Here's the summary of my weekend that I posted in various forums and places on Facebook this weekend:

"My home has been invaded by long-distance cleaning fairies. They came over to see me and Drogo and to thoroughly clean our house and give me a massage. Basically? I cried at the incredible outpouring of love and care and consideration, and now I'm sitting here eating grapes, listening to Def Leppard, watching them clean and dance and be silly, and watch my husband assist/fetch cleaning supplies/be shooed out from underfoot. (I'm not allowed to help.) feeling overwhelmed by love with Lacey and 2 others.

So they just left… but three friends of mine conspired with my husband to show up and clean my house for me. They are from several hours away and were going to be coming to town for other reasons, so they were going to come and see us *anyway* to say hello, so they figured they'd just take care of me while they were at it  One of them, who I actually met for the first time yesterday, is a licensed massage therapist that has worked with fibro patients previously, and she gave me a foot massage yesterday and a back massage today. They did the dishes that I've been too sick to do for three weeks (yeah, ALL my dishes have been dirty for three weeks-- gross!), and I didn't realize how dirty my house had actually gotten until they cleaned it! One of them took nearly an hour to soak and nitty gritty scrub my bathtub so I could soak in super duper cleanliness, bless her heart.

I did what I could to express my thanks (beyond crying when I comprehended what they were here for when they showed up yesterday, of course!) so I made them little gift baskets last night and wrote them thank you cards with their names in hand-lettered calligraphy on the front and stamped wax seals on the envelope flaps. (Wish I'd thought to take pictures. Oh well.) They were so pleased! You'd have thought I'd given them the moon  The lesson I learned from both giving and receiving this weekend is that while it pays to give, it also pays to receive graciously and with humility and pure gratitude. It meant a LOT to those girls to be able to do something so obviously meaningful for me, even with no apparent reward anywhere in their future beyond my and Drogo's gratitude."

Yes, I cried when they revealed their intent. And I TOTALLY guessed who was mysteriously coming over! Drogo was having a prolonged text conversation and sporadic phone calls and wouldn't tell me who was coming over and I was like, "Is it Lacey?" (she lives hours away and we rarely get to see her) and he was like, "Why would it be Lacey?" Literally minutes later a knock sounds at the door and in walks Lacey. I knew it!!!!! And when they told me that they were there to clean the house and that the new friend was there to massage me, too… I just broke down. I still burst into tears when I look around and see the cleanliness of my house. My heart just cannot hold that much love! Dani, Lacey's girlfriend, scrubbed and soaked and scrubbed and scrubbed my bathtub and shower until it sparkles and gleams because she knows that I soak in it a lot. 

See, I had sent out a plea on Facebook the other day, giving up my pride and just asking for help from my friends because I can't do this anymore. My pain levels are too high and I'm too sick and I just can't make life work all by myself anymore and I need help! I had dishes in the sink that had been there going on three weeks, and I was too weak to wash them. I was/am too weak to cook myself food, so I'm relying on easy-make foods like sandwiches, cereal, fruit, yogurt, certain veggies, etc. For various reasons, people were unable to come to my rescue, but these ladies began plotting and subsequently Facebook stalking me to make sure that no one else stepped in to do the job they intended to do, which no one did. So they bought all manner of cleaning supplies and brought grungy shirts and braved the dust and the mold and the kitty dander to which they are all allergic, and my home is so lovely and bright and inhabitable now, it just brings a smile to my face when I hobble through :)

I wanted to "pay it forward" somehow, desperately, to give something back somehow, so I put together little gift packages for each one of them that night after they left. (We went out to dinner together, too, so that was fun. Fortunately, due to some extra pain killers headed my way via an anonymous source the day before, I had my best day this entire month, no exaggeration, and I was able to be up and about with them in a halfheartedly normal manner.) They opened their gifts and read their cards while they were visiting with me this afternoon before they left to go home and I couldn't believe their heartfelt appreciation over something so small. I mean, they had given me something so incredibly heartwarming and valuable… I felt as though my return gesture of appreciation was so feeble and faltering in comparison! But it was not so to them, and that is what matters.

The amazing thing is that just the gratitude that I had for the gift they gave me of their time and effort and taking care of something that I was not capable of doing on my own was enough for them. That was all they expected to receive, and it was more than enough for them. It meant so much to me, what they did, maybe more than they will ever understand. To go from being an active achiever, someone who "gets things done" to being unable to do your own dishes is… well, it's humiliating. You begin to question your own worth as a person, as a wife. What is the point of even keeping me around, you wonder. Why does my husband want me here? All I can do is sleep and generate mess. But these girls… they came in and gave me a fresh start. I can maintain the cleanliness, to a degree. When I use a dish, I clean it right away so it doesn't build up. They laughed with me and cracked jokes and told stories and, most of all, reaffirmed my worth as a person. They wanted to spend time with me. They came all this way for me. They wanted to do this for me, of their own free will. They went out of their way and went to trouble for me because I am of value. It cheered me up to an unspeakable degree. It's hard to explain.

As a side note, I also found a bit of usefulness as a chronic illness advocate as well. The massage therapist, Meli, has worked with fibro patients in the past but doesn't know much about the illness itself. Her mother deals with many chronic illnesses but is, as Meli describes it, a hypochondriac. She is the negative stereotype of chronic illness patients embodied, the type where they say "it's all in your head" and it's kinda mostly true. That's unfortunate, but that's kind of the place where she has had to base her knowledge and dealings from, because that's all she really knows of chronic illness. During her time with me, she asked me questions and I answered as best I could, and of course she saw me deal with everyday life in my fashion. In addition to that I mentioned something about spoons, which lead to my reading her The Spoon Theory by Christine Miserandino, which is like the American Constitution for chronic illness patients lol.

Well what is really neat is that today she told me that I have really changed her perspective on chronic illness, enlightened her, so to speak, and I feel much like how I used to when I worked with The Healing Journey and did advocacy for abuse survivors. This illness has taken so very much from me, and I suppose you could even say it has ruined my life. At this point, that could be a very accurate statement, though in the future that may no longer apply. (Fingers crossed!) However, as with the negative things that stem from abuse, I've managed to turn those potential life-ruiners into positives by using them to inform and educate others and advocate for rights, change, research, healing; whatever is necessary at that time. I'm a badass, man. Life can't keep me down, no matter how hard it tries! I'm just super grateful that I have helped Meli to understand fibromyalgia and chronic illnesses better, because as a massage therapist and a health practitioner, she has the potential to affect many lives in the future. By affecting her point of view, I have theoretically changed dozens, if not more, of lives of people that I will probably never meet. Crazy, right? All by simply being my awesome self and being honest yet upbeat about my struggles and health problems.

Things are looking up. I may not necessarily be on the mend (if this month is any indication, because it has been hell), but I can still be a positive force in the world even from within my prison of pain and other various symptoms. Watch out, world!

On another, slightly more humorous/bitter note, I made something for my new pain doc. I think she'll get a kick out of it. We hit it off pretty well, and she seems to have a sense of humor much like mine, though I would not dare to pull this on any of my other doctors. They'd make me pay in one way or another… but I figure this will emphasize the truth of my statement that this month has been the. worst. month. of my fibro. ever. EVER. (ever.) (The date is set for my next appointment. I'm fairly confident that the pain won't be going anywhere before then, soooo…)

A friend of mine, The Artist (as I will call her from now on) took it upon herself to draw me a picture since she figured that my spirits might be down lately since I've been really suffering this last month. She's right-- if you've read my blog at all in the past week or so you can see that I'm really going through an existential crisis type of depression, so this picture really cheered me up.

At first I loved it just because it's so adorable and it makes me smile every time I look at it, but then she explained the meaning that she put into the little details and I love it even more. I wanted to enshrine it forever with the meanings behind it, and this is the perfect medium to do so. First, here's the picture.

Here's what she says about the picture:

I thought you might have been feeling pretty down, so I figure I get back to my drawing board for some inspiration. And I drew you in a renaissance spoon warrior.

I mostly worked hard on the spoon and chest armor. I put a lot of meaning to your outfit and spoon weapon.

The chest armor with the tree symbolizes your family tree. Its braches represent your family and the family that you stayed with. No matter how far the braches spread a way from eachother, the roots will always indicate how much of an impact your family is towards you. The handle of the sword is the tricky part. I places a picture of a heart and a cross to represent the people that you have lost, but give you strength to carry on. If you look carefully you'll see a small vine of a plant (I think is name was David?) and a small crown for the "Chem princess" I think that is her nickname. The handle gives you the grips to carry your burdens and to help you move forward. Lastly, The staff of the spoon blade has writtings on it. They are the vows that C have to you on your wedding day, though I change the words from English to Irish, so it looked cooler and no to obvious of what I was doing. It represent of course how much he means to you, but gives words of strength and comfort.

I figure just an ordinary spoon didn't give it much justice, so I did my best to make it meaningful

I love it. I love it so much. Thank you, Artist, for this beautiful and unexpected gift that warmed my heart and lifted my spirits. I treasure it.

Oh good grief.

I thought I had written a post the other day, but it turns out that I wrote it in my head and never actually typed it up. That happens more frequently than you'd think. Most of my thoughts vanish into the vapor without ever seeing the light of day, and considering how much I talk and write you can see the volume of thought that is constantly pouring through my head!

First of all, my husband is a fantastic support for me. I broke down when he got home and cried (of course) and ranted (naturally) and even went so far as to accuse him of not being supportive of me. I immediately apologized, and he accepted it graciously. He held me close and said, "Well, you're angry. It's ok." And you know what? He was right.

I hadn't realized that I was angry. I am angry. I'll have to explore that more in depth later, but I am angry. I'm angry with my doctor for not taking me seriously and not pursuing adequate testing and treatment options for me, for letting me get to the state of health that I'm in without really apparently trying to prevent this rapid decline, or even believing it. I'm angry that I hurt all of the time. I'm really angry about that. I hate it and I want it to stop. I hate that I'm losing the use of my arms and hands, and that I had to get a friend to drive me to my doctor's appointment because I couldn't lift my arms and I was twitching all over. I'm angry that, despite "treatment" and stronger pain killers (that I'm taking as prescribed!!) I'm still in so much pain that I've cried every day this past week.

Anyway, I then proceeded to vent some more, and we cuddled, and he affirmed me on my physical appearance as I requested, and all was well. Earlier that day I had practically crawled to my friend's pawn shop to take advantage of a dollar sale for Christmas gifts, and I spent about an hour there talking and laughing with two of my friends. It was definitely a mood booster, and even though I felt little better physically my spirits were lifted. Then when C came home and I was able to just explode with the pent up emotions I felt so much better. I was actually laughing and joking lightheartedly by the time I went to bed even though I still hurt badly.

Support systems. They're what will keep you going when you can't go any longer on your own. J, C, E, the M's... They've got my back. I'm so, so grateful for friends that carry me when I don't even have the strength to twitch.

Okay, yes, discouraged and worn down and tuckered out though I may be, I do have to share a very exciting and inspirational story.

About a week and a half ago, I was invited for the second time to speak to a classroom of high risk teens who are going through the program my agency offers at a local charter high school. I feel totally comfortable there because I went to one of the schools for druggies, dropouts, and pregnant teens (while being none of those things) here in this town and absolutely adored it. So I went and told my story of how I was abused, abandoned and neglected throughout my life, and the dysfunction I endured. I also told the story of how I put one of my abusers behind bars, how I learned to forgive, and about self-hatred, self-love, and boundaries.

I saw a lot of nodding heads amidst the laughter while I was talking, and I know that a lot of what I said resonated very personally with the kids there, who live lives similar to mine. While in the office today, we got a phone call from the teacher of the class, one of our peer support specialists, and she told us that one of her students disclosed to her. The girl shared that one of her family members had been sexually molesting her for a long time, and while he had stopped he was still very involved in her life. She hadn't ever told anyone, but hearing my story prompted her to speak up and get help. Her words were, "if that Cassie girl can make it, then so can I."

Holy crap, y'all.

I mean, just let that sink in. By spending an hour with these kids and just telling the story of what I've gone through and what I've done with my life (counseling; stable emotionally and mentally--mostly, hah!; a stable, healthy, and happy marriage; a job that I love, am good at, and am passionate about; setting and maintaining healthy boundaries in all aspects of my life), I literally changed the course of someone's life. She is gonna do so much better... her self-worth is going to change, the way she interacts with those around her, the way she goes after her dreams and goals... She will be much less likely to continue the cycle of abuse by getting into a bad relationship or becoming an abuser herself. She will advocate (in big or small ways) for those she sees being victimized in her life, because that's just what happens when you learn about this stuff and put it into practice in your life. It's a natural by-product.

This girl is going to start coming to the teen support group, which I just so happen to be getting re-involved in very soon. That means that I'll get to work closely with this girl who saw something in my life that gave her hope that her life could be different and better too. What a privilege.

I love my job.

In just an hour and a half I begin my first bout of testing for the cause of these twitchies.

I'm a little nervous, I must confess, as C shared with me that the procedure is, well, painful. His mom went through it. How painful it is exactly, he couldn't say, because he's not the one that went through it, and he claims that it's possible that his mom was being a pansy. Problem is... I'm a pansy, too! lol

I figured it might be best not to take pain killers before the test, so that the readings will be accurate, but I was hurting enough that I needed to. The thing with the pain meds is that they don't get rid of the pain, which is highly annoying. They just take it down to (mostly) bearable levels, if I'm lucky. But my stomach hurts a lot with all of this acetaminophen I've been ingesting. I suppose it's a worthwhile tradeoff. Sorta.

Also...

I love the community humor that chronic illness patients have developed. I mean, really... if you can't laugh at this stuff, you'll end up crying about it. And I hate to be droning on about my pain and symptoms all of the time, but... you talk about what's familiar and constant, and this is my life now. C and I were joking about who was going to die first last night. He says that although women generally live longer, with all this stuff wrong with me I've probably lost about 5 years, so that puts us on even footing. He actually thinks he'll come out ahead by a year or two. Could be. I'd rather die first, so I don't have to fight through the grief of losing my mate.

I asked him yesterday about suicide, my suicide. He said that, if I succeeded he'd be very upset, and probably a little angry with me. If I didn't succeed, he'd be very upset and he'd have me committed so that I couldn't hurt myself again. I was feigning offense that he would lock me away and I wouldn't see him anymore, but he assured me that he'd come visit. He also told me that killing myself, or trying, would never ever be doing him a favor. It would never be a good thing for him. I smiled at the assurance that he values my presence in his life, and I assured him that although the thought comes up in moments of desperation, it's never a serious option for me. It's not.

In the depths of my emotional and mental agony and despair, I longed for rest, for a respite from the hurricane of dark forces that ripped through my soul. Now, in the grip of relentless pain, I long for rest and a respite from the endless grinding and battering of burning, choking torment. It's torture, but there is no inquisitioner and no answer that I could give to end the agony.

Despite all that, though... despite the darkness that still rises from time to time to swallow me whole... despite the flames of chronic illness that lap at my naked, defenseless body... there is a solid, shining light that forms a bridge above the darkness, above the flames... and I can crawl to safety. And if I don't have the strength to crawl, at least I can lie on its solid surface and know that the golden pathway remains and will remain. The bridge of light is the meaning and satisfaction that I have found in my life. It is made up of my husband, my work with the Healing Journey, my friends and support system, the simple pleasures of food and tea and good books, the security of my place within my family, and the warm glow of unconditional acceptance from those who have come to love me. It is a bridge that saves me, day after day... a platform to rest upon as I drag myself from the cold burning depths of despair and frustration.

As I contemplate this odd mix of pain and darkness and light and love that is my life, I find myself profoundly grateful and humbled. I have never before in my life had a hope like this to cling to, to save me... and I cherish it. The darkness before was always so chaotic, and I could see no respite but a rock or two to cling to in the midst of the storms. Never before have I had a way out.

I know the pain isn't going anywhere. When I first started getting sick, and for many months afterward, I held on to the hope that this was a passing thing... that it would peak and then recede. I know now, and have accepted, that the pain isn't going anywhere. This is my life now. I fight to diminish it, to overcome it, and to find treatments for what is wrong with me but... this is my future. I don't expect anything else. While that may be considered glum and defeatist by some, I see it as freeing. No longer expending my energy on false hopes, I can focus on walking my shining bridge and beating back the flames that threaten to consume me.

It's an exhausting battle. I won't lie. The darkness still wraps tendrils around me and whispers dark doubts in my mind. But I have something to hang on to now... something that will always pull me back out. And that's why suicide is never really an option.

I've been feeling better since Wednesday. Stronger. More able to handle the pain, and even to push myself and feel my muscles burn with exertion. It's been a while since I dared to do anything like that. It would have sent me straight to bed in spasms of muscle agony and the groaning torment of severe "fibro flu". Who wants that? Not I.

I did a lot (to me) of packing and moving this weekend. I picked up boxes and carried them out to my car and into the new house. I scrubbed shelves and mopped floors. I wiped down bathtubs and swept the whole house. I hung shower curtains and ate sushi cross-legged on the bare tile floor.

It was a good weekend. I enjoyed feeling stronger than I have in... who can remember how long? When your days are filled with pain and sickness, they tend to blur together. You forget the last time you had a good day, unless it was extraordinarily memorable. I remember my wedding day, but that was not a good day, health wise. It was actually a very bad day, but I enjoyed it nonetheless.

So that makes me think that the acupuncture is actually, finally helping. I feel like I've been gradually slipping down a flight of stairs, and each step is a lower level of functioning than the last. But, at last, I feel like I've taken a step back up that flight of stairs.

Granted, the fatigue was a bit of a bitch today, but I fought it. I did good, but today, combined with the weekend, may have been a bit much. I think I got over-excited about feeling better, 'cause now I'm feeling pretty gross. Not much in the way of pain today, actually. Surprisingly. I don't really know what to do with myself when I'm not actively in the throes of affliction, so I was at a bit of a loss...

While I was waiting in the bank to change my name last week, I picked up a National Parks magazine and read an interesting article about a woman and her husband who started as seasonal Park workers in Glacier. The article was about how they worked Denali for a season or two as seasonal employees, but then they chose to stay there year-round, and how that experience has changed them for the better. It was a good, interesting story. I'd like to see if I can find it online somewhere... Oh! Found it!

Here. Read this. It's great.

Anyway, it really struck a chord with me, as ever since I started really talking to D I've had this intense desire to visit Alaska... maybe even stay for a while. I can't now, 'cause of the dumb fibro (cold affects me very, very negatively in that regard)... and that is what got me thinking, and grieving.

I'm grieving for the Life That Could Have Been.

If I were not sick, what kind of life would I have led?

Realistically, my health has been compromised almost my whole life. I've had fibromyalgia since I was 9, at least, and the fatigue and other things that accompany it really impacted me growing up. I never had much physical stamina, not to mention the exercise induced asthma that I inherited from my biological dad. (Thanks, T!) Maybe I had the thyroid and adrenal issues way back then, too. I don't know. All I know is that the older I've gotten, the sicker I've gotten.

But if I were healthy, what kind of life would I have chosen?

I used to love to roam the desert and go hiking as a kid. On Sabbath afternoons I'd be over at the D's house, and after lunch we'd decide to go for a hike in the desert. I'd borrow some of their son's clothes and shoes, and we'd be off on an adventure. J and I would leave the adults behind and skip up the mountains like little goats-- he was always ahead of me, because of the stamina/asthma thing, but I trucked right along. When I lived in ID, I had a fierce longing to work for the Forest Service, and I was SO jealous when K got the opportunity.

If I had not been sick, that is the kind of life I would have chosen for myself. I would have joined up with the Forest Service, or the National Parks, clearing trails or patrolling the backwoods or whatever was necessary. I'd cross-country ski through the woods in winter, and I'd hike the Grand Canyon from rim to rim. I'd camp out at Denali, and I'd hike McKinley at least once. I'd sleep under the stars at the Arches, and I'd walk the Appalachian Trail, a pack on my back and a dog at my side.

Would I have a husband by my side as well? I don't know. I do know that, were I living the life that my soul dreams of, I would have married someone very different from C, someone more like B or D, or even W, my sister's fiance.

But the thing is... I was born into this broken body, a body that limits me in so many ways... and I will never get to live that life. I had a taste of it, a beautiful, refreshing taste when I lived up north. But now... now I celebrate walking around the block. My body does not do the things that I desperately, sincerely wish that it would and could. And I must accept the fact that it may never do those things. Truly, it will never do all the things that I wish it could, and that's okay. I know that I am more "frail" than some of the rugged individuals out there (I'm looking at you, Miss R, and your man J!), but I still want to work up to doing what I can.

I want to go backpacking again. I want to go camping again.

I want to do those things without fear of falling wretchedly, desperately ill as a consequence of enjoying myself, of pushing myself. It's ironic that physical exertion can make me so, so sick... because getting exercise is supposed to be so super healthy for you! I feel like a leper sometimes. A misunderstood leper.

And so I grieve. I grieve the Life That Could Have Been, the life that would have been, had I been born into a healthy body.

Anyone reading this with a body that follows your commands and obeys your wishes without committing mutiny... I hope that you walk away from this grateful. I mean it. How often do we think about the little things that our body does for us, without even thinking? Washing the dishes. Bending down to pick toys up off of the floor. Rising from a seated position. Chewing food.

These are things that, some days, are difficult or nigh impossible for me to do. Some of my chronic illness friends find these things absolutely impossible on a regular basis. I'm better off than a lot of them, and it's humbling.

If you have health, don't take it for granted. I certainly don't, not anymore. And yes, while I am grieving, I am also celebrating. I am celebrating the health that I have, whether I feel awful or not. I have safe food to eat, I have medicines to take, I have health treatments that are paid for and not putting me in the poor house or driving me to extreme measures to pay for. I have a supportive network of friends and family that both believe me and believe in me. I have a wonderful husband who takes care of me in a zillion little ways, and who wanted to marry me despite the trip down the stairs I've been taking. He has wanted to marry me for years and years... and his love did not dim a whit while I was off doing what I thought was best for both of us. How many people can say that?

Sure, it's rocky. Sure, I'm in pain. Sure, I'm fighting hard against a body that is literally trying to attack and kill itself. But man... I have so much to celebrate, so much to be incredibly grateful for. And it's those tough things that make me appreciate the nice things so. much. For example... I have a new house! And I was able to clean it!! All by myself!!!

I love my life. So while I do grieve the Life That Could Have Been, I don't know if I could or would ever give up the Life That Is. It's just too rich and too wonderful, and I love all the pieces of it... even the hard ones.

My sis J sent me an ecard, and the message is so beautiful that I want to remember it always. Sooooo... I thought that, if I write it down here, it won't get lost! I just wish that I could convey the beauty of the music, as well. It's such a pretty piano piece.

The card itself says,
"God created you... every little detail about you. He gave you life and special gifts to fulfill a unique purpose in this world... a mission He planned just for you. God knows you better and loves you more than anyone ever could.

He is your wise Father and faithful friend, who takes great joy in you.

Celebrating you today and hoping you remember that God celebrates you every day!"

The note from J at the bottom says,
"My dear C,

I couldn't help but think of all the pictures you took of our grapes when I saw this ecard. It reminded me of the artistic talent God gave you for capturing life on film (digital film, LOL). I admire your skill. Keep it up!

I hope that this will be an extraordinary birthday for you! I know you've been going through a lot of emotions and feelings lately, and I pray that this birthday will not only bring laughter and joy, but healing as well. I wish we could spend it with you (although we'll see you in just a few weeks!!).

Eat an extra piece of GF dessert for me.

Love you sis,
J"

Well, I chose to delay my trip by a day, on the advice of my doctor. However, I got the car packed and ready to go, minus my guitar and my kitty. Those came along with me on the day of departure.

It was only supposed to be a 16 hour drive to LV, but inclement weather dragged it out to a 20 hour drive, with a 4 hour nap. I rolled into town exactly 24 hours after I had left Idaho! How funny.

The trip from LV to Y went well, without any incidents but my kitten deciding that she enjoyed the space below the gas and brake pedals more than any other place in the universe, and trying to obtain lodging in her favored location... while I was driving!! (She was out of the cat carrier pretty much the whole drive with no problems. She just sat perched on my mountain of belongings like she owned the place. It was a sight to see!)

I had only intended to spend the night with my friends in LV. Instead, I spent the whole weekend!
My friends from SOULS insisted that I MUST meet their house mom, because she and I are just alike. I thought, "Yeah, yeah, sure... one of these situations..."

Funnily enough, they were right! She is, of course, a bit different, as we are different people, but we're remarkably similar. I could probably pass for her daughter, definitely a niece or some other close relative. We even have a similar facial structure and body build. She's taller than I am, though.

The absolute best part is how chill she is, especially when it came to my food allergies. She loves to cook, so it was just another challenge to her. This ranks among one of the first times I've visited someone and not felt like an imposition or a drag. The only other ppl I feel that way with are the C's, because their daughter S was GF, too. Anyway, I ate good. And I learned several new recipes, which I love. Oh, and I made copies of our Daughters of Summer Hill cd's and my solo Sound of Music cd for everyone in the house. To pay me back, K took me shopping at Goodwill and the dollar store to stock me up for my trip. What a blessing that was! (Today I ate the green beans for lunch, but they weren't ripe, so they haven't set well. Bummer. I love green beans.)

I accompanied my bible worker friends to the evangelistic series that was going on at the time, both meetings a day. I was so blessed! I love hearing truth out of the Bible, especially the way this speaker presents it. He's so balanced. The only thing I disagreed with was when he was talking about the "Mosaic law" and the statutes and feast days and all that. I mentioned it to S later, only to find out that her dad is a feast keeper, and he studied it with a mutual friend of ours, who is now a feast keeper as well! I guess it's nice to know about others of similar persuasions and convictions... Fellowship, you know. And, quite frankly, it's not safe to talk about with everyone. From what I understand, there's quite a bit of animosity about the subject, and you can get yourself kicked out of church by bringing it up. So, knowing who's "safe" is helpful. (So sad that it should be so in Christian churches. I mean, even if you disagree, do you really have to be hateful about it? So not Christ-like. "Kinda reminds me of the Jewelry Nazi," says Mom. LOL)

My canvasser/Bible worker friends, predictably, canvassed me on canvassing again. No, not canvassing, but leading canvassing teams this summer. I told them, "I don't do that anymore. It's not an option." They said, "Pray about it." I said, "No way am I gonna pray about it! It's not even an option!" They said, "Pray about it."

I did. Haven't heard any word from the Lord yet, though. I did have a nightmare about canvassing that night. LOL

L had a good talk with me. I actually came out and explained to him why I don't Bible work anymore, and why I don't plan to. (I never thought I'd tell him about that! I mean, he's the big guns. It would be impudent, right? Plus there goes my cover of "good SOULS graduate".) He basically told me that he hated canvassing too, but he did it because it was the work of God, and it was what God asked him to do. And he hasn't done it this whole time, either-- it was what God used to take him to the next steps. And God really used him in a powerful way. I mean, if he hadn't done it, SOULS wouldn't be here, and then I wouldn't have gone, and would I still be with C? The ripple effect is astounding.

He told me, though, something very profound-- "Christians are to change people's lives. That's just what we do." And we know that the avenue is between us and God. That is to say, that the specific means for that is dependent on the call God gives us, if that makes sense. Like, Ben Carson for example. God led him to be a neurosurgeon, and that's how he changes lives. L was led to be a canvasser, and to start a school, and other things, and that's how he changes lives.

I can't be afraid of the hard things God asks me to do. I've been thinking, and I realized that I've kinda swung outward farther than I should. Like, the abuse taught me, and the world around me corrobrated, "What you want doesn't matter." And that's how I thought God was. "What you want doesn't matter. You do what I say, because I say it, and that's the end of the story."

So I've been going to a lot of effort to prove to myself and those around me that what I want does matter, and I can do what I want! I do things because I want to, and that's the end of the story. I don't do things that I don't want to do anymore. People need to RESPECT my free choice, alright?!

Now, however, I hear God saying to me, "What you want does matter, and you have the choice to go that way. However, it may not be the best thing for you in the grand scheme of things. Do you trust me to do what I ask, even if you don't want to at the time? I love you. I'm not out to wound you or take away your freedom."

And... I'm getting the message that I'm to keep my car and not go after the truck and trailer right now. That is hard for me to take, because I had this whole idea of freedom and independence and security built up in my mind... and now I have to give that up?

Yet, I sense God saying to me, "I have blessed you so richly. Why do you want to throw that aside? This is what you need! Trust me. It's okay to want the truck, but trust me to give you what you need. I know the plans I have for you, and what fits into those plans best. Will you trust me more than you trust your anxious thoughts, or your dreams for the future?"

Oh my.

But, yes. I want to trust God more than anything else. I want the grand scheme, far flung, eternally solid happiness more than I want the immediate fulfillment of my dreams and desires.

Because, really... how long do we have here, anyway? Even if I got to keep my truck and trailer till I die... 70 years isn't that long. I think I can endure a little "discomfort" for those few years, especially when you compare 70 of that to a million of the other.

Eternity is waiting.

Trust is ensuing.

I am completely humbled right now. I'm in awe. I'm beyond awe.

I can't believe what God has done for me... It's amazing to me that he would care for me so much... I'm just... stunned. Tear-filled eyes lifted to heaven in a silent Hallelujah.

First of all, I made it safely to Y. I thought that was business as usual, but when my grampa took my car to the mechanic's this morning (to check out a leak that mysteriously stopped the day before I left), he noticed that my left rear tire was, to put it simply, very very bad. There were wires sticking out and everything.

When he took it to the mechanic's, he mentioned that I had just come from California. A turned to him in amazement and asked, "How?! I can't believe she made it here!" Indeed, they weren't even sure my grampa would make it to the Walmart to get a new tire.

The tire had separated. While I was driving.

That's the exact same tire that blew out in The Accident back in '06... you know, the one where I should have died? The one where I went blind?

I just... wow. And see, the thing is, I stopped before I got to J and filled up my tires with air (which we had also done just before the blowout-- I'm so done with filling up tires on the road!!), and the psi was fine, around 35. A little low, but not bad. When they checked it this morning, it was 18! Clearly, this happened after I filled up the tires, and I had no clue.

The tire separated. I am still in shock. I literally could have died yesterday. Obviously, God's not done with me yet. :)

That leads me to my second point... I got a job! (Actually, I came home floating on cloud 9 with this news when I found out about the tire-- it makes it so much more poignant.)

It's volunteer, at first, but I'll actually be getting a paycheck after a while, which is an unexpected blessing.

It came out of my decision to start a support group for abuse survivors up where I'm at in Idaho. I had been struggling with the decision for some time- months- thinking, Is this really the right thing to do? Am I qualified for this? Is this what God wants me to do?

After some things falling into place in my mind lately (especially speaking to E's DV and Sexual Assault groups while in Y, and singing for those beautiful girls at camp), I finally decided to just do it. These survivors need someplace to go where they can heal, where they can find God, where they can experience his love. They need this, and so do I. I'm not going to let my fear of making a mistake and losing God's love and affection stop me, because that's just not truth. It's of God, and I'm going for it.

So today, while I was visiting with my wonderful, beautiful, superlative friend and mentor E (who was actually my Victim's Rights Advocate back in the very beginning of my journey towards healing), I told her that I was going to do it. I was going to start a support group in Idaho.

She then started talking about 503c's and grants and umbrellas and all kinds of stuff, and I realized... she wants me to work with her! I'm not in this alone!

So, basically, I'm going to open up an Idaho chapter of her agency that God just started, The Healing Journey. I'm going to start another blog specifically chronicling  that experience.

Then, she starts talking about paychecks! Because I'm going to be under the umbrella of her agency, I'll be getting paid to run this support group. I'm going to do fundraising for the agency.

Y'all, I'm going to be a director of an agency!

God, what are you doing with me?! You're giving me this job, doing what I love? I was going to do it volunteer! You really put this in my lap? WHAT ARE YOU DOING WITH ME?! You're amazing!!

I'm just so... humbled. Awed. Nervous. Stunned. Excited.

He wants to use me. I'm so broken. I have so much healing to do. I was so untrusting, not sure that he could provide a paycheck for me when I went back home.

And he still wants me... to be that broken vessel, that cracked jar of clay...
He wants me to blaze for him. How can his light pour out of me if there are no cracks? It stays locked inside.

God has chosen me. He's given me a job, doing what I've been wanting to do for how many months and years now? He's given me my passion... and I know it's going to be hard. That's why I'm nervous. I feel inadequate. But it's not me, it's him. And he knew that he wanted me to do this, and he wrapped his hand around my tire and kept it from disintegrating when, in all reality, it should have.

And I'm in awe.