Waging War

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It’s time for a health update and this is not the one I thought I would be giving! I had a really great winter, getting only two viruses that I was able to recover from without excessive difficulty. I was so excited as the calendar flipped from March to April, and as we sailed through May I thought for sure I was in the clear. I was dreaming of reaching new heights and regaining some lung function this summer after not battling with a myriad of bugs all winter.

A few weeks ago, however, I started to notice increased shortness of breath. I was keeping up with all my normal activities, but suddenly exercise, yard work, chasing Lucas around, and other things of that nature became more difficult. My seasonal allergies are bad at this time of year so I assumed those allergies were irritating my asthma and I wasn’t too concerned. I headed to a routine pulmonary appointment the last week of May and was surprised when my breathing test revealed that my lung function had dropped from 38% to 34%.

I had no other signs of illness or infection, so my doctor put me on five days of steroids hoping that would reduce the apparent inflammation and get me back on track. I experienced a little reprieve while on the steroids but still wasn’t feeling right, so I contacted him again last week. He put me back on the steroids and added oral antibiotics to address any infection that might be locked up and hiding in my lungs. On Friday I went in for a check and was dismayed to see that my lung function, rather than rebounding, had dropped an additional four points to 30%.

Cystic fibrosis can be puzzling. Most of the time when my lung function drops, it’s because I’m sick and I know it. Usually it starts with a virus and moves to a CF-related secondary infection. My lungs fill with mucus, my airways swell, I struggle to breathe, and I can’t wait to get relief. But this time, I feel pretty decent. I do have the shortness of breath that I mentioned earlier and my lungs have been achy, but overall I have been feeling fine and handling all my regular activities. There was nothing obvious to account for this big drop and that makes it even more unnerving.

My doctor explained that although I wasn’t exhibiting any classic signs of infection, infection is still the number one cause of a drop in lung function. The fact that I wasn’t responding to steroids probably means that although my asthma is always a component of my struggles, it wasn’t the main player in this situation. My doctor ordered a chest x-ray to rule out anything else unexpected, but that came back clear. So we have circled back to the notion of an infection.  This one is hidden, yet waging war on my lungs all the same.

To quote Farmer Boggis, “Dang and blast!” Dang and blast and a lot of other emotions too. A kind of numbness settled in at first. I just couldn’t understand it. Next, frustration. Moments like this shatter any fleeting feeling of security I may dare to believe I have. Getting through the winter unscathed was such a victory–a victory I was reveling in and so grateful for. Yet here I am with my lung function lower than it has ever been before. After a bit the frustration moved aside and the grief set in–waves of sadness swelling up and washing over me as the fears gripped my heart. My lungs are functioning at only 30%. It’s so scary.

Times like this always bring emotional struggle. It’s never just a physical battle. It’s necessary to experience the disappointment, the frustration, and the sadness and face the fears. The emotions never fit into a neat little box. There is no scheduling myself 36 hours to get over it. Friday night was rough but Saturday I felt better. Sunday I woke up in the wee hours of the morning feeling heart-broken. But in the midst of the sadness and frustration I knew it was time to get to work. The tables need to be turned. It is time to wage war against this infection.

This battle has two fronts: the physical and the emotional. Waging war means doing everything in my power. Jaime and I started doing manual percussion on my chest in addition to my normal airway clearance. Monday afternoon I headed to the hospital to get a PICC line placed and I started an IV antibiotic on Tuesday morning. My buddy the treadmill and I have been spending time together each day as currently, brisk walking has been the only thing that makes me cough mucus out.

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Attempting to show this infection who’s boss!

To balance off the treadmill work, I’ve been resting more in the afternoons. These afternoon rests are made possible by the arrival of my sister Julie from Tennessee! She got here Wednesday and will be staying through Monday to help me with chores, play with Lucas, give me moral support, and make a bad situation a heck of a lot better. She’s helping me with the physical aspect of this war but also helping all of us get through it emotionally.

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Aunt Julie is an awesome playmate and Lucas is thanking her with hundreds of hugs and kisses.

Fighting on the emotional front means a few things for me. First of all, I am committed to continue on with as much of my life and daily routines as possible. The PICC line is so great that way. There are some restrictions, but nothing too limiting. I’ve been spending time in my garden. Nature feeds my soul. I’ve been picking Lucas up from school and running an errand with him here and there.

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Lucas, holding the door for his class at pick up!

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A quick stop for some groceries and an orange balloon.

We’ve been keeping up with his school work.

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A special secret school project to thank his teacher.

I’ve continued my normal work schedule.

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Tutoring with my PICC.

I may have to cut back on some of these activities depending on how the next weeks play out, but as long as I have the strength, I want to continue on.

Most importantly, I’m trying to keep my eyes off my circumstances and on my Creator. He is the one who calms my fears and speaks peace and comfort to my heart. While I was on the treadmill the other day, a song came on that I haven’t heard for quite some time. The words were fitting. They go like this:

I will lift my eyes to the Maker
of the mountains I can’t climb
I will lift my eyes to the Calmer
of the oceans raging wild
I will lift my eyes to the Healer
of the hurt I hold inside
I will lift my eyes, lift my eyes to You

From “I Will Lift My Eyes” by Bebo Norman

These troubling circumstances are a lot to handle. These mountains are too high for me and these oceans too rough. The hurt and fear are at times more than I can bear. But none of it is too much for God, and I know my life is safe in His hands. He holds me and watches over my life. And best of all, He has already won the war.

A Different Kind of Strength

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Strength is something I think a lot about. Perhaps it’s because at this point in my life and at this stage of my disease, I’m often aware of the strength that I lack. I feel the weakness of my body every day in one way or another. I utter the words “God, give me strength” with more regularity than any other prayer. Sometimes it’s the mundane, like a heavy basket of laundry I have to carry upstairs or a sink of dirty dishes that needs my attention after a long and tiring day. I always pray it before I get on the treadmill and at the inevitable moments when I’m longing to get off the treadmill. I pray it over things more serious, like when I sense God is leading me to do something that I don’t think I’m strong enough to do, or when the future seems uncertain, or when I’m worried about how my disease is affecting Jaime and Lucas. I want to continue to live and to thrive even as I fight this disease. God, give me strength.

So what exactly is this strength that I’m asking for? What am I hoping that God will do for me? That’s what I’ve been pondering lately. What kind of strength does God promise to give?

There are many verses about strength in the Bible. Here are a handful of my favorites:

I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do everything through Christ who gives me strength. ~Philippians 4:13

He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak. Even youths grow tired and weary and young men stumble and fall; but those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint. ~Isaiah 40:29-31

But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ’s sake I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.” ~2 Corinthians 12:9-10

The notion of being strong in the midst of weakness is different from most traditional understandings of strength. I did a Google search of the word “strong” to see what images are associated with the word. There were pictures of muscular men and women, of heavy weights being lifted with ease. There were memes that included words like “brave, fearless, bold.” There were pictures of lions and sharks, clenched fists, super heros…even a picture of ultra strong toilet paper (you know, the kind that never rips or tears or leaves a residue). Strong.

In this season of Lent, I’ve been reflecting on the last hours of Jesus’s life.  I believe we have a lot to learn about strength, a different kind of strength, from Jesus. It has always brought me much comfort that while praying in the garden with His disciples prior to His death, Jesus asked God to take away the suffering that was to come. He asked for a way out. Jesus predicted His own death many times in the gospels. It seemed He knew it was God’s plan for our redemption. Yet in spite of that, when His suffering was at hand, He still pleaded with God to take it away. Although He was a sinless, perfect human, He didn’t want to suffer either. Resisting the pain and wishing for reprieve wasn’t a sign of weakness. I imagine He looks on me with understanding when I ask him to take away my pain, because He felt the same way.

When God didn’t give Him a way out, however, He accepted it, and there was great strength there. Jesus accepted pain that He didn’t deserve and trusted God to redeem it and bring immeasurable good from it. In the hours leading up to His death, Jesus endured all sorts of physical and emotional pain as He was beaten and falsely accused. His closest friends abandoned Him. He had poured out His life to love and serve and heal people, and in turn they abused Him and said all sorts of horrible untruths about Him. They demanded that He be tortured and killed. Yet Jesus looked on them with love and asked His Father to forgive them. He was not bitter in the midst of His suffering.

And while Jesus was on the cross, what incredible mental strength He exhibited. Jesus lost all physical strength while on the cross. He was first beaten and flogged and then nailed on a cross to suffocate to death. All the life drained from His body over the course of the hours of His suffering. We know that as the Son of God He could have summoned the power of legions of angels to remove Him from the cross and annihilate His enemies. But He didn’t. This kind of resolve is unimaginable. Many times have I been in pain or periods of struggle and have thought that I would do anything, anything to make it go away. Jesus had the power to stop his suffering with one word, yet He resolved to endure for our sakes.

He accepted the pain, He endured the suffering without bitterness or hate, He willingly surrendered His power, and He forgave those who had done the unspeakable to Him. And He died. But after three days, Jesus arose from the dead! And here we see the most notable aspect of Jesus’s strength, the strength to overcome. Jesus has overcome! Overcome sin, overcome evil, overcome darkness, overcome death.

I know that because of what Jesus has accomplished on the cross, one day I will go free. Free from this body of disease. Free from the chains that bind me. But while I wait for that day, I pray for strength; the kind of strength that Jesus demonstrated. I ask for strength in the midst of my weakness. Not necessarily the physical power to escape my struggles, but the power to accept them and endure them. I ask for the strength to choose joy and love over bitterness. I ask for the ability to trust that God will redeem any suffering He allows to come my way.  I ask for the strength to live a life worthy of my calling no matter my circumstances.  I ask for the power to overcome. This, I believe, He has promised me.

God, give me strength!

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The Lord is my strength and my shield; my heart trusts in him and I am helped. My heart leaps for joy and I will give thanks to him in song. The Lord is the strength of his people. Psalm 28: 7-8a

 

 

Conversations with Lucas: Brains, Bathroom Talk & Big Words, Predators & Prayers

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Our Cutie Comedian

L: Daddy, let’s play the chasing game! But we should take our socks off so we don’t slip.

J: I’m going to leave my socks on, my feet are cold.

L: But Daddy, I really, really want you to take your socks off!

J: I’m too cold! But if I slip I’ll take them off.

L:  [Thinks for a moment…] Okay Daddy.

[Game commences]

L: Daddy, pretend you slipped!

[Jaime purposely slips and falls]

L: Okay, now take off your socks.

J: Hey!

L: You said if you slipped you’d take off your socks!!

B: I think someone outsmarted you…

J: You tricked me! But I tell you what, if you catch me, I’ll take them off.

[Frantic chasing ensues]

L: Daddy, pretend you let me get close to you…

*

[Lucas and Jaime are doing a puzzle of the United States]

L: Um, Daddy, that’s not where Nebraska goes!

J: Oh man, you’re right!

L: Yeah. I guess you’re not the smartest human in the world.

*

L: Mommy!

B: What up?

L: I just went potty.

B: OK.

L: But Mommy?

B: Yes?

L: You might want to go clean the wall.

*

L: Mommy, upstairs is Daddy’s bathroom, downstairs is your bathroom, and this is my bathroom.

B: Really.

L: Yeah. It’s special. Try your hardest to keep that in mind.

*

L: Guess what I know about science?

B: What?

L: Chicken poop helps flowers to grow! But not human poop.

*

L: Mommy, I’m all done with my lunch!

B: That’s great!

L: See! Look at my plate. It’s barren!

B: Barren?!

L: Yup! There’s nothing there!

*

L: Mommy, at my farm Henny is smart. King doesn’t know anything yet.

B: Oh?

L: Yeah, King’s igernant. Wait, what’s that word again?

B: Ignorant?

L: Yeah igernant.

*

L: Mommy, what does endemic mean?

B: Endemic? Where did you hear that?

L: On Wild Kratts, the one called Lemur Legs. It means an animal that only lives in that place like the lemurs in Madagascar.

B: Oh. Hey wait, if you knew what it meant, why did you ask me?

L: I just forgot for a moment and then I remembered.

[Lucky break…I was going to have to look it up]

*

L: Mommy, come look! The mouse is living with the owl in my barn!

B: Really? Won’t the owl eat the mouse?

L: No, this owl eats different kinds of mice. It eats technology mice.

*

L: Maybe we can get Madagascar from the library again.

J: Sure, we can do that.

B: Really? There were some scary parts. If we do we might have to fast forward through the scary parts like where the crocodile swallows the…

L: OR WE COULD JUST STAY CALM.

L: I do like Inside Out better than Madagascar. Inside Out is kind of lovely. Madagascar is kind of scary.

*

[Bedtime prayer]

L: Dear God, please help Mommy’s fingers to feel all better.  And please God, send us a new glass bowl.

*

L: Mommy, why are you just standing there?

B: I’m a little nervous to get on the treadmill.

L: Why, Mommy?

B: It’s just hard for me.

L: Don’t worry, I’ll pray for you! Dear Jesus, please help Mommy be brave to run on the treadmill so she can get all better. We love you, thanks, in Jesus Name, Amen. There. Do you feel much braver now?

B: So much braver Little One. ❤

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A Little Help From Aunt Sheri

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I was still in college when my sister Sheri gave me a gift. She had been a special education teacher for more than five years in a Michigan town before the stresses of the job combined with her CF struggles became too taxing on her body. The district in which she taught was a low-income area that housed a prison, and some of her students had parents or other relatives in that prison. The needs were great. Sheri’s heart was big and she was the perfect one to love and nurture these children while helping them learn.

Because her district didn’t have the resources that some wealthier areas have, Sheri invested a great deal of her own money and time into making materials to use with her students. Her creativity really shone through in a lot of what she made, and when she left teaching, she brought some of it home with her. She gave it all to me while I was in college preparing for my own teaching career. I was able to use her creations in my own classrooms and later, with my tutoring students as well.

This fall I acquired a new student…an extra special young five named Lucas. At conferences, his teacher mentioned that he could use additional practice with fine motor activities such as writing his letters and cutting. For several years now, Lucas has been asking when he would be old enough to be a tutoring student and this was the perfect opportunity to make extra practice at home exciting for him! I put together a program which included muscle strengthening and fine motor practice but also tasks I knew would be fun and easy for him to make it an enjoyable time for both of us. When I broke the news to him he was thrilled and proud to be old enough to come to my office like a big kid. And I was excited too! It’s been lots of fun to have these two loves of mine intersect. Lucas has been an enthusiastic participant.

I was also excited to take out some of Sheri’s creations that had been dormant for a while. I told Lucas all about how she had been a teacher and how she had made a lot of the tools we were using to learn. We keep a picture of her nearby while we work–a Christmas ornament she made with her students one year. I even found some fun animal pencils she and I had made together once and the cat pencil has become Lucas’s official tutoring pencil.

I wish that Lucas could have known Sheri and that she could have known him. Someday that wish will come true. But for now, I’m so grateful that she can still be part of his life, even in this small way, and that we can remember her together as we learn.

img_0985Lucas was one excited boy on the first day of tutoring! He even uses the outdoor entrance like my other students do. After all, he wants it to be official!

Coloring, cutting, matching, tracing. It’s all good.

Here we’re using some of Aunt Sheri’s materials! Lucas is holding her special pencil and ornament, working on more matching activities that she put together, and jumping on vinyl letters she cut out and labeled to blend sounds into words.

img_1535Today in tutoring we learned how to draw a cat. Perhaps Lucas didn’t inherit Sheri’s natural artistic abilities, but I think they’re great and I know she would have liked them too. 🙂

Sheri, thanks for the help! Your legacy lives on.

The Uncommon Cold

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Cold and flu season. The bane of my existence.  Okay, maybe that’s a bit of an exaggeration, but the viruses lurking around every corner this time of year stir up a bit of panic in those of us with chronic lung disease.

The past few years I’ve gotten my first cold just before the holidays, in December. This year, I got my first cold at the end of October, and I was less than enthusiastic about its early appearance. It started on a Thursday evening while I was tutoring. My throat began to feel a little dry, a little sore, a little unwell. The panic set in. Calm down, it’s just allergies, I told myself. But I had a nagging suspicion that was confirmed when I woke up the next morning with all the classic symptoms of the common cold.

Those first days of a cold cause a great deal of stress for me. CFers can never just “relax” and let the virus run its course. For the average person, a cold means a short period of annoying, uncomfortable symptoms, followed by the return of normal life. The common cold usually lasts 7-10 days. If you are a CFer reading this, I’m pretty sure you just laughed or rolled your eyes. I don’t remember the last time a cold lasted 7-10 days for me. For CFers, the common cold means annoying, uncomfortable symptoms, but it also includes the threat of a much more serious infection that can result in weeks of illness. Sometimes these illnesses can result in the permanent loss of lung function. The common cold is plain scary.

My cold lasted, from that first scratchy feeling in my throat, to the day I woke up feeling like myself again, exactly 38 days. Over five weeks. Here’s an outline of how my [un]common cold progressed:

Day 1: Uh oh…sore throat…the feeling of impending doom sets in. My poor husband is subjected to a great deal of my angst which is bubbling over as I see the worst case scenario playing out in my mind and sadly bid farewell to my six-month, illness-free streak.

Days 2-8: I sludge through the cold symptoms while trying to keep tabs on the health of my lungs. I worry. I ask Jaime 100 times a day if he thinks my cough sounds okay. It does. I try to relax.

Day 9: The virus hits my lungs. Each breath is a cacophony of various wheezes and hums and vibrations. I call the doctor and start on two oral antibiotics.

Days 10-16: I wait for my cough to improve. Still waiting. “Mommy, why are you spitting your fungus in the toilet?” Lucas asks. He tries to join me but he’s only got saliva in there. No fungus (or mucus) for him. I laugh and thank God for five-year olds. Still waiting on that cough. C’mon antibiotics, you can do it!

Day 17: My cough beings to improve. The Hallelujah Chorus plays in my mind. I try to join in. Yeah, my cough isn’t all the way better yet. I leave it to the angels and keep quiet.

Day 22: I can finally say my cough is back to normal. But this is already my last day of antibiotics. I take my last dose and hope it’s not too soon. Bye-bye security blanket.

Days 23-28: These are blessed days of feeling good. But I know what’s coming…

Day 29: The Adjustment Phase hits.

Days 30-38: I cough and cough and cough and cough (and cough). I have many wonderful friends, but this week, Motrin is my best friend. I need it to get through the day. I remind myself that this will pass. It will.

Day 39: It did! I wake up and realize I can make it through the day without Motrin! My cough is quieting. My muscles are less sore. I don’t have a headache. I’m through my cold and ready to start another illness-free streak. There’s that Hallelujah chorus again! I join in. It still sounds better in my head, so I decide to save that one for the shower.

The good news is that all things considered, this cold was relatively mild and manageable. I was able to function fairly well through it and I’m sitting here today, six weeks out, feeling good. I’m so very grateful for that! Perhaps an early cold this year will mean less illnesses overall this season. A girl can dream.

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Kisses from this little guy always make me feel better when I’m sick.

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Kisses from this big guy help a lot, too.

Conversations with Lucas, Part Five

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It’s time for another installment of Conversations with Lucas! I hope they bring a smile to your face 🙂

L: Mommy, am I holding my pencil right?

B: Yes Baby, that’s right.

L: Oh thank you! That fills my heart with joy!

[Mine too.]

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L: Mommy, no one is allowed to touch the cell phone tower. No parents and no kids. But I am.

B: Oh, do you have special privileges?

L: No, I have gloves.

*

L: Daddy, I want you to read this book! [Points to The Three Little Javelinas by Susan Lowell]

J: Oh, the Three Little Javelinas.

L: Dad?

J: Yes?

L: Would you please stop speaking Spanish and read it the way Mommy does?

*

[Lucas, singing a song from church]

J: Lucas, if you know the songs we’re singing during church you can always sing along!

L: I know, but do you know why I wasn’t singing at church, Dad?

J: No, why?

L: I was waiting for the part where we eat the bread and dip it into that cup.

B: Oh, communion!

L: Yeah, I love that part.

B: Me too. Does it make you feel close to God?

L: Yeah, well, it’s just that being at church makes me really hungry.

*

L: Mom, do you know what?

B: What?

L: You and I have belly buttons.

B: True…

L: But Daddy doesn’t have a belly button.  Daddy has a belly hole.

*

L: Daddy and I are your husbands!

B: Well, Daddy is my husband and you are my son.

L: But we both take care of you and that’s what husbands do!

B: Yes, you’re right, but sons can help take care of their moms too.

L: Okay, I’m your five-year-old son and husband helper!

*

L: Mommy, Henny’s not playing in today’s soccer game.

B: Oh, that’s too bad.

L: Yeah, she has an attitude.

B: Uh oh!

L: Mommy, what’s an attitude?

*

L: Mommy, you feel warm.

B: I do?

L: Yeah.  Your skin is so warm it feels like the fur of a fox.

[He knows this because of all those foxes he’s touched?]

*

[Riding the bus to the hospital]

B: We’re going to pass your old preschool in a minute! And then we’ll pass by Aunt Ede’s work.

L: Then where, Mommy?

B: Then we’ll be on our way to the hospital.

L: Wow! You know almost everything!

*

B: Honey, can you please sit at the table while you’re eating? You’re making a big mess.

L: But Mommy, I can’t just sit still! I need a lot of exercise!

*

J: Did you have fun even though you didn’t want to go?

L: Yes! It was so fun!

J: I had fun too even though I didn’t want to go either.

L: But Mommy did.

J: Yeah, she was right. We should probably just listen to Mommy.

L: Yeah, girls know the right thing to do. They have better ideas than boys.

*

B: I have something to tell you. You and I are going to get a flu shot today.

L: NOOOO!!!

B: But wait, I didn’t tell you the good part yet. Daddy got the movie Inside Out for you from the library and we can watch it when we get home as a “thank you” for being brave and getting the shot.

L: Okay, I guess I’ll go.

[After surviving the shot and both watching and loving the movie…]

L: Mommy I really appreciate this.  Thanks so much for getting me that shot!

B: Um, you’re welcome?!

L: Next time I get a shot, I’ll say to the doctor, “Thank you for the shot.”

[We’ll see about that :)]

*

L: Mommy, I’m going to tell you a story.

B: Okay!

L: Once there was…[story continues for a good, long while].

B: Wow, that was quite a story!

L: Did you like it?

B: Yes…

L: Good! Because I’m going to do it again, but this time I’m gonna sing it.

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Thanks for all the smiles, funny boy.

Space for Grief

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Living with Cystic Fibrosis is hard. I am reminded daily that my body does not work properly and that to continue to live, I must fight. Some days I become weary. Some days I feel sad. I’ve been learning lately to give myself space for grief. Grief is unpredictable. It can be triggered by an event or a period of intensified struggle, and sometimes it surges up unexpectedly.

I’ve had a few times recently were grief has darkened my day. These dark days have traditionally made me feel guilty. I regularly see quotes such as these:

Someone out there is praying for all the things you take for granted.

Remember, no matter how many problems you have, there is always someone who has more.

These sentiments surely have a place in our world. In our consumerist culture it is easy to be in a perpetual state of discontentment and lose sight of all our blessings. We complain about minor inconveniences. We take things for granted. Many of us, including me, have not suffered the extreme hardships of hunger, violence, abuse, or the loss of worldly possessions that are rampant in parts of our world. It is important to remember that and to retain a proper perspective.

Sometimes when a wave of grief hits me, it brings with it a big dose of guilt. The voice in my head berates me. You have no right to be upset. So many are suffering so much more. Many CFers struggle far more than you do. Remember all those healthy years you had. You have a loving husband, a beautiful son, a supportive family, true friends, a wonderful home. Look at all you can still do.  And the list goes on.

It’s true. I am abundantly blessed and I know it. However, the pain in my life is real too, and sometimes I need space to grieve that. Sometimes I need to pour out my heart to God, lamenting the pain, explaining my hurts, expressing the sadness and disappointment. Grieving doesn’t have to be angry and bitter. It doesn’t have to indicate that I’m not trusting God, or that I feel sorry for myself, or that I’m not accepting my situation. Grieving doesn’t necessarily mean that I’m not thankful. It is possible to be grateful for all the good in my life, all the blessings, all the wonderful things that have come out of my challenges, even to be thankful for the challenges themselves while allowing myself to mourn the pain, the loss, and the ongoing adversity. Some specific struggles have endured for years with ups and downs, times of hope and times of despair, bends in the road, minor bumps and major setbacks. At times I feel tired and bruised. There is chronic hardship in my life that will never leave me. Barring a miracle, there is no end in sight on this side of eternity. It’s hard. It’s sad. And so I grieve.

Tears can be cleansing–a discharge of the pain bottled up within me. It’s as if their release waters the soil of my soul, making way for acceptance, joy, and peace to bloom once again. When I take my hurts to God, I find the grace I can’t always extend to myself. There is no guilt there, no pointing finger, no accusations, only the reassurance of God’s love and His presence.  There is the reminder that while I will continue to struggle, I will never struggle alone. There is healing in that place of grief.

I felt compelled to write this post today. It’s definitely for me. This is something God is working out in my heart. Grief is a gift I’m learning accept without guilt and without comparison. But perhaps it’s for you too. Maybe you need to give yourself some space to grieve.  Maybe it’s time to stop pretending that your pain doesn’t exist, isn’t that bad, or doesn’t matter. Maybe you need to allow those tears to fall so that true acceptance, joy, and peace might thrive in your life again. Maybe you need to hear God whisper to you how much He loves you, how much He cares, and how through it all, He will never leave you or forsake you.

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Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning. Psalm 30:5