Lighting up the Room

Imagine a dark and abandoned room. A room that was once so cherished and special that then went dim as the electric bill was left paid and the heating bill unnoticed so the space became still and cold.

I admit it; I neglected you. But I have reasons, honestly. And I know it's okay that I let this place be still and dark because I had a lot of living to do, a lot of maturing, a lot of understanding. I do not have "it" all together now; no, on the contrary - life is at its messiest. But I feel a calling to return to this place and light a candle or two for those of you still with me and to welcome anyone who might wander in.

Welcome. I'll light the fire for you so this place warms up. And it will warm up, that I'm sure of. Because this place is all about God. And while we sometimes think God leaves the bills unpaid or lets the food go bad in the fridge; while we may blame Him for our difficult circumstances, when it's all said and done -

God is good.

I've been through the diagnosis of several chronic illnesses, several mental health emergencies within my family, marriage strife, children crises, spiritual challenges, you name it, all since I last wrote here. I always wrote about how interested I was in the nature of suffering as a Christian...well, I'm getting to find out firsthand now. Ha - careful what you ponder!

What do I do with all this pain? Do I let it rule my body, my emotions, and thus let my flesh rule my life?

Or do I surrender to God on a daily basis, knowing His hands are holding me with love and careful precision, molding me with every experience that comes my way? Do I believe He wants the best for me?

Well, yes and no. He wants the best for Him. I will go into that in a different blog entry. Good stuff there.

But suffice it to say, suffering has been the meat and potatoes on my plate for the past year and I live in daily physical pain that sometimes truly  makes me question God's goodness.

But when I quiet the racket going on in my brain (as a baby cries hysterically in the library where I am typing this), I know on a deep, gut level that God has me. He's got this. All of it. And only He can handle it. And aren't I lucky to have Him in my life, to know Him, to serve Him all of my days!

Yes, I struggle with anger and bitterness, plain old morning grouchiness and irrational yelling at the kids...biting off Husband's poor head at times...hiding in my bed under my pillows and just sobbing sometimes... yes, I still struggle...

but I keep looking at the Light - God's Light that He provides. In the song, "Wasteland," by NeedtoBreathe, there is this fantastic line:

"In this wasteland
where I'm living
there is a crack in the door filled with light
and it's all that I need to get by"

Sometimes all you really need is a crack of light. You're looking and looking for your daily bread and there's the light. And you hold onto it for all it's worth.

And Jesus is sure worth it all!

p.s. for those of you who followed me over to my other blog I had mentioned in the last post many moons ago...well that blog, too, had to darken for me to live life for a while and little gremlins took over and I can't even access it any longer so it's up for grabs, sadly, to any spammer who wants it. Very sad about that, but not much I can do. So here I stay! I might create a new blog depending on the direction I'd like to go, but no worries about packing up yet. Peace, be still.

The Mosquito's Story: a Malaria tale prompted by Compassion Int'l

You are about to read a story about a mosquito.

Why on earth am I writing about a mosquito? What does a mosquito have to do with God? Oh, plenty, my friend.

As Compassion writes,

Malaria kills 655,000 children per year. And April 25 is a day to raise awareness and spur on action for a disease that should not even be killing one child.

Compassion International issued a call to bloggers to write about World Malaria Day - which is tomorrow, April 25th - and write on a specific prompt: from the perspective of a malaria-infecting mosquito. I laughed at how silly it felt and how I could not possibly do this. But then my fingers took to typing and what happened next I can only say came from the prompting of the Spirit.

**********************************************************************************

So without further ado, here is... The Mosquito's Story:
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You think I’m just a teeny insect, don’t you. But I’m a huge killer. I kill children - the population that so many of you tear up over and cry over and want to help more than ever. Millions of commercials air every day asking to save the children.

But I’m the antithesis to that.

I make sure what you do fails. I make sure your efforts go in vain. And I’m so tiny that some people think I’m harmless.

I find that hilarious; how people think that the big killers are big things - like weather disasters gigantic as the earth, itself. And big lurking men who wait to blow up buildings and big cities.

But one of the greatest killers is the tiniest among you. Do I dare tell you that? Do I dare tell you that you can fight me so easily? I will not tell you how. I must not.

Because then you will win and the children will live and the tears will stop and families will be saved.

And I just can’t have that. No, I can’t have that at all.

I want fevers. I want babies crying from dusk until dawn. I want parents weeping over still bodies. I want people scrambling around for help only to realize they don’t have the right pill or the nets or the doctors available. And people without resources is like a mosquito without a stinger:  Useless.

So go ahead and focus on the big guns. Focus on the news stories that air every night on TV educating you on all you must fear in this big, bad world. What you won’t find is a picture of me. I’m not on a wanted poster. The children I kill aren’t on milk cartons because you don’t even know they are lost. I’m done with them so fast that no one even knows about them.

Us mosquitoes are mighty so you better be aware.

But don’t be too aware. We like you ignorant and looking the other way.

picture from http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Anopheles_albimanus_mosquito.jpg public domain

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Don’t look the other way. Don’t be ignorant and think the “other person” will help these children who die every day.

My 9 year old stepdaughter has a passion for those stricken with malaria -- all because of one church service where a chime rang every minute to symbolize how often a child dies of malaria. She is saving her money, nickel by quarter, to raise money in order to donate to malaria campaigns around the world. She has chosen to open her eyes even though it’s hard and painful.

Open your eyes? Click here to find out how you can help. Click here and here.

Compassion International has a special Malaria Intervention Initiative. An engaging video accompanies it and you can see what, specifically, Compassion does with your donations. See it all here.

We don’t have to bow to such a thing as malaria. Malaria is not our master - God is. 

We can fight it.

The mosquito does not have to win.  

Please take action now.

I Will Praise You When I Cough

Despite the giggling when I came up with this blog entry title, due to the magnificent song, "Praise You in the Storm," it has a real, honest-to-goodness message. And it's quite serious and sobering.

It's still a story about praising God despite the storms raging in our lives. It's still about praising God when things feel out of control and you look around frantically at something to hold onto only to realize there is only one Someone you can hold onto.

I've used this song as a lifesong for a long time. It's been an anchor for me to return to the Lord and my dependence on Him.

And while the title of this blog entry makes me giggle at times, and might make you too, it is as real as any storm.

****

For months I've been practicing with my church's Praise Team for our first big concert. We struggled along the way, had a lot of fun, and as the week drew near, something awful happened:

I lost my voice.

It was partly due to another storm, one much worse, going on in my family's life, that I'm not quite comfortable sharing here yet...but I had been talking to important people on the phone for 3 weeks or so non-stop, trying to get the help we needed; I had cried and become hoarse, and I then developed the flu.

Dress rehearsal came and I had to sing ever-so-softly because I wasn't sure if I would shatter my voice.

I admit I was a bit irate at God.

This is the one thing that has brought me joy throughout this other storm. Why would you take my voice away?

Though people told me that if I had the flu and had no voice, it was obvious I could not perform, I still felt determined to get through it. I practiced, albeit lightly, and my band-mates told me I sounded fine, but my own performance-based-self  was stubborn and demanded better quality.

I sucked on cough drops and chugged tea with honey.

And then I had a realization.

Thank God for kicking me in the pants on occasion to get me to realize the Really Big Stuff.

I am not in control, I realized. My voice is croaky and unstable and I have done all I can to mend it, but I am not the one who can ultimately pull this off.

And to whom am I singing my solo, "Wonderful?"  Sure, to the generous audience listening, but I wanted to pour out my love of Jesus with that song. Does Jesus care how I sound?

Jesus ate with sinners and dined with betrayers. He saw in them beauty and love and worth.

Surely He could forgive my croaky voice and hear my voice praising Him as beautiful.

Surely, He'd find it wonderful?

So the day of the concert, after drinking warm honey-lemon water all day, I went to the final rehearsal feeling good. I had a strange peace about me. I knew whatever voice God wanted me to have would come out that night.

And, friend, it could have been the constant honey-lemon water warming my throat or my lack of talking, but I truly think God smiled once I handed the reigns over to Him.

God loves how I love to praise Him with song.

But God does not love when I get bent out of shape on wanting to sound perfect or as good as so-and-so. He wants my true voice, croaks and all.

So I accepted that. I said: bring on the croak. Bring on the cough; I will still praise the Lord.

So as the storms raged in my life amidst the chaos in my family, as Husband and I were granted a slight reprieve this weekend and he joined the concert as the professional videographer, as I arrived in my Spring Easter dress and heels that were way too uncomfortable, I was comfortable and confident with whatever was going to come out of my mouth: croak or cough or beauty. 

I kept remembering how Jesus sees the beauty in the ugly.

And sometimes, what we think as ugly is beautiful to Jesus. 

So how did the concert go, you ask?

Amazing.

Anointed.

God's Spirit filled the sanctuary - for both musicians and audience.

And my solo came and went and though I did crack a bit toward the end, I just threw up my hands in praise and truly lived the lyrics I sang:

And my life will burn for you
'Cause your light shined in the darkness
I was hopeless
And you lifted up my head
To bring me joy
With a song that breaks
the silence
of my worship
now I'm singing all the day
and forevermore
You will be adored
For you are wonderful...

I believe I almost cried because I live those lyrics. I believe I almost cried because I desperately wanted to send those lyrics straight into the hearts of the listeners. God is wonderful. He is so much more that wonderful; I can't ever put it into mere words.

But I can sing it.

And I did.

****

After the concert, a husband of a band-mate approached me and thanked me.

I feel so uncomfortable with compliments the past few years. But what he said was exactly what I long to hear. This compliment was not about me, but about my love for Jesus.

"I could tell you loved that song. And I could tell you love Jesus."

It took my breath away.

I didn't want my voice to be the one to shine that night; I really didn't. After all the ego-pushing-aside, I wanted Jesus to be the one to shine through the songs we sang.

And praise God, we did!

So it is clear:

Jesus, I will praise you in this storm. I will praise you in the flu. I will praise you when I cough and freak about not being able to perform. And I will praise you when I give up my control and let You carry me through it.

Jesus, You are wonderful! -- photo by Talented Husband

How the Title of My Story Is Not Mine

(written Friday, February 8, 2013)

I've always liked naming things

When I was a writer-child and delving deep into 7-year-old-plot lines about magic mirrors and orphan girls banding together to esce evil, I deeply cared about my characters' names as well as the places they lived.

The title of my stories were the most important, of course. The title could tell you the entire story, itself.

Or so I thought. I relied on my titles to express what I was going through at such a tender age.

Well, now I am a few months shy of my 35th birthday and I have a different story to tell. But, much like my child-writer-self, I depend on that title, that name, to define what my story is.

When all along...it is His story...not mine. And He names it. Not me.

Three or so years ago, I remember getting a pain in the vicinity of my abdomen.

Two years ago I noticed a very specific pain in my right lower abdomen. I remember having to stand, hunched over. It came and went and I knew why they call pain "waves."

Then, in January of 2012, I began having issues that sent me to my doctor, then to urgent care, and then, in February, to the first of what would become a few emergency room visits in one year.

Throughout 2012, I baffled everyone. I'd attend an appointment or sit on the ER bed in tears over the amount of pain I was in. Nurses drew blood, doctors peered down at results; all told me I was normal.

But I knew something wasn't right.

I went to see an "expert" and he, with the help of his assistant, prescribed an unusual diet and an even more unusual regime in which I did not feel comfortable.

I was nervous about their orders, but when I tried to ask questions, they batted them away like irritating flies and the "expert" actually walked out on me, saying, "You'll do fine, fine..."

I was not doing fine and no one would listen to me. No professional doctor, anyway.

Home life was becoming increasingly stressful in 2012 in ways I cannot nor should I go into. But my stress did play a part in my worsening symptoms.

Also playing a part were the nurses telling me it was all in my head, that I was just too anxious, that I had too much stress.

I felt unacknowledged, unheard, invalidated.

During this time, my daily life was a push against the fleshly instincts of wanting to exert control on my life - or the lives around me. If I couldn't control my own life, I'd clamp around others' My temper flared. I spit red anger at kids for the smallest things. And I fell into a pit of despair around the Fall of 2012 going into early January of '13.

I was exhausted. I had had numerous procedures, one too painful to want to remember, and still no answer.

But I knew that whatever I was walking around with that God was beside me. I could feel His Presence, but I wasn't sure what He was telling me.

Until today in the car after an appointment that I thought would give me the title to my story.

A few days ago I found out that, unbeknownst to me, my mother had Endometriosis in her early 40s as well as fibroid cysts and, ultimately, had to have a hysterectomy.

I went to my doctor with this new genetic possibility...and, besides, it fit my pain so well. It had all the descriptions, it had all the correct verbs and adjectives. I found my character in the book of Endometriosis.

And when my general practitioner gave me an exam and said she thought she felt something...that could be Endo...I grasped onto that name, that diagnosis, that title, and ran as though my life depended on it.

I wanted to shout it from the roof - or at least out my car windows: I have Endometriosis! I have a name for it! I can tell you what it is and what they are going to do and when I will get better!

And there is a certain understandable element to clutching onto a diagnosis after years of unnameable pain.

Yet...I feel ashamed now looking at how I proclaimed and gun-jumped regarding the maybe-diagnosis.

Today I felt foolish as I visited the doctor who said I very well might have Endo, but that all my pain was most likely not caused by this illness.

I felt like the wind was knocked out of me.

I felt like my cover was torn off of my story.

And then, after the angry tears and words in the car, I felt the Lord's hand on my shoulder and the Lord's heart speak directly to mine:

Do you think that you can't give Me glory by getting through exactly this? Do you think that you need a specific sign above your heard that advertises your ailments? Those on-lookers at Golgotha had no clue why My Son truly cried out in pain. Jesus had "King of the Jews" as the sign above him and even that was man's folly. You don't need a sign, child. You don't need to prove to anyone that you hurt. All my children hurt in some way; that is just the way, isn't it. You are not so different. How you can be Kingdom-different...and bring Me glory... is to praise Me even when your body hurts, even when you are angry and sad and confused. Bring all of that to Me. Do not rest your idolizing on doctors or family. They can't validate you the way I can. They can't name you. 

Child, I can name you. I did name you:

Chosen. Beloved. Heir. Holy and faithful. Forgiven. Loved. 

Do you need more names? Because I have them all - in Scripture. 

Child, open that Bible to get your title. Don't expect a doctor to give it to you. Don't hope for something that many people dread. I named you before you were even born.

I was astonished. Had I actually been...hoping?

And am I actually writing all this...now? To you, the public?

Yes, I am. I do not hide behind my computer screen very well. I know I sometimes have flawed boundaries, but I also know that with that flaw comes the deep need to live with a healthy dose of transparency so that I can admit when thoughts have shaped wrong and life has gone askew.

And...yes...life has gone askew.

I thought that if I had a diagnosis of some illness, then I could battle through it by relying on God's strength within me, go through my "valley of the shadow," for sure, but then come out the other side with more bolstering faith than I'd know what to do with.

Many of my favorite authors and radio hosts have that kind of story. They've endured horrific things: abuse, illness, atrocity. And yet here they are now, with books or programs or ministries - all serving God in such honorable ways.

So did I think I had to do it that way?

I really did.

I sigh a big sigh right now. It is sad and shameful to know that I thought that way.

That I really believed I had to let the world name me in order to serve God.

The suffering I endured for much of my life has been nameless and general. Some doctors tried to link my severe depression in my teens and 20s to more specific things like bipolar or borderline personality disorder.

But, truly, my entire life was in dis-order. I didn't know whether I was coming or going until I fell onto the floor in 2010 and saw the Lord before me and that Great Whoosh came upon me and I changed, I grew, I stretched, and I made the best decision of my life.

Jesus never promised us easy. He promised His Presence during the hard (John 16:33) so why did I think that my story would be like others'?

My confession, my prayer, with head bowed is this:

Lord, I confess to you my sin of comparison. You created me to be unique and special unto You and I must believe that I am. I must believe what Your Word says of me and because of those promises I come to You seeking forgiveness for wanting the doctors to give me a title to my story, a name to my pain. I was trying to be the Author and not letting you work through me. I think and write all the time about the concept of "letting go." I write and read and think about the concept of gratitude all the time - and yet all this writing, reading, and thinking has not brought me to a true understanding of ...

"Be still and know that I am God." 
~ Psalm 46:10a

Such a simple-sounding and oft-used verse, but I studied it in some detail and You revealed it to me and I thank you. Help me to cease striving. Help me to stop trying to be my own Author and to live the life You have written for me. I know You are not done yet and so I remain Your servant, a child who loves You and wants to glorify You in the love and strength and faith that I carry with me every day. Help my honest outpourings in this blog illuminate some truth for some person. Let someone understand better what took me much pain to learn - and which I am still learning. 

I thank you for my body that can walk and talk and move and pump blood and work as well as it does. I know there are so many who do not have that. I pray for all who suffer - in mind, body, and spirit. I pray that they would seek You and know You to be the God of all Comforts and find rest and peace in that truth. 

Continue to grow me, Lord. Continue to draw me closer to You and to write my story. 

I think the best title, the best name I can think of is:

Yours. 

I belong to the Lord. 

I am Yours.

In Your Holy Name I pray,
Amen.

And so I stumble upon this verse and chuckle:

"What do people get for all the toil and anxious striving with which they labor under the sun? All their days their work is grief and pain; even at night their minds do not rest. This too is meaningless."

~ Ecclesiastes 2:22-23

For hasn't all my anxiety and worry been toil and meaningless? I bathed in grief and pain and yes, even at night, this mind did not rest.

And then I think of the God of All Comforts verse in 2 Cortinthians 1:3-5 (ESV):

" Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort,  who comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God. For as we share abundantly in Christ's sufferings, so through Christ we share abundantly in comfort too."

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February 12, 2013

Friends, since the days since I drafted this blog entry out, much more has been revealed, particularly about the rest of 2 Corinthians 1 which adds so much to my story. 

While it is a difficult journey to allow God to name me and to not be lured in by false names, I am dedicated as I walk this road. 

I thank you for reading my words, bare and naked, and hope that you give mercy and forgiveness for this one's naivety. 

Thank you for such grace. 

May you be blessed as you walk with the Lord this week and always.

Two Kinds of Agains: 5 Minute Fridays

Five Minute Friday

Trying to get back into the swing of things, I come this morning to the page with the Friday-intent on writing without editing for five minutes about the topic Lisa-Jo Baker decides upon.
Today it is AGAIN. 

GO
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Again, my side hurts, Again, it hurts to even stand up and walk. Again, I wonder how long, O Lord, will I feel this health-forsaken. It's been one year now since the big problems began and I would have to hunch over and limp in pain. How my right side would feel like it was exploding from within. Months and ER trips later, sobbing phone calls to midnight on-call nurses later, I would have tests done, and again doctors would scratch their heads and again they'd say it's my anxiety and again I'd cry at their blindness and ineptitude and then I see the specialist after all those tests come up fine and he says to go on this weird, strict diet and so I do and again I feel the pain but this time lose weight I didn't mean to let go of and again I can't fit into my clothes...never thought I'd be saying that in terms of clothes being too big...and again I hurt and again I turn to Husband and cry at night because I am sick of being so sick and isn't everyone else so sick of me being so sick, too?

We can say a lot of agains if we let ourselves. I can get stuck in the again cycle and be prone, as you can see, to complaining and sinking further into discontent.

I don't mean this is what Paul meant by thinking of things pure and holy and good.

So...

Again, my Jesus saves me. Again, He is the Healer and Comforter and it is His touch that can bring me peace. Again, day after day. Christ comes to shush my complaining-agains and remind me of the promises of His agains.

Again, He would suffer for me. Again, He would save me. Again, He would die for me. Again, He would take upon the world's sin for me.

It is an amazing thing to behold, just how different two kinds of Agains can be.

So...again I go to work with this pain and this weariness....again I might have woken up in pain and cranky...

but I am changing my again of angst to the again of gain. I am gaining God's promises and choosing that over malady.

And I just might have to do that each and every morning, again and again...as His mercies are new...again and again.

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When The Odds Rise Against You

http://www.gettyimages.com/detail/photo/businessman-removing-building-block-high-res-stock-photography/103033288

Two odds have stacked up; two very big facts in my life:

1. my body
2. my 14 year old teenager stepdaughter

Both are angst-ridden and angry, both are moody and stuck in a rut. Both are victims of circumstance and  victims of themselves.

Is that vague yet poetic enough for you?

To be more specific, yet still respecting privacy, let me try to explain a bit further.

My body has been fighting me for years, but has progressively gotten worse this year. Since March, I was in the emergency room three times. Urgent Care became my middle name and I formed long-lasting friendships with every on-call 24-hour-nurse at my clinic. They'd always be there at 3 in the morning to take my calls of pain and hysteria. They'd offer advice, suggestions, and sometimes just listen to me vent about how much pain I was in and how I couldn't get sleep.

After getting a common yet important procedure scheduled for January, my body made it known that it would not wait that long. The 3rd ER visit occurred and soon we had the procedure scheduled for four days later.

That was last Friday.

The procedure painted me as a healthy fool.

The doctors were perplexed.

Maybe you're too anxious, they said.

Yes. If you were going through this much pain and agony and worrying about how you were going to function every day and take care of your kids and husband and life-duties, worry about how many sick-days you were using up at work and were you going to lose your job over this...yes, I bet you'd be pretty anxious too.

So off I went to the specialist in my area of body-problem.

She was invalidating, plain-old-mean. She told me I was too emotional about it and wasn't the least bit sympathetic.

At that point, my normally-sweet and compassionate demeanor disappeared and I unleashed some wrath I did not know I had. Poor woman.

This got me to see a nationally-recognized expert in the area of my body-problem. I have to do another procedure this week and then get one x-ray next week and one on December 3rd. I'm told he will be able to tell me what is going on.

In the mean time, every day gives me pain, pain, more pain. I can't describe it without going into too much detail so you will just have to trust me.

Then there is my number two odd stacked against me: the 14 year old.

As with me and my health problem, she is full of pain and wrath. And lucky me, I am her target practice.

Actually, I don't think I'm "practice" for anything; I know she is very angry with me.

Yet I understand this. I'm not her biological mother; I'm the woman she lives with who is being the second parent in the house; I'm the woman who makes sure she does x, y, and z and gets on her case if she doesn't. I'm the parent who helps make sure her room is clean and that she gets picked up from confirmation and poms weekly.

But I'm also the parent who gets the "you're not my mom; stop trying so hard to be my mom."

I'm also the parent who gets to fight with her almost every morning about being upstairs on-time. About basic manners. About this or that. Name anything. We've covered it.

This girl adored me once upon a time. I have up on my wall a framed drawing that reads, "Stepmom is my favorite word. When you came into my life I felt hope in my family being broke up. I love you."

Was that only two years ago? How can a child morph into someone so different in two years?

And yet I love her. I am called to love her. God wants me to love her. And I do. I love her when I am angry at her, I love her when I act irrationally at her and when I act rationally (however irrational to her teenage mind). I love her when we bond over something and I love her when we fight (though, I admit, it's mighty hard to remember that).

So these two things: my 14 year old and my body...

they are both railing against me right now. They are wild animals howling in the night and they are in agony. They both want help but reject it. Granted, the 14 year old has more control about accepting or rejecting the help than my body does, but there are similarities none-the-less.

I feel like I'm being hated on...a lot.

This morning, after another tearful drive to work after dropping the kids to school (tears due to the tiredness of fighting with 14 year old every morning over something), I read through my index cards of Bible verses.

One stuck out in particular:

"If the world hates you, remember that it hated me first." 

No, that's not the president talking nor is it my own parent. It's Jesus.

John 15:18 (NLT).

I sat in my car, transfixed by that message.

I felt God lean in close and tell me:

I love you more than she hates you. 

Wow. I haven't realized the true nature of God's love. I haven't realized that God loves me no matter what time He goes to bed or needs to be upstairs in the morning. If God sneaks someone into the house, God is still going to love me when I punish Him.

Okay, so I'm making a bit of a joke there, but I think you might know what I mean.

Feeling God say that to me made such a huge difference. So much that I do not fear anyone or anything hating me [on a good day].

God loves me more, immeasurably more.

"With your unfailing love you lead the people you have redeemed. In your might, you guide them to your sacred home." ~ Exodus 15:13 (NLT).

Unfailing love, that's what Moses wrote. Unfailing love is mentioned, in the New International Version translation, 32 times!

So...

the odds might be against me.

But God is for me.

And if God is for me, who can be against me?

I rest in God. I thank God. I sigh into God's bigger-than-huge love.

Deeeep breath.

When You Feel Forsaken

"Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified because of them, for the LORD your God goes with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you.” 
~ Deuteronomy 31:6 (NIV)

I did not feel that earlier today. I felt lost, angry, ill, attacked. I felt forsaken. I couldn't feel God with me. I couldn't feel Immanuel.

I am on day #3 of tapering off of a massively addicting psychoactive drug. I don't remember if I talked about my trials of withdrawal last year or not. I might not have felt safe to share it or I might have felt ashamed.

I'm writing about it now, though, because it is playing an integral part of my faith walk.

Withdrawal from anything is difficult. It can easily be a playground for the devil, for the great attacker to attack you at your most vulnerable. And that is what he did to me.

I was sitting on the downstairs couch wrapped in a blanket, crying to Husband; my head was spinning and felt fuzzy; I heard a strange whirring whenever I moved. I kept feeling like I amounted to nothing, like everyone would be better off without me. I kept picturing our master bedroom and the scores of pill bottles that lined the shelf.

I knew this was not me. I knew this was the withdrawal. My body and mind wanted a drug that made me sicker just being on it. I knew and Husband reminded me that I would be so much healthier off of it. I'm off two of my four psychotropic medications (DON'T try this alone; I'm doing this under the watchful eye of a doctor) and I have become so much more alive. I knew what was me. I was a child of Christ. I had Christ in me.

In the wretchedness of withdrawal, however, my positive identity goes out the window. I cried to Husband, "I can't find God right now!"

And that was worse than the nausea. Worse than the head spinning and whirring. Worse than the body aches. Not feeling God is quite possibly the worst feeling I can ever have.

The ironic (but quite possibly purposeful) thing about this is that Jesus understands this feeling. He, too, did not feel God present at a most critical point in his life:

About three in the afternoon Jesus cried out in a loud voice, “Eli, Eli, lema sabachthani?” (which means “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”).

Matthew 27:45-47

 Husband assisted me to the upstairs bedroom and drew down the blankets. I crawled in, feeling like some kind of bear hibernating in a cave. Husband turned the lights off, turned the white noise machine on, drew the curtains, told me to rest. I felt guilty. He assured me he would take care of things tonight. I cried harder, "I don't feel God!"

I asked for the little glass cross I carry in my pocket. It was lying on my nightstand. He retrieved it and placed it in my hand. He kissed me on my head and I asked if he'd say a prayer for me. 

I still felt forsaken. But I was able to ask for prayer. 

He prayed that I would feel better, that I would know that, even during the worst of it, that God was surely with me, right beside me. 

When he left, I fell into a deep sleep.


I opened my eyes and my heartbeat quickened when I heard our dog's frantic bark. He does that whenever someone knocks at or comes near the front door. Our bedroom is right off the living room so I can hear everything that happens. I knew that my younger stepchildren had just come home from the neighbor's house. My oldest stepdaughter was also at a friend's house. We wanted the kids to be away from the tension in the house. I heard Husband shush my loud stepson. I listened to them microwave leftovers, heard the moving of wooden chairs across tile floor. 


I laid there for a few minutes. I felt profoundly different. I scanned my body: I still felt achy, but not nearly as bad. I scanned my mind: free from attacks and feeling better. I squeezed the tiny cross that had remained in my palm even while I slept that hour which felt like a day. I knew that if I wanted I had permission to stay in the dark bedroom and rest the entire night. But I began to miss the kids, Husband, and so I gathered the light blanket around me and came out of the cave. 


Husband was surprised to see me. My younger stepdaughter turned and smiled, saying hello. My loud stepson said his very loud hello and although it rattled through my pained head, it was a welcome sound. I smiled at Husband. 


Today was a scary day. I rarely feel so alone; I rarely feel the lack of God. I quote now an email I received upon waking up from a dear long-distance friend who has three children with physical illnesses:


"My inability to help is often overwhelming. I would do anything to alleviate my kids' suffering, pain, fear, frustration, weariness, but can't. I can only quietly walk beside them through the tough spots, knowing God is good even in the midst of it, that He will use this in their lives and mine all for His great glory as we open our hands and willingly accept what He is allowing, even while we don't understand. I don't think we have to like what God allows, but we do have to accept it and allow Him to work in us through it."

And I understood it then: God had never left. He just doesn't do that. I had looked away from His love. He had been with me the whole time. I was too blind to see it. Christianity does not say that God will take pain away or keep us from experiencing it. God will walk with us, though. Do you not think that He looked upon His Son with a broken heart? He knew Jesus' sacrifice and crucification had to happen to make the world open its eyes.

Jesus felt that his Father had forsaken him. But Jesus knew better. He did not die feeling the lack of his Father's love. The ultimate love was Jesus' death.

God with us. I certainly felt my Immanuel after the hour nap which felt like a day.

I know that I will face these road blocks again. And I just may become blind again. But that is what the Bible is for, isn't it. It's His love letter to His children.

So when I feel forsaken...

Well, maybe  
Maybe that's the point  
To reach the point of giving up
Cause when I'm finally 
Finally at rock bottom  
Well, that's when I start looking up  
And reaching out...
~ "Strong Enough," Matthew West

Simply put, I am never forsaken.  

"Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified because of them, for the LORD your God goes with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you.” 
~ Deuteronomy 31:6 (NIV)

He goes with me - through withdrawal, into caves, into fearful sleep, into dangerous places, He goes with me. 

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a great article about thinking that God has forsaken you can be found here.