Scars

I was listening to the song Scars by I Am They this morning and the lyrics pierced my heart:

Waking up to a new sunrise
Looking back from the other side
I can see now with open eyes
Darkest water and deepest pain
I wouldn't trade it for anything
'Cause my brokenness brought me to You
And these wounds are a story You'll use

So I'm thankful for the scars
'Cause without them I wouldn't know Your heart
And I know they'll always tell of who You are
So forever I am thankful for the scars

It’s time. Time to get up and be thankful. Time to stop wallowing in this diagnosis. Time to let God use each doctor’s appointment as a chance to love people.

“Rise up and shine, for your light has come. The shining-greatness of the Lord has risen upon you.” Isaiah 60:1 NLV

I will draw in a deep breath of God’s grace; straighten my shoulders. There it is. I feel it. A smile. And, tears of relief.

I'm not happy.

I am not happy. There, I said it. Shouldn’t that make it better?

            This is not a question of whether I am blessed or not.  I know that I am.

            Nor is it a question of my faith. It has never wavered.

            So, what is it? What is keeping me from being happy? It’s this new normal. I cannot wrap my head around it. A lifetime of doctor’s appointments and a palm-full of medicine is ahead of me. I don’t want to. I just don’t. It’s not a question of whether this is fair or not. I certainly know that there are far worse things and that a lot of other people have suffered far more than I have with this disease.

            I want to lay down in the floor and kick my feet. You know, have a good, old-fashioned temper tantrum. That would accomplish nothing, though. Except make my hair flat on the back of my head. Lord knows I don’t need my hair to be any more of a mess than it already is.

            A friend of mine recently asked me if I ever thought about driving off a cliff or into a tree. Seems she’s been struggling with things in her life and the thought has occurred to her. I’m not going to lie, it has occurred to me once or twice, fleetingly.  It would be so easy just to be done with it all. No more worries about a job that I feel inadequate in. No more doctor’s appointments, or blood draws, or shots in the stomach. No more pills. No more overwhelming fatigue. No more puppies passing away unexpectedly.

            But there would be no more concerts or hugs from friends. No more puppies circling my feet to go outside. No more time to pray for people who are hurting. No more Sunday afternoons watching football with my best friend. No more snuggles with nieces and nephews watching movies or dancing with great-nieces. 

            Where does that leave me? If I want the hugs, the snuggles, to dance, I must have the pills, the shots, the appointments. The fact is I cannot have one any more without the other.


"And we know that all things work together for the good to them that love God, to them who are called according to his purpose."  Romans 8:28 KJV

             Yes, All things. I can't say that I am happy, but I am at peace. That's something.