Thanks

Thank you, one and all, for your prayers--your precious, faithful prayers. It is amazing how they lift the spirits. My pain yesterday was minimal because I didn't walk much (I drove all over creation) but today it's back, though manageable. Better than pain relief is peace, though, which I have experienced. Doing battle with thoughts is absolutely crucial. I read an article in an old issue of Biblical Counseling on chronic pain. When I have more time, I'll probably post some bullet points. The main two I'm holding onto are:
1) I am just as entrenched as anyone else n this culture which avoids pain at all costs, as if I'm entitled to a painless life. Other cultures expect it and accept it.
2) To join with the sufferings of Christ is an honor. It's an honor. Not that we are to rush to get hurt or anything, but to experience a small fraction of physical pain in comparison to what Jesus suffered for us at Calvary is an honor. Not everyone suffers well. Not everyone glorifies God in the midst of pain. Will I be one of the many called to suffer but one of the few who do it well? Lord Jesus, please help me to want the answer to be yes. There's nothing You call us to (including physical suffering) that You don't give the grace to endure. Nothing. Thank You.

Wanted: Peace and Healing

I am afraid right now and I need God's peace. I have had pain in my right foot and now it's in the left, pain that I started noticing around Thanksgiving. When it got really bad a month ago, I went to Patient First where the doctor diagnosed plantar fasciitis. She recommended icing my foot every morning after doing heel stretches, taking ibuprofen as needed, investing in well-cushioned tennis shoes, wearing heels, and getting physical therapy. I asked her if it would resolve, and she said "yes, but it could take awhile--six or eight weeks is normal." That was January 3rd, and I was already six weeks into it.

Right after bladder surgery on January 7th, I was on Lortabs which were so "good" I couldn't feel my foot pain, so I thought the rest I'd been getting was the cure. Wrong. It simply masked the pain, and perhaps I did worse damage.

Getting out of bed I can hardly walk to the bathroom each morning. I do the stretches before making breakfast or packing lunches;otherwise I can't stand in the kitchen. Then I lay on the couch reading my Bible while I rest my feet on a bag of frozen corn wrapped in a dish towel. Then I take a shower, do my hair and make-up and put on my heels. You can't wear heels w/o make-up, of course, so at least I loook better these days though I feel worse! You should see me. Or rather, don't, because it could also mean you see the sweatpants with heels, which--as I told Leanne--makes me not a fashion statement but a fashion question. I try not to take meds because if I fear the liver damage of taking them as often as I feel pain. Sometimes I look from one end of the house to the other and I may as well be seeing the Grand Canyon. Can I really walk from here to there? Today I had a friend, Lauren, over at 1:00, for the very first time. Knowing she was coming, plus the beautiful warm air blowing in through OPEN windows today, I was able to dust, vacuum, windex, clean a bathroom, do the dishes, fix lunch, and arrange some flowers with minimal pain. Was that the grace of God or the fear of man (woman)? Sometimes the lines between the two are blurred.

Anway, physical therapy is my next resort. I dread the inconvenience of trying to fit that into my week, but I lay here fantasizing that someone's rubbing my feet.



What I am afraid of is that this pain is not plantar fasciitis but diabetic nerve pain. In that case, the pain gets worse, not better. I'm not just in pain, my ankle muscles are weak. I go down stairs taking baby steps.

I am afraid to face this disease. My grandmother had it, my mom has it. I"m afraid of going blind, of losing a foot, of being comatose and all alone when it happens. My thoughts run the gamut and it's debilitating. It's not cancer, it's not MS, and it's not Alzheimer's. Those are my greatest fears.

I have asked for prayer at care group. I have sobbed, "ABba , Father, heal me!" and yet He has not chosen, so far, to do so. My faith is as weak as my ankles, my fear as great as my pain right now. Please pray for the reverse: that my faith would be made strong, that my heart will be at peace.

Reflecting on a Life Well Lived

We celebrated the life and mourned the death of a precious brother in our church today. His name was Roger Pryor. A gentle man with pensive eyes, a broad smile and well-groomed moustache, he always wore a cardigan sweater once the weather turned cold. When Paul and I came to Chesapeake in 1995 from a church where we had shriveled up spiritually, we were parched and hurt. The care group Roger led at Skip and Kim Chase's house was our first introduction to the love of Chesapeake. I knew from our first evening there that we belonged.

Over the course of a few years, we also had a chance to receive some godly counsel from Roger "up close and personal." I told his wife, Debbie, something I remembered learning from him was hard but sweet. That lesson was, What happened to the wicked servant who would not forgive after receiving forgiveness? I always thought he was thrown in jail. No, his soul was turned over to the tormenters. I have experienced such torment of soul many times for my refusal to forgive. Jail is better than that.

The other lesson was easy and sweet: the Greek word koinonaeia in plain English. "Biblical fellowship is not coffee and donuts," Roger explained one night. Oh, maaaan, you just ruined my day by telling me that! No, it can include coffee and donuts, but it MUST include Jesus. Christians standing around talking about sports, family, finances, or even about the church--is not biblical fellowship. We often call it that, but that's simply Christians socializing. Talking scripture, sharing a testimony, relating how God has answered prayer--such things as these constitute biblical fellowship.

Jim Cannon, our pastor, did a beautiful and eloquent job of honoring Roger, a friend of his for over 20 years. One thing he mentioned was Roger's love of cars. I would have listened to him talk on and on about cars, had I known he was a fanatic about them. Maybe he thought no woman would appreciate that subject, but had I known, I would've abandoned the women's circles to listen in on the men's conversation. (I often enjoy men's little chats more than women's , anyway, probably because they are different from ours. )

Abby sang in her usual, glorious "country angel" voice I call it. Cherubic, soulful, with a hint of Nashville. I don't know how she got through the song. Yes, I do: Grace! It was a new song I can't wait to learn, something about sovereign arms.

Gary Bull, a friend of ours since Paul's single days, gave a tribute to Roger. He said Roger had mentored him on topics of marriage, devotional life, spiritual gifts. He often encouraged Gary to pray that God would stir up his prophetic giftings to bless the church. Gary has done that, and God has blessed us many times. Gary's word pictures are always vivid, his speech articulate, and the message specific--a very effective combination. I always look forward to Gary's prophetic words even if I don't sense they're for me.

Donny Gill gave a poignant tribute infused with humor. He stressed how Roger loved God's Word and was a diligent student of it. As Donny recalled, "Roger never asked 'What does this scripture say to you?" That doesn't really matter. It's "what is this scripture saying?'" (Lest that sound dogmatic, as I once thought, please understand that it was meant with complete humility. Our interpretation may or may not be correct, but the bible is always correct. We simply have to find out what it means; we have to rightly handle the word of truth. )

A terrific slide show was presented. Funny, moving, upbeat, sobering, all at once. And the song by Sara Groves (the only one of hers I personally care for) "He's Always Been Faithful to Me."
To see Roger as a young boy, to know that he had a rocky young adulthood, a soldier in the US Army, to hear his son recall as a memory the unmistakable change he saw in his dad when Roger received salvation, to know Roger as a leader, a church administrator, an intense bibliophile,a sufferer of cancer....God was always faithful to him. To hear Jim read from Roger's journal from the past couple of months, thanking God for the cancer! He wrote, "thank You, Lord, for removing the distractions of the world from me.....May my testimony be that I trusted You."

How privileged I am to have known Roger, to have been part of his care group, to have seen how an overworked, underpaid church administrator serves without complaining, to have witnessed a man cherishing his wife and praying for his adult children, these are all a part of his legacy. As Jim clearly distinguished, "An inheritance is what someone leaves to you. A legacy is what someone leaves in you."

Thank you, God, that you created Roger for Your good pleasure and for Your glory. He was an excellent steward of both Your inheritance and Your legacy! I will miss him.

Flowers

I could use some right now. Actually, I'm ready to pack my suitcase (again) and leave home. You think life with toddlers is hard, try living with young adults. I don't remember signing up for persecution when I conceived my firstborn, but ya know, some things in life are free.

But I digress.



Flowers really pick me up. They're not just bundles of overpriced, dying petals. To me, flowers tell me that God loves me. With a word, He spoke them all into being. Big ones, little ones, red,yellow, pink, purple, blue, and white ones in a bed of greens. Flowers that the human eye loves to see. Flowers that human eyes have never seen. Dainty ones that hug the woodland forest. Humongous ones that end up in parades and presidential cavalcades. Some smell wonderful; some are more for show. I'm not picky, I'd just like to see more of them.

In my house.

I wish I didn't have to write it on a list. Sometimes not even that has worked. He's remembered the bread, milk, eggs, and toilet paper, but where are the flowers? If I could afford a TV ad on SuperBowl Sunday, it would not be at halftime. It would be smack in the middle of the third down of the first quarter, and every third down from there on out. The ad would say, "Hey, didja remember the flowers or just the chips?"


But I digress. Again.

Flowers mean more to me than I can put in words. I used to apologize for this passion, as if I was just being silly and frivolous. But, does God make silly, frivolous things? No. And does not the Bible say that "for His pleasure ALL things were created?"

Therefore, today, I will dream of my next bouquet on the table. Last week's roses wilted and ended up exactly in the same place as last night's peas. But, oh, how I adored them (the flowers, not the peas) and told my husband how good they make me feel.


Cared for. Cheered. Romanced.


I shall thank God again for flowers, because, like all other lives, they bloom and provide a beauty all their own, if only for a short time.


One bouquet of flowers in exchange for a cartload of SuperBowl grub. That's not too much to ask, is it? No.



Too much to expect? Hahahahahahahahahaahahha (she laughs cynically).