On being loved in the waiting room

As I think back to our days of waiting rooms and hospital smells, I remember the little things that helped carry us through it.  God used many of you to help us see that suffering did not mean we were unloved, only that we were suffering.

I remember the meals, prayers, phone calls, cards and emails.  Many thought to do these things, and each small gift nourished our family as we got along minute by minute.

There were other things that helped me through too, things I did not know to ask for or even know I needed them, until I received them and was blessed.  But this is how I would have asked had I known how to do so.

Let me hide behind technology a little bit

Especially when Aggie had her intensive testing done and we were  dealing with surgery, it became utterly exhausting to me to talk on the phone.  I simply did not have the strength to share the details over and over again, to "keep it together" so that the person on the other end of the phone did not have to worry too much about how I was handling everything.  I was suffering, and it was all I could do to put one foot in front of the other and keep doing what was in front of me. I blogged when I could, but had very little to say to people by phone.  I appreciated that people seemed to understand that.

Take charge of little details

Someone tell me where I left my keys, and remind me to eat something.  Someone decide for me what it is I might like to eat, and bring me to that place to get it.

Just be with me

It is not fun to be the person or family that reminds everyone of such an enormous sad thing.  Some withdrew, and I understood, knowing that it was usually those who were carrying too much grief already to take mine on as well.  Some loved us through it, even though it hurt them to do so-- love in a hospital room means sharing worry and grief-- those who were willing to have their hearts ache along with ours were pictures of grace and compassion to me.

Remind me what else is out there

During the weeks at Cleveland I remember feeling like our world had become so small.  Everything was Aggie's condition, everything was hospital and worry and trial.  Yet some who shared our grief were bold enough to share bits of their still normal lives with me too, and I was surprised at how I appreciated that.  A funny story about what someones kid did that day, news from home or school that had nothing to do with us-- those were blessed reminders that life was still going on outside the hospital, and I could hope to join that world again someday.  I had wanted to talk about something else, even just for a minute, but I had no idea what else there could be other than my sick child.

Acknowledge my pain and remind me of Hope
Don't deny my pain with cliches, but look it full in the face, and then tell me that Truth is still Truth.  Tell me what I already know. Scripture or hymns, things I have heard a thousand times- I need to hear them again.  Nothing fancy or profound, just the basic faith we share: Suffering is awful, but temporary, because Jesus loves us.  Even when we hurt, we are safe in His love for us.

How about you, readers who have been in dark hospital rooms...  What would you add to my list?

Weak and Loved part 2

My children have a distorted view of me. For one thing, they don't mind when I sing. This is because they don't really know how bad I am, though I am pretty sure Seth already has suspicions.

For the little ones at home with me every day, I am the biggest and best thing in their world. I am the Fixer of All Things Broken, the Filler of All Stomachs Empty, the Cleaner of All Things Dirty, the Finder of All Things Lost. I can extinguish conflicts with one hand, tickle away tears, and revive favorite toys with a mere battery, all while making yummy cupcakes. I am mom, and so, I am the Meeter of All Needs.

To be honest, I like thinking of myself this way too. I like to pretend I am strong, that I am one who is always giving and never has to receive anything from anyone. I might say that's not true, but I still try to live like it is.

For example, how often do I actually ask for help? I mean really ask, not hint, not attempt to project loud thoughts, not angrily imagine my husband can read my mind but chooses to ignore me, but ask with real words and humility? Can I admit, out loud, that I am not the Meeter of All Needs, but am myself poor and needy? Do I have to be at the end of my rope before I can say out loud what everyone else around me already knows-- that I cannot do it all?

If my kids (and I) were right about my superpowers, I would never find myself floored by a stomach bug or depression. I would never be out of patience or simply burned out. And yet, when these things happen, I am always surprised. I fight against weakness, and try to deny it, as if I really am supposed to be the Superhero that my kids think I am.

But I am not, as my children imagine, all-sufficient, all-knowing, all-loving, and all-powerful. There is One who is, and I need Him just as badly as they do. How good it is to be loved by a God who cares for needy children.

But as for me, I am poor and needy;

may the Lord think of me.

You are my help and my deliverer;

you are my God, do not delay.

Psalm 40:17

* Weak and Loved *

Weak and Loved Part 1

Confessions of a Recovering Perfectionist

When I worked at the crisis pregnancy center, I was in charge of interviewing volunteers. One of the questions that was on the application was, "What are your faults?"

By far the most common answer, and likely the one I said as well, was something like this:
"I am a workaholic... and a bit of a perfectionist."

Yes, I was at home among those high-achieving do-gooders in my college community. I shared that "fault" of doing too much and expecting too much of myself.

I might have really believed that perfectionism was a problem (if not exactly a fault,) in part, because it made me weirdly different from many other people, because my inability to relax was annoying to calmer (lazier) people, and because I knew sometimes I took my "to-do" list a little too seriously.

A quirk, an irritation to some, but also a mark of strength, I secretly believed. It is good to be dependable, hard-working, and extremely motivated. It is good to be a person who can take care of herself and everyone around her. Right?

Of course it is good to be the caregiver... that is, if you actually have care to give.
What happens when you find yourself empty?
What happens when you find yourself at the mercy of sickness, or depression, or suffering, and you realize that you are made of flesh? When you discover, to your dismay, that you are not a machine?

Weakness.
Ok and understandable in other people, but not in me!
And yet, there it is, in me, and my own willpower does not make it go away.

But I find God is teaching me many things through weakness, things I cannot hear when I plow through life like a machine.

He is a God who cares for the weak.
Even when I am weak, I am loved.
And perhaps, that is more important than what I get done today.

Isaiah 26:17-19

Like a pregnant woman who writhes and cries out in her pangs when she is near to giving birth
so were we because of you, O Lord;
we were pregnant, we writhed, but we have given birth to wind.
We have accomplished no deliverance in the earth, and the inhabitants of the world have not fallen.

Your dead shall live;
their bodies shall rise.
You who dwell in the dust, awake and sing for joy!
For your dew is a dew of light, and the earth will give birth to the dead.
Isaiah 26:17-19

Heavenly Father,
Apart from you we can do nothing- we know this because we have tried, and we have either failed completely, or watched our "accomplishments" topple over in the wind. All our works are filthy rags, yet in your mercy you forgive us and graft us to the vine that bears lasting fruit, your Son. When we are discouraged by the trials of this world, comfort us and uphold us, and preserve us until that day that we see these words fufilled before our eyes. Come quickly, Lord Jesus.

A thought for the day

“People tell you to be strong- I say be weak and be loved.” Aunt Julie

Little did I know as I went to church yesterday morning that I was about to “be weak and loved” right there in front of everybody. I need to teach my dear husband to warn me when he is going to preach sermons like that- I didn't even bring tissues! (thank you Crista for sharing yours!)

Now, encouraged by the love of family, church family, friends, and God himself, we are getting ready to go to our big appointment. Thanks in advance for all your prayers today- we meet with the neurologist at 11am this morning. I will post again as soon as I can!

Dear Father, thank you for your constant provision for Aggie and her family. As we go to meet with her doctor this morning, help us to remember that she is your child, and you love her more than we do. Help us to trust you no matter what we face today, knowing that you have promised never to forsake your children and to bring good out of every evil we face in this life. You have promised peace for your children even in the most difficult situations- please graciously grant this peace to her parents and all who are concerned for her. Thank you for your great love for us. Amen.