Saying Yes

Long lay the world in sin and e'er pining

'Til He appeared and the soul felt its worth

A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices

For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn.

-O Holy Night

And Mary said, “Behold, I am the servant of the Lord, let it be to me according to your word.”

-Luke 1:38

In just three days, we will be celebrating the birth of Jesus. In the middle of the darkest days of the year, we remember His holy arrival into our world. His birth was the bright fulfillment of promises centuries-old, the redeeming of all our darkness. By choosing such a human entrance, we see how God used people to help usher in the Hope of the world. Of course, we can’t help but think about Mary, the mother of Jesus, chosen by God to carry the Messiah. 

I think we can all agree that Mary, the mother of Jesus, was a strong lady. She was a spiritual body-builder, a faith-infused heavyweight. And not only that, we have every reason to believe she was a teenager at this time. A teenager! I am thinking back to Sarah, age 13 or 14, and before the 90s bangs, tapered jeans, and plaid shirts cloud my vision, I see someone who is still figuring things out. Still figuring out what the world is about, what is important in life, how friendship works, discovering likes and dislikes, and figuring out boys. But mostly giggling about that last thing. Even though that was all RATHER a while ago, I’m guessing it’s pretty much the same for most teenagers today. So it’s pretty wild to not just picture or imagine what happened to Mary, but to know that it actually happened. Sure, it was a different world, a different culture back then, but she was still so young. What can we learn about this teenager with monumental vision, with iron strength?

What we can safely say about Mary is that she had faith. And lots of it. In Luke, we are told that she found favor with God. What a beautiful phrase that is! She found favor with God. In Hebrews 11:6, the author writes, “Without faith it is impossible to please Him.” God had given Mary ridiculous amounts of faith, and she must have cultivated it in her own heart, in her own life. With this bedrock faith, she was able to not just accept the angel’s crazy announcement that she, a virgin, would give birth through the Holy Spirit to the Savior of the world, but to welcome this news. She welcomed God’s miraculous interruption, God’s glorious upheaval in her life. 

Throughout scripture, people had all kinds of reactions to God’s stepping into their lives and asking to be let in. Noah said yes when God told him to build an ark. Moses said yes when God asked him to lead the Israelites out of Egypt. The Apostle Paul, when God blinded him on the way to Damascus, when he was going to round up Christians and have them put to death, obeyed Jesus’s instruction to enter the city and wait, blind with everything he knew turned upside down. 

Mary’s response to the angel is also incredibly inspiring to me. I am imagining what it would be like to be an engaged (which was pretty much halfway legally married back then) young woman, and then all of a sudden be mysteriously PREGNANT. Even though she knew what those around her would think and say about that scandalous news, she still welcomed God’s interruption. Mary’s life was set. She was engaged to a good man, to Joseph, and she would be a good wife, a good mother. But when the angel appeared instead, not just putting her life on hold, but changing it radically, forever, she was humble and said yes. 

Shortly after the angel’s life-altering visit, Mary went to visit her also-pregnant, much-older cousin, Elizabeth. This was a beautiful meeting, for when Elizabeth heard Mary, the Holy Spirit inspired her to bless Mary, the mother of her Messiah, and the Redeemer of the whole world. Mary responded by blessing the Lord Himself, for His goodness and mercy to her. For His choosing of her, for Hs finding favor with her. In her Psalm-like blessing, she tells of the Lord’s mighty blessings and justice and fulfilled promises. Oh, she’s still a teenager, obviously. She is still that same young woman, still figuring some things out. But she knew her Lord, she knew the true story of the Messiah’s coming, and she believed that that history was unfolding inside her very womb. 

That we all could have such faith! To welcome God’s good interjections in our lives. To embrace His life-changing presence in our stories. That when God asks us to do something, even something that will make other people shake their heads at us, even something that means our own plans change or fade completely, we would say a glorious yes. That we would identify with Mary, saying to whatever God has for us, “I am the Lord’s servant. Let it be to me as you have said.” 

Some days, in my own story, it feels like God is asking me to build an ark of impossible proportions. Some days, it seems like God has struck me blind and I am waiting in the dark for Him to come to me and heal me and send me out to do His work. Most days, it’s really hard to welcome the interruptions of what He’s allowed in my life. I long for more faith, for more hope in the God I have loved and followed since childhood. I long to be more like Mary, who looked clearly at her completely changed circumstances, and praised God for those very changes. I want to be able to magnify Him in the middle of exactly what makes life difficult. I want to praise Him for the good things He’s done, that I so often overlook and take for granted. Like Mary, I want to join in to God's good work in the world by saying yes in faith. And who knows how we can change the world just by saying yes?  

Wild Hopes and Bright Lights

No more let sins and sorrows grow

Nor thorns infest the ground

He comes to make

His blessings flow

-Joy to the World

For to us a child is born,

    to us a son is given;

and the government shall be upon his shoulder,

    and his name shall be called 

Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,

    Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.

Of the increase of his government and of peace

    there will be no end,

on the throne of David and over his kingdom,

    to establish it and to uphold it

with justice and with righteousness

    from this time forth and forevermore.

 The zeal of the Lord of hosts will do this.

-Isaiah 9:6-7

There is always an invitation to fear. 

Fear is always with us, always immediately outside the door, always asking to be let in. Day in, day out. Year after year. Breath after breath. Reports of war and terror and unrest and a planet that is tearing itself apart fill our screens and minds. Difficult people and estranged relationships and things said or unsaid, things done and undone, weigh heavy on our hearts. We can also be filled with fear at our own lives, in the confusion and the mundane and the unfulfilled dreams—the sense that this isn't how it was meant to be. We face fear of the unknown in the future before us; we try to leave fear behind with our past choices and circumstances. Fear is always waiting for us. 

What is the remedy in a world so dark, in hearts so easily bent? Can there be one, or are we all so tied to fear? 

In this season of Advent, we wait. We wait in the dark, we hope in the dark. 

We join the ancient practice of preparing our hearts for the celebration of the birth of Jesus. Before a child can be born, there is the long wait. Before a son can be given to us, we had to prepare. Before the Wonderful Counselor, the Mighty God, the Everlasting Father, the Prince of Peace could come to us, there were years and generations of waiting. Before the government could be put on his shoulder, there was darkness and fear. Before the increase of His kingdom and peace, there was the fear of not knowing. There was only waiting. There was only hoping.  We wait with the world and we look forward to the joy of remembering His birth and what it means for all of us.

Fears are transformed in December; we stake our claim that hope and love and the gift of a Savior is stronger and larger than the darkness of our twisted world, of our twisted hearts. Anxieties are put to rest with the birth of a virgin’s son. Disappointments and discouragements are melted in the cry of the newborn King. Hopes are renewed, faith is reborn, and we find our joy in the light of his coming. 

So in a kind of wild hope, we set up our lighted Christmas trees. We hang up bright lights around our windows, defying the dark days and long nights. We decorate and bake and shop and plan and celebrate those we love. We reread the ancient Scriptures and remember the story of Jesus’ birth together. We hope and long and yearn for peace—for our friends and family, for our world, and in our own hearts. 

And yet, we do not just simply wait in a kind of wishful thinking. We can bring His kingdom to light no matter where we are. We who believe that the government is upon his shoulder, we hold his glory in our hearts and lives and relationships. We who believe Jesus is the Prince of Peace for all—we are called to continuously mirror his joy and reconciliation and love. We cling to this Prince of Peace instead of all our fears. In this way, as the old songs say, both the hopes and the fears of all the years are met in the light of His glory and grace. 

A Prayer

Shine Your light so all can see it 

Lifted up, 'cause the whole world needs it 

Love has come, what joy to hear it 

He has overcome, He has overcome

-SMS (Shine), the David Crowder Band

but these are written that so that you may believe 

that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, 

and that by believing you may have life in his name. 

John 20:31

Jesus, in this time of fear and unrest in our world, brought on by hate and zeal and belief in all the wrong places and things, may you be King. May you guide our responses and our prayers and our actions and behaviors. Be our Teacher, our Comforter. Use us to bring peace, as you brought peace. Strengthen us to mourn with those who mourn. Blot out our fears and our worries and our anxieties.

The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it. John 1:5

Jesus, in your life and your death and your resurrection, you teach us how to live.

You are King of life, and of death. 

You are King of our weeping, and of our rejoicing. 

You are King of our fears, and of our peace. 

You are King of our doubts, and of our belief. 

You are King when we are locked in inactivity, and when we are out in the world in your name. 

We see your loving response to us when we are overcome, in the book of John, chapter 20. We see it in the story of Mary Magdalene, who was inconsolable after your crucifixion. She found your tomb empty, and raced to tell your disciples who came to see for themselves. 

After they examined your vacant grave, and left, scratching their heads, Mary did not have the strength to leave and move on. She leaned on your tomb, and wept. In her grief, you chose to bless her—the first to see you in your resurrection. The angels asked her, “Why are you weeping?” Mary’s only thought was to be with you, even if just your empty bodily shell, “They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him.” When you then appeared to her, her grief was still too much for her to see you fully, and you, in all your gentleness and grace, repeated the angels’ question. Deep in grief, she still did not recognize you, until you said her name. Until you said her name, “Mary.” Then, only then, did she see you, and her grief melted away like frost meeting the morning sun. Only when you know us and name us, can our grief and our weeping cease in the sheer surprising joy of your presence. Only when you meet us where we are can we be whole. Only when we embrace you as King of our grief, can we know rejoicing and fulness and abundant life. You do not erase our grief, but you sustain us in the midst of it with your very self. Mary’s grief was real, just as your death was real. The separation between yourself and us was real. Your resurrection brought you back to us, and you choose to bless us, just as you blessed Mary outside your empty tomb. Say to us our names, and capture our hearts, blowing out our grief like a candle. 

Before the disciples had seen you, before they were bolstered and strengthened by your renewed presence, they hid. They hid behind locked doors, no match for the strength of Rome or the powerful religious leaders, and certainly no match for you. When you appeared to them, they were full of fear, confusion, and doubt. Instead of reprimanding them for their lack of faith, their lack of decisive action, you blessed them, and you spoke peace to them. You showed them your pierced hands, your lacerated feet. You built them back up, and you confirmed their place with you, with the Father. You met each of them in their brokenness, in their terrified hearts, just as you meet each of us even today. Even though we too hide behind our struggles and doubts and fears, they are also no match for you. You bind up our wounds, our pains, because your love for us outweighs even death itself. As you sent the disciples out to spread your love and soothe the brokenhearted, so you send us now, today. 

In all our grief, our fears, our doubts, you come to us through the locked doors of our hearts and our minds, and you stand among us, and you both speak and breathe peace into our fearful places. You know our individual struggles, and you meet us in them. Meet us now, and use us to meet the world in all its fear and terror, and breathe your peace to us once again. 

Less is More

True humility is not thinking less of yourself; it is thinking of yourself less. 

-C.S. Lewis, Mere Christianity

If I then, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet. For I have given you an example, that you also should do just as I have done to you. 

Jesus, John 13: 14-15

It’s easy to feel ostracized these days. In our days of extreme connectivity and everlasting wi-fi so we basically have no EXCUSE to not be connected to something somewhere, it actually highlights the ever-widening distance between ourselves and others. Lonely, left out, overlooked. If we don’t fit the profile, we can spend so much time running to catch up, trying to fit in, trying to hide our flaws. If we can hide just enough, maybe, just maybe we will find acceptance and community and be free to share our passions and talents. Inside the church or outside of it, online or offline, home or work, it can be so hard to find our place. 

But what if we embraced our loneliness and our inability to be enough? What if we let go of the gnawing need to be seen and heard and surrounded by understanding people? What if we gave up our pride even a little bit? What if, as C.S. Lewis says, we simply thought of ourselves less? 

I think that we would find ourselves in a place of freedom and creativity and confidence we cannot even imagine. 

Humility makes good things happen; humility makes good things possible. 

When Jesus washed his disciples’ feet before his crucifixion and resurrection, he became a servant. He gave his disciples a glimpse of what it meant to be the Messiah, the Chosen One to save all humanity. So that they would understand, he became a literal servant. Vulnerable by taking off his outer garments, he wrapped a humble towel around his waist that would be his clothing and also a way to serve these men, his own. He showed them what it meant to love, which was his new commandment. To love means to serve, means to lower yourself to love others. It means, as Fenelon says in Let Go, to love obscurity and humility. Paul says in Phillipians we can look to our own interests, of course, but we also are called to multitask and look out for others.

If we see others, even our own family in Christ, as more significant, our lives will be in balance, in the proper order. This is only possible when we are confident in who we are as chosen people. Before Jesus picked up the towel and humbled himself, he knew who he was. He knew that God had given him all things and that He was returning to the Father—this knowledge is what enabled him and freed him to take on a very humiliating job in any household at the time. This knowledge made it possible to show the love of God to these men, these chosen ones. 

Knowing who we are, then, will also free us to seek humility and obscurity. Knowing who we are will free us to fully love. Just as Christ knew who he was and to whom he belonged, we can be confident enough to love being offstage, to love being in the backseat, to being behind the scenes. The commandment to love our brothers and sisters in Christ is no small task or easy thing to take on. Families are messy and full of countering personalities and annoying habits and frustrating quirks. And yet, this is how the world will know that we are Christ’s—that we love each other. This is what will make the world sit up and take notice. This is what will make the world sing. 

The hardest thing of all, to lay down our natural and human pride, is what will make the world see the truth of Christ. Not our programs and institutes, not our lists of To-Dos and Not-To-Dos, not our activities and accomplishments. Not if we live a purpose driven life, pray the prayer of Jabez or refute the latest Da Vinci Code type novel. Not if we vote for the right candidate. You can live the messiest life in the world, you can totally not have your crap together, but if you love. Oh, if you love. The smallest things will shine the brightest light. The parables of Jesus, how he told the world what He and the Father were all about, all renamed the small things as the big things. Treasure hidden in a field. A widow giving all she had to the poor, and it being more than what others gave out of their abundance. Someone selling all they have to buy one small invaluable pearl. Servants taking what their master gives them and turning it into exponentially more. 

Jesus, of course, lived this out while he was here. He did not come to the world in obvious royalty, like a Prince George or a Princess Charlotte or a North West. He didn’t come in all the glory and protection of the temple. He was a poor son of a carpenter, lived out most of his days in menial and physical labor. And even when his time of ministry came, he didn’t spend it among the influential or the rich or the purposeful or those full of promise. He spent it among the marginalized, the sick, the poor, the prostitutes, the fishermen, the weak, the crowds with nothing to offer; basically, with people like you and me. He healed those who didn’t appear to have anything to give the world even if they were healed. So that the glory of God could be shown in their lives. 

He came to you, in your specific time in history, in your specific set of circumstances to show you love. He came to you, to tell you are chosen and safe, that you can be part of a big, wonderful, crazy family. He came to you, to tell you that you can reflect the very glory of God in your life, in your face, in all you have to offer, even in all your limitations. 

This, this is more than enough reason to seek humility, to seek to love fully. When we are rooted and grounded in God’s love, we will have no need to feverishly seek pride, position, the next thing. We can be content where we are, who we are with, and with what is front of us, knowing that we are safe and sound and being guided by perfect love. We can truly mourn with those who mourn, and fully rejoice with those who rejoice. We can practice hospitality out of a full and thankful heart, no matter how small or unimportant or left out we might feel at times. We know that, like Paul says in Colossians, our life is hidden in Christ and someday when he appears again, we will also appear with him in glory. And for now, while we see as in a mirror dimly and being loving and humble doesn’t always make sense, let us remember that we are obediently following in the footsteps of our loving Savior who never asks us to do anything he hasn’t already done, who sees and notes all that we do for him, and that somehow love always turns into its own reward. 

For the Time Being

Well, gentle readers. Here we are. 

It’s now been two months and almost a week since I quit my job as Regaled Mammogram Aide and became a Full Time Well I’m Not Sure What. But who’s counting? The Yowling Beast of fibromyalgia has claimed my full attention, for the time being. FOR THE TIME BEING. I must insist upon this point. Not only to you, dear readers, but to myself as well. 

I’ve been employed pretty much since basically Forever, with a few bouts and weeks of non-employment. There was this one time in 2008 where I was without a job for ONE MONTH, and there was this other time in 2011 where I was seeking work FOR SIX MONTHS, and I nearly died. I’m not a workaholic, mind you (as soon as I clock out…SARAH OUT! drop mic). I just like having something mildly productive to do and have something to show for the day. Oh, and the paychecks are good too. I like to eat. But more on that later. 

All this to say, the past couple months have been…weird. 

I am not kidding you when I say it took me a solid THREE WEEKS to calm down after my last day of work. Like I could finally relax and accept all this TIME as my own. And allow it to be a good thing. 

You see, it took me a looooong time to accept the need to quit my job. As my long-suffering and handsome spouse can attest. I didn’t want to GIVE IN. Accept defeat. I’d been fighting through the pains, the fatigue, the brain fog, the lack of good times with friends and family for sooooo long that I was determined to JUST KEEP GOING. Stick it to the man. Pull myself along. Prove to myself, and to those around me, that I am STRONG ENOUGH and GOOD ENOUGH and all these health concerns can just shove it. 

But regardless of the rest, the exercise, the bouts of physical therapy, the madness of trying out new medicines like swimsuits in January, the countless doctor’s visits and subsequent disappointments, the different diets, the fevered research on the internet and the library, the scaling back of activities and commitments, procedures and recovery times, I just couldn’t. Not anymore. One more thing had to give, and that was my….JOB. SAY IT AIN’T SO. 

Accepting the ever-pressing need to slow down even more and become a full time Stay at Home Person was hard enough. But accepting others’ reactions was TRICKY. Well-meaning people shared their very real concerns about this decision. This was a huge thing, after all, and there was potential to be concerned. Would I ever leave the couch after this? I still struggle with those worries, because of course I’d already had them myself.  And I’ll be honest, there have been a lot of days since then that I haven’t left the couch or the house. Because I’m chronically in pain. These days have crushed me more than the actual pain, the actual fatigue. Because I get afraid that my whole life will become not leaving the couch. Really afraid. 

So in the past couple months, I’ve watched a lot of tv from my couch, yes. Bravo for the Property Brothers. I cite them for not going clinically insane. But! I’ve also read a LOT. Still working on my BBC Top 100 Novels project. I read Dune by Frank Herbert this summer. That is a whole other post, my friend. A whole other post. Like the Seven Labors of Hercules, I labored my way through The Goldfinch by Donna Tartt (author of The Secret History which I DO LOVE). Cannot resist side note here: Seriously, Pulitzer Prize Committee? I also read The Buried Giant by Kazuo Ishiguru, which made me cry and feel all the feels. I even read some NON-FICTION, which should come as a surprise to all of us. Reread some Frederick Buechner, which is always refreshing, and For the Love by Jen Hatmaker, deliciously hilarious and thought-provoking. 

My house is also a little more organized. I couldn’t help it. I had more time to see what needed doing. I went through books and clothes and kitchen things and donated and consigned a TON. Golly, that felt good. And I had time to decide I needed to do a detox and elimination program, which Ben and I both currently doing. Day 5, people. Day 5. Green smoothies galore. So far, nothing to report but many dirtied dishes, new and very tasty cooking adventures (chicken stock from scratch?! What are you serious??) and questionable bathroom times. But it is ONLY Day 5 so far. Hold fast. 

Insert Necessary Food Thoughts Here. Another thing that the Fibro Beast has taken is my LOOSE PAIR OF JEANS THAT I SAVE FOR EMERGENCIES. Take my gluten and dairy? Whatever. Make me question conventional cleaning and beauty products? I don’t even care anymore. Make me go without coffee for this cleanse? I do care, but WHAT MUST BE MUST BE. But MY EMERGENCY JEANS??? This is CRUEL AND UNUSUAL PUNISHMENT. I accept that I now must make up REASONS to move about, and I DO. Currently able to “exercise” (or as I say, GENTLY MOVE) more than I ever have with this blasted condition. More days than not, you can find me huffing on my stationary bike or getting lapped at the track by the Santa Claus with the huge headphones. And now I’m doing this freaking CLEANSE, FIBRO BEAST. Why take my fat pants? I am about to send a strongly worded letter. I can’t just leave the house in yoga pants ALL THE TIME. Sometimes even I need to look presentable. And trying to walk around in jeans that feel like a denim Iron Maiden is not helping matters any, socially or spiritually. 

So there you have it. The past couple months in a sort of nutshell. But not cashew or peanut—those are NOT on the List for my detox. I didn’t even get to reading through Ephesians and Colossians and remembering the Gospel all over again, and how it’s true now, it’s true for my chronic pain self, and for everyone. I didn’t get to having my friends and family over, who saved me from myself time and time again. Where would we be without Bachelor in Paradise nights, or evenings spent discussing what actors from which British detective shows were in THIS OTHER THING, or hot afternoons on the cool porch talking about life, or delicious plum cobblers dropped off after we had to put the family kitty down? What I’m trying to say is that even though the past months have been hard in every way I expected, it’s been full of surprising graces? I’m looking at you, everyone in my life. I’m looking at you, and I thank you. And the Property Brothers and Tyra Banks and Gordon Ramsay. 

This is my life now. 

I found this gem of a dedication in a used bookstore Agatha Christie novel, and that's why I bought it. 

Sometimes I amaze even myself with my excellent taste. 

You know that's watermelon simple syrup for gin and tonics, right? 

There was this one time we took my niece to the sand castle competition  That's Jaws, of course. 

Dang right I took a picture of a squirrel at the track. Dang right. 

Goodbye, Daisy

To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable.

-C.S. Lewis, The Four Loves

Daisy, you punk. You have been our family cat for 18 years, and you stole my heart immediately when my parents placed you in my hands, a tiny creamsicle of fluff. With your intense adorableness, your Queen of Everything attitude (which you lived out every day of your life), your whole-hearted play and mischief, you lodged yourself a place in all of our hearts. You are a fixture, an institution.

How can you get sick and old? You still judge us all silently from your corner, from the couch where you take up more than your fair share, you still purr the loudest when we pet you just behind your ears where you like it. You still yowl for tuna and follow my dad around till he gives it you. You show my mom your keen displeasure when she has to get up from the couch or if she dare use her laptop in your presence. You allow my brothers and me to pick you up and cuddle you right after you got settled down for a nap. And you are just as cute as you were 18 years ago, just a little slower and now you need more naps. You stopped being able to climb your ladder in the back porch a few years ago, too many steps. You had to find new spots to look out the window at your domain. Now you like more people than just our family; you actually agree to being petted by others. You have mellowed out a lot, Daisy. You used to turn your back or simply stalk off in extreme displeasure when we had company. I have lovingly called you my Snot Cat, because you are so, well, snotty and stuck-up. And yet so perfect. 

Daisy, I don’t know what we are going to do without you. You taught me how to love and care for something smaller and more helpless than myself. You showed me affection when I needed it the most; on sad or stressful days, you would find me and curl up with me and purr away. I even had to learn a little about putting another’s needs before my own—getting up in the middle of the night to let you in more times than I can count. I’m sure you appreciated every single time I lost sleep for you. You showed me what true leisure is—it’s in play and delight and living in the moment and napping in the sun. Enriching every part of life, knowing I could come home after work or school, or now that I’m an adult of sorts, I can come over and visit, and find you and tease you or feed you or pet you while you napped. If your Highness permitted, of course. 

And now we have to say goodbye to you, you adorable jerk of a cat. I’m so mad at you, but I’m so thankful for you, too. You are definitely taking part of my heart with you, you punk cat. I mean, I named my first email address and Xanga account after you, and here you go getting old on me. None of us know what we will do without you. Goodbye, best kitty-princess-face of all time. You have been loved and adored every moment of your good, long life, and I know you loved us all too. 

8 Ways to Deal with Chronic Pain

Lying in bed would be an altogether perfect and supreme experience if only one had a colored pencil long enough to draw on the ceiling. 
-G.K. Chesterton

So we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day. 
-The Apostle Paul, in 2 Corinthians 4:16

Chronic pain is a microscopic view of normal living—it forces you to focus and zoom in on what’s happening here, now. And it has the potential to actually be amazing in many ways. For the past few years, I have been muddling my way through my fibromyalgia and endometriosis, seeking ways to improve life while living in chronic pain. We can always be looking for that calm in the eye of our storms, looking for ways to be ok in spite of physical trouble. Here are a few things that have helped me tremendously, in no particular order. 

8) Be Prepared to Modify

One of the hardest things is to realize that your life and how you do things MIGHT/WILL  have to change. If you’re anything like me, this is hard to swallow every time you realize that SOMETHING has to give, whether big or small. A couple months ago, I finally gave in and realized that using my shower loofah felt like dragging tiny razors over my sensitive skin and changed back to using a soft and fluffy washcloth. Weird, but true. Weird, but helpful. On a related note, I now can’t just take a shower and GO GO GO. For the past year or so, I now have to work in a flat-on-back rest time after a shower. For whatever reason, different temperature, extra movement, etc, taking a simple shower requires extra thought and planning. It’s uncomfortable changing our lives because it feels like GIVING IN to our condition, but it’s ok because we are caring for ourselves in spite of it. 

7) Everyone Has an Opinion on Your Condition

This one is never going to go away. It just isn’t. People will tell what you that their aunt’s cousin’s brother’s mother’s friend had the EXACT SAME THING and that THIS IS WHAT WORKED FOR THEM and now they scale mountains and host large parties every weekend.  And here’s the only thing you can do without running away screaming—just say an honest thank you. Honestly. What we chronic pain sufferers need to remember is that people only offer advice because they care and want us to feel better. What most people don’t realize is that there is no magic bullet and we really have tried just about everything. Even though it’s hard to listen to yet another round of Have You Tried, I think it’s important to appreciate that people care enough to speak up. And when we’ve been on the receiving end, it’s easier to simply have compassion for others in hard situations, to simply say “I believe you.”

6) Figure Out What Really Helps You…and Do It

The name of the game on this one is Trial and Error. For my various conditions, gentle movement, following a mostly whole diet, and rest and pacing myself are huge. Also drinking more water than coffee. All things I’m naturally terrible at, but they are worth it. I also know that being alone is key to my mental and physical sanity, so working that in is essential. When it comes to exercise, may I recommend finding a super scary physical therapist who will intimidate you into action? Ha! This worked for me this summer, and now I’m actually moving more days of the week than not! Finding some kind of accountability is really good for those things that We Just Don’t Want To Do. I sure don’t do any of these things perfectly, but identifying what actually helps and what doesn’t is worth the time and effort. 

5) No One is Going to Understand You Perfectly

Ah. My old nemesis. How I wish this wasn’t so. Because chronic pain is usually invisible and weird and funky and not the same for everyone, most people will not get us and this hurts. On top of the physical pain we already feel! But even though this does not feel good, it’s normal. And it’s ok. When we seek constant validation from others, we lose every time. Chronic pain gives us an opportunity to believe ourselves for a change, and know that what we are experiencing is real and it’s really not our fault. When we believe this, we don’t need all the outside affirmation that we think we do. This means it’s a real treat when someone does believe us or sits and listens or sends a card or a message, instead of being our lifelines. This means you can allow people to flow in and out of your life, holding all relationships with open hands. Not all relationships will remain life-giving and it’s ok to let go, whether it’s doctors or friends. Also, no one will completely understand your Netflix queue…and that’s ok. Own that queue, man.

4) Work in Ways to Still Do What You Love…and Find New Things to Enjoy

I looooove baking AND strawberries. WIN. 

Living with constant chronic pain and fatigue is exhausting. And it takes up a lot of time. Like, a lot of time. It’s always shocking when I realize how long it’s been since I finished a book. I freaking love reading and books and grammar and punctuation and all those good things. ENGLISH MAJOR HELLO. This is one of those things that if I make a conscious effort to make time to do on those days when I’m not feeling so fibro-foggy in my brain, I will feel more like my old self again. Identify those things that make you feel like you, and sneak them in. And be open to new things that you can do while resting on the couch or the front porch. Sometimes I like to just paint terrible watercolors while watching tv. It’s just fun to drag the paintbrush around a little. Or plant some flowers in an easily accessible spot and limp outside to spend some time in the fresh air and poke at your plants. It’s good, people. It’s all good. 

3) Do Your Own Research…but Don’t Overdo It

There’s a lot of information out there, my friends. A lot of information. How do we research wisely? How do we sift through the information that we read without going absolutely bonkers? Doing our own research and being our own advocate is key, but we have to rein it in, too. Or you will go crazy feeling guilty and overwhelmed, and it can take over your life—this whole trying to feel better and get back to normal life business. So when you start to feel a bit crazy, take a step back and note all the things you DO that are awesome and helpful. Drinking more water this month? Yay! Exercised 2 or 3 times this week? YOU ROCK. Remembered your supplements? You inspiration, you. 

2) Pacing and Asking for Help is Key

I want to do it all. And I want to do it myself. I’m sure you can identify. I used to think that when I had a good day, I should strike while the iron is hot and DO EVERYTHING ALL AT ONCE. Clean the bathroom, vacuum the house, do the errands, and finish the laundry. Bam. But now I’m realizing that on good days, I still CAN work on my to-do list—now I just need to build in breaks. That whole pacing thing. I can still get stuff done, but with more sitting and more resting. Also, on bad days and good days, it’s always good to consider asking for help. I’ve found that I’m the only one judging myself for needing something, and that everyone is really and actually glad to help. It’s crazy. Also, when people offer help, don’t just say no. Consider how they really can help, and step back. 

1) It’s Ok to Have Bad Days

This is foundational for chronic pain/chronic anything sufferers. We can pace, plan, exercise gently, eat well, etc, and sometimes days are still just unexplainably hard. It’s ok to be disappointed when we wake up and just know it’s going to be a long painful day. For these days, I recommend having a plan of some kind to get you through it. For me, it’s showering at some point, having snacks at the ready, watching murder mysteries, moving for at least 5 minutes and stretching for at least 5 minutes, and asking my husband to take care of dinner. Which he usually does anyway, because he is a saint. It’s also ok to cry at various times throughout these days, or wait till someone comes over and you can cry on them. If you can laugh at funny show or with funny friends, that is maybe even better. Distract yourself in good ways from pain and ruminating too much on hard things. See if you can get up and do a load of laundry or start the dishwasher. Go outside for a few minutes and just breathe. You can do this. You can do Bad Days and survive. You can have this idiotic chronic condition and do your best with it. 

What I’ve realized after writing this list is that I will always need everything on it. Always. When I get better, God willing, I will still need to ask for help. I will still need to remember that no one will understand me ever the ways I want them to. I will still have hard days where I will just to need to hold on and think of ways to live well in spite of what life throws at me. People are always going to have opinions. And that’s just ok. This chronic pain has forced me, ungracious and slow to budge from my own opinions, to rethink things, and this is a good thing. 

When Tough Cookies Need Some Peace

Those who believe in God can never in a way be sure of him again. Once they have seen him in a stable, they can never be sure where he will appear or to what lengths he will go or to what ludicrous depths of self-humiliation he will descend in his wild pursuit of man…and this means that we are never safe, that there is no place where we can hide from God, no place where we are safe from his power to break in two and recreate the human heart because it just where he seems most helpless that he is most strong, and just where we least expect him that he comes most fully. 
—Frederick Buechner, The Hungering Dark

But now in Christ Jesus you who were once far off have been brought near by the blood of Christ. For he himself is our peace, who has made us both one and broken down in his flesh the dividing wall of hostility…
—The Apostle Paul, in his letter to the Ephesian church 

Coffee for all THE TIMES.

There are days, aren’t there? Days and seasons and years where it seems like nothing is going right, where things are not ok, where we are just off. Maybe we can’t put our finger on it; maybe we know exactly why we are not ok. Maybe something is off with a friend or a family member, maybe we are in the middle of saying goodbye to things or people or jobs we hold dear and to whom we want to hold fast, but we can’t. Maybe we still miss the ones to whom we said goodbye a long time ago, and our hearts can’t forget the ache, the hole left in absence. Maybe things are slipping out of our control—we see loved ones heading down hard paths or our health is falling through our fingers like heavy, wet sand. Maybe we find ourselves looking out of the window in the middle of our day, in the middle of the circumstances we find ourselves in and we wonder. We wonder how did I find myself here? What happened that this is the job, this is the situation, this is the place in which I find myself? 

Or maybe we are just tired. We are tired of the constant noise from our phones, our TVs, our news feeds, our neighbors both next door and far away. We are tired because we can’t remember the last time we had a really good rest. Maybe we just long for a break of some kind, of any kind. We long for a new season. New seasons of good things, of breaks in our heavy skies. We tell God that we are ready for something new; that we’ve truly learned whatever lesson He could be trying to teach us. We try to beg or plead or weasel our way out of our circumstances. Maybe our circumstances are the result of our choice or another’s or merely the result of a hard and unrelenting world, but still, here we are. 

Here we, then, in our individual deserts, in our own jungles, in our mazes and labyrinths and webs. Where do we go from here? How do we find peace, how do we find our way from here? How do we break out of what holds us back, what keeps us in prisons of discouragement and depression? 

If we can quiet our phones and our minds even just a little, even just for a moment, we will hear a still, small, gentle voice, calling out to our deepest longings. 

“Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.”—Matthew 11:28-29

This ancient call comes from Jesus, the God-Man who turned history and lives upside down, who came to us in dire circumstances of his own. Born to an unwed mother, forced to flee his native country as a child, living a common, day-to-day life of a laborer for most of his years on earth, Jesus understands the need for rest, for peace, for purpose in the middle of life’s hardest seasons. He understood how hard it is to wait, how hard it is to ignore the other calls in our lives. 

We can trust this call comes from someone who understands us in all our seasons and sorrows, and from someone who has the power and the desire to give us a true rest, a true home, a calm in the middle of the storm. This call is still for us, the modern cynics, the baby boomers, the Generation X-ers, the entitled and the apathetic, the successful and the failed, the passionate and the confused, the energetic and the tired. This call is for us, for me and for you.

He never forces us to come to him; he only calls out to us to come, the only one who can offer what we so desperately need and desire. When we come to him, even when we have to crawl or limp, he will lavish rest and grace and peace. We will not find all the sorrow gone, no; we will find that the yoke of living life is now shared, and we will now walk with Christ Himself. We will find a loving teacher, a loving savior, a loving Father and Friend to support and strengthen our hearts. Even in the middle of heavy circumstances and burdens, we will find rest. That is the radical and wild promise of Jesus to us. When we, the Prodigals who have run from home, merely turn around, we will find Jesus waiting to embrace us in love and grace. We will be amazed at what He can do with our lives, our hearts, our brokenness, our pain, our fatigue. He is ready to exchange our ashes for beauty, our sorrows for joy, our sins for holiness, our mourning into dancing. He is ready to make us new, as each day is new and full of promise. 

When Limits Make Us Free

Such as I have give I Thee. 
—Old Sunday School song

Because we have such a hope, we are very bold. 
—The Apostle Paul, letter to the ancient Corinthian church

Basically, it seems to me that there’s never enough. Never enough time, never enough money, never enough time with friends, never enough cookies. Sometimes it’s hard not to focus on what is lacking, rather than on what is present. I think I start to see everything in my life as either a drain or a resource. While important to identify life-giving activities and pursuits, as well as what depletes us, it can also turn into a very self-centered mind-set. How do we balance what we have with what comes our way? How do we not let everything and anything become weights that make us look constantly inward? How do we make what we have into enough? 

Maybe what I really feel is that I’m not enough. I’m not enough for all the things demanded of me. I’m not enough for all the things I expect from myself. Even though fibromyalgia has made me let go of a lot of expectations from myself, there’s still so many things I would like to see myself do and accomplish. I’m not even talking about the Book I’m going to write to someday, or travel all around the globe. I would like to be able to hike a mile without a break or feeling like I’m going to die. I would like to be able to make dinner consecutive nights in a row. I would like to be able to go to church again on Sundays. Just a lot of little things that add up to big things in my head. 

What I’m finally realizing though, in the middle of all my yearnings and desires to do more, to be more, is that it’s good to not be enough. It’s actually freeing being able to say I am not enough. This life is too much sometimes, and I just can’t do it all. Sometimes, most times, I can’t even do the little things. 

Here’s why it’s ok: Not being enough, not having what it takes, not being able to pull myself up by my bootstraps, not being able to reach for the moon because I’m tired and it’s too far away, makes me see how much I need others. How much I need Jesus. How much I need to ask for help, for support, for ideas, for comfort. How much I need to pray and be open and vulnerable and honest. With myself, with others, with God. It takes guts, I think, to look in the mirror and say, while I’m not enough, I’m actually ok. In the middle of my not-enoughness, I will find that that the opposite is true. What I thought was being-enough, was actually impossible. The paradox is admitting that when we are utterly incapable of doing life by ourselves, we will learn how to do what we can well. When we realize our limitations, our smallness, we can accomplish the possible, and we will see that, yes, that actually is enough.

While I don’t have a ton of energy to give, or a million dollars to give to charity, or a best-seller to give the world, I have other things to give. I have time to sit and laugh and talk—I’m usually not in a hurry. I am not afraid to pull out the frozen taquitos to serve a guest. I have time to pray for others, to ask God for help and healing and direction. While I’m working on getting better physically, I’m learning how to care for this body, this great and bumbling gift from God. I’m trusting that being chronically ill will make me into a more compassionate and giving person. I’m learning to love God and love others no matter where I’m at, no matter how much I have to give, because, really, it’s not about me.

It’s about God taking whatever I have to give, and making it enough. It’s about that hope and that trust in Him, that He knows what He’s doing, even with a broken person like myself. He can take the smallest of things and make them beautiful and significant, like woven threads in a tapestry. This makes us bold in our giving, no matter how small. We are free to give what we have, knowing that God can and will transform the smallest sacrifice, the littlest gift.