Untethered

During the mid to late 1950s, the US military conducted Project Manhigh, in which they sent men into the stratosphere in balloons to see if they could endure great heights.  We recently watched footage of these balloons.  They were huge helium-filled balloons.  On the ground, these balloons were very, very tall, with a little bubble of helium at the top—nothing like the rounded hot air balloons we see today.  The reason was that as the balloon ascended to where the atmospheric pressure was far less than it is near the surface of the earth, the helium would expand and there needed to be sufficient room in the balloon to contain the helium.  It was amazing to watch the footage, as the balloon ascended up, up, and out of sight, nearly 20 miles!!!

The events of my life in early April 2015, left me “untethered”.  God only knows what really happened that left me face-down in the pool with a very slow heart rate and a lung full of water and apparently hundreds of clots in my brain—but over the next week or so, they put me on paralytics, pain medications, intubation, and cooling—basically in an induced coma.  Between the brain trauma and the medications, I have very patchy memories of those 10 days—though apparently for some of it I was awake and responding, holding eye contact and recognizing people—though I have no sense of time or order—it’s all a mish-mash in my memory.  But I know that for a while at least (though for how long, I have no idea) I was without awareness of self—at least, those things I think of that identify myself as ME.

For the past 15 years, I have been typing a phrase that doctors use as a standard part of their exams, “Alert and oriented x3” (or sometimes x4).  The x3 is person, place and time, the fourth is event.  I think, if I responded to anything in those first days, beyond pain, it was my name.  That doesn’t mean I knew who I was—just that I had a name and when someone called my name, I knew they were talking to me…I don’t have any memory of not knowing my name, or my birthday, or my brother’s birthday, for that matter.  And I don’t remember not knowing that I was any of those things that I define myself by—mother, wife, daughter, transcriptionist, pet owner….but I know that I must not have known them, because I remember remembering them for the first time. 

I apparently couldn’t talk at some point, because I remember hearing an oddly slurred voice from somewhere down deep, with the greatest effort, ask for orange juice.  It still seems surreal, how slowly those words came, and with what great effort, and how foreign they sounded.

At one point, someone asked me if I had any children.  It seemed like they waited for an answer and then went on about whatever they were doing—but I was trying to answer.  It was like it stirred something very deep inside me—but I didn’t know!  It seemed like I thought about that question for a very long time—but of course, time wasn’t flowing for me like it was for the rest of the world—because of the drugs? Or the brain injury? Or ?  But out of the blackness—looking into my memory, trying to answer that question was like looking into a pitch blackness and trying to find something but I wasn’t even sure what I was looking for—then out of that darkness came a name, Laura, and images of a baby, a toddler, a woman.  However many hours or days later, I could finally answer that all-important question—even if there was no one there to hear me answer it.  “Yes, I have a Laura.   She’s beautiful.”   And, as if I knew there was more in that darkness, however much later, came the name Keary.  I  have a Keary too! 

In the neurology wing, however long I was there, 3 or 4 or 5 days, every day (or possibly many times per day) strangers would come in and ask me what day it was and if I knew where I was.  I think the “bubble” I was in was rather small, as the date was written on a board in my room and if I looked out the window, I should have been able to see a very familiar view, since I have spent many days in that hospital both as a patient and also visiting others, but in my memory, I couldn’t see that board and all I could see out the window was white (though apparently I recognized people in the doorway).   None of it makes sense to me—but I think I have a new empathy for how babies see the world now.  I don’t know when they first started telling me the date, but the first date I remember was April 17^th.  And the only reason it had meaning to me was because my brother’s birthday is April 18^th, and I felt like I needed to call him and wish him happy birthday.  They asked me what his phone number was, but I didn’t know-but I asked if they could call the operator or information to get it—and they looked at me like I was crazy.  (Now I know they were just too young to know what an operator was or that once upon a time you could call information to get a phone number—ah, the good ol’ days). 

I would tell them the date (whatever date they had told me last) and then I would tell them I was in Hawaii, because I imagined the white I was seeing out the window was a white sand beach, and the swallows flitting around were birds at the beach.  Though they told me I was at RiverBend, I didn’t really know what that meant.  As my “bubble” grew bigger and I could see cars driving out on the “ocean”, I asked what road that was and when someone told me it was Pioneer Parkway.  I then knew I was at RiverBend—as if this was a new revelation…but even then I didn’t really know it…until they took me out into the hall, and through the gym to the outside balcony, and I remembered the gym from 2009, when I was there with a foot infection, and I remembered the balcony from that same stay….

On April 22, I left RiverBend and moved to a rehab center in downtown Eugene.  Things were still surreal.  My brain wasn’t mapping very well.  Though I tried to see where we were going on the ride over, I didn’t know where I was.  Though they took me to a room where I would spend the next 9 days, it looked completely different on that first day than it did on the last, and I never could remember where my room was, except that it was across from the dining room—when I went back after I was discharged, several weeks later, it looked completely different still…

I don’t know how many days I was there before it dawned on me that I had a job and I was supposed to be working and I needed to get back home so I could get back to work.  Time, and the pressure of time, had come back to my life.

When I first woke up, it was like the best vacation ever (except that I couldn’t walk or talk or eat or take care of my bodily functions).  I didn’t have any stress.  No one needed me for anything.  I didn’t have any deadlines.  There were no expectations.  I woke up with the feeling that it was just God and me.  Other people popped into my world to do things, like clean me or feed me or just come sit with me and talk to me and tell me they loved me.  In fact, I woke up with an intense feeling of being loved, or being at complete peace.

Even when I started to recognize, one by one, the tethers that tie me to this life—my children, my family, my friends, my job, my home, my yard, my pets….they were just plusses.   But as I woke up more and more, they slowly became tethers again—someone else was doing my job—I would have to fight to get it back, or lose it.   My dog was wanting to see me, was running away from home to find me.  My bunny, with no one to care for him, died… My grass was growing—someone, I still don’t know who, mowed it for me.  My son was not doing his school work because I was not there to crack the whip…my house was starting to look very bachelorish….

Even before I left the hospital for rehab, something inside me was pushing to come back to earth.  I knew I could not live 20 miles up forever---as lovely as the view was, and as peaceful and relaxed and wonderful as it was up there, just me and God with occasional visits from others—something inside me knew I had to come back down and knew I had to do it NOW.  Something inside me started fighting for physical therapy—fighting to stand, fighting to walk, fighting to run my life again, to get home, to be on my own turf.   Although I was probably not screaming on the outside, I was definitely screaming on the inside for someone to help me—get me up, help me walk, I need to GO. 

As awful as that hospital time is in my memory—all jumbly and disoriented—I still long for that peace, that knowledge of being completely loved—even though I wasn’t deserving by any of the things that make me ME.  I was loved just because I am. 

I am loved—not because I am a (good) wife, not because I am smart, not because I am determined and strong, not because I am a mom, not because I’m good at math, not because I have a cool sense of humor.  I am loved because I am.  I didn’t, nor could I ever do anything to deserve it.  And yet I AM loved.

The first thing I remember when I woke up—maybe before I woke up—was this song, “You dance over me while I am unaware.  You sing all around, but I never hear a sound.  Lord, I’m amazed by You, and how You love me.”  Even while I was “untethered” by the things of this life—the good things and the stressful things—I was still in God’s presence.  It’s comforting to me to know that even when “I” am not here, I am still with God. 

My friend, Doug Capps, before he died, said he knew that while I was sleeping, God was talking to me.  I wish I could bring to mind all of what He must have said to me, but for this moment-and forever-it is enough for me to just know that He said, “Oh, my precious child, how I love you.”

For S.H. (and anyone else needing encouragement)

I know what you are struggling with is not the same as what I have gone through, but if I could give you a “brief” history of the past 6 years or so….I have been in a similar place, and so I speak with confidence when I say that He is faithful, and that He is building your faith.

I have a husband, married in 1988, a daughter born in 1984, whom my husband adopted in 1989, and a son born in 2000 (and two miscarriages and infertility between the kids).  I developed diabetes in the 1990s.  My husbnand and I were both born in 1962 and met in late 1986. 

In January 2008, my grandmother died at the age 92 of a massive stroke. She had been the prayer warrior of our family.  In December 2008, my eldest brother died of cancer that he refused to fight.  About that time, we found out that our daughter was pregnant with our first grandchild—they have struggled with infertility and this was a  miracle for them, and the pregnancy had been fraught with early spotting, but things seemed to be going okay.  In April 2009, when she was about 6 months along, I broke my leg on Sunday night and then went with her, on crutches, to her OB appointment., where the baby’s heart rate was very slow—in the 60s.  They had her come back the following day, when they discovered that the baby, a little girl, had died. 

Having a broken leg really cut down on my ability to exercise, a key component in my diabetes control, and in August I developed an infection in my foot that landed me in the hospital for 10 days with sepsis and kidney failure and foot surgery and lots of bills….It took me MONTHS to recover from this, but just as I was getting on my feet again, in November 2009, my husband had a massive stroke that took him out of the workforce and left me the sole provider.  Because of my uncontrolled diabetes, I was losing my vision.  My husband had done all the shopping and cooking to that point, but could no longer drive, so that new fell on me, as well as taking extra work to make up for what he was no longer able to bring in.  By April of that year  (2010), I was no longer able to drive, barely able to work, and having to do all the cooking and shopping…it was awful.  I had to put all the groceries away myself (and all the dishes) because if someone else put them away, I could not find them. 

I remember standing in my kitchen feeling completely overwhelmed—too much to do, losing my vision, not able to drive any longer, having people bring me meals and groceries (the orchestra I had played in and no longer could, organized a meal and food box for us for many months, and every week they would send us a box of premade meals I could put in the freezer and take out when needed, and basic panty supplies…what a god send!!..and I had huge hospital and doctor bills that insurance did not cover for both myself and my husband, and then our son, who picked that year to jump off a board and land on a nail and put it completely through is foot…all the way out the top..so HE had a hospital stay too…..oh, and they eye doctor sent me to a retinologist who said I needed surgery—and over the past 6 years I have had 7 physical surgeries on my eyes, countless laser surgeries and countless injections…and still owe him over $10,000……

I remember standing in my kitchen thinking, I just cannot go on any longer.  Lord, this Is more than I can  bear….(did I mention I was still trying to homeschool through all this?).  he said to me, “Look at birds, they do not worry about what they are going to eat or where they are going to sleep, and yet not one of them falls from the sky that I don’t know about. Look at the lilies of the field.  They do not worry about what they will wear.  How much more to me you are than they!!!  Trust ME to provide for your needs, and you just focus on your part. “  Worrying IS a waste of time and energy and emotion.  

Over the last few years there have been MANY faith-strengthening trials.  But God is faithful.  I wrote in my blog about many of the things He did along the way.  It’s important to keep a record of his faithfulness because when we are afraid, the enemy likes to get in our heads and say things to worry us, but if we instead look back at what God has done to provide for us—even the impossible, then that voice is easy to recognize as untrue.  Our god IS faithful  Our god DOES care about us.  Our god DOES meet our needs.  Our god DOES want good for us.  But he also wants us to trust him and not fight and flounder and worry.  The more we trust, the easier the walk becomes.

Stand firm in what you know, sister.  All He has for you is good.  Just rest in Him.  

Thoughts on Fear

One of the things I woke up with last April was the unshakable knowledge that I was unconditionally loved.  It wasn't an intellectual knowledge..something that I know in my head but not throughout the rest of me.

For a long time I have thought that we are really too hard on ourselves.  We have this notion that we have to measure up to something in order to be accepted and loved, and the better able we are to measure up, the more we are able to accept being accepted and loved.

I remember when I had my daughter.  I watched her sleeping one night when she was about 18 months old, and I knew without any doubt in my mind that I would unhesitatingly, unthinkingly, lay down my life for her.  She didn't have to do anything to earn my love.  She didn't have to be the best at anything, she didn't have to be good, or nice, or cute or obedient--NOTHING.  I loved her with everything that was in me just because i did--because she was my child, perhaps, or because God gave me a supernatural love for her--whatever the reason, it was the strongest, surest, most enduring love I had ever felt.

But that night, as I was pondering that amazing feeling, I realized that MY mom loved ME in that same way.  And almost in the same instant that I realized how much I loved my daughter, I also was able to accept how much I was loved.

Over the course of the years, as I watched people bash themselves for failures (big and small) I started to see that they weren't seeing themselves the way God sees them.  What parent when his child takes his first steps and falls on his hands, or his behind, thinks poorly of him?  No, the parent comforts the child, hugs him, helps him up, and encourages him to keep trying.  Even after that child has been buzzing around for years, when he trips and skins his knee or elbow or palms, the parent still does not scold, but puts Bactine and Band-Aids on the wounds and offers snuggles for the wounded ego.

When I was "sleeping" I felt like I was that little child, romping like a lamb or kid, kicking up my heels, running clumsily, stumbling and falling, but not worrying about falling, about making mistakes.  There was no fear or ridicule or scolding.  No fear of failing a quiz and taking my grade average down.  I was loved, completely loved, just exactly as I am...."Now therefore there is no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus, who walk not according to the flesh, but according to the Spirit."  and "perfect Love casts our fear".

We really need to check the self-talk that goes on in our heads. Are the words condemning us for failures or flaws or misfortunes?  Do those words line up with Scripture?  Do they line up with what our Father in Heaven thinks of us?  Do they line up with what the One who died so that there would be no condemnation for us thinks of us?  The one who said, "Where are your accusers?  ...Then neither do i condemn you.  Go and sin no more." and the One who said, "The one who is forgiven much loves the most."

Where is there a place for fear in us?  We have no fear of failure.  There is no one to condemn us.  We have not reason to worry, because God holds all things, provides for all our needs, and loves more than we can imagine.  What can we really control?  One of my greatest fears is that I will die and my son will not have me to direct him and his attitude, or redirect him, or keep pointing him toward God.  But what can I really REALLY do in that regard.  I can love him, I can be gentle with him, I can encourage him and pick him up when he falls--but I can't make him love God, not really.  If God sees fit to allow me to continue to participate in my son's life, you had better believe I will do it with my whole heart, because he is the only mission field I really care about. But even if I do everything right, I really, in the end, have no control over my son's choices.  No parent really does.  We can pray. We can do things to pull them in or push them out, but ultimately the decision lies with each person as to whom he will serve.  So, while I WANT to be a part of his life, it's not ultimately my decision...God will take me whenever He wants or let me stay until Jesus returns.  I really don't have any say in it, and I have to let go of THAT fear..that last little bit of pseudo control I have in life...over life itself...

And once I let go of all that fear, guess what?  There is nothing left for me to do but love.  I don't have to worry about the harvest, about the weeds, about my lawn getting mowed, about what I'm going to eat or drink, about what I'm going to wear, about deadlines...The only thing left for me to do is to love and frolic. If I want to frolic by swimming a mile or mowing my lawn or tending my flowers, or making beauty around me, then I'm free to do that...but I don't HAVE to, and the world won't fall apart if I don't....

And you know what else I learned about fear and letting go of it?  It makes me free to see things more clearly.  I had an appraiser come out last fall, after I had done NOTHING with my yard all summer...my husband had had my son throw cardboard on the back deck rather than taking it to the burn pile and blackberries had overgrown most of it. We had about 2 days' notice that he was coming and I actually took a day off work so I could clean the back deck and mow the yard, and Gary frantically cleaned inside, but it' really looked like a hoarder's house still....and I was fretting about that appraiser coming and God told me, "just remember, it doesn't matter one bit what he thinks of you."...and when he came and saw the clutter still on the front deck and his first words were, "You did know I was coming, right?"  I repeated to myself, as I did many times in his hour-long inspection, "It doesn't matter a bit what he thinks of me."  And it didn't, and it worked out fine.

And once I let that go, once I REALLY believe deep inside, that "it doesn't matter one lick what you think of me", then I'm free to see you as God sees you, flaws and needs all together, and I'm better able to help you--I'm better able to see past your criticism and treat you and talk to you in a loving way.

When I don't count, you are so much easier to love!  (and I'll bet it works the other way around too).

So MY New Year's resolution is to learn to walk in perfect love...to not walk in fear or in the flesh, but to walk in truth....I don't want to forget what last April felt like....the joy of coming back to life, and the comfort of being completely accepted and loved--and what it felt like to live without fear.  I'm gonna fail.  But I'm going to get back up and keep on trying, because you don't learn to run by giving up when you are learning to walk.....  And I'm going to quit being afraid of leaving you all behind, because God will take care of you all--with or without me.  And truth is, I want to stay here as long as I'm still growing and still being of some use in the kingdom--or to my family...but I'm not afraid to leave, when the time comes, so if I don't get to say goodbye,  I'll see you later!!!  Don't live in fear.