Walk This Road With Me, Will You? Chap.9

Almost 6 weeks since my surgery. I feel mostly healed up from that. Going on 3 months since I have had a shot for the arthritis. Tonight my joint pain is a 2. I want to be able to tell you that it has been a 2 the whole time. It has not. I have been struggling for the past couple of weeks. Gosh I hate to tell you that. I so wish I could say that my joint pain has miraculously gone or stayed minimal. But I have to be honest.  One day it is my shoulder. The next day, my wrists. Then it is my hip. Then my feet. Always my fingers. The pain has been up to an 8, maybe 9. It is so much worse at night. It steals my sleep. I am on no medication. I did take a pain pill one night, it got so bad. I don't like to do that. I do not want to depend on medication to ease my pain. That may sound crazy to some folks but I just don't.  I believe that medication is good and I do not find fault with those who need it but I have never wanted to take medication on a long-term basis. It's just me. I don't know why.
I've been talking to God a lot lately. Pain forces you to do that. I asked Him why I was having this pain. Why now? He had been so good to me over the past couple of months. I believed that He had answered my prayers ( and the many prayers of others)  concerning healing. I had thanked Him daily for His healing, thanked Him even while I was hurting. But now it seemed that the pain was getting worse instead of better. A few nights ago my shoulder was aching so bad that I couldn't sleep. I decided that I would just have to get up and take a pain pill (I had some leftover from my surgery).  I had done that a few nights earlier and I remembered how after about 20 minutes,  I got that loopy feeling and the pain began to ease and I finally went to sleep. So I was on the verge of doing that again this time. I needed relief.  I decided to pray first. I told God that I needed for the pain to ease so that I could go to sleep. I was aware that He knew how I felt about medicine. I asked Him if He would be my medicine that night. I told him that I believed with all my heart that He could ease my pain. I told Him that I would wait for Him to work, just like I had waited for the pain pill. I closed my eyes and started thanking Him over and over for all of the good things He had done for me lately. And after about 20 minutes, I realized that the pain in my shoulder had eased off. And I went to sleep.
Have you ever picked up a Bible and opened it, hoping that the very first verse you read would "speak to you"? I used to do that a lot. It never seemed to work for me. I would always get an off the wall verse that seemed to mean nothing to my circumstance. So I stopped doing that.  The other morning I was on my porch, in my swing, both wrists hurting, questioning the pain, getting ready to read my Bible. I opened it up and my eyes fell immediately on this verse:  "But He said to me, 'My Grace is sufficient for you, for my Power is made perfect in weakness.' Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weakness, so that Christ's Power can work through me." Ok.   Wow.    I thought about that for a while.  So that Christ's Power can work through me. Could it be that God was using my pain to ultimately make me who He created me to be? To get and keep my attention? To keep me focused on Him because He knows that I may not stay focused if I didn't need him?  That morning in my swing I truly felt that He was speaking to me. I made the decision to trust Him with this pain.
I used to believe in coincidence. In fact I pretty much believed that every situation that was amazing or weird was probably coincidence. I couldn't for the life of me believe that it could actually be a God thing. That seemed too far-fetched. My logical mind just couldn't accept that. I don't know how in the world I even stayed in church, believing in God. My mind was so non-spiritual at the time.
I can tell you that I have had a complete change of heart lately. Now I don't believe there is such a thing as coincidence. He has been with me. He has healed my body. He has eased my pain. He has been my medication. He has stepped in for my loved ones. He has answered some questions. He has spoken to me. He has given me peace. In spite of the pain. I simply cannot figure out how to thank Him enough for that.

This next part of my story is the hardest for me to write. It is from my standpoint but it is not about me. Looking back,  I never thought I would be able to share this part of my story. Never. My daughter shared her story recently and my son is about to do the same. Let me just say that I am beyond proud of both of them. It is not easy. We choose to share because we know that there are many like us who have gone through the same things and had the same questions. We do not pretend to have all of the answers, by far. This is just what we have honestly gone through and what we know that we need to share. We would be humbled if it helps just one.

I remember it like it was yesterday. He was playing with his toys in the kitchen floor. His daddy was at work. His sister was at school. I had just washed my hair and it was up in a towel. I heard his sweet little 3 -year- old voice ask,
"Mama? You know what I want to be when I go to school?"
"What do you want to be baby?"
"I want to be a girl."
And it felt like the floor just opened up and swallowed me whole.

That's when the begging began. Every night I begged God to let it not be true. Not that I couldn't or wouldn't love a gay son or that I would be embarrassed or ashamed, not at all. That wasn't it. It was the hurt it would cause him. I had seen it. Someone else I loved very much had gone through the same thing. I saw the judgement from others.  I saw the hate and disgust.  I couldn't reconcile it with my faith.  I didn't understand it. I was afraid for my little boy. I didn't want him to be hated. So I begged. We put him in sports. He loved to sit right beside me all the time and I made him go sit with his daddy. I prayed and I prayed and I begged and I begged. And I tried to believe. I watched from a distance, him never knowing what I was praying for. I watched him pray too, his little hand on his Bible every night, me not knowing (until much later)  that he was praying the same thing too. It was in his teenage years that we began to talk about it together. Being a Christian, I knew what I should tell him. "Run from it. Don't give in. The feelings will change. God will change you." And I did tell him that early on. I really believed that it would happen. He did too. Ricky has always had a deep love for Christ. I saw that in him very early on. I even used to joke and say that he was even more spiritual than me. It was the truth.  He always had a hunger for God. The homosexuality wasn't too much if an issue when he was younger because he really thought God would answer his prayers. And the prayers of his mother. It wasn't until he left and went away to college that he came to the realization that maybe this wasn't going to change. God seemed to be turning a deaf ear to our prayers. He kept trying. He dated a precious, beautiful girl for two years, hoping that she would be the one who could change his feelings. I remember that he would call me with his questions and look to me to give him solid answers. I couldn't. I didn't have any. By this time I had read not only the Bible, but many other books and watched documentaries and talked with other gay people. Most would tell me that they didn't believe that God was displeased with them being gay. That it wasn't a sin. How could He be when He had made them this way? That they did not choose to be attracted to the same sex. Why in the world would they choose it? I discovered that it was considered harmful to try and change your sexual identity. Many had committed suicide from the pressure of it all. I could not let that happen to my son. So when he would ask me for advice I would tell him the only thing I knew to tell him. "Just be whole. I want you whole. You will know what that looks like for you. Pursue wholeness." It was the best thing I could think of to say to him, always hoping that it was the right thing. I stopped begging God. I had spent too many years doing that. I continued to question Him. About this. Always about this. And about religion and what it all meant. It's funny, you would think that I would have just given up on God and the church but I didn't. I never even considered that. I just always knew that there were answers to my many questions and I just thought I may have to wait until Heaven so that I could ask Him myself. Still I kept searching. Forever searching......

Will you keep praying for me? Will you keep walking with me? My son shares his story in his own words in the next chapter. Stay with us........

Walk This Road With Me, Will You? Chap.8

I am posting my daughter's written story tonight on this blog. It is one of heartache and triumph. As I look back on all that she went through, there's a certain amount of guilt on my part as a mother. I missed it. I had no clue. I thought it was just normal girl adolescent behavior. I was absorbed with other things. She didn't know how to tell me and I didn't think to ask. I regret that.  It was not intentional. I have asked her forgiveness. She is such a sweet and gracious person, she says that I have nothing to ask forgiveness for. But I know that I do. Not only do I need to ask for forgiveness, I myself need to forgive someone. And that person is me. I am finding that forgiving ourselves is the hardest thing to do. But I am working on it. And He is helping me. 

Mothers pay attention to your children. Talk to them. Look for clues. Make them feel that they can tell you anything.  They need to know that they are your most prized possession. They need proper discipline just as much as they need to feel unconditional love from you at all times. Above all pray for them. They are gifts to you and they are worth it.

This is my sweet Amber's story in her own words. It takes courage to tell it. It will help someone else. I am beyond proud of her.

 

"My favorite thing to do when I was a little girl was to sing. I sang all the time. I sang at home into a pretend microphone, I sang at church, I sang on the tables at Hardee’s after church.  If I was awake, I was singing.

I remember being a happy little girl, full of joy. I loved everyone and I even liked myself. I was a straight A student  who dreamed of being a teacher, if being a singer didn’t work out.

I don’t know when but somewhere during my middle school years my happiness began to fade. I’m sure that part of it was due to the fact that I was being touched inappropriately by an older boy. I didn’t feel that I could tell anyone about this so I didn’t. The secret made me feel guilty, ashamed, worthless and ugly. I’m sure that hormones played a part in it as well, but I look back now and realize that it was something much deeper. I was overweight, wore glasses (which were huge by the way), and had a curly perm. Well, this scenario was a field day for bullies and I began to be teased relentlessly, everyday. My grades plummeted and I became sullen and moody. My dreams of being a singer vanished. My self-worth was at an all-time low.  

I managed to struggle through high school and then college, constantly feeling that I never measured up. I was clinically depressed at this point and had no clue what that meant. I just lived life the best way I knew how.

When I was 20 years old, I met my husband Dale. He was the first guy I was ever truly interested in. We became friends, then began dating, and got engaged 3 months later. I remember being so mean to him.  My mom would ask me if I loved him and I would sob and say “Yes, yes I do! I don’t know why I treat him so bad!”  I knew that I treated him terribly but I literally could not help it. It was weird but I just didn’t feel like myself and I didn’t have a clue what to do about it. I looked in the mirror and saw a young woman who was angry, irritable, and on edge--- and I hated her.

A defining moment came for me in October, 2000. I actually don’t remember much about the day. I know that I had been watching a show on TV called “Beverly Hills 90210” and on it a girl had shoplifted. I can remember going to the mall. I remember being in Maurice’s trying on clothes. I remember putting the shirt in my purse. I remember feeling numb but at the same time it was a feeling of excitement. I had the money to pay for this shirt, but I chose to steal it. I remember the salesperson stopping me. I remember the policeman and the handcuffs. I remember my Daddy coming to the police station with a bewildered look on his face. I remember seeing my mama fall back on her bed with a look of utter disbelief when we told her.  She got on the phone and called the office of a psychiatrist that she knew. I heard her calmly say, “I need to make an appointment for my daughter, something is wrong.”  She called our pastor and a few close friends to pray. I remember the visits to the psychiatrist’s office, the counseling, the medication. I remember the court dates, the newspaper, the community service hours, the embarrassment.  At church, I was told that I could not teach Children’s Church or sing in the choir for a while. I was told that I should not take the medication because there was really no such thing as depression, that it was oppression, which meant that it was something of a spiritual nature. I remember that confusing me at the time and not getting an explanation for what that meant. I just remember feeling very unworthy and guilty. The thing that kept me going was the love, understanding, and support of those who knew me and the medication which was slowly balancing those chemicals in my brain.

I felt the depression lift. Things were looking up. I married Dale in May of 2001.

While I was beginning to feel like myself, little did I realize that there was another culprit who was replacing depression as my enemy and that was anxiety and panic.

 I was convinced that something bad was going to happen. One night we were at home watching a movie with some friends and my heart started feeling like it was beating out of my chest. I couldn’t catch my breath. My chest would tighten and pain would shoot down my arm.  I literally felt like I was dying. I told Dale to take me to the emergency room where I had a cardiac workup that was normal. I was referred to a cardiologist who did every test imaginable and told me that my heart was completely healthy. The diagnosis was “panic attack.” This knowledge didn’t change the fact that these attacks were real and were occurring more and more. Although Dale was understanding and supportive, I felt very alone and isolated at this point in my life.  

I was a stay at home mom for my now TWO sweet boys and I didn’t have much outside contact. I never felt that I was a bad mom (my boys were my LIFE) but I was just obsessed with the thought that something bad was going to happen. I have to say here that I DID like to watch scary movies and shows about unsolved crime and medical mysteries. I didn’t know how much of this was impacting my anxiety. I can remember watching “The Texas Chain Saw Massacre” one night and later could not get the images out of my head. It got so bad that I can even remember thinking about getting a knife and stabbing it into my brain to make it stop. I knew that I needed help. I returned to the doctor’s to get help and one doctor actually told me that if Christians would just pray more, medication wouldn’t have to be prescribed so much. You cannot imagine how much guilt and shame this caused me. You see, I DID pray. Dale and I would always pray when the attacks came. I went to another doctor who put me on anxiety medication. The panic attacks actually got worse. I was a mess and I didn’t know what to do. I stopped watching horror movies and crime stories. I read books and listened to CD’s about how to overcome anxiety but nothing seemed to be working.

There was one particular week in early 2009 where I was having panic attacks every single night. These were different and lasted longer than the other ones had. I remember one night in particular. I was having a bad panic attack and Dale was praying for me and trying to talk me out of it. I began to think, “He doesn’t deserve this. My boys don’t deserve this. They deserve so much better than me. With every new thought the panic would get worse. I remember lying there and thinking that I was going to die. It even progressed to thoughts like, “ What if I just do something bad to Dale? What if I hurt the boys?” I felt that my mind was literally unraveling.  I was exhausted. And I knew that I could not keep going like this. I felt like I had reached the end of my rope. I cannot verbalize the desperation that I felt sitting on my bed that night.

It was at this moment something happened.  I began calling on the name of Jesus. I remember whispering over and over again, “Jesus help me! Jesus you have to help me! Jesus! Jesus!”

And suddenly it was over.  It was gone. The voices fell silent and I felt peace. I layed my head down for the first time in hours and went to sleep. And I slept soundly the rest of the night. And every night after that.  That was three years ago. It was my last panic attack to this day.

I’ve always loved and followed Jesus even through the “monsters” that I was dealing with.  I am convinced that when I called His name that awful night three years ago, He heard me. There is power in Jesus’s name. I do know that God has a plan and a purpose for all of us, and His plan is to give us a future and a hope. He breaks through the lies of the enemy and He gives us back our identity. I know. He gave me back my song. He gave me back my self-worth.  Because now I don’t measure myself based on what I do. It’s all about who He is and what He did. My purpose is to exalt Him, and lift His name. For years I didn’t feel like I was even worthy enough to lift my hands to praise Him. So I didn’t. I couldn’t. Now I know that it has nothing to do with me, but it has all to do with Him. I now lift my hands to Him because like Psalm 40 says, “ He turned to me and heard my cry. He lifted me out of the pit and gave me a firm place to stand.”

I don’t want you to think that I no longer struggle, I do. Those “monsters still try to creep in at times, but I know who I am in Christ. I am His creation and He is stronger than any “monster” that comes my way."   

I thank my daughter for her story. She has helped me along this journey more than she knows. My faith was encouraged when she told me what happened that night three years ago. And that was huge for my questioning mind. I thank God everyday that he rescued her. I cannot thank Him enough. 

I want you to know that although we are telling our stories, none of this is about us.  Everyone has a story. As I have said before, the whole purpose of telling our story is for the sake of others. I am convinced that someone needs to hear what others have to say.  

Next you will hear some of my son's story.

Keep walking with us.........

Walk This Road With Me, Will You? Chap.7

My shoulder started hurting the other day. Bad. 8 on the pain scale.  It had been 2 months since I had taken a shot for rheumatoid arthritis and this was the first real pain that I had had. Like in previous times it started with that deep, sickening ache and got worse as the day went on. By night I couldn't lift it. I prayed off and on all day. When I laid down and tried to sleep, the pain was all I could think about. I tried to ignore it. I tried to think of something else but my mind started going to thoughts like, "What am I going to do? I can't take the shots and ibuprofen doesn't even touch this pain. I could get the doctor to put me on prednisone but I can't be on that for long-term. By morning I will probably be hurting all over. I really need to be able to function. Why now?  Where is this going to end up? What in the world am I going to do?"
Then I remembered. I thought about what He had done for me at the beach. I thought about the surgery He had just brought me through and the good report of no lung cancer. I thought about the many people who had been praying for me throughout this journey. I remembered that I had asked Him for healing. I had trusted that He was going to come through for me on this. I started thinking about His promises on healing which are absolutely clear in His Word. I know because I have read them over and over. I have discussed healing with others and have gotten different opinions on what healing actually looks like. Should we pray for specific healing or should we just pray for God's will? The Bible indicates we should expect healing when we ask, that it is His will for us to be healed. I have questioned why many pray (and are prayed for) for healing and don't seem to receive it.  In fact I don't know many who have been miraculously healed, but I know a lot who have not. My son reminds me that I do not need to focus on these situations and outside circumstances more than I focus on the promises of God. I get that. That makes sense to me.
So as I laid there with my shoulder throbbing, instead of asking Him again for what I had already asked for, I started thanking Him. I thanked Him for healing me. I thanked Him over and over and it was not just words, I thought about all that He had brought me through and I sincerely thanked Him from the depths of my soul. I was able to go to sleep and when I woke up the next morning my shoulder was still aching. It ached all day. I thanked Him all day. And I came to a realization that day. I don't believe that pain and sickness are from God, but I do believe that He uses these things to increase our faith. To wake us up. The thought came to me that if God had completely taken away my pain, I would certainly not be depending on Him so much now. I realized that I was asking Him to heal my body yet I was giving no thought to the unhealthy foods that I was putting into my body nor the healthy foods that I was not feeding myself. I had wanted Him to do all the work but I realized that I bore some responsibility in this also. I believe without a doubt that He showed me this on that day.
That afternoon the pain left me. That was 4 days ago and my pain level is back down to a 2.
I don't know what's going to happen with this. I'm not bold enough to emphatically declare that I am healed!  I want to do that but honestly I don't yet know how. What I do know is that He is with me. He is speaking to me. I know what He promises me. And that promise is that ALL things work together for my good. And His glory. I choose to believe that I am healed. He's still teaching me. I'm still learning. I don't think that part will ever end until I actually see Him face to face. And on that day I will be able to thank Him in person......with a pain level of zero. :)

I want you to understand how incredibly amazing it is that I can talk to you the way that I have above. It didn't used to be me. I was somewhat of a doubter all of my life. Something happened to me the first part of July of this year. I was awakened spiritually. It came before this recent physical episode I just dealt with. It is this experience that I have been waiting to tell you about. I don't want to lose you. Stay with me. You will hear some of my son's story. I have his permission to include it. Keep walking with me. I still have so much to tell you......