Thankful. (but not for Thanksgiving)

Today is one of my least favorite days of the year.

Wait, let me explain.

I am a thankful person. A VERY thankful person. But I don't like thanksgiving all that much. We get together, we eat a lot, we complain a lot, we shop a lot, we spend a lot.

It's...a lot.

This year I have much to be thankful for. God is about to move me out of the waiting room and into surgery. Next Tuesday actually. This has been about a year in the making, and a really painful last three months of little sleep, restlessness, and pain.

But with all that pain has come a lot of reflection. A lot of questions for God, and a hell of a lot of surrender. It is hard for me to surrender my love for food. I just have such a deep relationship with food, that I struggle to let it go. Once again, a reason I wrestle with Thanksgiving.

I have found joy in the simple things I've always loved. Music is one of them. I have been working to convert my guest room into a music room. Today I picked up a drum set, which was my last big piece of the puzzle. My friend had a word for a room like this: her "happy room." So I filled this room with things that make me happy: a comfortable reading chair, books, drums, guitars, art. Beautiful things that bring me peace.

I spend a lot of my time trying to be someone I'm not. Trying to impress others. Trying to find eloquent words to express myself when simple words would sound better. I am so hopeful for life after back surgery. I will walk, I will swim, I will bike, and one day...

I will run again.

-Liz

The waiting room.

Today I had my MRI review with my back doctor. My prayer this morning: "God, please give me hope and progress and an answer. Please."

Today I welcomed hope and progress and an answer.

Two herniated disks means surgery. Most likely next week. This has been a year long ordeal for me. Managing the pain. Waiting. Getting injured. Pushing it. Running. Hurting. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.

What have I learned from the waiting room? Sometimes the things I learn in the waiting room are more important than the things I'm waiting for.

God is faithful. In pain. God is faithful. In joy. I have run the gamut. I have cried, laughed, hurt, and experienced all of it. And finally, relief is coming. I am completely blown away. I am loved by so many and have been so encouraged by so many of you. You have been my lifeline in the midst of this rainy season.

I have also learned that a lot of us are in a lot of pain. And most of us keep it private. I'm not sure why. Fear? Probably. But really, being honest on this blog thing has broken down a lot of barriers for people and I hope that keeps happening in big, scary, amazing ways.

So if you're in the waiting room right now, I'm sitting with you. And God has put us here together. Don't forget.

-Liz

How long?

I waited patiently for the Lord;
he inclined to me and heard my cry.
² He drew me up from the pit of destruction,
out of the miry bog,
and set my feet upon a rock,
making my steps secure.
³ He put a new song in my mouth,
a song of praise to our God.
Many will see and fear,
and put their trust in the Lord.      
-Psalm 40

There is a U2 song called "40" that borrows heavily from this Psalm. The chorus sings "How long to sing this song? How long?"

So here it is, 2:30 am on a Tuesday, and I have this song, this psalm, in my head.

Have you ever gone through something that, at first, a lot of people rallied around you and wanted to help but they just couldn't? Inherently, once people don't know how to help, they stop trying to help. This is no fault of their own, it's just human nature. See, if we don't know how to help, we think we are just - helpless, so we move on to the next manageable way that we CAN be of service to someone.

I am in that zone. My back injury has been happening since summer, and it's been severe for about two months now. Severe means can't exercise. Can't walk. Can't sleep. Can't stand. I have become completely reliant on God. I have no other choice. And sometimes, I feel like I have no other help.

Tomorrow I have an MRI, and I have hope again. Nothing else has worked. I have spent a lot of time, energy, money, and emotion looking for relief for my back and my leg. I dream of running again. Heck, right now, I dream of standing in the lobby of our YMCA and having a conversation with someone without needing to sit down or lean on something.

How long?

I have learned a lot about perspective in the past six months. I have also learned that there is a lot of private pain that goes on in the people around me every single day. And if my situation might speak to someone else's situation, I am grateful. The good news here, is that this season won't last forever. Even though it feels like a lifetime since I have been pain free.

I remember my dad once telling me, in a tear-filled conversation: "Lizzie, this is just your rainy season. And it won't rain forever."

Is this your rainy season? While we might be asking God "how long?" He might be trying to tell us - "Not forever."

-Liz

Sometimes people need YOU, not your answers.

You know, we as human beings really can't help but overanalyze our lives when bad things happen. Or  when bad things happen to our friends. As friends, we believe it's our role to explain WHY said bad thing happened, and then help our friends move on.

But what about when you don't have the answers?

I have a friend who is walking through some medical struggles (to the say the least) that make my back pain seem insignificant (but I am not comparing pain). Because we are both typically very active people, it has helped me IMMENSELY to talk this through with her. The coolest thing she has shown me though, is that other people try to fix our problems, not just listen to them.

I have noticed that with my pain over the last few months. I have an AMAZING community of friends. And a lot of sweet women that want to solve my problem for me. What I really need is a hug sometimes, not a proposed solution. And what my friend shared with me is that it can feel condescending when someone minimizes your pain by explaining it away.

I wrote about this some in my last blog, but it has been cool to see how God has provided someone else for me to vent to and talk to about this because she is going through similar pain. And, through her, God has shown me that my friend doesn't need my answers. She just needs me. Again, it's that beauty in brokenness thing that God keeps showing me.

Tomorrow is round 3 of my steroid injections. I have HUGE hope that this will work. I need it to. I mean, I am up at 7am when I don't need to be because I now have an internal alarm clock in the form of nerve pain all down my left leg that simply won't let me sleep late (or much at all).

In the meantime, I thought I would bring a little joy into your day in the form of a guy who should own his own karaoke bar. I aspire to bring joy to people like this guy did. Enjoy.

"God just wanted to slow you down!"

If I hear that one more time, I might kick someone with my good leg.

My faith has been shaken.

There. I said it.

It is still shaky. And I will tell you why.

Two steroid epidurals, icing, resting, and months of prayer from friends and family later...I am still the same. I can barely walk. My left leg constantly feels like it is on fire from pain shooting down my leg, and all week every week I grin and bear it. Every time I have to walk somewhere to pick something up from another office, or to go talk to someone, or to go to the bathroom, I have to give myself a pep talk. "You can do this. You can do this."

I can't do this.

Friends have been praying for healing. I wake up and I pray for healing. I have begged God. I have pleaded. I have written to him every morning. I have been faithful and obedient. I know he loves me. I know this is not the life he wants for me, especially when being active has been a lifeline for me and the catalyst for my weight loss.

But nothing has changed.

A week or so ago, days after my second epidural, I was doing better, so I biked. Nothing major. Nothing crazy. But only a few days after that, the pain returned to where I can't walk ten steps anymore without debilitating pain.

I can't stand up at church. I can't lay down comfortable at night. I can't go shopping with friends. It absolutely and completely sucks.

I've had to get creative with my down time. Time that
was once reserved for work outs is now reserved for
jigsaw puzzles and online sermon series.

I'm past the point of "God is teaching me patience." I am past the point of "God will heal you!" I am past the point of "God just wanted to slow me down to show me stuff!"

I think we all try to reason away pain because we simply don't understand it. Same thing with death. Ever notice how people have strange reactions to death? Some are inconsolable, some act like they knew the person way better than anyone else, some want to explain it, some want to move past it right away, some NEVER move past it the rest of their lives. We don't understand death because we were never created to experience death. 

The plan was for Adam and Eve to live forever. But sin screwed that up for everyone.

Now I don't think my back pain is some biblical warning against sin. But I do think it's just a crap situation for me and I wish more people would just sit in it with me rather than try to explain it, solve it, or reason it away by saying "God is teaching you something glorious!" It's also showing me how much I have reasoned away other people's pain instead of been beside them like they needed.

The awesome revelation here? People need YOU. Sometimes, they aren't looking for your answers. They are looking for YOU.

Once again, God is bringing beauty out of brokenness. But he didn't cause this brokenness. But I will be honest and say, I need some healing. Fast.

God hasn't healed me yet. Or allowed any significant help medically. And I'm pissed about that. But even in my shaky faith, I will pray. Because I know God can do all things. I just wish he would choose to heal my back. Monday, I have another appointment with my back specialist guy to see what's next, either another injection or options for surgery.

And so we keep praying.

-Liz

Do people really know how you feel about them?

We live in a critical, cynical world. But I have a little dare for you. Watch this. And then tell someone how you REALLY feel about them. Because I bet you, they have NO idea how great you think they are.



A New Perspective For Moms from Elevation Church on Vimeo.

Seriously...go tell someone how much they mean to you.

-Liz