Sometimes when you’re searching for answers,
you just have to watch and wait.
Other times you have to dive right in,
even if you get dirty in the process.
As many of you know, I was tested for numerous autoimmune issues including Lyme Disease last year. It was a mystery, but in the summer I was diagnosed with Sjogrens Syndrome and Hypogammglobulinanemia (immune deficiency). It took a lot of time, ruling out other diseases with blood work results from various doctors and integrative health practitioners through the years. During that time and even before then, friends and acquaintances had their own health struggles and also found answers that led to their own healing. Then, they went a step further and selflessly took the time to tell me their story. And there, I found hope.
Over and over, we all hear of people devastated by disease and cancer, but over and over, I am hearing of those who are thriving by intentionally making major life changes…and not using medication. Nothing makes it more real than when your own body proves it has the potential to heal itself with the right nutrients from whole food and supplements to boost the immune system, as well as detoxify the body. Every body is different, so the challenge lies in finding direction through prayer, reducing stress and resting.
When we share our stories, challenges and victories, it’s powerful, like unlocking a hidden door for ourselves AND others. Since so many spoke to me through conferences, books, blogs, over the phone and during long dinners, it made an impact in such a way that I had hope. Hope that healing would indeed come. And it has in many amazing ways.
So, how can I not do the same?!
2015 is a year of intention for me, and here is my plan for this space starting next month: Finding Hope and Healing…Little by Little
Healing is usually slow, after all, whether from sickness, disease, past hurts and other emotional issues. The common thread? Healing also must be intentional!
Week 1 — an inspirational, hope-filled post (much like my usual writing, including stories of the pups, the joys and pains of marriage, infertility, sexual abuse, my health journey, and finding God in the struggle, etc.)
Week 2 — a post about useful healing books, quotes, music, art, and/ or recipes
Week 3 — physical and emotional healing tips I’m learning along the way
Week 4 — re-posting of interesting topics from other writers
Thanks for reading! 🙂
Oh, and I’m (obviously) working on a new look and even considering a new title for my blog. Any ideas?
“Are you going to be here soon?” I said into the phone, hoping he’d be home to walk the dogs with me. I crave this uninterrupted time with Brian. Like most marriages, we’ve had spaces when it seemed we’d rather be alone than together, but this is not one of those times. In the middle of what seems like a million unsettled things in our lives, being with Brian is home.
And so, he arrived just as the pups and I were ready to walk out the door. It was one of those beautiful spring days when being outside was heavenly, so the warmth of the sun on our faces and bare arms was welcome. We started out on our usual path, which seems to bore Glory (it’s like walking a turtle on a leash). Walking Journey is just the opposite. Getting distracted by everything he sees, he kind-of skips along, wanting to see everything now. And that’s another good reason for the four of us to walk as a pack, I like to say. There’s safety in numbers, right?
Talking about something serious like the negative effects of childhood bullying on adults, we had one of those meaningful I. love. you. moments that seem to come out of nowhere. So with dogs in tow, right there on the side of the road, I flung my arms around him and hugged him. At that very moment, a black SUV slowed down right next to us. The driver stuck her head out the window, smiled at us and said,
“I love your love.”
Then, a couple days ago she passed us, calling us her favorite couple, and I wondered. All this time, all these years we’ve walked our usual way, and I’ve hardly thought twice about what others think when they see us. Apparently, she has noticed us with our slow-as-can-be turtle and perpetual puppy. What is it she sees? The way we hold hands? Our smiles and laughter? I’m guessing, she hasn’t witnessed our disagreements on many of those walks or maybe she has. I’ll probably never know specifics unless I go to her door and ask her (and well, that might be uncomfortable).
Really, it doesn’t matter. What matters is this began a conversation, a speaking out loud of our gratefulness for one another.
Everything else might be unsettled still, but, it’s right here in the middle of this complicated life that four powerful words nudged us to more fully appreciate the joy of being together, being part of a pack.
And that’s home for me.
Our dog Glory loves riding in the car, but it hasn’t always been this way. When we adopted her, she trembled in the backseat until we got home, even though my friend talked to her gently the whole time. She’s had a lot happen to her; much of it we’ll never know. She came to us with scars on the inside and fears of all kinds. In those days, it was mostly about being abandoned.
Things are different now with two dogs, but there are times when those old fears return. When we went to the dog park, what should have been fun with other dogs seemed scary to Glory. After walking around the fence with us once, we took her off the leash, ready to let her run. Instead, she made her way to the front gate and just sat there. Eyes red and breathing deeply, she did not, would not move, no matter what we said. I guess she connects that kind of freedom with being left without her family. I want to tell her what I know about the dog park: This is fun. Dogs LIKE this place. You are safe, and we’re right here. And I feel sad because she doesn’t understand. Maybe she will one day if we keep trying.
I wonder if God sees us the same way. He leads us to a place that might ultimately bring us more peace than we’ve experienced, but all we know is we don’t like change. Yet, we try it out, tiptoe-ing down that bumpy path and turning back when it gets too hard to navigate the way. After all, we make a cozy bed in our comfortable place, put our feet up and prepare to stay for a long, long time. Things aren’t bad there, right? We become used to okay. I wonder if God feels sad about this because he knows things could be so much better for us.
When I am challenged to move to the edge of what I know, I am like Glory–heart pounding, deep breathing, trembling. My head believes even this has meaning, but all I really want is to burrow into my still-warm bed and hide my head under the weight of the comforter. I don’t know how I will handle feeling lost, and I worry I will be unsettled forever because somehow this is hauntingly familiar. I trust there is goodness on the other side; still I am scared. Why would anyone want to revisit this?
And then comes my reassurance:
Be strong and courageous, for I am with you. Do not fear, for I am with you wherever you go. –Joshua 1:9
It’s when I remember right smack in the middle of my wavering– God is here, too, and has never left–that I start to loosen my grip, one finger at a time. This is a long, slow, seemingly never-ending process because I move forward, push back, take a step, jump back, want to control. I cry and breathe and pray.
Then, I’m shocked because I realize I’m fighting against my own release.
And although my fear makes sense to me, pulling away from what I ultimately need does not. So, I bravely push back the covers and get out of bed. Once again, I’m taking one step at a time further and further into the unknown but closer and closer to the edge of freedom.
Be thankful for each new challenge because it will build strength and character. ~Author unknown
“Shush!” I told my barking dogs, holding their leashes until my knuckles turned white. The three of us stood in the dark of the early morning, directly across the street from the staring coyote. Practically dragging my heavy dogs towards home, I hoped my past workouts made a difference so I wouldn’t let go. The coyote kept its distance but followed us, and my heart pumped out of my chest until we were safe inside the house.
Days later, I came home and let the dogs in the backyard. As I glanced out the window, Journey and Glory were suspiciously staring at the grass. I ran-walked out there, not sure I was ready for what I would find. “Did Glory teach you to eat poop?!” I asked Journey, who had something brown in his mouth (gross, I know, but HE doesn’t like that kind of snack). When he dropped it, I picked it up with my bagged hand, you know, the way only dog owners pick up these things. It squished, I screamed, threw it down and shuffled those animals inside the house, completely disgusted. When I went back, I saw a very slobbery and very dead mouse.
I called Brian and gushed about the sheer grossness. “Get the shovel and get rid of it.” He said, calmly. It took a while, but I launched it over the fence into the woods.
A week later, when I opened the door to let the dogs out one last time before bed, I saw something scurry by me. I whipped around, and a little brown lizard was hanging out on the wall right inside the door. So, I called Brian (who usually dealt with these things) at work and told him what was creeping around our home. “You can wait for me to get home if you want.” Hmmm...what if it went into our bedroom?!
I even took a picture so he could see why I was terrified.
If others saw me spring into action, they might have thought something was seriously wrong (with me). I don’t know how long it took, but I was sweating by the time I trapped the lizard in my Fit & Fresh lunch container with lid. Journey hung out right next to me the whole time, despite my wild screaming, praying and positive self-talk.
By now, you’re probably thinking…she’s a dramatic, weak, silly girl. Well, after these situations, I was thinking that, too, and wondering when did that start? When did I start being afraid of little things? I lived alone before marrying Brian and took care of myself. I have handled a lot in my life, as a strong, brave woman. What was my deal?
I don’t know. Maybe I’d gotten comfortable. Maybe God thought I needed some courage and strength training.
Apparently, I needed to start with three pound weights and work up to the heavy stuff like: ongoing health issues and tests that showed more problems (nothing like cancer but still frustrating), trying to get pregnant (or even ovulate, for that matter), and times when I am just so tired of STILL healing from sexual abuse (I believe this hard work is never done). Oh, yes, and trying to sell our house.
Those things aren’t easy. Then, sometimes when there’s so much uncertainty, I get irritable, bossy and controlling, and that doesn’t help my marriage.
Then, I read something powerful by Anne Lamott.
When God is going to do something wonderful, he or she starts with a hardship. When God is going to do something amazing, he or she starts with an impossibility.
In the middle of these sometimes impossible situations, I’m grateful for the little things that have (re)built my courage. Seriously, though. I’ve had enough. I don’t want to bulk up from all this strength training. I’m ready for something amazing.
About eight years ago, we adopted a four year-old golden Pyrenees, who had been abandoned and looked a lot like a skinny Lab. We quickly found that Glory’s abusive past left her afraid of many things–garage doors in motion, garbage trucks and thunderstorms. The first month we had her, she chewed up Brian’s wallet, a package of Crayola markers and my favorite black boots. She was content sleeping right in the middle of everything or even off in a quiet place by herself. Over time, she got used to us, and we got used to her…and all that fur that required so much vacuuming.
After a while, we thought she might be bored by herself all day, so we began the search for the ideal companion. We finally came across an energetic, Labrador mix, whose ears stuck out permanently and bounced when he walked. The day we adopted this perpetual puppy, he walked right into our house and peed on our couch. Within the next week, we found Journey got carsick on trips, and he couldn’t get away fast enough when something terrifying like a grocery store receipt fell off the counter near him.
Each of them had their quirks, but there was something about them together. It was as if they were fearless; they were different dogs. On walks around the neighborhood, UPS trucks and other loud noises no longer bothered Glory. She’d just keep on walking as if she didn’t hear a thing. Where one of the dogs might shrink back when another larger dog trotted by, now they wagged their tails and barked as if they owned the neighborhood. And at the park, they’d send lazy squirrels scurrying into the safety of their trees, and Glory would look around wondering exactly how they got away so fast. Journey, though, always had his eye on them and would park himself at the bottom of the tree, hoping for their return. Those two, together, they were a pair.
Isn’t this how we are when we are with someone we love–a friend, family member, or even trusting that God is with us? Whoever-it-might-be can bring out the best in us even when we can’t seem to see it on our own. It’s like inching your way to the edge of the high dive and seeing just how far away the water is from where you are. Your knees shake and your heart pounds, but all you want to do is perch at the top where it’s safe and talk yourself into or out of taking the next step.
Then you hear:
I believe in you.
You can do this.
I’m with you.
And you start to believe more and more that just maybe those things are true.
Like Glory, we might be scarred from our past hurts or like Journey, fearful of things that don’t even make sense. But isn’t it true? When we realize we aren’t alone, we are different dogs.