I had no idea. No truly. NO idea.

I was doing a little research today, on a couple of my medicines, and I stumbled upon references to a depression questionnaire that medical professionals use to grade the severity of clinical depression. I don’t mean the down-in-the-dumps blues. I mean the bigtime stuff. The stuff that warrants, no necessitates, medical intervention in order to shake.

Yeah that kind of depression.

I say I stumbled onto a questionnaire… actually I found several different ones. Just for kicks, I decided to screen myself. Grade myself, if you will.

Mind you, this is after being on 2 different anti-depressants for about 3wks. Meds that, in all honesty, I was taking only because my doc told me to. NOT because I thought I needed them, but simply because I wanted to be a good patient and do what I was told. I looked up the usage of these two and found that when used in combination at the right dosage they were helping fibromyalgia patients with pain. That coupled with the fact that the doc had prescribed one of them to help me get to sleep… not for depression… made me feel so much better about taking them, if you know what I mean.

Anyway. I almost maxed out every single screening and questionnaire there was. No kidding. Severe depression was the result on every single one.

Do WHAT?!

Were they wrong? Did I somehow mess up and answer something wonky and skew the results? Are they flawed? What in the world?!?!

Nope.

Thing is, despite the fact that I have felt -emotionally and mentally- better in the last 2-3 wks than I have in I-don’t-know-how-long, apparently I truly AM still “severely clinically depressed”.

Talk about an eye-opener. I honestly, truly had NO idea that I was not ‘normal’. Ok, scratch that. I’ve known for years and years I’m not ‘normal’. What I mean is I had no idea that the way I feel about myself and the way I live day-to-day emotionally/mentally speaking was depression of any kind, let alone “severe depression”. That’s what I mean.

Turns out, I’ve been living with severe depression for a little over 20 years… probably 23 or 24. I’m not quite 30. You do the math.

So basically? I don’t have a clue how the majority of folks have been feeling/living. I don’t have a clue what is normal. I’m not “getting back to normal” so much as I am just plain ol’ “getting normal”.

Now, you might think “well gosh! Didn’t her mom think something was amiss when she was depressed at 7 or 8, or even by her teens? SURELY her doctor at least would’ve noticed something was up…”

Yeah, not so much. For a start, I didn’t see doctors much growing up. Major illness or something requiring a cast or stitches warranted a dr visit and well… none of those happened very often. Then there’s my mom.

See, my mom and I are a lot alike. A lot. It’s more likely than not that SHE would also come up depressed on a screening. I won’t say with 100% certainty because she might take offense to that, but knowing what I know of her… if she answered honestly… yeah it’s likely.

And here’s the kicker… Mom doesn’t “feel depressed” or see herself as depressed either. Know why? Cause she is “normal for her”. That is, she feels no different now than she ever has.

Catch that?

Yup. It’s a strange world we’ve been living in, though it does not seem the least bit strange to us. This, (that we know as “just life”), being the strange world is what is strange. Just the idea that the way I feel could actually be different, be BETTER is strange.

Matthew being depressed doesn’t come as a surprise per se, and I’m not even kicking myself in the rear too much for not catching it and doing something about it sooner. THAT is, in and of itself, a new experience for me. I’ve recognized that I really couldn’t have realized he truly needed medical treatment any sooner because I didn’t know better, and so I’m not beating myself up with guilt over not doing anything sooner. That’s simply amazing to me.

Always, ALWAYS, before even if I knew rationally that there was no way I could have been “at fault” or “guilty” about something with the kids (like not getting medicine sooner, for instance), I would still -despite totally and fully realizing it was not rational- feel tremendous guilt. I’m talking bone-crushing guilt. The kind of guilt that leaves you chewing yourself out in your mind for days, sometimes weeks, on end.

I feel like a brand new babe, learning feelings and experiencing things for the very first time. I’ve never seen life like this before. That probably sounds cliche, but think about it for a minute. Your earliest clear memory, I mean really clear memory, probably isn’t much further back than your sixth or seventh year. I remember a few snapshot-like moments from the time I was 3-5, but the memories don’t really become clear, fully defined, complete with emotions, until I was closer to 7.

Second grade. I remember fleeting moments of first grade, but not enough to hold onto and evaluate in terms of emotions and thought-processes at the time. That doesn’t come till second grade.

It was second grade that I talked about killing myself and of wishing I was dead. It was second grade when Mom took me to a counselor to make sure I didn’t really mean it. The counselor assured her I was just “throwing a fit” and offered the suggestion of encouraging the tantrums when I had them. The ol’ “reverse pyschology” ploy at work… if Mom wanted me to throw a really good fit, then I wouldn’t want to anymore and so the tantrums would stop.

They did… mostly. My behavior just morphed. I have been told that at times I appeared to be possessed because of the “pure hate” pouring out of my eyes. Mom did not know then, what I did not know with Matthew… that depression in children often manifests as anger, frustration, aggression, etc.

She also did not know (nor did I with Matthew) that depression in children can also cause the child to “be a loner”. I did not play with many other children. One or two at a time, at most, and frequently I played alone. Well, mostly I read, but that’s beside the point.

The point is, I can remember feeling and thinking in second grade pretty much the same as I do now. Or maybe I should say, have up till now. It’s like… I’m almost thirty, but I feel the same as I did at 17 or 18. I’m sure most people are that way. They don’t feel thirty, they just feel like themselves… they way they have for years and years, since high school is generally what people say. I can take that back further. To second grade.

Oh sure, as a kid I felt younger in that I was well aware I wasn’t an adult. I mean it’s not like I felt or thought in a mature manner as a 7 year old, not at all. What I mean is I have felt the same emotionally in terms of feelings overall since at least second grade. I’ve felt the same way about myself since at least second grade. I’ve felt the same way about other people since at least second grade. I don’t remember feeling any other way. I can remember how I felt and how I thought in second grade and it was no different than the way I answered those questionnaires and screening tests earlier today.

That’s what I mean.

So when I say I’m learning feelings and experiencing things for the very first time… I mean it. At least for the first time in my memorable history anyway.

The good news? The meds are definitely working. I know because if you’ll recall I said way up there that I “almost” maxed out the screenings. “Almost” being the operative word, here. Being honest I can say that a few weeks ago (or at any point in the last 20+ years) I would have maxed out the screenings. A few points lower today and I would’ve pegged out for “moderate depression”. So while I’m still falling in the “severe” range, it’s headed towards “moderate”.

It’s going to take some getting used to, for sure. I think I’m kinda scared of it, in a way. I’m hesitant to “let myself” feel different, if you will. Almost like… I’m afraid it might all be a dream. It’s like I’m being offered a butter rum lollipop…  and I’ve gotten a tiny taste, but I’m afraid to close my mouth around it lest the lollipop will be jerked back out of my reach, knocking teeth loose, leaving me battered, bleeding, and aching for that delicious buttery sweetness.

This is so weird. But then, weird is normal. Weird is what I know. It runs in the family.

I’m just sayin’.  =)

Posted: September 25th, 2008 under Miracles, just life, mildly "article-ish", the changing me.
Comments: none

I had another doctor appointment. Went much better overall, I think. He said I looked better… less drawn and more animated. I guess this is a good thing. LOL Still not sleeping worth a flip, so he upped my dose on a couple of things.

The Flagyl hasn’t whooped me yet, but I’ve only been at full dose for 2 days now, so it’s still a bit early to tell, I think. On the whole, though things have been better/nicer in the last couple of weeks. WAY less nausea and being off balance. Less twitching. Less overall aching, too. I did have a couple of days of some extreme pain in my knees and upper legs, and some really, really bad headaches, though.

We’ve had some interesting highs and lows in our medicine costs lately. One of mine (Zithromax) and one of the kids’ (Zyrtec, replaced by Claritin).

The thing with the Zith is that it is super duper expensive even in the generic form. At least it is if you have to take it for the length of time I’m having to take it. These TBIs (tick-borne infections) are some really tough bugs to beat and take BIG doses of antibiotics. Whereas most people will take a short 5 day course of Zith, I am looking at probably a couple of months… two pills a day. That’s a lot. It’s like a WHOLE lot. I had some massive sticker shock when I went to pick up the script for the first time. The gal said it would be $400 for a month’s supply. I asked about the generic and she replied, “That is the generic cost, the brand-name is $600.” Oh my!!

My mom bought 14 pills for $100 from Wal-Mart. That was enough to find out if I would even be able to take them (i.e. NOT have an allergic reaction) and to get me tied over for a few days while we tried to figure something out about affording this stuff. A couple of days worth of poking around and we managed to find the generic at Costco for a lot less. We also found that the drug manufacturer sometimes will supply meds for low-income, prescription-drug-plan-LESS people like myself. Sooooo, we’ve applied for that and in the meantime we bought another 10 days worth for $34 from Costco.

Yeah. That much less! I think I know where Wal-Mart is making all its profits now. =/ It’s in the medicines. Both prescriptions and OTC. Here is another example…

Another really good deal I found at Costco was the generic form of Claritin. The kids have both taking Zyrtec for about 6 years. Before Zyrtec’s patent ran out and they released it as an OTC medicine, that meant a $20 co-pay per kid each month. Once the patent ran out, it was about $1.50 cheaper per kid to buy the generic form OTC. Soon after I discovered we could get Walgreen’s generic version for about half the cost, so we switched to that. A couple of months later I found a generic Claritin at Wal-Mart that would be even cheaper. $7.50 for a bottle of 60. That would get both kids covered for a full month… at $7.50! Much better than the $40 it had been, so they got switched to Claritin a month ago.And then in walked Costco and sweetened the deal. I just paid $11.99 for a bottle of…wait for it… 300 tablets!!!! That is FIVE months for BOTH kids!! For twelve dollars!! So the kids’ maintenance antihistamine cost per year has dropped from $480 to $30! Oh my stars!!! =)

Anyway, while we were at Costco, Mike decided we’d buy a membership and he would drive me out (it’s a good hour’s drive) a couple of times a month. We made our first shopping trip last week. I spent $189 and came home with not a lot. LOL

No, really we did get some pretty good deals. Specifically in meats and cheeses. We got 10 pounds of ground beef for $18, a couple of decent sized roasts for another $20, a 2lb brick of Mike’s sharp cheddar for $5, and 5lb of shredded cheese for $11. I also picked up giant cans of diced tomatoes, stewed tomatoes, and spaghetti sauce to try freezing them. (I’ll split them into meal-sized portions and bag them, first.)

Our other medicine news…

Matthew is taking a new medicine to try and help him control his feelings and thus his behavior. He’s only been on it for a few days and the doc said it’d take a few weeks to notice any real effects, so I’m trying to just be patient. LOL

The kids both competed in the Putt-Putt event through the ‘league’ or whatever the school is in. They said that their school split into groups and both my kiddos placed FIRST in their group! Too cool! Of course, they don’t have any idea how that compares to the other schools, so no clue yet on whether they did well enough for a ribbon, but they had tons of fun. That’s right. They BOTH went and had fun.

I’ll say it again… clearer… MATTHEW, the kid who was terrified to even go on the field trips if I went with him and would not go play with the kids or even go to Sunday School class without me… went on a school field trip while I stayed HOME. There were several other schools there and HE HAD FUN! =)

Here’s where I drop my jaw, squeal with delight, and do a happy dance!

And no, the new medicine is NOT an anti-anxiety med and in fact he didn’t even start it until the next day. Meds ARE responsible, though. It’s the antibiotics. No doubt. Antibiotics, of all things, enabled a kid who has lived in perpetual fear and who was downright terrified of being around strangers, especially large crowds of them, to spend all day at a new place packed with strangers and far away from Mom. Amazing!

Matthew and I aren’t the only ones with new meds. Meagan is now officially starting treatment for Lyme Disease, too. She is on the same antibiotics Matthew is taking. My doc said something at my appointment about babesiosis being infamous among the co-infections of Lyme for causing nausea. I’m going to mention that to her doc who when I see her next, because that is the symptom that bugs Meagan the most. Every day since the virus or whatever it was in January that had her vomiting every hour for several hours, she has felt like throwing up at least once. She feels like she is going to collapse a lot, too. I think she’s trying to describe being woozy or lightheaded. We’ll see what her doc thinks about the babesiosis. I know she tested negative through a standard lab, but it doesn’t show up in the bloodwork very often, apparently.

Anyhow, I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s babesia causing the nausea. After all, I did test positive for it and I have symptoms of it myself (nausea, severe headaches, air hunger, hot flashes and chills, sweats, and more). Personally I don’t see how I could have passed down only one of my infections to the kids. Seems much more likely that whatever I had/have got passed down to them both.

I’m going to be going in for a consult for Meagan’s behavior soon too, though for much, much different reasons than for Matt. This is more for the ADHD and CAPD (Central Auditory Processing Disorder) that I’ve suspected for years and years but had not been able to get the previous pediatrician to do anything about.

So lots of changes in the air… so far all for the better. We’re feeling better, we’re functioning better, and even better? The docs say it will continue to get better and better. =)

I didn’t get any of my projects done last week, but I might get a chance to work on the secret project for the kids this week. They got their room clean enough finally that I just might get to.

I can’t wait. They’re going to be sooooo tickled! =) I am absolutely planning on taking pics and blogging about it.

Posted: September 13th, 2008 under Lyme disease, Matthew, Meagan, kids, the changing me.
Comments: none

The secret to having JOY is love. Here it is:

J = Love Jesus
O = Love Others
Y = Love Yourself

The bible says the greatest commandment is to love the Lord thy God with all your heart, all your soul, and all your might. You START by loving the Lord Jesus.

The bible says the second greatest commandment is like unto the first… love thy neighbor as yourself. Add to loving Jesus- loving others… but don’t forget yourself. Loving yourself above or before Jesus or others is wrong… but to not love yourself at all is wrong too. If you leave out loving any of these (including yourself), you will not have JOY. You would have Oy, or Jy, or Jo… but not JOY.

Likewise, if you love any of these out of order, you will not have Joy. If you put yourself first, you are loving yourself more than others and more than Jesus. This is breaking a commandment and would give you Yjo or Yoj. Neither of which is JOY. If you put others consistently before yourself, you’re on the right track, but if they are before Jesus, you’re still mixed up and without JOY. You’d have instead, Ojy or Oyj.

Nope. There is no other way to get JOY. You have to have love for the right people and in the right order and amount. That is…

1. Love Jesus first. More than anyone else (yourself included!). Put Jesus first in ALL you do. Period.

2. Then love others. More than yourself. Think of others before yourself. (Think: polite, courteous, etc.) Go out of your way to help others; go the extra mile.

3. Then love yourself. Do not neglect yourself. Some people go too far with loving themselves, getting all puffed up with pride and putting themselves ahead of everyone else including God, even though they may not set out to do so intentionally. Others, though, go too far the other way and think so little of themselves that they completely neglect caring for themselves. They come to despise and loathe their own selves…their own body and mind. This won’t bring you JOY either. Don’t neglect yourself; take care of your body and mind. Yes!, put Jesus and others first, but don’t leave off the caring and loving of yourself completely or you will be left with either Jo (almost right) or Oj (nowhere near right).

To recap: The secret to having JOY is in having LOVE for the right people in the right amounts and order. That is:

J = Love Jesus
O = Love Others
Y = Love Yourself

Bible references: Matthew 22:35-39, John 15:10-11

(see I Corinthians 13 for more details on what exactly love -charity- is, it will give you ideas on HOW to love)

Posted: August 23rd, 2008 under FLYing, faith, mildly "article-ish", the changing me.
Comments: 2

Such a bag of mixed news today. Could explain why my feelings are mixed. Or maybe it’s mixed feelings and that’s what makes it mixed news.

The big where-are-the-kids-schooling question has been answered. Mike decided it would be best for everyone if I took a break from homeschooling this year and the kids went to our church’s school. He called today to set things up. Praise the Lord Meagan still has a scholarship, so we will only have to come up with tuition for Matthew.

I definitely have mixed feelings. Of course, Meagan loves the school up there, so she is ecstatic. No mixed feelings for her! LOL Matthew? Yeah, he’s just as mixed up as me, though for different reasons.

Don’t get me wrong… there is nothing WRONG with our church school. Good school, good environment, good teachers, good curriculum, good extracurricular activities, etc. Nothing wrong with it at all. I just don’t like giving up homeschooling EITHER kid… not that I’m losing THEM, just losing the opportunity to teach them. I really enjoy the homeschooling (that is, the way I like to/was homeschooling a few years ago… the last couple of years I have been unable to homeschool to my standards). It stung a little last year when I lost one student, but I definitely saw the special opportunities it opened up for one-on-one teaching. This year it just downright hurts.

It’s not the difference in the kids, either, although there is a difference in how each kid views this change. Meagan, of course, is thrilled to continue on in the private school. Matthew, on the other hand, is less than thrilled. He’s apprehensive at best, and terrified at worst. He has a lot of concerns about going, not the least of which is all the PEOPLE. (He is also not exactly excited about the loss of textbooks and the gaining of small workbooks… the kid likes to READ, and he’s loved reading his schoolbooks.)

The reason this year is so hard on me, is not because I’m losing Matthew this time as opposed to Meagan, it’s because I’m losing ALL students as opposed to just one. I don’t favor one kid over the other, though I’m sure to strangers it probably appears that way because of the difference in the kids’ personalities (Matthew is mega-clingy and sticks to me like glue, Meagan is super-independent and can hardly be seen with me for more than a second before she takes off to do her own thing.)

Homeschooling is all I know. It’s been my ‘thing’, my job for 10 years. It’s been my life. I don’t mean that homeschooling has been more important to me than anything else and that nothing else holds any meaning whatsoever, I just mean that homeschooling… or at least the way I like to homeschool… is a lifestyle. It’s not just what we do did during school hours, it is was the way we live d.

I’m not going to lie and say I’m excited, or that I’m even happy about this. I will say that I gave the decision over to Mike, and I will stand by what he chose. I will even do so without complaining (too much…at least… I’ll TRY not to complain!). I can’t promise I will do this without a couple of bucketfuls of tears over what I’m losing.

No, it’s not the end of the world, and yes there are even aspects of this change I AM looking forward to… like Matthew learning to pray in front of others (they take turns asking the blessing at lunch). I just feel like in the last year everything I knew, everything I did, everything I was able to contribute has been slowly but surely taken away from me. This… the homeschooling… was the biggest contribution to my family and to the world and certainly to the Lord that I was making. It was and IS the only thing I knew how to do even remotely well enough to be considered a *good* thing… and now that’s gone.

With no longer being able to homeschool even, I feel like a complete and total failure in every regard. I mean I knew I was failing at the raising of the kids in terms of discipline and making them feel loved and accepted and so forth, but at least I was training their minds academically decently. I might suck at handling sibling squabbles or chores or hurt feelings or spiritual questions, but at least I could teach them how to use a dictionary or how to do long division. I might not know what to do or how to do it when it came to the “parenting” part of raising these two, but at least I could see how they each learn differently… what they have difficulty with, what they excel in, how they think, etc… and was able to fine-tune the curriculum and teaching methodology to suit their individual needs.

Proverbs 22:6 has SO much meaning to me… so many layers. I believe that each child’s training needs to be individually tailored in every way… that is tailored based on the way the learn, their personality, their spiritual gifts, their talents, their weaknesses, their strengths, their physical, mental, and emotional help… just completely and 100% tailored for them. Train up a child in the way they should go… (pronoun choice and emphasis mine to illustrate what I mean by individualizing everything). This is what I’ve tried to do, and while the private school is a good school and the teachers are good and the curriculum is good… they can’t tailor every little thing the way I can here at home. Not because I am so much better at doing so, just that they have to use ONE curriculum, ONE schedule, and they have several kids. It is perfectly understandable that there has to be some level of standardization amongst the class… whereas here at home I only had two kids to ‘tailor’ for and a vast array of curriculum and schedule options. (Plus, I had the added bonus ‘leg-up’ of knowing each child very personally from the time they were born. lol)

Now it’s someone else’s job. I don’t doubt that they can DO the job, that’s not my problem. My problem is… the teaching was the only job I felt like I could do even a little bit ‘well’. It’s like… my academics… my knowledge… my brain was all I had to give the kids, and now that that is gone…

It just hurts so much.

And also? What in the world am I supposed to occupy my time with now?? I mean, sure, I can crochet, sew, read, learn, etc, but do you have any idea how GUILTY I will feel doing things I enjoy but have no benefit for anyone aside from my own pleasure instead of doing something else I enjoy but that actually BENEFITS the kids (i.e. Homeschooling)?!!

I hate this.

Posted: August 12th, 2008 under Matthew, Meagan, kids, lettin' hubby lead, the changing me.
Comments: none

A few months back Mike and I had a rare night without kids. We did what most red-blooded-married-for-almost-twelve-years-American couple would do in that kind of situation…

He pulled out a movie and headed to the new TV in the living room and I headed to bed… to sleep.

Except I didn’t get to go to bed. I ended up having to watch the movie that I wasn’t interested in at all. Why? Because our bedroom floor hated me that night. Maybe it was mad at me for tossing my shoes a little too roughly… or maybe it was upset that I hadn’t given it a good mopping in awhile. I dunno. For whatever reason, as soon as I stepped into the bedroom, the floor stabbed me!

It did! A huge, gigantic LOG of the floor lodged itself in the bottom of my foot. (Probably because lodging itself in the top of my foot would’ve been too difficult for it… the stupid log!)

I gasped and hopped into the bathroom to find the tweezers whose usual job it is to keep the hair off my chinny-chin-chin. I flopped back over to the bed and pulled my leg up to inspect the carnage bestowed upon me by the evil wood floor. Yup, sure enough a GIANT log of a splinter that was starting to sting like crazy. Burn, really. Something about the fact that these floors are close to 100 years old…

So there I was with an antique telephone pole stuck in the bottom of my foot, but no worries! I had my trusty chin-hair-plucking tweezers! Alas, the bit of the redwood-sized piece of flooring that was sticking OUT of my foot trembled in fear of the mighty tweezers and promptly broke and fell off. Victory!

Or not… now there was nothing left to grab… or at least, not much. Yikes! I knew that if there was any hope of grabbing the teensy bit still on the outside of my skin it was going to take a steadier hand and eye than mine, so I hopped in to the living room and handed Mike the tweezers. He tortured me tried unsuccessfully to grab at the splinter with the tweezers, so I decided to soak my foot. The idea was for the splinter tree to kinda be drawn out and when I took my foot out of the warm, salty water…wahla! No more foreign object.

So I sat down to watch the totally boring movie (actually it was You’ve Got Mail, which is actually not-so-boring, it’s just I’d already seen it 5,392 times and so sleep sounded WAY more appealing) and soak my stinging, burning, ouching foot.

Notice I said the idea was for the splinter to be drawn out. The reality ended up being that all the warm, salty water did was soften the skin a tiny bit and wrinkle my toes. My foot was still impaled by the bedroom floor’s weapon of fierce owie-ness.

Now I have to stop this suspenseful (haha-hoho) tale for a moment and make a note that in the days just prior to being attacked by the floor, I had been worrying about my health and more specifically about what would happen if I got sicker before I got better and who would take care of me, because Mike was obviously not going to. After all he was all disinterested and seemingly unmoved any time I mentioned feeling achy or what-have-you. Any time anything medical or remotely so came up with the kids it was always left to me to handle… so obviously this translated into “I will be on my own and no one will take care of me”. Because my brain likes to put random conclusions on things that really make no sense.

Then Mike asked for a needle. He was going to have to perform surgery dig it out. OY VEY!!!

I have always hated splinters. Even just the real simple, little-bitty, out-on-the-first-try-with-tweezers kind. Once, as a kid, I got a splinter of GLASS (can you imagine the horror??) in my foot and I carried on so and screamed so much, that my mom was petrified the new neighbors would call the cops for child abuse. Splinters always seemed to mysteriously disappear anytime Mom even mentioned a needle. Not once did she manage to get near me with one. Come to think of it, there are probably some splinters still in my feet or hands that I didn’t let her get out with the needle and so the skin eventually grew over it. Yeah, I probably should not have let my thoughts wander in that direction… now I’ll forever be wondering just how much wood I’m carrying around under my skin…

Anyway. So Mike asked for a needle because the floor had done a doozy on my poor, size 7.5W (so not so little) foot and the chunk of wood was completely under the skin, inaccessible by tweezers. Great… not! Somewhere between the thoughts “AAAAAAHHHHHHH!” and “No, no, no, no, NO! NO NEEDLE!” I had the thought “there is even a reason for getting splinters and this time it might be an opportunity to show you that you can trust Mike to take care of you”.

And so, I gritted my teeth and tried with all my might to hold still while Mike dug at my foot with a needle equally as big as the log he was trying to dig out. (Or at least it felt that way.) My might wasn’t enough to keep me completely still or quiet, though. I did squirm and squeal, or at least Mike claims I did. (I think maybe he’s just foolin’…)

The thing is… Mike did get the splinter out… and he was VERY gentle in doing so. Yes, I said gentle in reference to a needle. I don’t know how he did it, but he did. I immediately declared him the World’s Best Splinter-Taker-Outer and have since referred the kids to Daddy at least twice with rave reviews of his splinter-removal skills.

Better than that though, I saw the whole episode for what it was… an opportunity to see that I could trust Mike to take care of me. I know that sounds hooky, but it’s totally true. It was hard for me to trust him with that needle, but I knew I needed to and I knew God wanted me to. So I closed my eyes and ‘handed’ over my foot instead of declaring the splinter miraculously gone and running and locking myself in the bathroom like I used to do as a kid. I’m glad I did, because I learned so much. Like how gentle my husband’s great big hands can be and how careful he is in trying not to hurt me BUT also totally capable of ‘doing what needs to be done’.

It’s a lesson that immediately came to mind a few weeks ago when my doctor told me I’d need IM (intramuscular…as in IN THE MUSCLE and so therefore very LONG and FAT needle) shots of B12 every day for awhile.

Somewhere between the thoughts of “AAAAAAHHHHHHH!” and “No, no, no, no, NO! NO NEEDLE!” I had the thought “It’s ok. Mike can do it and he’ll be good at it. It’ll be ok with him doing it.”

And truly… as much as I squirmed and squealed for the couple of weeks between hearing this news and actually getting everything in place (medicine, syringes, training) to start the daily injections… deep down I really wasn’t worried about it. That’s not to say I was looking forward to them or that I wasn’t a little curious as to just how it would feel, but I really wasn’t worried about the shots… as long as Mike was giving them.

I knew I could never give them to myself, which was actually the dr’s first suggestion. Needles are sized according to ‘gauge’. Kind of like wire. So the bigger the number gauge, the thinner the needle. Then they also have a length. The needles that Meagan uses for her growth hormone are super-thin and short. They barely go under the skin and they are just barely thicker than a hair. Seriously. They are 5/8″ long and 31 gauge.

I have a SUPER hard time poking those needles through skin… basically? I can’t bring myself to do it at all… which is why we use the Injectease. We put the syringe/needle in the Injectease, put the Injectease on Meagan’s skin and push the button. The Injectease pops the needle in her skin using spring-action and then I just push the plunger to deliver the meds. I don’t do any poking, though.

I use a big, fat 20 gauge to mix her meds. It’s almost as thick as the innards of a ballpoint pen. The needles I was going to be using? 1 1/2″, yes that is ONE AND ONE HALF inches, and 22 gauge!! You’ll notice 22 is closer to 20 than 31. There is a reason. They are THICK! Then the stupid pharmacy didn’t have 22 gauge and so Mike came home with a week’s supply of 21 gauge! Also, because they are so long and so big they won’t fit in the Injectease. Yeah… NO way I was going to be able to stick that in anyone, let alone myself.

Mike can, though. And very well, I might add. These are monster sized needles (in my opinion and since it’s my backside getting poked, it’s my opinion that counts), but the shots really, truly don’t hurt. He is THAT good! From the very first poke!! You’d think he’s been giving IM injections for years. I kid you not, his technique is better than the technique of most of the so-called professionals whom I can remember giving me injections.

Then today… oh my man is so good to me! He volunteered to take Meagan to her orthodontist appointment and then to go get the groceries…while I stayed home. How sweet, right? When he got back from the pharmacy (his 3rd trip out) he declared that “No one can say I don’t take care of my baby” and handed me a new pretty for my kitchen (a metal Coca-Cola tray) and a box of 22 gauge needles!!

Oh the romance that was in the air! Ok, maybe it wasn’t very romantic but it did make me remember the whole splinter/trust thing and prompt me to get on here and brag about how my hubby is taking good care of me despite my worries that he wouldn’t or couldn’t.

I am so thankful for my hubby and his gentleness!

Posted: July 14th, 2008 under Lyme disease, faith, lettin' hubby lead, the changing me.
Comments: none

I called a number I’ve had for weeks and weeks now, armed with not much more than a positive test result. Scratch that, armed with the Holy Spirit, so a whole lot more than a positive test result. I would not have been able to get through the call had I not done a bit of serious praying first. The short/good news is I have an appt the 17th… but now I’m worried…

The doctor himself called me back after I told the receptionist I’d had a positive IgM test through Igenex and that I’d heard the dr treats Lyme, and he did sound so nice, AND (and this was so cool!) he actually started out by believing me (which is so weird, ya know!). I know because he said I wasn’t very old but I’d been hit by a truck. Yup. That pretty much sums it up. And I was glad when he didn’t start asking me for symptoms, too, because that is something I’ve been worried about. That initial question. Not because I don’t have symptoms, mind you. Oh far from that! But because when asked outright like that, for some reason my mind freezes and shuts down and I have major problems pulling anything back out of the abyss of my mind in order to LIST them. So that was so nice, though I’m sure it seems kinda weird.

But then he found out I don’t have insurance, and maybe it’s just my imagination (ok, actually it probably is…probably more than a little of the OCD, anxiety, PARANOIA, etc creepin’ in), but it seemed like something changed.

Started off by saying it wasn’t free. Yeah, I KNOW that. I’m willing to pay. I don’t like it, but not because his expertise and/or the testing/meds are not worth the $$, just because I don’t like spending that kind of $$ on ME. My kids? Absolutely. Me? Never before. So it hurts me to do it in that regard.

And of course $$ isn’t exactly free-flowing around here, otherwise I would have had insurance years ago… I digress.

Why the difference I wonder? Do you think he is annoyed at/with me because he’s afraid I can’t/won’t pay?

I TOTALLY am going to pay. He will have his $$ every visit I go to. If I can’t pay, I won’t go in. I just won’t.

I HAVE gone in to the ER not being able to pay, but that is totally different. I have never and WILL never (if I have anything to say about it at all) go to a dr visit knowing I can’t pay for it. I just won’t.

Shoot. That’s why I’ve never gone in with all the various possible sinus or bladder or chest or kidney even… infections over the years. Cause I was not prepared to dish out the money. (I technically COULD have, but I didn’t see it as crucial since I had garlic and so could try that first, so therefore it was optional. And optional actually means not an option when it comes to ME. Know what I mean?)

So I did it. I grabbed the bulls by the horn sotospeak and actually DID something for FlyLady’s Anti-Procrastination Day. I made a dr appt for myself. And now? Now I have to find the $300 for the appt. Scratch that. Now I have to (attempt to!!) exercise patience and wait on the Lord to provide the $300 for the appt… oh and also the $190 for the testing for Matthew… and also the however-much-it-will-be for the meds I need.

It’s ok, though. Phillipians 4:19, Chris. Also, consider the lillies, Chris. And also? My God is a great BIG AWESOME God and no amount of $$ is too big for Him to round up. Doesn’t even qualify as pocket change for Him.

Deep breaths. Need to go either hyperventilate (not a good option) or maybe veg-out for a bit to get my mind off freakin’ out about the whole “did I upset the dr? did I offend him somehow? did I annoy him? did I say the right things? did I just mess up horribly?” thing.

Yeah. Can’t concentrate on much else at the moment. OCD much? =/

Posted: June 4th, 2008 under FLYing, faith, just life, the changing me.
Comments: none

I hate to admit it, but I’ve been avoiding posting. Truly. Outright avoidance. I’m not even really sure why.

Right now, this second, I am hating the me I am. Badly. I detest me. I’m an awful me. I have no one to blame but myself (ok, prob. can share at least a little blame with some little germies, but still…). I. Hate. Me.

I hate the me that I am. I am an awful mother. I yell at the kids. I hate that. I am getting worse about it the more I try not to, too. I hate that even more.

I tell the kids stupid stuff when I get upset or frustrated. I hate that, too. Things like “I know you hate me, you’ve made that perfectly clear.” or “You think everything has to be YOUR way or no way, and I’m about ready to tell you ok, no way and kick you out.” or “It’s ok, you probably won’t have to deal with the horrible mother that I am what with making you clean up your own messes and all- for much longer. I’ll probably be dead or locked up within 6mo anyway.”

He’s 9! WHY do I even say this stuff? I HATE it! I try so hard not to. I do. And the stuff just keeps coming. I didn’t use to be this way. Honest.

I know when the kids were still toddlers and throwing temper tantrums way more often than this (and BOTH of them were doing it!!), I was calm and cool for the most part. I didn’t ever blow up at them like this. I really didn’t. I’m SURE there were times when I snapped at them, but NOT like this. No way.

I either spanked them and put them in time-out or I tried Mom’s method of making them keep the tantrum going…long past the time they were ready to stop. (Almost reverse psychology there.) I can remember friends telling me I was sooooo patient…how do I do it? I got that a lot. At the time I did NOT think I was patient…at all… but looking back now? Knowing the way I am now? Oh I was super-mega patient mommy. Like you wouldn’t even believe!!

Now? I have no patience it seems and I HATE that! I have been trying to fix it. I’ve been praying for help and the patience thing just keeps getting worse and worse. It’s gotten like a billion times worse just in the last year. Probably about a year ago is when I first noticed I was having big problems with the whole patience/blowing up thing, and man! it just gets worse and worse.

I HATE ME!

Yes, I apologize every time. And yes I cry about it and he cries about it and we cry about it and we both promise to try and do/be better…me with the snapping/blowing up and him with the obeying/behaving to start with. Less behavior problem, less snapping problem. And NO I don’t mean that he is at fault… and yes, I tell him over and over that no he is not to blame for my blowing up. I just mean that there *is* a correlation. His constant fighting with everyone around him (whether it be fighting with his sister or fighting us parents by not doing what he’s told or correcting us or whatever….) is so unbelievably frustrating! I just can’t take it!

What I really don’t get and is where the “hating me” part comes in, I think, is that I used to get just as frustrated with him… or his sister… or my parents… or my brothers… or whatever… and yet I could still keep from blowing up nearly always. And on the rare occasions I did I *mostly* was able to keep from spewing too much junk before I quit. I’d mostly just bang things around for awhile and grunt.

Last year though, things started changing. Matthew’s behavior had been getting worse, the tantrums, the hate pouring out of him, the Jekyll/Hyde like stuff was worse and worse over the last couple of years. I was beyond frustrated with him, of course…had been for a long, long time, but I didn’t start blowing up and really losing it until last year.

When I noticed it (and believe me I noticed it pretty quick), I immediately started hating myself and begging God to please help Matthew and help me. At first I protested being his mom, I begged God to please take him from me and give him to someone who could give him what he needed because obviously I couldn’t. Nothing I’d tried had helped…at all.

I begged and begged. Then I gave up and said ok, if You won’t give him a different mom, please make me into the mom he needs.

This… this me that I am right now tonight… can NOT be it. It just can’t be. I know that.

Around the same time I started having really bad brain problems in general. Bad anxiety, freaking out, paranoia, forgetfulness (actually this had been building for a few years), inability to think clearly or to focus, word finding problems, couldn’t say what I wanted to in the right way, etc. Lots of stuff.

I started crying out to God, “What is wrong with me?!”. I knew something was wrong. I was losing my mind. I really, REALLY thought I was going crazy.

Then I started having weird nerve pain and tingles and numbness. Electric shocks going through my body in different places. I’d had shin pain for awhile, and swollen lymph nodes off and on, too. Started having balance problems walking to and from church so I pretty much took to driving. Especially after one particularly scary trip where I wasn’t sure I was NOT going to pass out once I got inside the church.

I decided I better run a quick check online to see if I needed to find a dr. No insurance makes the internet my first pitstop. I run my symptoms through and do a little research first. If it seems more likely that it is a common, simple thing I can skip the dr fee. That way I’m not paying for a dr to tell me I have a simple cold or a little bit of heat exhaustion or I’m probably a little low on vitamins or whatever. If it looks more troubling? Well, then I guess I’ll have to bite the $$ bullet and get it checked out.

This has worked fine for years. I watch for signs of infection (sinus, bladder, kidney, etc) and take garlic for that…if it doesn’t get better I’ll go in for stronger antibiotics. I’ve never needed to, btw. I’ve probably saved thousands of dollars this way.

I started with the freak-out type stuff and what was coming up was rapid-cycling bipolar disorder. Not just the “normal” bipolar, but rapid-cycling. That is… extreme highs and lows but SEVERAL TIMES IN ONE DAY. Oh yes. It was so not a good few months there… really. =(

That seemed to make a LOT of sense and I was pretty sure I better see about finding a dr to be sure and then get some meds, but something kept naggin at me… that wouldn’t explain the weird balance and nerve pain and other various PHYSICAL problems.

My knees that had been acting up off and on for 2-3yr (early onset osteoarthritis I’d decided) were doing ok, but now my feet were joining the party. And my hands, and my arms… I’d had super bad headaches more ON than off for years. And lots and lots of other things too.

So I tried again, this time being sure to include the physical stuff. The last time I’d really done any REAL diggin into possible health problems was several years ago… for the kids. At the time there was not a site where you could go and enter a bunch of symptoms and get a list of possible things to look into, but I remember discussing with a friend of mine that there SHOULD BE!

I was pleasantly surprised to find that now there WERE sites like this (besides google, I mean). So I did that.

I came up with things like: lupus, multiple sclerosis, chronic fatigue syndrome, hypothyroidism, fibromyalgia, osteoarthritis, Lyme disease, Parkinson’s Disease, bipolar disorder, and a few others. It was really weird to watch the possibles list change as I entered symptoms or took them away. Pretty much the only one that stayed no matter what was Lyme disease.

I pretty much ignored that one, though. I’d had a tick attached back in the summer of ‘03 and had looked up Lyme disease at the time, knowing I didn’t have insurance to go see a dr because of a tick bite. I looked it up to see what to watch for that way if I DID have problems I could go in, then. Bullseye rash and then a few weeks later knee pain, and eventually the arthritic stage would resolve itself anyway. So, it looked like really I could just tough it out even if I did get the bullseye rash… it would all go away on its own. I kept an eye on the redness that showed up a couple of days after we pulled the tick off, but the center never cleared, so I was good.

I looked into each of the other possibles a little and pretty quick was able to say my problem was probably NOT _____ for whatever reason. The most likely one was looking like multiple sclerosis.

Interestingly enough, this was right at the same time my mom took herself into the doctor (shock of shocks!!!) because of a weird numbness episode she’d had. The doctor was checking her out for MS! Had an MRI and a CAT scan, both. No MS, but her thyroid levels were a little low. I thought it seemed appropriate we were both looking at poss. MS until I realized that MS actually is NOT generally found “running in families”. oh. my bad. LOL

A talk with a friend, though, told me that not everyone gets a bullseye rash with Lyme disease AND that the knee pain doesn’t always show up right away…sometimes not for years and sometimes not even then, but Lyme can cause a lot of other symptoms too.

Back to the research drawing board I went. Oh the info I found on Lyme disease! She was right… the bullseye rash is NOT always there, nor are symptoms always seen right away. Hmmm… Also every single symptom I had *could* be attributed to Lyme disease. Including the losing my mind kind of stuff.

So I told Mike that pretty much I felt sure I was looking at either MS or Lyme, and I needed to see a dr. In the meantime I did more research and reading. I found out that oftentimes Lyme disease is misdiagnosed. Many cases of: MS, fibromyalgia, chronic fatigue syndrome, depression, and even some cases of ALS (Lou Gehrig’s disease), Parkinson’s disease, early Alzheimer’s, ADD/ADHD, and bipolar disorder are found to actually be Lyme disease. People were getting better after being diagnosed and treated properly (with Lyme) whereas they had not been getting better being treated for the ______.

Sooo… looking like maybe the most likely is Lyme? How WEIRD is that, though?? I live in TEXAS! And Lyme is supposedly RARE, right? Especially in TEXAS?!?!

Well, no.

It’s transmitted by deer ticks found in the northeast, yes. It’s also transmitted by lonestar ticks (found here in the Lone Star State!), and other species of ticks. It’s also been found in fleas, gnats, flies, and mosquitos. So there’s a potential right there. The deer ticks in nymph stage can be as little as the period at the end of this sentence. If it bites and doesn’t make a bullseye rash, you might not even know it’s there at all! Lyme has been found in every state in the USA.

I was born in Virginia. I vacationed in VA and Maine as a kid. I lived near wooded areas several times as a kid here in TX. I knew for sure I’d had at least one attached tick. I’d even had a rash with it. I definitely had the possibility of having been exposed to the Lyme bacteria.

I knew I was going to have to go to a dr and I knew I was going to have to be tested for Lyme, too. WHATEVER I had, I was getting sicker. My symptoms were getting worse. My bad days were getting worse and more frequent. The aches had spread to nearly every part of my body at random various times, and on bad days EVERYTHING ached. On bad days I was hurting everywhere…and stiff… and couldn’t think or function worth a flip. The bad days were starting to keep me in bed, even. Not just keeping me from getting cleaning done, but keeping me from being able to get up at all.

I was scared, and confused, and I still am. I hadn’t seen a dr since I was pg (except for an ER trip a few summers ago due to weird blood/heart problems which DEFINITELY is connected, I know now). I had collected so much information, but I had no insurance and could not figure out what my best plan of action was. Also? Lyme can be passed through pregnancy to the baby… I had had some symptoms since jr. high. If I had Lyme, the kids could.

Testing isn’t always accurate. Lyme is a clinical diagnosis. That means even if the tests come back negative, you might still have Lyme. This is because they need better testing… and also because the Lyme bacteria burrows its way into your tissues, organs, bones, etc and hides from your immune system, so the immune system may or may not be making antibodies against it. It’s the antibodies the tests look for.

By December, I knew I had to see a doctor who knew and understood Lyme. One who wouldn’t blow me off by saying Lyme doesn’t exist in TX (which it certainly DOES, but regardless I could have picked it up in VA or ME or CO or a dozen other places). I also knew the kids would need testing if I were diagnosed with Lyme.

I asked my friend to help. My brain just doesn’t work right a lot of the time. Besides this was ME talking about ME seeing a dr. This is just sooooo weird. I needed help.

She very graciously said she would help. =) I was still not sure, though. I mean for years I had relied on Jesus to be my only physician. After all, He is the Great Physician. I had convinced myself that for ME that is the way it should be. That I wasn’t fully trusting God if I saw a dr. I took the kids to drs, sure… that was different. Although I did totally see the irrationality of that, I still couldn’t shake it.

I was so scared I would be failing God by going to a doctor, or that I would maybe not be failing…but that maybe it just wasn’t what I should do. I prayed and prayed some more. Of course I’d BEEN praying for months that the Lord would please help me know what to do, that He’d help me figure out what was wrong and that if He wanted me to see a dr, He would help me to know that. I prayed more…and then some more. One day I prayed very specifically… I was just so scared of doing something out of His will and just so confused and it seemed like the more I thought about stuff the more confused I got, so I prayed, “Lord if you want me to see a dr, please, You’re going to have to tell me exactly WHICH doctor and exactly what to say, because I just can’t figure this out.”

I don’t think it was even two days later my friend showed up at my door and started a conversation about doctors and told me the name of a doctor she felt sure would order the testing for me and then told me to let her know if I needed help in figuring out exactly what to say when I went in.

Things got crazy and I didn’t actually get an appointment made for another few weeks, but go in I did…with my friend right beside me. Oh my goodness was that ever a BLESSING!! I was petrified and nervous and so very thankful for her presence.

The P.A. signed the paperwork so I could have the test for Lyme done through a lab in CA that specializes in tick-borne diseases. This lab has the most accurate testing, though even these tests can still come up falsely negative. We dropped the sample off in the mail and then I waited.

For two weeks, I think it was. That day Matt took off and he ended up visiting the jail the next day? Well the day he visited the jail I spent in pain in bed most of the day. I finally managed to get up around 2pm, but only just. I HAD to, though, because Meagan had to go get a Lupron shot and bloodwork done and of course Mike was waiting to hear back from the police about Matthew. So I managed to take Meagan to do the shot and bloodwork and then went to church. While I was in bed, Mike had called the dr office to see if the test results were in yet. They were not. I’d already called a couple of days before.

I called again the Monday of the next week and ended up calling the lab in CA. The results were sent out to the dr, but the dr’s office was saying they still didn’t have them. So I got a fax # and called the lab back and had them fax it over. I picked up a copy the next day.

It was positive.

I have Lyme disease.

I still need to find a dr to treat it though. I am trying to get the guts up to call a dr tomorrow. I’m scared he won’t take me as a patient, though, since I don’t have insurance.

I’ve waited till now to even think about calling and getting an appointment because I thought I’d try to get insurance first. Since the P.A. had not given me a diagnosis officially, I thought that meant I did not have a pre-existing condition and so I could get health insurance and then when it kicked in I could go to the dr. Except that won’t work.

Last Thursday we had Meagan’s Un-birthday party… at the park… at 2pm… in the TX sun. There was little to no shade. Whether it was the sun, the stress (it was a FULL week or two before that filled with Lupron reactions, ortho appointment, dentist appt to get 7 teeth pulled, end of school, awards banquet, and lots of other stuff), or the Lyme bacteria’s ‘cycle’ (the bacteria reproduces about every 30 days), or WHAT I don’t know, but Friday was a BAD day.

I mean a big bad day. Worst day I’ve had yet. I was in so much pain and was so stiff and weak in the a.m. that Mike had to help me roll over for much of the morning. Around noon I was able to get myself rolled over without help, but I still couldn’t get up. Mike was ready to take me to the ER or the GP we’d seen years ago, but I was scared to do that since I still hadn’t looked at the insurance thing closer. He called and got info on the health insurance through his work. Open enrollment is in Oct. It would cost $180 every pay period to get me put on and it wouldn’t kick in until Jan. He wanted to take me in and get something to help get me through till then, at least, but I was adamant.

I finally managed to get up and sit for about an hour in the evening, then back to bed. Mike said I had fever when he left for work that night. Saturday was better. I was able to get up and into the dining room, but with much difficulty. I was stiff and I hurt and I was weak, but nothing like the day before. I spent most of Sat. looking into the insurance.

Come to find out the insurance companies look back anywhere from 6mo-5yr and anything you sought advice or treatment for or that a “prudent person” WOULD have sought advice or treatment for is considered a pre-existing condition and most insurance companies will exclude any and all treatment costs for that condition for a year or permanently. So as that extremely long sentence shows (LOL!)… I was outta luck on the ins. Even if I got some, it still wasn’t going to pay for Lyme treatment.

Sunday was even better, though I did stay home from church in the am. I was still walking WAY funny. No way would I have been able to do the amount of walking required without a cane. Since I didn’t have one… haha. I had loosened up enough by that evening that I could go to the evening service. I was still stiff and sore and I was still walking funny, but not horribly so. I was, of course, still twitching, too. Twitching is pretty much an everyday thing anymore. I hope no one noticed. I don’t think so. Anyway, if they did they didn’t say anything. I did have 3 people ask what I did that left me so stiff. I told them nothing, but I doubt they believed me. LOL

So that brings me to tonight. Why didn’t I call yesterday or today? I’m scared. I heard another woman was calling this dr Monday, and thought it would be weird if I called the same day. Besides she was obviously sicker and in more need than I was… she’d been to the ER last week and they really messed up her arm with the IV poke. So I thought I’d wait a few days, maybe. Then I heard that the dr was going to “get back with her” about whether or not he’d take her on as a patient and I basically freaked. I wanted to wait and see if she’d get in or not.

Found out this afternoon that he is going to take her, which is great. =) She has insurance though. I do not. I’m still scared he won’t take me.

I have no reason to wait anymore either, and every reason to NOT wait. Especially since I am hating the me I have become more and more each day. No, I should not blow up at the kids no matter what, but YES the Lyme *is* playing a part. I know that now. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get back to the kind of mom I was 6 or 7 or 8 years ago if I don’t get treated and get better. In fact, I’m sure I won’t. So I have to do this. Somehow.

I don’t have any idea how we’re going to pay for the dr visits, the meds, the bloodwork, the supplements. Not to mention the fact that it could double or triple as we still have to get the kids tested and then if THEY need treatment and the in-network drs can’t or won’t treat…

Matthew has an appointment with a new pediatrician Thurs. I have the test kits from the lab (Igenex) in CA sitting here ready. I’m praying the new ped will sign the paperwork to get the testing done. We’ll have to pay out-of-pocket for that, since the lab is out-of-network.

I don’t know how the Lord is going to work this out. I don’t. BUT I do know He will. I know this is where He’s led me/us. And if God leads you to it, He will see you through it.

Saturday night as I laid in bed, after having learned that no matter what I wasn’t going to get health insurance to cover Lyme treatment for me unless I waited a LONG time and/or committed insurance fraud, I prayed. I prayed and I reminded myself that if the Lord outfits the lilies, He will surely take care of me. We humans are more precious to Him than the animals and plants and other creations as we are made in His image. If He cares enough to take care of the new kitty we have, and I know that well enough that I felt ok praying that He would help us get rid of the fleas that had found her, then He cares for me enough to take care of the dr bills without insurance. I realized I had been kinda trying to put my faith and trust in the insurance to cover the costs because I just can’t SEE or fathom how He will provide otherwise.

Thing is, I don’t have to see it or understand it. I don’t have to know ahead of time how He’s going to work it out. Jesus cares so much for me that He DIED for me, He loves me and wants the best for me. I know because He tells me so in the bible. He’s led me this far on the Lyme journey. He’s allowed me to figure out I needed testing and treatment, He’s not going to quit caring and helping now… He will make a way, even if it does seem impossible to me right now.

So I decided then that I was going to go ahead and call to make an appointment this week, and nevermind waiting on insurance. For a start I was not about to even consider committing insurance fraud. Uh-uh! The Lord will provide a way that does NOT include breaking a law. Of that I am SURE! Whether or not we even look about buying insurance (and then it would *maybe* start paying for treatment after a year) or not I don’t know right now, but if so, it won’t be while trying to hide the Lyme disease!

Sunday night at church, the song sung as a special was “Consider the Lilies”. =) I thanked God right then and there for that blessing. That was the very idea and verse and what-not I’d been having to focus on and remind myself of just the night before. Ok, so it probably wasn’t me, after all, huh? More like the Holy Spirit reminding me to consider the lilies…

And the woman who sang the special? Well, she was one of the three that commented on my stiff walk. LOL

So I’m sitting here hating the me I’ve become, and knowing that while I am NOT completely guiltLESS by any stretch of the imagination, there *IS* some problem outside of my control that is making the situation all the more difficult and complicated. So while I’m hating the me I’ve become, some of that hate is actually for the bacteria that is chewing on my brain, and other body parts, and throwing my hormones into a major tizzy. The bacteria has helped to shape the me I’ve become. Stress, frustration, and lack of help (mostly due to my stubborn SINFUL pride which has led me to not only not ask for help but to actually turn it away over the years…) has also played a part. Exhaustion plays a role too. And yes, of COURSE!!! so does sin. Like I said, I am NOT guilt LESS.

I need to work even harder at locking myself up when I lose it. I always end up not doing it because I think that’ll be leaving Matthew to “get away” with something and/or it’ll leave the kids unsupervised (while I’m hiding in the closet crying or fuming). I have done it before, just not in awhile. I used to be pretty good at it when Mom and the others were still here. I guess I figured I could then because there would still be an adult (my mom) up and about to watch over things while I hid.

Since they moved out, I’ve been mostly trying to just not have the whole frustrated blow-up problem at all so I don’t have to hide and leave them unsupervised. (Trust me, Matthew unsupervised during one of his meltdowns is not good… of course me in one of MINE isn’t either…)

One thing about it… if the way I feel when I have these meltdowns or whatever is at all close to what Matthew feels when he has his… Oh my stars!! =( It’s not good. At all. It really, REALLY is uncontrollable at a certain point. Mike and I were talking about it a couple of weeks ago… if there really truly is some physical aspect to his massive Jekyll/Hyde like behavior over the past SIX YEARS, then we feel AWFUL for being so hard on him when he has these meltdowns.

We just didn’t know it could even be an honest-to-goodness possibility, ya know? Now we know it’s possible, and we’re going to try to find out, and in the meantime I hope and I pray that I can keep my own cool and quit saying stupid things to him that I shouldn’t. I HATE that I say them… sick or not, physical problem or not I shouldn’t say them. I know it and I feel awful about it and I’m TRYING to not do it anymore, I am. There truly is something to the “uncontrollable” thing though…at least after a certain point. There are times when I really TRULY can’t help but blow my top. Sometimes over the stupidest things, too…which again… sounds like Matthew.

So yeah. I’m a horrible mom. I know it, but I AM trying to fix things. Yes, I’ve yelled at my kids and said some really awful things to them. I AM trying to fix things. Please don’t hate me. I do enough of that for us both. Truly. =(

I guess that explains why I’ve been avoiding posting. I knew it would be a long, full disclosure kind of post. One in which I let it all hang out sotospeak. Not pretty or pleasant. More like painful. I don’t like pain. I tend to try to avoid it if at all possible. I’m sure you understand.

Posted: June 3rd, 2008 under Lyme disease, Matthew, faith, the changing me.
Comments: none

I can count on one hand the number of times I have held an infant in the 5yr since my very good friend and her newest bouncing babe moved 5hr away.

Three times. All in the last year. The latest was tonight and I held that bundle of binky-sucking sweetness for at least 15min.

I always wanted 8. At least 5 “homegrown”, because I’m one of those weird ones who actually likes the whole “being pregnant” thing.

I have 2, am very grateful for them, and love them to pieces, but I have to say…

My ovaries are definitely having an allergic reaction of ginormous proportions right now.

I’m just sayin. ;-)

Posted: May 18th, 2008 under funnies, just life, kids, the changing me.
Comments: none

I’m not verbal. I’m verbose, maybe, but not verbal. I do NOT communicate well with my mouth. In fact, I mostly just completely flub anything and everything I attempt to communicate that way. I find myself saying the stupidest things on a more than regular basis.

I came home the other night and was kicking myself in the proverbial rear for flubbing up the answer to an oh-so-simple question, and thought, ya know? This would actually make pretty good copy for the blog, what with it being part of the music God is spinning, and all…

That said, I’m going to write what I was trying to say the other night when my Sunday School teacher asked me a very interesting question. Because basically? I completely did NOT convey the whole story like I would have liked to. Because I’m not verbal. I said that already, though, didn’t I? =)

He asked me simply- what made me decide to come to this church? Well, I’m going to answer that better here than I did there…

God.

There. That’s it. Very verbose, I know. Seriously, though. That’s the whole story. What? You want more specifics? Yeah, that would probably help to clarify the flubbed version, anyway. Ok…

Our church (can I just take a second here to pause and praise the Lord that I can say “our” or “my”?? I can’t possibly explain just how VERY special it is to me that I have a church home…that I am allowed to say “my church”… it’s a source of continual wonderment for me, and sometimes I don’t really remember it and get scared when there’s talk about moving buildings because then I think “NO! I DON’T WANT IT TO END! PLEASE DON’T LEAVE ME!” I digress…)

Our church has a bus ministry. That is, each Saturday morning various church members (pastor, preachers, men, women, kids….) go out to the different towns in our county and knock on doors inviting kids to ride the church bus to Sunday School the next morning. I’m not sure how many routes we (again with the personal pronouns… LOVING it!!) have, maybe 5 or 6?, but we generally have around 50-70 kids come in on the buses. (Ok, I’m guessing here, really… it is a lot, though.)

So, on any given Sunday if you live in our county, you just might get a knock on the door and an invitation to church…especially if they see that you have young-uns runnin’ round your yard (like I frequently do).

Well, one Saturday several years back (too much like work to count up how many), I got a knock on the door, and this nicely dressed man who loved kids (this observation was based on most careful scientific research… that is: he was SMILING about all the rapscallions runnin’ rampant in my yard, so obviously he liked kids) told me his church ran a church bus and asked if my kids would like to ride.

I told him something akin to “I don’t know”. Yeah, real eloquent, I know. Anyway, he gave me a flyer and told me to give a call if they wanted a ride. (Little did he know then that ME making first contact…like as in making a phone call?…is ummm, well…..HAHAHAHA… 3 letters… S H Y. Besides which- it was a cell phone # if I recall correctly, and that was just way too personal for me. I wasn’t going to bother someone on their CELL, for goodness sakes. I had no idea at that time that - cell phones have taken over the world - because basically I’d been sequestered in my house for like 5 or 6 years living as a nocturnal hermit.)

Let me break from this plotline for a moment and take you back probably about… ok, I don’t know how long, a year or so maybe? (Please excuse the fuzzy dates…trying to remember the passage of time is a HUGE struggle for me, I’m afraid…)

I got saved when the kids were both still in diapers. I immediately started passing down my newfound faith, BUT it was slow and small for awhile. Toddler bible storybooks, casual observations about how God made the flowers, that kind of thing. Then when I started homeschooling the first preschooler… it was a set of bible cards (stories, biographies, etc). As she moved up into the more ‘formal’ schooling, I added our first bible course/curriculum. -A side note that I know will grow into its own post or six eventually is that these bible teachings were done for 3 children…Meagan, Matt, and myself. I was learning right along with them, on purpose I was starting as a toddler.

I know I said I’d go a year back, but it wouldn’t have made since without that quick trip there. So as I homeschooled the kids, I taught them from prepared bible curriculum that I had PRAYED ABOUT using because I was bound and determined to NOT teach them (or ME) anything false.

Meagan loved bible class, as did Matthew and I. She would bring up the stories or ask questions during other classes too, and so she earned a Faith Award one of those early homeschool years. Somewhere around this time I started thinking about maybe going to a church. I wasn’t real sure why I even wanted to, because I’d grown up believing they were for the fakes. Maybe it was because those bible lessons talked about going to church on Sundays and going to church on Wednesdays. Maybe it was because they talked about going to Sunday School class and singing. (I love to sing…too bad I have an awful voice!) Maybe it was the bible and devotion reading I had just started for the first ever time in my life. (My reward to myself for keeping my kitchen sink shiny for one full month was my very own bible with devotions…course it turns out later all my careful researching of accurate and ‘ok’ translations was all for naught…I still messed it up, but anyway….)

Or maybe it was just the Holy Spirit whispering to me that it was time I took another step. Yeah, that’s probably more like it.

Whatever the reason, the wanting to go to a church was growing on me…and Meagan, too, it seemed. She started asking when we could go to church. I answered her with “I don’t know” or “I’ll have to check it out first” a lot.

I wanted to go, but I was terrified. I was. Of what, you ask?

Going to the WRONG church, for one.

So I started praying. I knew that God wanted me to give or do or teach or SOMETHING in a church. I knew that. I just knew I was supposed to be in a church because there was a specific something I needed to do. I knew that as surely as I knew I was breathing. I also knew these things: it had to be a church that taught the TRUTH and it had to be THE church that God wanted me in. I highly suspected (as in was 99.99% certain) that if such a truth-teaching church existed it was a Baptist one. This based on my grandmother (the missionary and totally my example of a Christian…post about her is also planned) being a Baptist.

Oh sure! I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think about the fantasy of having loving friends and a “church family”… people who would care about me and my kids and love us and help us and take care of us. Absolutely I did fantasize about that, but I didn’t focus on that. I figured that was a pipe dream. I KNEW, though, that I needed to get to that church and soon.

Problem was how would I know which church was right? I knew very little about the bible or Christianity. I did know enough, though, to know that there are a LOT of wrong churches. Churches that profess Christianity but are just WRONG. I’d found myself in a few of those throughout high school. Scared me plum outta my skin, some of them. Others just made me want to bolt to the door the teaching was so, so… not right! THAT was a most uncomfortable one. I was almost seething by the time I left.

My plan at first was to try and get my mom to go with me to check out the churches. Why was that my plan? My reasoning was…she grew up on the mission field. She, a missionary’s daughter, would be able to tell a truth-following church from a not-truth-following church better than me. No question about it. Hands down, better qualified. Certainly she had been exposed to more Christianity and bible than I ever had been…

Problem again. I never could convince her to go. I really, really wanted to go, though, as did Meagan, and by now I was convinced the Lord wanted us in a church, too.

But which one? How was I, so very ignorant in the things of God to know which one? I knew what I would like for one…something small because I’m shy. But wait. Would a bigger one be better? You might can hide better in a big one. I mean you might could ‘do your own thing’ and kinda just blend into the walls and crowd easier that way, so maybe a bigger one would be better… Except think of the crowded auditorium…think about standing up and sitting down, stumbling through the bible to find the bible verse, SINGING, passing the collection plate…in a crowd of hundreds… all watching you and thinking how stupid you are. Ummm, yeah, maybe that smaller one is looking better. Maybe a nice quiet pew in the back. Out of earshot of anybody, lest I damage their eardrums with my high-pitched awful singing.

I never got much further than that. I truly had NO idea how to pick a church. I had no idea how to even begin. I did the ONLY thing I knew to do. Sit on my backside and wait for God to do it for me. I didn’t do that out of some deep faith, though mind you. I did it out of laziness and fear. I was too lazy to actually GO and start the search (if you’re gonna learn to swim, you’re gonna have to get in the water). I was too scared to start the search and find another wrong one. I didn’t want to expose my kids to it, and frankly I was scared to death that maybe I was wrong in thinking there even WAS a church that followed the truth. I mean, after all, I’d been believing for a long time that churches were fake, and certainly the few I’d seen in recent years had done nothing to disspell that belief.

I was scared of what would happen to ME if I landed in another one of those kinds of churches. I wanted no part of it, I dreaded it…really, I did.

I kept praying that the Lord would please lead me to the right church for our family (I learned about doing that through an email group for Christians in TX who were learning to FLY with some help from FLYlady.net). I prayed that God would help me to know which church was right. Then I did a teensy bit of homework.

Like basically none. One thing you need to know right now is this: I do NOT know my city. That is to say I know my city has a Wal-Mart, a hospital, a library, a McDonalds, a bank, and a post office. Outside of that? Yeah notsomuch. Also? I am SEVERELY directionally challenged. I’m talking horrible case here. Did I tell you I got lost driving the new van home from the dealership? Yeah, that was like 1/2 a mile STRAIGHT DOWN THE HIGHWAY from my house. I live like 2 blocks from said highway. It’s a no-brainer. For anyone but me.

So this is what I did. I drew upon my vast wealth of knowledge of my city to “look about a church”. I knew of about 5…sorta. I drove right past one at the end of my street every time I went to the store, library, doctor, or soccer practice. It was a Baptist church. Check one on the “points to consider” list. Church numbers 2 and 3 I passed on the way to soccer practice or the doctor’s office. One was definitely out. I’d been there once. Yeah, that one was definitely not it. The other I knew very little about. I think it is Baptist. Not sure. Regardless it seemed hard to figure out how to get to, since it wasn’t like ON THE HIGHWAY, but instead could only be SEEN from the highway. Yeah, I’m that directionally challenged. It’s a major pain, I tell you.

That left 2. One of those two, church #4, I only had a very vague sense of where it was. It was “that way somewhere”. We’d walked to it once (rest assured…Mom led the way) when the kids were tiny to get their vaccinations at the free clinic there. It was huge and had big stained glass windows. I don’t know what denomination or whatever it is (and though I knew it was only about 3 or 4 blocks from the house I had NO idea how to find it to figure out what denomination), but stained glass always makes me think of Catholic churches, so I guessed that church might not be the one.

The fifth one is my church home, but I did NOT figure that out by process of elimination. There’s more.

I had only narrowed (based on my vast wealth of knowledge) the choices to 2. Church #1 and Church #5. At the time, this is what I knew of Church #5:

I passed it sorta-kinda-I-think on my way to the post office. It was the church that my ex-fiance and his sister rode the bus to before they moved to my then-hometown (where I went to high school…not to be confused with my current hometown).

They had told me a story about this church. Basically they told me that they had ridden the bus there, and that the preacher had called them names and told them they were banned and basically told them they were no good. Let me just state right here, right now… I have NO idea whether any of what they told me was truth. I also want to say that knowing the current preachers at least, (I don’t even know if the same preachers were there that many years ago…) I can NOT imagine this to be true. I really can’t. Maybe they were told not to ride the bus anymore…maybe…but that would have only been if they’d been causing major problems….repeatedly…and had refused the dozens and dozens of chances given to QUIT and behave. This is a scenario I can TOTALLY imagine having happened. Anyway….

When I heard the story back in high school, I did not live in this town, so I really had no idea who or what or where they were talking about. (They told me the name and I remember thinking it sounded like a funny name for a church, and so that’s how years later I knew to connect the two. I saw the sign with the name on it at some point and went that’s that church that banned them.) I did know, however, that I didn’t like what I heard about the church. I mean… a preacher who would tell a kid they’re no good and not to come back and call them names?? Uh-UH! Definitely NOT a good church. Obviously.

So later on, when I was eliminating churches I found myself narrowed down to this church with the questionable reputation and the church down at the end of my street. One is big, one is little. Both are close enough to walk. One is evidently affluent (not exactly “my kind of people”) and “up-to-date”. The other appears more old-fashioned and reaches out and touches the decidely less affluent people (my kind of people) at least in the form of kids (I knew that because my ex had said he rode their bus, so they came and got him), but there’s that story about them turning away those same kids, too…

I did not completely eliminate Church #5 based on the questionable reputation because by this point in my life I had learned 3 things (well, lots of things, but 3 that are crucial here…):

• my ex-fiance and sister were not exactly completely honest, upright Christians, if you catch my drift…(of course I wasn’t at that time either….by FAR!) and so it was entirely possible that they had the story a bit mixed-up or exaggerated.
• don’t let others pick your friends/opinions/beliefs/etc. Make your own.

Ok, I know had a 3rd point lined out when I started this train of thought, but by the time I’d written point 2, it had evaporated, so I’ll move on. If I remember it later, so be it…

So I prayed and prayed and asked God to please help me to know which of these two (perhaps I should not have limited Him?? but anyhow…) churches was the one He had in mind for the kids and I.

About now is where that first knock on my door came in. “Hi. I’m So-and-So with Such-and-Such Church. I noticed you have some kids playing out here and we have a bus that comes by and takes the kids to Sunday School, and I was just wondering if they’d be interested in riding the bus and coming to church.”

*the gears in my head gasped*

He’s from that church? They bus kids in? Oh yeah, I knew that. Well, he seems nice enough. Of course, ’seems’ doesn’t always mean anything. Surely THIS wasn’t the guy who supposedly banned them? Hmmm….

I smiled (at least I hope I did) and kindly (at least I hope it was) showed him on his way with my oh-so-eloquently put non-commital. Something to think about, though, certainly.

I kept praying and praying, asking for guidance. Help me to know, Lord! I prayed.

He came back.

Nothing if not persistent. He really does seem nice. Not at all pushy, which is always good. Hasn’t screamed at me that I’m going to hell if I don’t go to church (like that couple did to Mom that time). Meagan would get a kick out of the riding the bus part, for sure. She’s always wanted to “ride the bus and go to the big school”…guess a church bus would be next-best, even if the ride would be short. BUT I am not ABOUT to just send her without checking them out, besides…I want to go to church too. *pout*

This time he said something like, “We’d love it if you’d come visit us sometime.”

I told him, “Well we just might do that.” as I politely (I hope!) closed the door.

They’d love it… WHO’D love it? How can he possibly speak for the whole church? I mean I guess I could see him saying HE would love it, but how does he know everyone else would? And isn’t “we’d love it” a little strong? I mean come on. How many people actually mean it when they say “We’d love for you to come and stay with us?” or “We’d love for you to … ” just about anything. Really! Well, anyhow, at least the guy is putting up a good show. He smiles, he’s polite. He really does seem to like kids. That’s a big plus, there. At least one person there likes kids as much as I do. Of course I don’t KNOW, but I think he just might maybe feel like I do about the forgotten kids. That is, that they have to be loved, that somebody needs to tell them about Jesus and let them come to church. That somebody needs to show them they care about and love them. That far too many kids are being left out and forgotten and WHY DOESN”T ANYONE PAY ATTENTION TO THE KIDS? Do they not SEE them? HOW CAN YOU NOT CARE ENOUGH ABOUT THE KIDS TO TELL THEM JESUS LOVES THEM??? Ok, yeah I see that churches have all kinds of programs and services and blahblahblahyaddayadda for adults… and teenagers even, and that’s great. Really. Fine and dandy, but WHAT ABOUT THE KIDS? Especially those forgotten, unloved kids. The ones whose own parents don’t even really care. Oh how my heart breaks for them. And I just wonder… this guy… I think maybe he might share a little of that “don’t forget about the kids” thing. So this church?…well, maybe we’ll try this church first…at least they aren’t keeping the church for their own kids and no one else’s like it seems so many do. The ones I have seen or heard about mostly seem to keep their church for their own kids…like they don’t want to share their oh-so-special church with the ones who “don’t belong”. Yeah, maybe we’ll try this one first.

And so for a few weeks I tried to convince my mom (because ummm, yeah, I was still CHICKEN to go anywhere on my own, especially if the anywhere was a CHURCH!) to come with me to church. (Have I mentioned that I used to have severe panic attacks if I went out of the house alone? Like 15min parked in WalMart’s parking lot trying to get calmed down enough after dropping off library books -yeah, like that was a big crowd…but the librarian SAID SOMETHING TO ME- to go in and buy groceries?? which of course was more tense, anxious torture….) Yeaaaaahhhhh… So I was really, really, really hoping I could get Mom to come. Like you wouldn’t believe.

Except she wasn’t budging. Man! Ok, so I guess I’m just gonna have to do it. I mean, ok, Lord, if you want us to go to church, I’ll go, but MAN! I could sure use some courage here….

I don’t have a clue how I got the guts up (ok, yeah I do…it was Jesus) to pack the kids up one Sunday and head up to that church. I can’t remember now if we drove or walked. (Very possibly walked, I know I did walk a lot right at the beginning because I remember singing “I Have Decided To Follow Jesus” on the way in the hopes of calming the ragin’ freakin’ out mind and tummy.)

I don’t remember much about the sermon or singing or anything. Just that the preacher laughed and smiled and got downright tickled with himself…and I thought that was cool. He was just so INTO Jesus! Excited about Him! He was ECSTATIC about Him, even! Yeah, I sure liked that guy. Right off! =) This kind of preachin’ I could listen to forever! I thought. Kinda weird, I guess(?), since I’d only heard maybe 4 or 5 sermons total since I was old enough to really listen.

And also? I felt totally… home. It just felt so right. I felt so right being there. It WAS just… right. No explanation for that outside of God. None. Why? Because I freak at crowds (by the way, a crowd is one more than me), and even though I did and do still “freak” more than a little at the crowd, it STILL feels like home… in spite of the freakin’ out! Because even the nice, good church (interestingly about the same size as my church) I went to a few times as a kid with my uncle still felt uncomfortable wrapped around me. It was scary because I was alone and no one seemed to care that it was scary to me. They just kinda glanced over me, it seemed. And while that was nice in some ways (I did mention I freak when people talk to me, right?), it also left me feeling unwanted, unloved, and forgotten. Not that that was really a new feeling, mind you. More familiar than anything, but still…there was something I wanted and I certainly wasn’t getting it there.

At least they didn’t kick me out of children’s church for being too old (I snuck in every time we went so I would at least have my little brother in the same room with me. In big church it was just my uncle… and he was in the sound booth.) And of course, all the other church experiences I’d had had been downright HORRID. I mean I really wanted nothing to do with a church for a long, long time because of that. I wanted Jesus, I wanted to follow Him, I wanted to learn about and worship Him… just not in a church.

This church, though? One visit really was all it took for me to feel ok with my kids attending. (Though to be sure, I did check the Sunday School papers Meagan brought home and ‘felt out’ what the teacher talked about in class for awhile still. I’m not completely stupid.) It was just… home. Sure as I am typing this up in the middle of the night (because when else do I not have a 9-year chattering in my ear??), I felt during that first visit that the Lord was telling me:

“This is where I was trying to get you to go. This is where I want you.”

Other things happened in the next year that make up other stories, but here are a couple of real quick (I promise!) highlights. A little over a year later, I was baptized in this church, and shortly after that not knowing a thing about ‘the way things are done’, I talked to the pastor (a word/position I’d only recently figured out) about being an actual MEMBER, after church. I don’t remember what all I said, but I do remember telling him that THIS church was where God wanted me. I also remember him telling the rest of the church that after they’d voted me in. (I won the election!! WOOHOO!! haha)

So that’s the whole story that I’d wanted to tell, (but totally flubbed), about how I decided to come to this church. To sum it up:

I didn’t. God did.

Posted: April 25th, 2008 under faith, the changing me.
Comments: none

On Wednesday, April 18, 2007 at 3:15am I smoked a cigarette.

One little cigarette? Yup. My first? Not by any WILD stretch of your imagination! Try Quabiltrilionith. I started smoking about 6 weeks before the end of my junior year in high school. So about the same time of year, but 11 years before.

Eleven. Not a very big number. 40ish. Still not a very biggish number. 11 x 365 x 40ISH = really, really, REALLY big number that I can’t even count to…quabiltrillionith. The ish is important to note, too, because while there WERE days in which the 40ish was closer to 0ish, there were also days in which the 40ish was closer to 400ish. (Ok not quite that many, but you get the idea.)

But one? 1. Just 1. That? That’s an even bigger number. Turns out that number is all it took to squash and slaughter all those not-so-big, biggish, and super-ginormous numbers ONCE and for all.

One. The One. Jesus Christ. Lord of lords. King of kings. My bestest ever friend in the whole ginormous universe (He made it after all!). My One is bigger and more powerful than all the other numbers….to infinity AND BEYOND.

That one cigarette at 3:15am April 18, 2007 became the LAST one…because of THE One. And now? It is one year later, and so I’m remembering the victory I had and have in Jesus.

Yuppers, skippers. One year ago, Jesus quit the cigarettes for me. That’s a funny way of saying it, you say. Maybe it sounds that way at first, but it’s the truth. See it was like this…

For months I tried, REALLY tried to quit. I tried cutting back, limiting myself how many I had…or where…or when. I wanted to quit so bad. I cried. I prayed. I cried some more. I tried only taking a drag or two, and then stamping it out thinking the imagery of me stamping out my sin would help me to not want it so much.

Yeah right. That worked about as well as writing a note to the elephant that just stepped on your foot to “please won’t you be so kind as to get off my foot” and then putting said note in your mouth, chewing it and swallowing it. In this made-up scenario you are not only not addressing the issue (the elephant causing you pain!), you are just being plain stupid in even thinking for a moment that internalizing (by eating) your solution (the note) you will achieve the desired results (elephant getting OFF!).

Sin is like that, I discovered. If you internalize your own silly solution and try to quit in your own power without even addressing the real sin itself it stubbornly refuses to move.

Smoking is a sin. I seriously grew up knowing it was bad. At least as a little kid. As I got older though I seriously grew up thinking it wasn’t that bad. After all the bible doesn’t even say it is bad. Not that I knew that mind you…I had no way of knowing that cause I had never READ the bible…but I’d heard people -smokers- SAY that, and so I accepted their truth -twisted though it was- as my truth. Sadder still? I learned that from someone in direct leadership over me. Nuff said.

Anyway. I had grown to the point in my smoking journey that I had finally decided it was bad. I still didn’t necessarily think it was HORRID, but just not good. I didn’t like that my smoking kept me from having friends over. I didn’t like that my smoking kept my KIDS from having friends over. (Several friends’ parents forbade them from coming in our house because of the smoke. Smart move on their part, actually, but it still hurt.) I didn’t like that people thought I was less of a person for smoking or that people (non-smokers) would stare at me, make rude remarks to their companions, and maybe even made ugly faces or gestures…all because I smoked.

How dare them, I thought? It’s my right to smoke.

Well, sorta. I do have liberty in Christ…that is to say I do have free will. Technically speaking I am CAPABLE of doing whatever I want…so yes I CAN. But “can” does NOT blanket-across-the-board mean “should”. Nope. No way. Common sense will tell you that. Yes we CAN kill someone because they called us a dirty word. Should we, though? No-brainer, right?

So while I had the “right” to smoke (nobody could MAKE me stop), I shouldn’t have exercised that “right”. Not because I was somehow offending those rude people and their “rights”, though I likely was and that’s not good either, but because in so doing I was offending God. My very bestest ever friend. The original (and only TRUE) HE-man, Master of the Universe (and beyond!). God wants us to take care of our bodies. He wants us to stay away from even the appearance of evil, lest other people decide to NOT trust God because of our lousy testimony. Do we fail? Do I? Absolutely! We are all fallen sinners, whose righteousness is like filthy rags. Our best is NEVER good enough. But we are supposed to try.

I hadn’t been trying very hard to take care of my body. I hadn’t been trying very hard to live a clean, healthy life for myself…or for my kids…or my neighbors…or the rude non-smokers. Why should I care about them? Because God says we are supposed to. I’m supposed to strive to live a godly life not just for God (though that is reason enough!) but also as an example for others. I’m supposed to strive to be a shining light in a dark and scary world. A beacon of hope to those who are hurting because of sin. Why? Because I am their hope? Not a chance. Because their hope, their ONE and ONLY hope is Jesus. And if my light shines brightly enough, they will be drawn to it, and then I can gently whisper to them…

“It’s Jesus. Jesus did it. He’s the One. Jesus paid it all. All to Him I owe. You can have victory in Jesus, too. Here’s how…”

One is not the loneliest number…it’s the BIGGEST and FULLEST.

To anyone who is trying to quit tobacco or is thinking about it: One specific thing that really helped? Realizing and accepting that while the smoking(dipping/chewing) is bad/wrong (a sin), the WANT to isn’t.

I wasn’t doing something wrong by being tempted. I was doing something wrong in feeding the temptation. When I finally figured that out I realized that this whole quitting thing was WAY beyond my strength and capability. I was way too weak to NOT break down and smoke. I didn’t like being weak. That went against the grain. I wanted to be strong…do it on my own…I can do this, I’m tougher, I’m stronger, I just need to suck it up and have more willpower. I, I, I, I. I was the problem. I would never make it, because I was too weak.

Admitting that was the key, I think. Once I did that, I left it with Jesus. I remembered that while I am weak, He is strong. I basically just said, “Lord, if I’m going to quit smoking and become a non-smoker, You’re going to have to do it. I can’t. I’ve tried and failed. I’m not strong enough.” Then I left it. Completely and totally. I LET Him do it, as opposed to asking Him to and then trying to do it on my own again. It started with realizing I was human and subject to wanting things that aren’t always good for me…realizing that the secret to having victory wasn’t in not WANTING them anymore, but in not taking them. Have I wanted a cigarette in the last year? Absolutely! Have I had one? Absolutely NOT! Why not? Because MY willpower is that strong, because I’m that self-disciplined and good? Nope. When I want one, I just step back and let Jesus go to bat for me. HE keeps me from smoking.

Wanna know something else really totally cool? He can bring the victory even when it seems impossible. One year ago this house was home to 4 heavy smokers, me being one of them, of course. So let’s look at my victory another way…

Eleven-year heavy smoker living with 3 other heavy smokers (anywhere from 3o-50 years a piece) smokes a cigarette at 3:15am, goes to bed, and wakes up to not smoke again. No pills. No patches. No gums. No support groups. (Though absolutely use those things if they will help you!! Nothing wrong with them at all. They just weren’t available for me…turns out I didn’t need those weapons anyway.) Does it painlessly and even easily. Miracle? You decide.

“When thou goest out to battle against thine enemies, and seest horses, and chariots, and a people more than thou, be not afraid of them: for the LORD thy God is with thee, which brought thee up out of the land of Egypt.”
Deuteronomy 20:1

“And all this assembly shall know that the LORD saveth not with sword and spear: for the battle is the LORD’S…”
1 Samuel 17:47

Posted: April 18th, 2008 under faith, just life, mildly "article-ish", the changing me.
Comments: 2