When Going Gluten Free isn’t Enough; Or, The Joys and Thrills of Pregnancy

“‘Ron, why don’t some people like breakfast food?’

‘Because people are idiots, Leslie.’” 

-Parks and Rec

People GET gluten free these days. At least here in the Pacific Northwest. And it’s great! It’s taken years and years, but finally the heads of loved ones and restaurants don’t spin in confusion and a deep personal sadness when you have to decline Great Aunt Phyllis’ famous chocolate cake or ask for a bun-less hamburger. Whew. GLUTEN FREE PEOPLE ARE FINALLY BEGINNING TO BE ACCEPTED, EVEN IF WE ARE NOT UNDERSTOOD. I call that a win. 

I have dabbled in gluten free living over the past 6 years, from straight-up elimination dieting to choosing the steadily-more-palatable-but-still-not-exactly-nutritious-processed gluten free items because I know I SHOULD. Last summer, my acupuncturist and a horrible gut and body ache after part of a breakfast burrito convinced me to give gluten a MISS until further notice. I don’t have celiac, but I do feel much better about life in general when I don’t eat gluten, leading me to strongly suspect that I have a non-celiac gluten sensitivity. I’m sure it’s snuck in here and there, but for the most part I’ve been pretty good at avoiding it. I did sneak a couple bites of B’s crisp bean burrito from Taco Time because those things are LIFE and I am pregnant and achy everywhere ANYWAY. 

Speaking of PREGNANCY, I have had to give up other things than just gluten. And I’m not even talking about the typical alcohol, soft cheeses, processed lunch meats, etc. I mean, whatever. I am looking FORWARD SO MUCH to a cold deli sandwich once the Gummy Bear arrives. Like, I can’t even say. But I’m talking about things that no pregnant woman should even have to think about giving up. LIKE…SUGAR. 

I love SUGAR. 

IN ALL FORMS. 

I love cake, pie, cookies, doughnuts, brownies, blondies, candy. I love baking cake, pie, cookies, doughnuts, brownies, blondies. Haven’t really delved into candy, because that stuff is FINICKY. Also I need a candy thermometer. I also love all the sugar in condiments (you know ketchup is MOSTLY sugary tomato paste, right?) and on top of cereals (oatmeal without brown sugar? Cheerios without white sugar?) and in granola bars and in fancy coffee drinks. Even more than gluten, sugar in SOME SWEET FORM OF GOODNESS is in everything. Of course, I’ve been using more “natural” sugars the past few years, like honey, maple syrup, and coconut sugar. Because did I mention elimination diets? And I read too much online? I have worked with dates for sweetness before, and can I just say, my IBS did NOT appreciate those particular efforts. 

Anyway, GUESS WHAT. Natural sugars? STILL SUGARS. Well, crap. 

All this to say, I KNOW I feel better with less sugar in my life. My skin clears up, my lingering nasal congestion gets easier, all other foods start to taste better. So when faced with a couple of non-urgent but annoying health conundrums during pregnancy, I knew it was TIME. Time to give up my favorite pastime. My favorite way to TREAT MY SELF. 

For those of you who worry about the Gummy Bear*, I haven’t given up ALL sugar—still eating fruits and carbs and even the granola bars I keep in my purse for emergencies. I have to keep from going completely insane during pregnancy, and she needs a wide range of foods. I have also discovered sugar-free, dairy-free ice cream (oh yes, still don’t do straight-up milk or ice cream) and Stevia-sweetened root beer for those times when I ABSOLUTELY NEED SOMETHING SWEET OR I WILL GO POSTAL. 

It’s now been about 5 weeks, and that first week was NOT COOL. But I am a survivor, my friends. It hasn’t stopped me from gazing longingly and lovingly at the bag of Reese’s Pieces a fellow mom-to-be was eating during one of our birthing classes, or at the gf chocolate cereal waiting patiently in my pantry. My doctor did say that chocolate was still ok to eat and so I got some very dark chocolate (even though I really just want milk chocolate, if I’m honest) with a low sugar content, and I don’t even eat the full serving size, but that has helped with my brain a little, for which we’re ALL VERY THANKFUL. 

So that’s how pregnancy is going. Although this doesn’t even begin to cover other glorious topics like acid reflux (IT’S A SERIOUS TOPIC, COMRADES), needing the bathroom at all times, shortness of breath, trying to remember if I took my prenatal, dropping and bumping into everything, and wondering if moving from my couch is even THAT necessary. Of course the most glorious thing of all is feeling the Gummy Bear kick and move, and this is me actually not even being sarcastic. Feeling her move and squirm makes all these other things so worth it, from the diet changes to the acid reflux to the lack of sleep to the extra aches and pains. Like I seriously forget how uncomfortable I am when she starts doing the Gifford Baby Rhumba and I smile like an idiot. Yesterday, we felt her head about to poke out of my belly like the creature in Alien and B and I both lost it. In the best way, of course. 

So while we dream about chocolate peanut butter pie and coconut mochas, pass the Stevia and the fish oil and the cucumber slices for me and the Gummy Bear. Although not all together-that would just be gross. 

*Goodness me-I just realized our nickname for our baby is essentially SUGAR. I told you sugar is everywhere. 

There is a baby in there, I promise. Also, that's the beautiful cradle my grandpa made!

The remnants of my sugar-free AND delicious breakfast. 

How many water containers does a pregnant woman need? DON'T ASK.

Embracing Self-Care

And when I run, I feel His pleasure. 

—Eric Liddell, from Chariots of Fire

Have you not known? Have you not heard?

The Lord is the everlasting God,

    the Creator of the ends of the earth.

He does not faint or grow weary;

    his understanding is unsearchable.

He gives power to the faint,

    and to him who has no might he increases strength.

Even youths shall faint and be weary,

    and young men shall fall exhausted;

but they who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength;

    they shall mount up with wings like eagles;

they shall run and not be weary;

    they shall walk and not faint.

—Isaiah 40:28-31

Self-care is really hard. 

I don’t care if you’re single, married, have kids, have a goldfish, work full-time, are unemployed, or whatever. It’s hard stuff, taking care of our needs. 

Self-care is quite the buzzword these days, too, making it sound like yet another to-do item on the never ending list of Things Today’s Modern Woman Must Do. The guilt builds every day we don’t have a hot bath or practice yoga or read for 10 minutes. It’s easy to see the benefits of these things, of course, but who really has the time, or even the will to do any of these things? 

Clearly, I’m one of these women who struggles at the idea of taking care of myself. Of course. Most nights of the week, I TELL MYSELF, THIS, THIS will be the night I have a hot bath before bed! This will be the night I turn off the TV and get myself down the hall to run that delightful and relaxing bath. Haaaaaaaaaa. Yeah, no. Every night, the comfort and sheer impact of routine usually keep me rooted to the couch. And it’s easier to hit Next Episode. Ah, maybe tomorrow night will be different. And so it goes.

But I’m not even just talking about adding in something new, like listening to Mozart before bed or drinking hot water and lemon in the morning…before coffee (sidenote: what.). I’m talking basics here. Getting enough rest. Eating good and delicious food. Taking time to seek out good and encouraging people-time, or taking time to seek out good and encouraging alone-time. Taking time to read the Bible and pray. Pursuing hobbies and interests. Engaging in energizing movement. 

Having chronic pain over the past few years has made me seek out self-care like never before, even though I’m not a natural. I found myself struggling with just the day-to-day running of things, and I couldn’t coast by anymore. I had to adjust, find more ways to take care of myself, to be intentional. Oh, I guess I DO need to go to bed early. Oh, I guess I do need to lay off the sugar and the excessive amounts of caffeine. The list goes on. There has been so much trial and error, so much balancing and adjusting. 

It’s been strange, discovering that it’s good to take care of myself. I know that might sound weird or pompous, but it’s not. I believe most people don’t really believe this. Judging by how run down, ragged, exhausted, and anxious our culture is, most of us are running on steam. And that is terrible. It’s terrible because when we are perpetually exhausted, perpetually at the end of our rope, we are not really ourselves. We are merely surviving. And don’t get me wrong! There are seasons of survival, seasons of coping, seasons of grief. And that’s ok. If we find ourselves in that sort of a season, I pray we can all reach out and get the help we need. 

But when we live out our days and our years, our precious time, by running ragged from one thing to the next, we lose the joy of truly being ourselves, I believe. We stop knowing ourselves, and we lose ourselves in the lists and errands and deadlines and commitments. Perhaps we do this out of guilt. If I’m not busy, if I’m not doing things, I’m not worthwhile. If I’m not pushing myself to the brink physically or emotionally, no one will think I’m doing my best. If I’m not making everyone around me happy all the time, I must be doing something wrong. This is so untrue! While it is best to think of others first and to care for the needs of others, how can we care from an empty cup, as the saying goes? It is not written anywhere we are not allowed to care for ourselves. As a matter of fact, Jesus himself says to love our neighbors as we love ourselves (Luke 10:27). Paul says to look to the interests of others as well as our own (Phillipians 2:4). 

Here is the thing. We are not doing anyone any good when we don’t take care of ourselves. There are no awards for Least Self-Care. You see, it’s all about our motivation, our heart, as most things are. If we don’t take care of ourselves as a way to manipulate or feel like we have one over on everyone, that is just plain wrong. When we want to play the martyr or shock others into sympathy, we are not truly ourselves or acting from a place of trust or faith in God. I have felt this temptation many times in my chronic pain—to not take care of my appearance or let my healthy routines slide so others would actually believe me when I say I feel terrible. Or to work through an event or even keep a job, just so I could prove to everyone that I am a worthy person. 

We are not meant to live our lives in guilt or fear or trying to force sympathy. We are meant to live in freedom, to be ourselves as God created each and everyone of us to be! Each of us, each individual human being, is made in the image of God (Genesis 1:27). We are each worthy of dignity and care and consideration: we are image-bearers of God himself! If we are in Christ, there is no condemnation (Romans 8:1). For freedom, He has set us free (Galatians 5:1)! This is good news for all of us. This means we can all take a deep, deep breath. We can rest in the truth that we are each worthy because God has made us worthy, and if we believe in Christ as God and Rescuer of the world, we have nothing to fear. Not even our own sins and foibles and past mistakes. We will never be found out because God has given us His own righteousness, and given us new life. 

And we must see that God doesn’t want us to burn ourselves out. He wants us to be salt to a flavorless world, to be a shining light to a dark world (Matthew 5:13-14). He made us all different and beautiful, each with a certain way to shine light, to be salt, to be something that makes others look back to God in wonder and joy. One way we bring glory to Him is simply to be who He created us to be. Do you love to dance? Dance! Do you love to garden? Garden! Do you love to draw? Draw! Do you love to host and have people over? Host! Do you love to play music? Play! Do you love to cook? Cook, and invite me over!

Instead of making self-care another weary and impossible chore (because we know that it will always slide to the bottom of the list), let us remember the essence of it. Let us remember that it’s not merely some added thing to do. It’s actually much smaller and bigger at the same time. It’s allowing time and space to be who God created you to be. It’s about embracing what you love and letting God shine through that. And it will look different at different times to different people. It might be taking that bath one day, or reading a favorite book, or watching a new show, or just sitting in the park with the sun on your face. It might be saying no to yet another activity, it might be staying home from church sometimes. It might be saying yes to something new, to someone new. It might be forgiving an old hurt, it might be forgiving yourself for an old mistake. 

In this way, I believe transformation will come to each of us. One of my favorite authors, Frederick Buechner, wrote in Wishful Thinking, “The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet,” and this is so true. Your deep gladness, the things you do that make you feel alive, the things you do to offer care to yourself, God uses. Don’t ignore your passions and the things that bring you joy, because God longs to use them to help the whole world. Make time to be intentional, to be creative, to be whole. We have no idea what joy and hope will come to the world when we are truly ourselves. 

Going to get fancy drinks at your favorite coffee shop is highly recommended. 

It's ideal to have a favorite restaurant, too!

Sometimes making yourself a cup of tea in a Batman mug can do wonders.

Baking is my JAM. 

Sometimes nothing but the water will do. 

Peanut butter pie is ALSO my jam. 

Get outside sometimes. It's so good. 

Favorite beverage in a favorite mug...mmm, ritual. 

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. 

Here's How We Don't Give Up

I'm tired of giving up so easy
Tired of giving up at all
Tired of giving up so easy
Tired of giving up at all

Nobody said it would be easy
Nobody said nothing at all
And I'm tired of giving up
-Ryan Adams, Tired of Giving Up

Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change.
-James 1:17


It’s been super hard to write lately. 

Like, really hard.

I’ve battling severe fibro pain and aches the last few weeks. There’s been some sleepless nights, some really long days. Everything feels like extra work. Some mornings I wake up and the thought of moving nearly shatters my hips, my feet, my legs, my shoulders. All the things you need to, you know, move around. Taking a shower in the morning can be really killer; I practically need a nap afterwards. Surviving on caffeine, short bouts on my exercise bike, and a remote control, I haven’t been feeling very creative at all. I haven’t written much for the blog, in my journal, or that novel I’m always meaning to write.

And you know what?

I guess it’s ok.

I admit I’m just practicing saying that. The concept of not pushing myself forward forward forward is not sitting well with this perfectionist. It doesn't seem right. How can it be ok to just let it go sometimes? Aren’t we supposed to pursue our dreams, foster our creativity? Maybe it’s ok that my writing will look differently than what I imagined. Maybe I’ll be working out this fibro thing instead when I can open up a blank document? Maybe not the next great American novel?  Maybe by putting my thoughts in order, seeing them on the page, I’ll come to some peace about this condition that seems to eat me alive sometimes. And maybe that’s just ok.

I can tell you instead, perhaps, about the beauty I’ve seen lately, even through the fibro. A friend at work gave me a heated towel for my back-that was a beautiful gift. It told me that someone saw me, and believed me that everything hurt. Or how about the time last week Ben and I sat on the couch and watched cat videos on Youtube  for an hour and laughed ourselves silly? Just to relax together and laugh at hilarious cats was so good. Or the many, many times I’m gathered with friends and family at our local Mexican restaurant eating and laughing and telling our stories together? I see grace, beautiful grace, given me when I’m able to make a meal, fold some laundry, take a walk around the block. There’s beauty in the ordinary. I will say that fibro makes me slow down enough to be able to see that, even when I don’t look up enough.

I want to write about these times, the moments that make up my days. Yes, there are some really hard days, some really hard moments. I cry more easily now. I say no a lot more easily now. But there are so many more instances of grace and love and beauty, even with all the feelings of inadequacy and some stalled dreams. My friends are gifts, sparkling my life with the colorful confetti of their time and laughter. My family is a gift-always caring, always asking, always knowing me. My husband is a gift-his incessant love towards me is daily grace: he makes Jesus look so good. Even my desires to write and be creative and be an artist are gifts from God-He instilled me with them, after all; I can trust Him with my dreams. I must breathe in the middle of this rough season and remember all these good things, all these gifts from our good God. I will write the good things, the hard things when I can, and tell this real-life story.

A lovely moment in Rome with my buddies. 

Some happy faces at my graduation party!

This one keeps me sane and laughing.

My darling family. 

My other always family. 

Me and the One. 

Resting Up

I'm sittin' on the dock of the bay
Watchin' the tide roll away, ooh
I'm just sittin' on the dock of the bay
Wastin' time
-Otis Redding, Sitting on the Dock of the Bay

Be still, and know that I am God.
Psalm 46:10


If fibromylgia has taught me anything, it’s how to rest up. Necessity is the mother of invention, and all that. Leisure is now not merely just a matter of choice, but an affair of how will I relax today? I have work clothes…and I have relaxing clothes. Not much in between. Not that there’s anything wrong with having several pairs of yoga pants from which to choose. Am I right?

Not that relaxing has ever been difficult! I’ve always enjoyed slow mornings and lazy Saturday afternoons. Sitting on a bench at the Boulevard Park watching the sunlight ripple and dance across the bay. Curling up on the couch watching scary movies is surprisingly relaxing; at least, after the credits roll. Reading novels has also always been a favorite way to truly relax. Sinking into stories, other places, other times refocuses and refreshes, bringing the things that make us human into light.

Lovely Bellingham Bay. 

When I was a teenager, relaxing also included activities: doing, moving. I used to take long leisurely bike rides around our neighborhood--around the orderly Sunnyland streets or up and down the woody trails at Cornwall Park, wherever the mood struck. I can still remember the freedom in strapping on my helmet, hopping on my bike, and pedaling under my own strength. I could go anywhere I wanted, anywhere I could bike to! It didn’t feel like work, though. That was the main thing. Movement and effort and exertion isn’t work at all when you’re strong and stretched and well-practiced. Wonderful to feel the wind in your hair, the wind in your sails, the pavement stretched out behind you and in front-miles of possibility, feeling peace in the freedom going under your own steam.

So when something like chronic pain and fatigue take away the ability to move as easily, what does that mean for leisure and movement and freedom? Because now I struggle with seemingly chronic stuckness. My lovely couch feels like a heavy anchor sometimes. These days, my movements are not made up of variety and impulse and going wherever the wind takes me-I can usually be found in only a few places. So it’s easy to feel like my world is smaller. Perhaps you feel the same way about your current season of life? My days are marked not by activity and movement and doing so much as things like survival, researching ways to feel better, and resting like a boss.

Of course, life is made up of just those things, isn’t it? Survival through tough seasons, be they seasons of work, relationships, health, choices for the future. Finding ways to have the good life through wise decisions-water, exercise, rest and sleep, healthy relationships, etc. Learning to rest well, however, is not just about getting those eight hours of recommended sleep or getting those magic eight glasses of water. It’s a holy activity for the believer and follower of Jesus.

From the beginning pages of the Bible to the ending chapters, humans are meant to be in relationship with God. Adam and Eve walked in the cool of the day with God-before sin, before the fall-this was their main activity. Not marked by seasons of toil and mere existence-but by relationship with the One who made them for His enjoyment. And then we see Jesus, a Rabbi, a teacher of influence-famous through His healing of the sick and the preaching of the Gospel-call His followers not just servants, but friends. Servants are known for what they can do, what they can produce. Friends are known for enjoyment-we choose our friends-we have things in common, we laugh at the same things, we are there for each other in different seasons.

We are known to God and loved by God not for what we can do, not for our levels of activity, not for our items checked off on a to-do list, not for how many miles we put on the bike. He delights in us and over us for our mere existence. God doesn’t care what you do. He cares about you. He cares about me. This makes my current season, and indeed, all my seasons of life, full of purpose and wonder. This makes my mere existence not so mere after all. Knowing I am loved by the Creator because He made me, not for what I can do-this changes everything. This changes my pain. This changes my evenings and weekends of rest. This changes the workday. This changes all my relationships. How I think about the past, the future.

And yet how hard it is to remember this one simple fact that transforms! You are loved. I am loved. I want to remember this-have it stamped and etched and written and burned into my identity. I want all the days I am given to be enfolded  and embraced and enveloped by the fact that no matter what is happening, what I am capable of doing or not doing, God’s undying and transformational love is truly enough.

Giving Up Superwoman

Everybody movin' so fast
Makes you feel like you’re already part of the past

Ray LaMontagne, Airwaves

Whatever you do, work heartily, as for the Lord and not for men, knowing that from the Lord you will receive the inheritance as your reward. You are serving the Lord Christ.
Paul, in his letter to the Colossians


I want to be Superwoman.

Reality check. 

I will never be Superwoman.

At least, not the one I envision in my head. I am an independent female with opinions and goals and responsibilities and relationships. But I also have chronic pain and fatigue. I’ve been trying, I realized, to be the exact same person as before my condition, and that’s just not realistic. I’m finally seeing this. It’s taken months (years?) to even see that I can’t do it all. Even if I didn’t have fibromyalgia, I still can’t do everything I think I should be doing. No one else expects me to do it all, have it all, be it all. I’m the only one who expects Superwoman status from myself. 

I’ve been wanting to see fibromyalgia as something I can tell to pipe down, to take a quiet time, to take a backseat. This is my life, after all. But fibromyalgia is a loud beast. It insists on being heard. I find myself being the one to take a backseat, to take a quiet time. It’s pretty weird, having to revolve life around something like this “invisibility cloak” of a condition. It’s not always obvious that I’m not feeling super. I can usually function pretty well and get through the day. But other days, usually weekends, I need a lot of downtime. I’m not good at having fibromyalgia, and it will probably never be easy to work to around.

I’m getting better, though, at adjusting my expectations because of fibro. Such as learning to ask for help. This is really hard for that Independent Female I mentioned earlier. Even with my husband, who is the kindest, most thoughtful man ever-he helps me with things before I even think to ask. Being chronically ill is a pride-buster, for sure. I am currently working through being able to widen my circle of people I would ask for help. That is a big step for me. I’m like a two-year old screaming: “I WANNA DO IT MYSELF!”

And of course, I’m working through asking God for help. How true for all of us, though, is that? Whatever our circumstances are, we always need to be working on asking God for help, for strength, for encouragement, for grace, for peace, for healing, for compassion. If we’re not ill ourselves, someone we know is sick or in pain. We are all in need, of things only God can give us.

It’s so hard to step back and remember that no one needs me to be Superwoman. It’s ok to adjust my heavy expectations for myself, and just live and do what I can, and try to do those things well. I will practice taking stock of where I’m at physically, admitting I need help, and definitely celebrate my ordinary and shining victories, small as they may seem. I will celebrate an afternoon of shopping, an evening of hanging out with friends. I will enjoy every moment of cooking a meal or dusting the bookcases. This seems to be a higher calling, a more realistic expectation than demanding super-human feats from myself.

Morning Glories

But perhaps God is strong enough to exult in monotony. It is possible that God says every morning, "Do it again" to the sun; and every evening, "Do it again" to the moon. It may not be automatic necessity that makes all daisies alike; it may be that God makes every daisy separately, but has never got tired of making them.
-G.K. Chesterton, Orthodoxy

Let me hear in the morning of your steadfast love,
    for in you I trust.
Make me know the way I should go,
    for to you I lift up my soul.
Psalm 143:8

Every weekday morning is the same. I wake up when it gets light or when the upstairs neighbors start moving around. I then roll over and bury my head back in the pillow after glancing at the clock to see how much more sleep I can wring out of the morning.

The alarm goes off at 8 am. I turn it off, knowing it will go off again in 5 minutes. I snuggle deeper in the blankets. After a few more rounds of this, I finally throw the covers back and stumble into the bathroom for a quick shower, the daily baptism into being human for another day. If I was not too tired the night before, I would have laid my clothes out-one less thing to do in the 30 minutes I give myself to get ready and out the door. While I slap on some makeup and use a brief diffuser on my mane, the Husband of the Ages makes a breakfast smoothie of berries, kale, flax, and coconut milk. I’m out the door by 8:47. Ben always walks me to the car and waves me off down the street.

These are my mornings. Made of rituals of squeezing out more rest, delaying the inevitable rise out of delicious cozy sleep and deep blankets. Usually the thought of coffee, “nectar of the gods,” as an old friend called it, is enough to inspire me to thoughts beyond my blankets.

If only every morning included one of these. 

I have never been a morning person. Clearly. I have always enjoyed lounging in bed for hours on weekends, happily drinking coffee or crunching down toast or having an indulgent read in pajamas. All while getting to wake up slowly. Delightful. Life-giving.

The last few years, though, have intensified my lack of enthusiasm for mornings. Along with the usual reluctance, I now face the dreaded aches and pains that fibromyalgia throws at me each morning.

I wake up and take stock of how bad it is
today, curled up and eyes closed still. Mind fogged with sleep, it comes to me in waves of awareness. Damn. Another bad day. The aches pin me down, the deep pains spread through me like branches on a tree. It takes everything in me to move, to throw back those covers, and face the day. When my feet gingerly touch the floor, more aching pains shoot through my feet. Ah. Here we go.

Once I get moving, I can usually keep moving. The hot water, as hot as I can stand it, wakes me up and releases my tight muscles. The concealer under my eyes helps me feel like I don’t look like a cast member of The Walking Dead. Ben’s Wonder Smoothie gets me to have some breakfast when otherwise I would only have coffee.

These routines--simple, yet hard as ice sometimes--prove to me that once again, I can do this. I can do this thing called fibromyalgia. Every day when I get up, knowing my feet will sting and that my body will feel like lead, I am beating it. Every day that I grab my car keys and head to the door, I win. And even on the weekends and evenings when I‘m hard at rest, I am still beating fibromyalgia. I have my evening rituals, too-British murder mysteries, hanging out with friends and family, easy dinners, sometimes a walk around the block or a ride on my stationary bike, working on reading through the top 100 novels list.

All these things help me live life in the middle of figuring out fibroymalgia. Because we all need to find our calms in the storms, eyes in the hurricanes, don’t we? Finding those activities, those routines that make our hearts sing, instilling courage and hope and consistency in the darkest of times, well, that’s when you know the hard things won’t beat you.

Dreaming in Paperback-A Shameless Plug for Novels

“I am a product of long corridors, empty sunlit rooms, upstairs indoor silences, attics explored in solitude, distant noises of gurgling cisterns and pipes, and the noise of wind under the tiles. Also, of endless books.”
-C.S. Lewis

“Never trust anyone who has not brought a book with them.” -Lemony Snicket

Oh my goodness. I"m reading The Secret History right now-it is so sobering and chilling and fascinating and deliciously ironic; the writing blows my mind-just gorgeous and rich and atmospheric. I don’t really like any of the characters-and for a book to be so good without likable characters is amazing. Inspiring. I am so glad I gave myself this book challenge of reading through the BBC Top 100 Novels. It’s given me a goal-a reachable, tangible goal. It’s good to feel like I’m accomplishing something, and especially something in my “field,” something that has always made me feel like me. Reading has been a constant in my life. Stories and characters and emotions and atmosphere and words and turns of phrase find their way into my bloodstream, become part of my make-up. I find myself reading too fast, always too fast, gobbling up words and chapters like someone who hasn’t eaten in days. 

I can’t read slowly, and I can’t stop reading at the end of the chapter. It always has to be somewhere in the middle of a chapter. Chapters always end on too tantalizing of notes, and I just have to keep going. After college, sans syllabuses, lists of books that professors picked out, and due dates for essays, I found myself adrift in my reading. I didn’t know what to read anymore-even though I finally had the time to read whatever I wanted to! But what did I want to read? It started with one of those old Facebook quizzes-“How Many of These Top 100 Novels Have You Read? BBC estimates the average adult has read only 6!” or something like that. Well, it was embarrassing how many I had not read, even though I’d just got done working for a major in literature. Oops. I filed it all in the back of my mind. A few years later, feeling dry and uninspired both in reading and in my own writing, I remembered that list and looked it up. I printed it off and have been steadily working on capturing these titles and marking them off in orange highlighter.

Oh my goodness. I’d never read The Great Gatsby or Of Mice and Men. I hadn’t read The Remains of the Day, only seen the movie. I’d never read any George Elliot, and Middlemarch turned out to be amazing. I couldn’t believe I’d never read Vanity Fair, and it’s now one of my favorite novels ever. Animal Farm and 1984 will always haunt me. I devoured The Little Prince and tried not to read it too fast. I read Possession and was delightfully devastated by the language, the prose, the idea of possession in so many different forms. I also read Atonement and didn’t care for it, even though the writing was gorgeous. I’ve also taken a few breaks from conquering my list-I’ve reread quite a few Mary Stewart novels-which always make me want to travel and maybe take up smoking. Oh, and rereading dear Agatha Christie and Father Brown. I read Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children and Where’d You Go, Bernadette?, fun and fast modern reads.

But my heart will forever belong to the misty moors, the rambling houses, the wind-strewn trees of Jane Eyre and Wuthering Heights, the game’s afootness of Sherlock Holmes, the adventures and reality of Narnia, the journeys of Tolkein’s small heroes, the witty manners and romances of Jane Austen, the fierce delight and terror of The Man who Was Thursday, the droll and impeccable Lord Peter Whimsey.
The thing about novels, the reason why I love fiction, is it breaks one’s heart and fixes it all in one swoop. They say the man who’s read books has lived more lives than the man who doesn’t, and this is true. Not only have I lived more lives, but I’ve been privy to a range of human emotion and human reasoning and human experience-books shed light on my own mixed-up and dusty feelings and circumstances. Like with best friends, we can read a good book and say, ah, you too? I am not alone. I am not from another planet-I belong here. In this short and fleeting mist of a life, novels are anchors to the ground, and mirrors to our souls.

I see myself in Rochester-desiring and deceitful, mad with love and lust; I see myself in Jane Eyre, bound to desires but even more to a personal moral code. I see myself in Elizabeth Bennett-an observer of the absurdities of my society but wrapped up in my own perspective entirely too much. I see myself in John Watson, a loyal friend but not always sure what‘s really going on. I see myself in both Eleanor and Marianne-full of passions and fervor, yet held back by conventions and personal hang-ups. I see myself in Dorothea Brooks, unrealistically idealistic and always seeing the best in everyone until it’s too late, putting the undeserving on pedestals. I see myself in Jude the Obscure, feeling the call to be someone, be something, do something important, but always fighting resistance and apathy and things outside my control. I see myself in Dr. Frankenstein-being overwhelmed with feelings of what have I done?

I see myself in Jay Gatsby, working so hard to convince the world and myself that I am something other than what I truly am. I see myself in Eowyn, the princess with so much to give, who was told to stay at home and wait. I read the mysteries, the suspense novels, the detective novels and wonder if I would have had what it takes to solve a mystery, outsmart the bad guys, keep a cool head in dire circumstances-in short, do I have what it takes to be a true heroine? Novels let us dream, dream in infinite possibilities. And when a well-turned phrase or idea rings true, ah, well, that is why we read. The satisfaction of a well-written sentence or paragraph (if it’s Charles Dickens) is enough to make one sigh with pleasure, or even in recognition that another person, another writer, saw something the way I do, too. So much to read and reread and absorb and enjoy. Glorious bliss of too many books to read.

What books have changed you? What are you reading these days?

Aftermath

And the angels filled the sky
All of heaven wondered why
Why their King would choose to be
Be a baby born to die
-Bebo Norman, Born to Die

And she gave birth to her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes and laid him in a manger, because there was no room for them in the inn.
Luke 2:7


This morning I find myself alone for the first time in a long time. It’s weird. Like all Decembers for everyone, there’s been something nearly every day. Sometimes December feels like a giant to-do list: shop here, order this, make this,  pick up the thing, drive here, do this. Don’t get me wrong; I freaking love a good to-do list. So you’d think a month of to-do’s would be delightful! The thing is, I always set myself up for failure, because I want to do all the things that everyone else is doing, too. I wanted to do Advent things, bake old and new Christmas treats, decorate the house within an inch of sanity, stare at the Christmas tree, throw a few Christmas parties, go to a few Christmas parties, write a brilliantly funny Christmas letter, make all the things on my Christmas Pinterest board. Duh. So when I find myself at the end of December taking stock of the month and realize that my Christmasy crafty-ness consisted of sticking little sparkly bows on Trader Joe’s chocolate bars, well, it’s a bit of a let-down. I didn’t really think about the birth of Jesus at all. I didn’t watch one Christmas movie. I didn’t bake one damn Christmas cookie. I didn’t make gingerbread houses with my nieces. I spent my time tracking my Amazon orders that I ordered a bit late (whatever), and running to the store at the last minute. My contribution to the family Christmas breakfast was store-bought cinnamon rolls, complete with icing in a package. For a woman of Norwegian descent, you can imagine the horror I tried to ignore-not homemade?? Not packed with loving amounts of real butter?

Well, so much for all I did and didn’t do. I found myself instead blessed with the loving attentions and loving grace of my family and friends. This was the month to give myself a break and accept the goodness of others. With health issues abounding still and exhaustion reigning, I relaxed at my parent’s home and at the home of my in-laws, both of whom explode with hospitality and generosity. My dad read the Christmas story aloud before presents, and I remembered through this tradition the reason for why we gather, why we give presents, why we make food and spend time together, why we make time in an already crazy season. God came to us in the craziness of real time, of real life, in a birth of dubious background, in a time of great cultural stress and upheaval. God made Himself a gift to us, in a way that makes us scratch our heads and wonder at the Christmas story anew. How can it become old hat, become merely something on a to-do list? Thankfully, God waits for us patiently and graciously-He understands how hard it is to be human, especially in December.

A Simple Hike

These boots were made for walking.
-Nancy Sinatra

A simple hike. That’s all it was supposed to be. Just a nice, little meandering trail around the delights of Mt. Constitution on Orcas Island. Ben and I went camping last weekend, and we thought naively that we should leave the safety and perfect bliss of our smoky campfire for a late morning stroll. We put out the fire with more than a touch of regret and found the nearest trail. There wasn’t exactly a mile sign on the post pointing THAT WAY to the scenic beauty of Cascade Falls, but our map clearly indicated it couldn’t be THAT far. So we set off--Ben with his handy-dandy backpack filled with water for wussies (um, me) and honey-roasted peanuts for munching purposes.

Um. Well. Yes. I was just fine! I toddled up the trail like I’d been doing it forever…no heavy breathing, no sweat pouring down my back. Then the first three minutes went by. I quickly lost my sweatshirt, tying it around my waist like a cool kid from the 90s. Which I totally was, by the way. Duh. And the trail just kept going,  you guys. It wound up and around and down and through gorgeous valleys of dense green summer trees and bushes. I found myself breathing deeply…then huffing heartily, then gasping for seemingly elusive air after the steep hills. Thankfully, it was just Ben, me, and some deer who observed us rather in a rather askance manner. I probably scared them a mile off with my Darth-Vader breathing. Oh, and there were plenty of slugs. And ants. I would be terribly embarrassed if any of my friends, co-workers, acquaintances, or any other human found me so terribly overwhelmed by some mere exertion of the limbs. And of course, I’m telling you all about it, but whatever.

The thing is…my body has been very tired the last three years. Overwhelmed by black mold, stress, and allergies, it’s required a lot of rest time. So it makes sense I’m not quite ready to run up a trail or hike a mountain just yet. It’s hard to give myself grace and not really beat up on my poor sweating achy body. Let me tell you, though, it felt great to move around at last, at least for the first couple miles. To be out in the gorgeous nature of Orcas Island, God’s playground. The trees were so rich with summery goodness, the air so fresh, the streams and waterfalls so foamy and bubbly. Although my legs turned to pudding very quickly and I had to rest and take a nap (I would have taken a nap anyway…let’s face it) after we got back, it was totally worth it. And sitting with my feet stretched out towards the fire that evening, I felt on the top of the world. I conquered my fears that I couldn’t do a smallish hike, that I’d give out and Ben would have to call a helicopter to get me back to the campsite. You never know. Next time, I just think I’ll make sure I know long the walk is before I set out.