Day 37: For people with bodies who annoy them

I hadn't expected my infusions to be a big deal.  I've been doing them every six months for the past 2 years. With time,  they have figured out better how to lessen side effects and maximize effectiveness. I can't begin to say how grateful I am for the doctors and nurses who spent the time and care to figure these things out. 

So I wasn't really thinking they would be that big of a deal. A couple of days to recover after each one and on my way. 

Unfortunately,  every time is a bit of a new ball of worms.  Slightly different set of side effects. I had usual tiredness and chills and sore throat (which is such a strange side effect) but this time I was incredibly nauseous and I had a tightness in my chest with a shortness of breath. 

The nausea felt very lent-y. 

The breathing thing worried me. 

There is a rare side effect with this medicine that it can impact your lungs. But the thing is,  the disease also impacts the lungs. So.. it was hard to tell what was going and and if it was significant enough to report. So I monitored and wondered and reflected on this medicine as a sort of safety net.  

It was a sobering and very lenten reflection. If I ever have to stop taking this medicine for whatever reason,  there aren't many alternatives to control the disease.  So far,  the disease has been very limited in how it has effected me but it is can be a narly disease. 

Dust we are and to dust we return. 

Just when I was about to write my doctor about the breathing thing -- I woke up much better. Like 1,000 pounds lifted off my shoulders. I was so so grateful.  

I also felt silly for worrying. Like a child climbing down out of a jungle gym with a foot 2 inches from the ground who's absolutely terrified to keep going. 

Good thing no one saw me panic, cause that was ridiculous.  Oh ya, I just wrote about it on my very public blog. Oh well. Vulnerability is a spiritual practice.  

Anyways,  yesterday, the nausea started to lift and today,  I ate like normal. It was glorious.  

Perfect timing. I'm supposed to go with Andrew and his 8th grade class to Washington DC during Holy week and I have been praying that I would feel better. 

The weather was perfect this afternoon and the kids don't have school tomorrow so I took miles to the store for some treats for another audiobook marathon (and some dinner because I'm feeling too lazy to cook tonight.)

As I loaded groceries into the van, I feel it,  like a spring in a watch that has popped out of place my back did that little -- tweak. I finished loading groceries and drove 4 blocks back to my house. By the time I got home I couldn't stand upright. My back was in full spasm and I could barely walk.  Hunched up, I hobbled inside and told the boys to bring groceries in. Glad I got dinner. 

I hobbled into the shower and got heat on it. Grabbed an ice pack,  took some ibuprofen and stared googling, "how to fix a bad back in under 3 days. " I texted my brother who is the most gifted physical therapist I've ever met (he can literally do magic with his hands and just fix things and make them work again). He gave me a plan. I'm working the plan and again praying that I'll be better by that flight to Washington. 

Jesus has a body. He faced the fear of death and tired legs.  He only lived to 33 so maybe he never had a bad back,  but he definitely wrestled with body stuff. 

I think there is something added to spirituality in having to struggle with the joys, pleasures,  sorrows and struggles of having a body. If I just lived as spirit,  I think faith would be easier.  I would be more like I imagine myself to be. But my body makes me tired and cranky,  limits me when I feel limitless, grounds me to the present in a way I'm sure I could never be without a body. And then there are the ways I see myself as I look at my body -- life giving and nourishing,  strong and caregiving. Fragile and finite. 

Holy week is the re-telling of a deeply physical spiritual story. One in which God takes on the limited frailty of containment in a biological body. That eats and drinks with friends. That weeps. That prays with such a high level of stress and anxiety that he actually just starts bleeding. That falls under the weight of the cross and endures lashes with a whip. That struggles to breathe and cries in anguish. 

God entered into humanity to show us that there is nothing our bodies will face that God will not join us in. To show us that there is not one thing that can separate us from God's love. And that our very limited,  blemished bodies are in fact temples of the most high -- redeemed and beloved.  

Whatever crap your body decides to dish out,  you can answer back with "God is with me in this too. " Also,  please pray for my back. I really don't want to get on a plane like this. 

Day 36: The stories we tell

Wednesday is a short day. A long afternoon for brothers to find some fun in the middle of the week.  Lately they've been playing a board game,  but today they choose to lay around and listen to their latest audiobook.  

They are re-listening to a series called Guardians of GaHoole. An epic about owls battling good vs evil. All the elements are there. Lore.  A band of heroes. Moral struggles. A rich world and a rich cast of characters.  

They listened for hours. Our family gets into stories.  Sometimes we spend full days on our RV trips listening to a book while we drive or hike.  

I woke this morning to a different story.  A real one.  My brother texted me before the sun was up.  Giddy. A co-worker of his us getting baptized and asked him to participate. He was bubbling with excitement. His texts reminded me of stories in the Gospels. People who had seen Jesus and ran and told.  "God is here among us. " My heart smiled. My brother met Jesus in the road. He sees the work of God painted in the life of someone he knows. And in the telling of the story,  he experiences God again. And as I share the story,  God leans over my shoulder.  I'm pretty sure God likes stories too. 

There is another story that had stayed with me this week.  

Eddie and I are reading Life of Pi for his current literature book. 

Life of Pi is a story about an Indian boy who finds himself stranded at sea with a tiger following a shipwreck. An interesting thing about Pi is that he is deeply religious.  Following Christianity,  Islam and Hinduism. 

We're currently reading about his early religious experiences. He grew up a Hindu. He shares a chapter with sacred Hindu stories with a variety of God's who seem to serve as different faces of an unknowable divine. Hinduism is a religion that I know relatively little about so it was interesting to me to hear some bits of the theology. 

But the next chapter was he introduction too Christianity. He was a bit afraid of Christians, but intrigued.... enough to sneak into a church. He describes the church as a complete outsider to the Christian faith and story. He sees these gruesome pictures of torture and wonders why God would punish a man so harshly and why this particular story would be featured so prominently in the church's art work. 

He sits with the priest who tells the story of Jesus. Pi is confused. In his mind,  gods are above humanity. Why would a god send a son to become human and then to die? The story offended him.  The more he thought about it,  the more he was offended by it. He couldn't stay away -- the anger burned,  the questions burned --  who was this God? Who was this Jesus? 

He returned daily for several days firing he anger and questions to the priest. The priests response was always simple - Love. 

The answer to all questions about this story is love. 

Finally,  exasperated, Pi asks the priest to tell him another story. 

The priest replies, "We have but one story. There are many prologue. But one story.  And this story has but one word. "

Love.  

Seeing my faith through the unknowing eyes of a young Hindu boy,  tells me a story I know by heart in a way I've never heard it. 

Seeing the texts from my brother adds a few new sentences to my personal epilogue. So does watching my boys grow up. 

Palm Sunday is a few days away.  Christians everywhere will begin telling our story. We will do it with dramatic readings and reenactment. We will do it with liturgy and the pounding of a nail or the slamming of a book on a silent sanctuary.  We will walk the stations and strip the alter. We might watch movies or read the scriptures. We might tell the story with meals or rituals.  Beautifully, our Jewish siblings will be similarly telling the passover story with liturgy,  readings,  meals and rituals. It truly will be a holy week full of holy stories. 

Get lost in the story, my friends. 

Lay around like my boys with their audiobook and allow the hours to pass as you lose yourself in the story. It is epic. Rich with moral struggles and a rich cast of characters.  Let it anger you or fill you with questions. Let it work into your brain and drive you crazy. And then,  remember ... love... love is the story of Jesus. And perhaps,  you may run into God during this very holy week.  

Day 35: Discernment painting

 I told the boys I was having a playdate with a friend from church. 

I set out some activities for Zander so we would have bandwidth to talk.  

She arrived and Zander choose watercolor art the table on a giant pad of paper. I grabbed water for him.  She pulled up a chair next to him and we started talking while he painted a washed out rainbow across the page. 

We're both in the middle season of life.  She's slightly ahead of me and grappling with the changes that come with an empty nest. I'm still working on making sure my nest ends up empty someday. But life in all seasons comes with questions of purpose and big decisions that shape the journey ahead. 

Zander painted a vibrant blue across the page.  It was striking and both of us paused and looked at it.  

"There's a freedom in painting at that age that we don't often get as adults. " She noted. 

Simultaneously,  we both grabbed brushes. I slid the paper over and we started painting like Zander. Wild colors in wild ways.  

Our conversation continued. We were both very present in the painting,  very present in the conversation and lost in our own thoughts all at the same time. It was a comfortable togetherness.  A space to ponder and the painting confirmed it was a safe space to go off script and wrestle with life.  

Zander grabbed neon markers and started filling in any white space.  

Time passed too quickly.  She had an appointment to get to. We didn't have any answers about life but we made art and shared a beautiful hour together.  

Day 34: Impatient

Lent is growing long. 

I am growing weary. 

So here is a brief lament:

I feel impatient that my body hasn't fully bounced back and I wake up to the feeling of nausea. 

I feel impatient about the uncertainty about the future of the church and what the call of the faithful should be in this historical moment. 

I feel impatient about uncertainty my own ministry and vocation in this moment and in the season to come. 

I feel impatient with the process of determining the next right decision for each of my boys. I know the process works and God provides. But I am impatient. 

I'm impatient with lent and the daily reflection for this blog and choosing to do things the hard way every day, waiting for Easter. 

Weariness and lament are part of this season. 

Jesus wept even when he knew resurrection was around the corner.  

He prayed with sweat and blood and tears as he stared down the road ahead. 

This season is a space to search for God and to pick up spiritual practices. It is a time for wilderness and wondering.  For hope and ache and longing.

I feel my impatience and weariness as a heavy blanket and yet,  closed in my fist is the tiny light of hope. Easter is coming.  

Day 33: Fearless

He spoke with the power of Jesus himself. 

The memory is fuzzy in my mind,  so distant I have a hard time believing it to be true. 

I was 19 or 20. I had gotten an old retired bus donated from the local district.  I loaded it with donations and drove it to Miami. I arrived at the port and had it loaded on a ship to Haiti. 

I flew to Haiti and went with the pastor of the church I worked with to the Port to collect the bus from the ship. 

I was exhausted and sleeping in the back wedged between some sacks of pinto beans. The bus came to a stop and an armed man stood at the door.  Things seemed tense.

I stayed still half asleep, half highly alert.

The pastor's voice was calm.  

"This bus belongs to God.  I would not be responsible if you stole it from him. "

The men left. It felt like Obi-Wan using the force. 

We never spoke a word of the incident.  

I sometimes wonder if the memory is real. I never much shared it and as I've said,  he and I never talked about it. 

But it was ordinary for him. He experienced things like this.  His brother was murdered in a similar situation. 

Haiti can be dangerous. 

This small,  gentle pastor has a largeness and a power that reminded me of Jesus. His faith gave him an unwavering ability to choose the right thing,  even when the right thing was dangerous. He died march 20, 2005 of meningitis.  

There are times when faith asks us to risk something. Our reputation, our finances, our careers. When I face a moment of risk in faith, I remember his eyes. Serious and knowledgeable of the risks he faced and yet kind and soft with a conviction that would must certainly move mountains.  

Today I've been thinking about the church and I feel the church is called to risk.  To go out in faith with a trust that God will lead and God will provide -- people,  money,  opportunity.  And i imagine this Haitian pastor -- and I think-- I need a bit of his courage. Maybe we all do. 

Day 32: But I don't want to

I keep weekends open intentionally. 

Saturdays are an open book to get school projects done,  do a fun outing,  catch up on house work or just veg and recover. 

This is a good arrangement for my family.  They need a slower pace and more down time. However,  Saturday morning comes and NO ONE knows what to do. I have to figure out priorities and come up with a plan. I go around and gather input. Do you have homework? Do you have anything you want to do this weekend? Non commital grunts.  What does that mean? 

Eventually,  I make everyone pull out laptops and go subject by subject -- is there homework? I make a list of essential chores. Nice to have chores.  A few options for activities based on weather and the general vibe.  By the time I've done this everyone in the house has found some lazy activity -- one's curled up on the couch with a book,  two in the sandbox, someone else is building something out of cardboard and the last on its just laying on the floor staring at the ceiling. My husband has vanished and the kitchen is a mess from the breakfast rush. 

Since things are calm,  I clean the kitchen and mentally organize the day given the inertia I now need to overcome. I keep my eye on everyone looking for my break. There's a moment when someone is ready to switch activities and if I get something going at just the right time,  in just the right way,  sometimes I can get us on track without too much issue.  

But more often than not I can't find a break and the morning turns to lunch and the day hasn't even started and I have to reconsider and focus on only top priorities. 

What gets me is that they drag their heels even on fun days. 

"Let's go swimming..." 

Naaaaaaa 

I have to twist their arms and say,  we'll just go for 5 minutes and you don't have to get in the pool.  

And we arrive and they are in the water having the time of their life. And I'm exhausted because it took every bit of energy I had just to get them there. 

I wonder if I'm like this with God.

I'm happy in my simple life not seeing the big picture of eternity and God calls me into something new,  that I will totally love and thrive in -- and yet -- I dig my heels in refusing to listen. 

May I find an openness to things that don't fit in with my plans. May I be willing to do things that aren't comfortable. May I find the ability to look up from my minutia long enough to recognize when God is inviting me on an adventure. And may I have humilty to remember that my perspective is limited and generally self centered. 

Sometimes we get to go swimming. Sometimes we have to clean the back yard. Sometimes we just need to rest.  

Good parents know what the family needs and spend a great deal of effort balancing those needs and ensuring everyone is cared for. 

May I trust God as the good parent who knows what I need and what all my siblings need and have a heart to participate in what's needed.  

Day 31: Waiting

On one hand,  Fridays have a more relaxed schedule.  On the other,  there are always things I need to try to cram into the limited space. 

Today's mission was ambitious.  I was going to do about an hour of consulting work,  then head over to Sonja to try to get her a login for social security. 

On the surface,  it doesn't seem that ambitious. A little tech support while I wait for Eddie to finish bowling. But setting up an electronic account with SSI is somehow harder than getting clearances at a national lab with a nuclear facility. And honestly,  I'm not exaggerating that much -- when we moved to Livermore,  Ulrich was hired as a scientist at Sandia and yes there was paperwork and beaurocracy but only slightly more than the hoops they were asking me to jump through to set up Sonjas SSI benefit account. 

Today was my third attempt. I started at 9am. We spent about an hour taking pictures of required documents and uploading them into a portal. Then a timer appeared on my phone. I had 1 hour until they wanted to do a video chat with her. 

I quickly drove 20 minutes away to pick up Eddie and head back. Eyes flicking to the phone every few minutes to check on the timer. 

1 hour 5 minutes

52 minutes

47 minutes

42 minutes

30 minutes

As I was on my way back,  it jumped back up to an 1 hour 2 minutes. 

Hmmm... Eddie has music class and I have to be present as an adult. This wouldn't be over before class started. 

I called Sonja and we agreed she could come over when the timer counted down to like 15 minutes. 

I got home and started housework. Always an eye on the timer. Up and down the timer went.  I plugged my phone in to keep it charged. I was so stressed. Life couldn't continue until this timer gave me permission.  

At 16 minutes,  I called Sonja and she headed over with a friend of hers named Vincent. The three of us sat in rocking chairs in my living room talking about kids and health and Jesus.  And we kept watching the timer.

9 minutes. 

6 minutes.

I handed the phone to Sonja just in case it launched a video call without warning. 

We talked about Job. 

Suddenly a large X appeared on the screen the the place if the timer. Sonja handed me the phone

"The name visible on the documents does not match the recipient, please re-upload document pictures."

So again I took pictures of her ID and uploaded it to the portal. 

"Thank you.  We will review these images manually and schedule next steps via email.  Good bye. " 

She left. It was 1 o clock. I spent over half the day looking at that little timer and I didn't know if I was any closer to having a log-in for her.

I'm still waiting for the account but I'm not expectantly waiting. I'm not glancing at my phone,  held captive by a small timer that doesn't actually tell me how long I will be waiting.  I'm doing other things and hopeful an email will show up eventually.   

I find myself sometimes waiting on God as if there were a timer and a pop up video call that will appear when the countdown finishes. I find it hard to do other things because,  I'm waiting on God to do something,  to say something,  to give me a sign and I'm afraid I'll miss it. 

Then there are other times when I am waiting on God but it is more like email -- I go about my day hopeful that God will show up but in the meantime I continue with my ordinary routine. 

We're drawing close to Easter and in this time,  I find myself looking for God,  expecting God to pop out with bold amazing messages. 

I am 💯 the people lining the street of Jerusalem -- waving palms and ready to see God do fireworks. Time for some big time messiah action. 

But Jesus is riding a donkey not a horse. 

His eyes are sad,  not proud. 

I misunderstood.  God is coming. But not the way I hope or want or expect. Not with clear answers or sweeping changes that fixes all the things wrong with the world.  

Dare I follow the donkey to see where it goes?  Dare I follow Jesus and try to understand what God is doing?