As someone who loves jigsaw puzzles, I know how frustrating it can be when you get down to the end and there's a piece missing.  Did the dog take it?  Is it under the couch?  Maybe the sorter at the factory neglected to include it in the first place.  It always inevitably turns up - either in another puzzle box or in the vacuum bag or stuck to the bottom of your shoe.  And when you're finally able to put it in place, everything seems complete.  It's a wonderful feeling.

So I guess I can understand how my doctors have felt these past 5 years or so, dealing with pieces of a puzzle but never quite having that final nail in the coffin.  That said, I have information to share that I have been sitting on for a little while now, waiting to make sure this finally completes the picture.  It does.  The tests confirm it.

Then, what has all this talk been about different diagnoses for the past couple of years?  They have been pieces.  We kept thinking - THIS is the answer, THIS is the picture the puzzle makes, but we've consistently found that each end was but a piece of the ultimate answer.  And now, having been able to put every piece together, leaving none out, we have the final picture, and it all makes sense.

The answer is this: Systemic Mastocytosis.  We are still in the process of staging the progression of the disease.  It is a very rare disorder, especially as adult-onset.  I believe estimates right now are at less than half of one percent of people in the world have it.  The basic idea is that the body becomes overrun with mast cells or mast cells that are misbehaving.  Mast Cells are usually the initial trigger of inflammation and allergies, so this puts in the body in a constant defensive state.  Fighting...itself and other innocuous triggers.

Symptoms are generally non-specific, so they can be hard to identify.  Personally, I have experienced over 80% of the most common symptoms for this disorder (which we are hoping indicates it is still in its early stages).  These include: abdominal pain, blood pressure changes, shock, chest pain, dizziness/lightheadedness, fatigue, acid reflux, rashes/skin lesions, intestinal cramps/bloating, irritable bowel, malabsorption, muscle pain, bone pain, rapid heart rate, diarrhea, cognitive changes, flushing, fainting, hematological abnormalities, inflammation of the esophagus, itching, migraines, nausea/vomiting, weight loss, peripheral neuropathy, and uterine cramping.

During a severe episode, the body actually goes into anaphylaxis or anaphylactic shock as it attempts to deal with these mast cells.  This has been the case with EVERY emergency room visit for the past 5 years - nausea/vomiting, tightening of the throat, shortness of breath, dizziness, polyuria.  The classic symptoms.  So it was never the pain medicine or the nausea medicine in the ER that helped me.  It was the Benadryl!

There is not one symptom I've had for 5 years (other than the brain tumor) that is not explained by this diagnosis.  Rather, it is confirmed again and again by tests.  Tests have shown anemia and thrombocytosis repeatedly, both characteristics of this disorder.  Biopsies revealed mast cells in my bladder, a place they should not be.  Biopsies also revealed inflammation in my esophagus, stomach, small intestine, and gallbladder - inflammation most likely caused by mast cells.  A recent blood test once again showed a potential bone marrow indicator of this disease.

What's more - the treatments are helping.  The skin lesions that have not gone away in two years are responding to antihistamine cream.  My body is also responding to a drug regimen (though perhaps not as fully as I would like).  I now have one drug to take daily and two others on an as-needed basis.  They are very, very helpful, but we are also looking into chemo drugs for added benefit, as they have been shown effective in some cases.  It's amazing that when I take the antihistamine drug that helps, I find that I need no other drugs.

This is a life long disease.  It will not get better.  It may get worse.  In a good percentage of cases, they have found that this progresses into various forms of leukemia.  I will cross that bridge when/if I get there.

The other things that make me happy in researching this new diagnosis are the following two facts that I've found true in my life over the past few years but could never explain:

1.  People with mast cell disorders can be either very stable or extraordinarily ill on a day-to-day basis, so managing the unpredictability of the mast cell diseases and their symptoms can be quite challenging.

2.  The triggers may change day-to-day.  That is, something can cause an episode one day but not the next.

So this, THIS is the full picture of what's going on and why we haven't been able to get a handle on it before.  It's so rare that most of my doctors had never heard of it before, and there has been little research.  And it's so ever-changing that just when it seems you do have it figured out, you realize you don't. 

But it is such a blessing now to know what is going on, to have the puzzle together with no pieces missing and no pieces left out.  And the tests to confirm it!

For those of you who have stood by me through this difficult journey, I thank you from the bottom of my heart.  The love of God through you (and the love of you) is what has kept me going.  And I think now, I am finally going to be able to move on, now that I know the truth, the truth has set me free.  :)
 

It is the celebration of the risen Christ.  And the risen...Aidan?

I wish I could explain the wonderful work of God in my life these days, and though I will try, I am going to fail miserably.

The death process began several weeks ago as I grew increasingly frustrated with my current situation.  How much rejection and failure can one young woman take?  As we all know, when something stays stagnant for long enough (think pond water), mold and algae begin to grow.  Not only is it icky and mucky, completely covering the former occupant of the space, but it actually kills the life that becomes trapped underneath.  This is where I've been.  But like the fish beneath the water, I couldn't tell what was killing me; all I knew was the environment continuously became less and less hospitable.

Slowly, clear eyes took over, and I began to see my life for what it truly was - a scummy mixture of pajamas, naps, pills, chat rooms, and half-hearted living.  Everything I did was less than my best.  Whether I was vacuuming or washing the dishes or writing or applying for a job, everything I did came out of me with a feeble sigh, an acknowledgment that really, I wanted nothing better for myself.  Well, that's not entirely true.  I WANTED something better, but I didn't believe it would ever happen.

As a youngster, I could have done (and did) anything.  Whatever project I undertook succeeded, often beyond expectations.  Those who met me held high hopes for my future, usually entertaining the idea of some sort of professional writing, among many, many other things.  Those successes still make me smile, and I could rattle off dozens of awards and honors to go with them.  But then, something changed.

I began to mourn.

With dad deceased and a newfound freedom of spirit that I've yet to pinpoint, memory began to overtake me.  That's because, basically, there are two ways to deal with abuse such as I experienced.  You can live in the moment, fight it, and hope for the best.  Or you can shut off all emotions and make every day about survival.  The former kills you then; the latter, later.  And so as the realizations of all I'd been through came to haunt me, so did fear and inadequacy.  What happened then will always happen, so why do I fight so hard to change that, I asked myself?  It came to the point where all I could do was sit in my room and hide.  She who hopes for nothing and expects nothing is never disappointed.

Ah, but she is!  She IS disappointed!  Because she knows her Daddy, the Lord, has so much more for her than this.

This was what I woke up to a few weeks ago, and found myself completely dissatisfied.  I began to fervently pray for whatever the good things are that God has for me.

It's scary!  I won't lie to you.  Because asking God to change your life into His plan is like pitching your first advertising campaign in front of the board - there is about 2-3% of it that's good, but the rest must be scrapped and reworked.  Everything I once knew, God wants to rid me of.  My familiar surroundings...gone.  Everything.  So it's very scary.

But it's also WONDERFUL!  God brings such peace amidst the fear that you can't help but take a few steps forward and realize, it's not so bad.  In fact, it's better than you ever could have imagined!  And then, you take a few more steps and a few more and before you know it, you look in the mirror and don't even recognize yourself.

Such is the case in my story.  I'm still dealing with trauma.  I am still dealing with sickness (99% allergies at this point, so if you know a good home remedy, I'm all ears!).  And yet, my life is so different than I ever could have imagined it even a month or two ago.

My physical appearance has changed.  My hair, cut short but GIRLISH (instead of shaved boyish), is cute and flippy.  Cute and flippy enough to have guys turning their heads in public to look at me.  I bought a PURSE, which means I no longer must live out of pants.  This frees me up to buy some really awesome clothes that will look sharp!  (Right now, I can't afford to do so, and I am a bit turned off by my former self when I look in my wardrobe, but Goodwill may help with that, when I get funds.)  I wear light colors instead of dark colors, radiating life instead of death.

My habits have changed.  Sitting on the internet 24/7, frequenting a chat room, all of that - it no longer holds any appeal for me.  I'm more active.  I get out and do more things, and I'm not afraid to get in my car and drive.

And my personal feelings and outlook have changed.  I see those old successes coming back.  I see happiness; I feel excitement.  Yet, I stay centered, too.  It's the kind of person I always dreamed about being some day, and I'm starting to see her become a reality.  It's so cool!

So thank God for the resurrection of Aidan on this Easter.  May she continue to grow and to become more like Him.  May she continue to live in abundance and victory, as she's so enjoyed these past few weeks.

I guess the moral of the story is...when you find yourself covered in algae and mold, let God be your chlorine.

For 24 years, I have wondered what it is about me that makes me so undesirable.  I've been living in shame, blaming myself for not being loved enough, for never being good enough.  As I have come to know God closer and walk more in step with Him over the past 6 months or so, I find my views changing - not just of myself, but of my external world as well.  Bear with me; this story may be hard to handle.

There must be a demon inside of my mother.  It is the only logical explanation I can come up with for the hatred that spews forth from her, always toward me.  She's always been a bit...over the top.  That is, her personality is vastly different from mine, in such a way that I cannot understand.  She's always been very controlling - of everything.  Children in her presence are never free to be children.  They cannot ask questions, cannot learn why.  They cannot rejoice and play and be free.  As a recent case in point, at the birth of my nephew, she was the only one in the room telling my niece to be quiet.  Aeris was rejoicing in this new baby and all the excitement, and her parents and other grandmother were encouraging, but mom told her to be quiet, then became angry at the others for encouraging the excitement.  As another case in point of controlling - she has a new puppy, and she keeps it on a leash at all times so that it must learn to follow ONLY her around, not play, not ask to be held, etc.

With me, it is sometimes similar, but it is also very different.  She just sends hatred in my direction.  She cannot bear to look at me.  She curses and yells.  And often, she becomes so angry for no reason that she forbids me to be in her presence for hours or days at a time (which is really hard, considering we live together).

This morning...it became loud and clear for me.

She's always been known to hold me to higher, unreasonable, irrational standards.  To this day, when she catches me washing dishes, she claims the water is not hot enough, turns it as hot as it will go, and forces my hands underneath until she's satisfied.  (I have burn scars from this.)  A few years ago, she gave me a lecture and then the silent treatment about the way I folded the hand towels for the bathroom.  She said, and I quote, "if you don't fold them THIS way, they don't last as long."  Uhm, they are cloth; they last the same amount of time no matter what.  She was going to throw out a cake with fruit on top and told me to eat of it what I wanted.  I ate the fruit off the top and got beaten for this offense - "wasting cake."  So she kind of has this history of mind games and shame and all that.

This morning, I woke about half an hour earlier than she did.  Sunday is her laundry day.  It always has been.  But I frequently ask her to let me know when she's done, so that I can do a load or two as well.  Usually, the answer is this: "You should have gotten it started while I was still in bed.  You had time to do a load before I got up."  Well, this morning, being up early, I started a load of laundry.  When she got up, she went BALLISTIC!  "You did NOT just start laundry, did you?"  I explained it was almost done by now.  "You know you aren't allowed to do laundry on Sundays.  What the Hell were you thinking, you little Fuck?"  This went on for quite some time.  The anger/hatred was so intense that she refused even to use the butter for her toast, since I had gotten it out of the fridge to make my eggs.  She had to wait, then get it HERSELF because she wouldn't DARE accept anything I'd touched.  And while making her toast, she found spice/powder on the cabinet (where she frequently makes cinnamon sugar toast in the mornings).  She claimed this was garlic, that I had gotten it all over the counter, and I needed to fucking stop making such a damn big mess on her counter.  I showed her that the garlic was, in fact, in the cabinet overtop the stove and NOT next to the toaster and that, in fact, the mess on the counter was NOT garlic.  I had not done it.  At that point, the cussing began again, and I was informed that if I continued to talk back to her, I would find my ass out on the streets TODAY.

My attempts at logic were futile.  In regards to laundry, I tried reminding her of her previous words and tried to tell her that it's ok if she wants to change the rules, but she needs to TELL me instead of just expecting me to know.  "The rules haven't changed!  They've always been that way, and you know it.  You just have selective memory."  Cuss, cuss, yell, yell....silent treatment.

I just don't understand why she hates me so much, and only me.  She's not NICE to anyone or anything (well, very few), but she is not openly hostile with anything but me.  She goes out of her way to make sure I have no connection with her, to make sure I know exactly where I stand - unwanted and unloved.  Sometimes, I even try asking her about her life - her day at work, her date the previous night, etc. - she just tells me it's none of my damn business and to leave her the hell alone.  Then, when my sister-in-law shows up, she volunteers this information immediately, without even being asked!  I guess she finally has the daughter she always wanted...

In more recent times, I am now facing (in very short order) the hysterectomy my doc wanted to do 2 years ago that insurance wouldn't pay for because of my age.  Well, now, it's time, and I get to pay out-of-pocket.  yay?  Anyway, mom had this procedure a few years ago.  But will she be a mother and help her daughter through this tough time?  Nope.  Don't talk about it.  And if I bring it up one more time, she's gonna slap me so hard she won't see me till next Tuesday.  Only by eavedropping on a conversation she was having with yet another boyfriend...I found out that EVERY WOMAN in my family, for generations, has had this procedure.  Not a single one has made it to natural menopause.  And yet, I am forbidden to talk about it with any of them.  It's so very frustrating.

So then, why am I still here?  There are a few reasons.  Part of it is fear - she has made so many threats that I don't dare do anything that might upset her.  She also has me guilted into believing she can't make it without me (I provide a great deal of financial support).  But the other part of it is practical - I don't have a job.  Without a job, nobody will rent me a place to live.  So I have to wait until I can manage to find a place I can afford that will have me and both of my dogs.  And that takes a job.

I'm looking for a job.  (This relates to this morning's status message.)  I believe there are some jobs out there that God wants for me to apply to.  One in particular, I was up all night feeling really at peace about and wishing I could.  However, at this time, I am incapable of holding a job, and I would prefer not to fail with this employer because I'd like to work for them long-term.  I WILL be able to work once I get the reproductive issues taken care of...so in another month or so, I will be good to go.  But for now, nothing.

The other amazing thing is this: it seems the healthier I get, the happier I get, the more I believe in myself and come to love the beautiful young woman that i am, the stronger mother's hatred toward me becomes.  I just can't win.

I don't feel the shame as much any more.  That is, I am stronger in fighting against it.  I still feel bad about myself; I wish I could do something different to make her not hate me.  She doesn't have to love me, but tolerance would be nice.  But I realized, profoundly this morning, that this is NOT my problem.  This is not my flaw.  It is the demon inside of her, and there is nothing I can do about that but pray - pray for her (as I know she is in anguish), and pray for myself to stand strong.

I would love to type more, but I've just been informed of another new rule:  I am not allowed online when she is home.  So I guess that's the end of this story.
 

For what have I died?  For what have I given over my spirit?

It makes me wonder about the tomb on Easter morning.

I've learned a lot about dying in the past 5 years.  In fact, I've almost got it down to a science.  It can almost become a very manipulative situation, as I've battled within myself to appease two opposing forces.  It's not that part of me has wanted to live and part of me was ready to die; no, once death had overtaken me, it became a matter of community.  Part of me wanted to do it as publicly as possible, for the only fate worse than death is loneliness, and yet, part of me wanted the dignity of a quiet process.  So I searched for a way to drag others far enough into it that I could tell part of the story without telling the whole story.  For those of you who feel manipulated by this whole process, let me offer my deepest apologies; it was never my intent to use people.  And most of this has been unconscious.

But death was my closest friend.  And I found myself quickly living a life that had no life left in it.  My mind was warped to see only the bad.  I lived pill-to-pill, nap-to-nap, and sometimes nap-to-pill and pill-to-nap.  "Life" as I knew it was about sustaining it.  Along with death came fear, which brought a facet of death all its own.  What if I push my body too far, do too much?  No, best not to do anything at all.  It had laid in its bed so long that even the slightest activity seemed to much, seemed to push me past my physical limits.  Or what if I were to go out somewhere and something were to happen?  (My biggest fear has pretty much been throwing up in public.)  No, best not to go anywhere at all.  It got to the point where I was having panic attacks just THINKING about grocery shopping or church or anything like that.

What's weird is that when I died, people started treating me differently.  They came to expect less of me, which made me, in turn, expect less of myself.  When things popped up that scared me or that I didn't trust my body to handle, I backed down.  "Sorry.  I'm dead."  And that was pretty much ok with people.  Actually, it still is...with most people.

Somewhere in all of this, God's voice was lost.  That is, if it ever existed to begin with.  On that note, I have a bit of a spiritual confession to make.

God never really meant that much to me.  As a pagan child, I think I had more faith than my first 8 years as a Christian.  God was something I did because a cute boy with a rat tail led me to church one day, and what I found was that church filled a hole I had in my heart.  Not with God, but with people.  There were lots of people there!  People who could, potentially, love me like I had always wanted to be loved, like my parents had failed to do.  And in order to get these people, I had to get God.  So I put on a show.

That's not to say I didn't have my divine moments.  Lounging around the Bruce house or the Bruce office, talking about real stuff and feeling loved, not judged, I encountered God.  Lying on the Cundiff couch, staring up at the cross in the ceiling and feeling safe, I encountered God.  Hearing Ryan McCullough, standing on stage in a portrayal of Jesus and saying "I love you," I encountered God.  Sitting in Ken's office, not crying, but feeling heard, I encountered God.  But aside from this, most of my encounters with God were intellectual, not heart-led, and most of the things I said about Him were just repetitions of things I'd heard others say.

But these past several months, I have been on sabbatical.  It's been a time "set apart," as the word indicates, just for me to wrestle with God and come to know Him.  And boy, has He shown up!  I read the Bible cover-to-cover, whereas before, I was only skimming to find verses for writing projects.  God is more incredible than I ever could have imagined!  Though I still struggle, I am learning to pray.  I don't get much sleep these nights because God is usually talking most of the night, but that's ok because I am learning so much!  I usually wake up with a song in my heart or just laughing uncontrollably, and I can't stop all day.  There is so much joy, and I just can't explain it.  Even in the bad times now, I just laugh, because it is so far beyond me, and I just can't help myself.

It moves beyond me, as well.  A lot of what God lays on my heart these days is about my larger world, my bigger community.  I am literally heartbroken over much of what I see and hear all around me.  This is not the world God intended us to live in; we are far from Eden.  And there is a pull inside me to look for a way to do something about it, even if only a little bit.  In the meantime, I mourn.  I literally mourn.

And so I find something deep inside of me now yearning to live.  I want to let the sun hit me and rejuvenate my soul.  I want to go outside and build a snowman.  I want to hop in my car and drive, just pay a visit to someone who could use some company.  I want to take a walk around the park.  I just want to be out of this damned room, out of this damned bed.

Yet I still struggle between death (body) and life (spirit).  The more I feel God pulling me to do things, the more my body comes under attack.  If I just take off and go as the Spirit leads me, I find myself running frantically back home, usually searching for a pill.  So I run back and forth between freedom and captivity, between life and death.

I find myself more on the "life" side as time passes by.  Day after day, it gets a little bit easier to follow the Spirit and overcome death.  But as I step into a new life, I can't help but ponder two ideas.

The first, I presented earlier.  For what did I die?  For what did I give up my spirit?  The answer is not a pleasant one, but in honesty, it was for me.  To give in proved easier than to fight.  It was easier to lie around in death than to push forward and embrace what God has given me.  After all, in death, there is no failure.  No shortcomings.  If I try my hardest and still fail, that is horrible.  So I convinced myself it was best not to try at all.

And second, I find myself pondering the tomb on Easter morning.  I wonder if Jesus found himself in the same boat I now find myself in - trying to learn to live again.  A lot of people think Jesus always lived, but I doubt that.  I think that for those three days, He lain dead, apart from God, apart from life.  And when life returned to him that Easter morning, He had to learn to live again.  You'll notice He didn't just go running out of the tomb, throwing off graveclothes and leaving a trail.  He got up slowly, tidied His burial wrappings, maybe even pondered for awhile what death had meant, and then stepped back out into life.

So I don't think I'm gonna hop out and live right away, but I am definitely pondering the graveclothes.  I feel the tugging of the Spirit and the defiance of the body, the life of God and the death of the flesh.  It's a battle; I won't lie.  But life, God, will win.  In the meantime, I sit with a sense of contentment, with a presence of joy, and a stillness in my spirit...and I can't help but sing:

'Agios, 'Agios, 'Agios
Kurios o theos
Pleres tes es doxes
'o oura nos kai ge.
Panter pantor krator
poi ton ton 'olon
Soi prepe einos
doxa kai time.

Well, it’s been kind of a backwards year for me…get it? 8002? A backwards year? Anyway, I’ve been taking stock of all that’s gone on this year, and I thought I would share my experiences with you. Maybe it will help you reflect upon something in your own life; maybe not. But I couldn’t let this year pass without mentioning all of the incredible things that have happened in my life.

On the surface, the year looks really crappy. 3 CT scans, 3 ultrasounds, 1 x-ray, 2 MRIs, 2 surgeries, a bad gallbladder, poisonous spider bite, torn tendon, e. coli, surgical complications, ulcer from an antibiotic, severe concussion, torn rotator cuff, and that’s just the medical side! On the non-medical side, I barely graduated college because of a professor who wanted something more of a relationship with me and tried to really screw me over, there was an earthquake, I lost my dad’s belongings in the flood, and I missed about 4 months of church.

And yet, I will consider 2008 among my greatest years!

Why?

Well, despite the obstacles, I DID graduate with a college degree. I don’t care who you are or what fight you had to put up to get it, that is an accomplishment in and of itself.

And despite initial sadness at losing all of dad’s stuff, I find myself now free-er to live in the way I want to live, instead of letting the memory of him hang over me like a thick cloud. Instead of hanging on to him for dear life, I am now in a position to put him in whatever place I’d like him in my life, instead of feeling some dutiful obligation to let him stay where he always wanted to be.

In addition, I have done quite a bit of thinking and reflecting on myself and my own situation in life.

First, I saw some old pictures of myself with the buzzed haircut. What the heck was I thinking? Why did I do that to myself? I looked awful! But it was only a reflection of what I was feeling on the inside, and I am at a place now where I can recognize that. What’s more, I am enjoying the more girlish style I have taken on (and would like to follow the haircut with a better wardrobe when/if I can afford it). I have accepted my femininity and am now working to cultivate it. One day, I hope to take on the traits of the 1 Timothy woman: “For women who claim to be devoted to God should make themselves attractive by the good things they do…But women will be saved…by continuing to live in faith, love, holiness, and modesty.” (2:10,15b)

Second, I find that after looking hard at myself, I have been a terrible sister – not just to my biological brothers, but to my spiritual brothers and sisters as well. I have selfishly taken much more than I have given, and it has not bothered me until recently. Somewhere deep inside of myself, I felt like the world owed me something and I believed that people would love me no matter what. Some have, and for them, I am grateful, but I owe them so much more than I have given. Selfishness is not a good trait in anyone, and I aim to work on that in the future, though my struggle right now is that I feel I have very little to offer anyone else. That will change as I come to know myself more. For now, it is a simple matter of low self-esteem and high selfishness. So to those of you I have offended by not entering your stories as you have entered mine, I apologize, and I promise to work harder in the future.

Kind of along the same lines, I am working on forgiveness. I have discovered that I have very little forgiveness for anyone in my life, let alone myself. I have been a perfectionist, and I’ve expected everyone else to be perfect, too. I’ve not tolerated accidents. I expect that someone should pay for everything that’s happened. But no more – I am finding forgiveness in my heart and working every day to extend that to myself and others.

And then the coolest thing happened…

I have spent my life being afraid. Of everything. I’ve been sleeping with a nightlight since I was itty-bitty. I watch the shadows move across the kitchen floor at night (from the back porch light), just to make sure nobody is coming to kill me. I hide things so people can’t steal them (and sometimes, I can’t even find them), and I keep a bag packed with my valuables in case I ever need to get out in a hurry. It is, for all intents and purposes, the most severe of paranoia. But the other night, just a few days ago, I woke up in the dark with a storm brewing outside. In that moment, just before the panic set in, all fear left me. I mean ALL FEAR. I’m not afraid any more. Of anything. I have peace in my spirit, and it’s just the coolest thing. I don’t lay awake at night wondering if the doors are locked. I don’t watch the shadows in the kitchen. I went to the bathroom, and when I turned off the light, my eyes actually adjusted to the dark for the first time in my life. Darkness no longer blinded me; I could see, and I was unafraid. Still am. It’s REALLY cool.

And finally, I am getting tired of the excuses. MY excuses. It seems I’ve always had an excuse for everything. But no matter how justified I think I am, that doesn’t excuse ungodly living. And I think people have come to expect from me that I won’t do what I’m supposed to do because I will always come up with a reason not to. That’s just not cool. It doesn’t gel with my spirit. So I am working on that, as well.

So on top of all that, I am finding physical healing. My body is able to fight off most infections by itself now. Aside from a small bout of surgical complications, I haven’t been to the ER in over a year. I have gone from having 43 medications to now keeping NONE on my desk. As a matter of fact, the only things I’m taking right now are my birth control and an occasional anti-nausea pill, but God is even breaking my dependence on that.

Also in 2008, I finished reading the Bible cover-to-cover. There’s some pretty good stuff in there. My favorite books are James and Joel.

2009 is going to be MY year. I don’t know what’s going to happen, since I try to not put God in my box any more. But I have a few inklings, and they are all good. I sense a job just around the corner. There’s a young man I’ve been talking to who seems very interested in me, so we’ll just have to see where that goes. I anticipate further physical healing. I anticipate peace, the absence of fear, and contentment. It’s just going to be a good year.

That said, it’s not getting off to a terrific start. As it turns out, I have torn my rotator cuff in my left shoulder. I will find out tomorrow what kind of repair that will require, and then my challenge is to figure out how to get that care for myself with no insurance. And yet, as stressed as I am, I am also not worried. Because I know that God is going to handle this, too, and it will all be ok. And so, I trust Him.

And isn’t that what life’s all about?

So farewell to 8002, a sort of backwards year, and here’s to a brilliant 2009!

I have trouble conceptualizing of God as “Father.”

At best, it’s sterile. Be honest. Does not the word “father” conjure up images of the von Trapp children? Very formal, very respectful, and while I do not doubt the love of their father toward his children (or the love of the children toward their father), it is far from what I would describe as a “loving relationship.” These children go to bed each night with a wave; no hug, no kiss, no bedtime story. A surrogate must provide all of these things for them.

At worst, “father” is distant and angry. I know this has been true in my own life, as a young child, and I am sure I am not alone. You know what I mean, when after a particularly harsh punishment or stern “no,” you wake up the next morning to find your male parental figure standing in the kitchen, smiling a good morning to you. You look up slightly, not wanting to be disrespectful, and, nodding, say, “Father,” then proceed as if he doesn’t even exist. You want him to know you still know he’s there, but you also create as much distance as possible between the two of you and the message is clear: you are angry.

Neither of these fits my image of God, but those are all I can latch onto when I think of “Father.” I think Jesus had it right, though. I don’t claim to be a scholar in Aramaic, but from what I have studied, Jesus’s word “Abba” more closely translates to our word, “Daddy.”

And isn’t that what we all want? A daddy. It’s so beautiful. He is the strong man who becomes your rock. You sit on his lap and absorb his warmth. You listen to his stories because you honor his wisdom. You seek his advice because you respect his judgment. When life deals you a tough blow, he scoops you up and restores your sense of safety. He gives you a name and a place in life. He is everything you need, and most of all, he is loving. He is an active part of your life. You share a two-way relationship.

Maybe it’s just me, but God as “Father” puts an unnecessary barrier between us. I can’t talk to a father. But I will run to a daddy. He’ll see me coming a mile away, but the force of my impact will still knock him down. We’ll laugh; we’ll cry; we’ll talk. Mostly, we’ll love.

So if God the Father works for you, then by all means, work hard to develop that relationship. But if you, like me, can think of nothing but childish protest or the von Trapp children, then maybe re-think your name for Him. I don’t think God minds one bit when I pray, “Hey Daddy…”

He just smiles and says, “Yeah, kiddo?”

I would imagine God doesn’t really hate me.  It’s just my perception based on where I’m at right now.  Freshly graduated with a degree that makes me miserable, unable to find a job anywhere, sick as a dog (I am struggling with severe pain again and am losing dangerous amounts of weight inexplicably), tormented by my mind, stuck in my mom’s house until I can find a job…it’s just a lot to bear.  For awhile, I prayed earnestly and with great fear, wishing God would change my circumstances.  I have so much to offer; I am full and blessed with talent beyond measure and a heart that is seeking to do more with what I’ve been given, but I am being held back by things in my life.  I have tried so hard to live like my mother – in complete denial of the power of the bad things.  I used to say to myself, “If I wake up and decide to live like they don’t exist, they won’t.”  But that just doesn’t work.  No matter how hard I try to deny the bad things the power or try to ignore them and live anyway, they are still there, and I MUST face them, must deal with them instead of trying to write them off.

The flood really kind of destroyed every sense of stability I had in my life.  I was actually doing pretty well for awhile, but now, not even close.  I’m afraid to be alone.  I’m afraid of water.  I look above and below and behind everything to make sure there’s nothing there to harm me.  I hallucinate like crazy.  Every memory turns into a flashback.  I’m scared.  I talked with Kevin about this a little bit, and I came to realize that what happened is that the only hint of safety I felt in the world was right here in this house, but now this house has been invaded and I no longer feel safe anywhere.  And that’s a rough place to be in.  I want to feel safe.  I want to trust that nothing bad is going to happen to me, but such is foolishness.

I struggle with the basics of Christian living.  For awhile, I was reading my Bible every day, but it just seemed to make me sicker and sicker.  Every time I think about reading, I am now filled with such joy and such dread that I end up just staring at the book for awhile and deciding not to risk it.  I’ve yet to figure it out, but since the beginning of my walk with God, reading that blasted book has always given me a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.  A friend of mine online blamed that on unconfessed sin or some other bullshit like that that’s preached in the more conservative, Bible-thumping churches.  I’m just not sure how much I buy into all that.  Maybe a little, maybe not at all.  I don’t know.  And I know my prayers are inadequate, they are somehow wrong.  Like I’m not doing something right.  For awhile, I stopped praying altogether, but I am trying to pick up the habit again and have succeeded two nights in a row.  It just feels…petty, somehow off. 

And part of all that is that I am feeling unworthy.  Who am I that God should even care about me at all?  The world has thrown me away over and over again, even those who were supposed to love me.  There is something inherently wrong, then, with me.  So why should God care?  Many times in my life, I have come face-to-face with this problem.  I have worked against my own best interest, convincing myself not to talk with doctors or mentors or professors or whoever, because I feel unworthy of their time.  Because I feel like I am bothering them.  I’ve done it with therapists, ministers (even you), all kinds of people.  Several months ago, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and saw beauty, for the first time.  I went around for several days, feeling like I was finally worth something, like I had tapped something deep within myself that mattered.  It all made perfect sense.  Yet I find myself struggling with the same issues all over again, and I don’t understand why.  I fear it may become a lifelong struggle for me.

At the same time, God is definitely tapping something deep within me.  This is where I struggle hardest to explain what’s going on.  Something in my spirit is breaking, much in the same way it did with Kevin when he first showed that he understood more than I was letting myself believe.  When I realized he was one step ahead of me, and something in me just broke and I sank back into his couch and took a deep breathe and finally just relaxed.  It’s a similar process right now with God.  I’m coming to realize just how far ahead of me He is, how much He understands, and to some extent, how much He loves and cares (which is a very scary thing for a person like me).  I’m also realizing my own weakness, pride, sin, selfishness.  Yet, I am pushing in the flesh to still do things the right way, to live my own life by the rules I believe I have set.  I keep pushing myself to try to be “spiritual,” to act as I think I should be, all while hearing this still, small voice that says “just rest.  You are tired.”

I am tired.  And I am desperate.  I am thirsting hard, but at the same time, I am afraid to let God come and meet my needs.  It’s scary to give Him the chance to fail me.  If we pray in earnest…but how do I know if my prayers are earnest enough?  Should I speak louder or barely whisper?  How much should I read?  Out of all the voices in my head, is one of them God’s?  Or doesn’t He speak that way anymore?  (This was a point of contention in a conversation I had with a friend the other day – will God speak to us other than through the Bible or is that all we get?  I believe there must be more.)  Is His voice the one that settles the peace in my spirit, or is that just a trick of the enemy?  I know God is not emotional, but how else can I feel Him if not through His peace and mercy?  Why does He want to give me more than I feel I deserve, and how do I bring myself to come to accept that?

A couple of days ago, I allowed myself to just sit and wrestle with all of these questions.  I took time to breathe, to tear down the walls and let the questions really touch me, come to realize the power they hold in my life.  I ended up just crying for hours on end, but the whole while feeling that tingling feeling you get when you know the Spirit is near.  It became for me a moment of repentance, a realization of just how little I was letting God do, how much I was holding Him back from what He wants to do in my life.  And how sinful I was in my own pride, in believing I have the power to fix myself.

So I don’t know.  I’m just wrestling right now, and I’m not entirely sure what’s going on.  With circumstances the way they are, I feel cursed sometimes.  I wonder why God is doing this to me.  But maybe I’m doing it to myself.  And I wonder when it will end.

I wish I could live in total surrender and give up all that I am fighting so desperately to hold on to.  But I’m afraid I’ll be left with nothing.  Is God really faithful?  Who knows?

It’s like the flood – it took away many of the things I had of my father’s.  And I’ve chosen to finally end contact with his relatives, to the best of my ability (I mean, if they e-mail me or something, which rarely happens, I will be polite and respond, but I’m done going out of my way to be a part of their lives).  It’s like the events were God’s way of saying “You don’t need this any more; it’s holding you back.”  It makes me wonder what else I have in my life that’s holding me back…and whether I can or am even willing to let go of them.  To not let go is sin; to let go is to trust.  And what abused person trusts so boldly? 

This is a start.  Maybe it gives you some idea of where I’m at.  I hope so.