last few weeks, I have been enjoying the kind of intimacy and closeness that I have longed desired to share with Him and haven't because my anger, pride and woundedness had gotten in the way. I have felt new - my walk with God has felt new.

As I've thought about my achy joints and the cherry-wood crib frame hanging on the garage wall awaiting a much desired baby #2, I still believe that God is good. That His plan is still best even if it means that Tommy is our only natural-born child. That I can still look forward to my future with hope because of who God is, not because I have everything that my heart desires.

Sometimes at church it feels like God uses things to speak just to my heart. I had the privilege of leading a song on worship team yesterday called Made me Glad. The chorus says, "You are my shield, my strength, my fortress, Deliverer, my Shelter, Strong Tower, my very present help in time of need." Those words are true, and yet do I live them and believe them? Do they apply with the struggles I carry, with my RA, with my yet unmet desires to have another baby? The sermon invited me to rest and wait in God's love and goodness instead of trying to rush His power. Those words pierced many places in my story and what life looks like too, even in regards to my RA.

Today I am waiting. I am not waiting for God to do something. I am not waiting for a baby. I am not waiting for my RA symptoms to go away. I am not waiting for God to show up and show off in mighty and powerful ways, even though He could.

I am not waiting for Him to do something. I am just waiting on Him.