You know what they say: A silent blog is a sign of a busy life! Well, that's sorta true in this case. What happened is that I was pounced upon by a very nasty flare, one that lasted somewhere around a week, give or take a couple of days. In the midst of that I've had doctor's appointments, medical tax stuff to hunt down and appropriate and relocate to our tax lady, a trip to Tucson for to see a cardiologist, a Celebirthsary/going away party dinner, and my second wedding anniversary. Even with all of that, I'm still pulling out of the flare, so thank goodness for that! In all honesty, I was worried that it wasn't just a flare, but rather my new mode of existence. That would have been horrible, because I was in such terrible pain that the painkillers would do nothing but blunt the edge of it a little bit, enough to keep me from going crazy and screaming while I hobble down the streets of downtown naked and slicked up with mayonnaise, which I'm allergic to.

Clearly, that didn't happen, or else the government is really good about redacting highly amusing incidents. I would say that I would remember if that happened, but that's not actually the case. Something else I've been up to in this interim (and before, if I'm being honest) is that I've been having some major troubles with sleep and sleepwalking. First the waves of overwhelming fatigue so I'm sleeping 18+ hours a day and exhausted down to the pores of my bones (y'all know what I'm talking about!), and then BAM! Insomnia. Sort of. For a day or two. But now I'm being hit with really bad sleepwalking, something akin to narcolepsy that pulls me into these dream trances when I'm tired, but when I am deep enough into the standing-sleep I go limp and collapse, usually forward, which jolts me out of sleep and usually I can catch myself on whatever counter or corner is nearby. Not always-- I hit my face on the metal shelving of the pantry last week, and my head on the bathroom mirror.

I also do scary stuff, like get into my pain medication thinking it's Benadryl or something else. I recently woke up with six 100 mg morphines in my hand, thinking in the dream that it was Benadryl I needed to take, but thankfully I was lucid enough upon snapping awake that I realized what was going on and put them back. I get food out and leave it.  I open windows and surf Facebook and all kinds of shit, and it TERRIFIES me. What if I buy stuff without waking up or remembering? I don't have any spending money! That could be bad.and screaming while I hobble down the streets of downtown naked and slicked up with mayonnaise, which I'm allergic to.

In a "dream sequence" that I vaguely remembered upon waking, I had--for some very legitimate reason, I swear--gone into the kitchen, pulled out my husband's new package of bratwurst, opened up the plastic covering, then left the whole thing sitting on the cutting board. If Corey hadn't checked the kitchen before going to bed they would have been out all night and spoiled! (He woke me when he came to bed with a forceful yet bewildered, "What's wrong with you, woman?!?") Two days ago I found a strawberry in the pot and pan cupboard. Fortunately, it had only been there for a day or less. I'm not sure when it got there, or why, but it was there all right… and it was delicious! :)

 So there you have it.What might I possibly do to myself during these… "episodes"? I'm scared to sleep, but the more I stay up and try not to, the worse it gets. I called my neurologists office, and when I explained the situation to his assistant A, she was freaked out and said that she'd talk to the doctor immediately, when he was done with what had him busy at that time. So she sent him a note, and now I've got a referral to some place here in town to do a sleep study. They want to see if I have narcolepsy, because these symptoms are awfully similar. In a perverse way, I was glad to hear the concern in A's voice and to see how seriously she took my phone call.  Corey has been annoyed by it, sometimes even amused, but he doesn't seem to think it's that much of a big deal. I had been minimizing it as not so bad, but I knew, I knew, that it is not something to ignore. It's a scary thing, and I could get seriously hurt one of these days. A recognized this a well, and obviously my doctor did too, because the call from A informing me about the referral came only 2 or 3 days after my initial phone call. For those of you who might be professional patients, you know that this time frame is practically unheard of when dealing with the medical system! The cogs move ever so slowly, but this was rapid fire. I'm grateful. The symptoms of this sleep-problem, however, wax and wane, so I'm really anxious about the test, hoping that I'll be malfunctioning during the test so they can see exactly what's going wrong instead of sending me home with a clean bill of health, as so often happens. (On paper, I'm really quite healthy! Oh EDS, you so stealthy!)

The extra-exhausting fatigue appears to be returning, as I slept the entire afternoon and evening away, after being awake for only 2, maybe 3 hours this afternoon. I've been up since 12:30 a.m., and Corey and I took a walk together, which was so nice! Work tires him out so much that he is in no mood to walk anymore, mostly because he's been on his feet and moving around all day. I don't blame him a bit. His feet hurt when he gets home, and I totally understand that. But we walked tonight, and it was very nice. So anyway, back to the fatigue. Yes, it's here, at least for today, but I doubt that it'll confine itself to only one day. I've been tired down to my bones for a long time, and now I just feel… heavy. Maybe the cycle of fatigue and sleepwalking is starting over again, and I just gotta hope that the timing is right for that sleep study to see what they need to see.

Other than this weird medical stuff going on, I'm doing okay mentally and emotionally. I am honestly excited for the challenge of growing up and into myself while so many diseases attempt to thwart my efforts. I mean, when I was relatively "healthy" (been sickly all of my life, and now that I know about the EDS a lot of my childhood makes so much sense to me now), it was pretty easy to express myself in my outward appearance and my activities. Now both of those have been compromised, and I must find new avenues with which to not only express my true self, but to have fun in life and to help other people who are hurting very badly. I tend to think of hurting people metaphorically, but maybe I'm supposed to help the literally hurting as well. I've gotten much encouragement on that subject. We shall see. Life will unfold at its own pace, and not before. I know it sounds all trite and cliched, but it really is all about taking life one day at a time. How can I know that I'll be alive in 3 months? There is no way. And if I try to think about the future and what I can or feel that I need to accomplish, or if I think a certain way about the past, it is then that I feel hideous and lazy and basically an awful specimen of humanity. I can't let myself think like that or send those messages to my psyche. It's twisted and tormented enough from all of the abuse I endured until I was old enough to move on by myself, and I don't need to make myself hurt even more. I would never say the terrible things that I think to a loved one, or even to a random stranger on the street (though I have a few nemeses that I totally would heap the verbal abuse on! *grin* The point is, if I can't say those things to other people, where do I get off abusing and harassing myself like that?

I practiced that "in the moment" stuff today. Day two of strictly couch time (though I did do dishes last night), and the temptation to lay into myself was strong. There was so much I could be doing, I have this many things on my checklist, god I'm lazy, I'm being a wuss so I need to suck it up and go achieve something, I'm not really that sick, etc. etc. So basically I made the decision to say "fuck that noise", and I continued watching my movies and taking my nap that turned into an 8 hour sleep. The urge to hate myself for not just pushing through feeling crappy is so strong, especially because it's not some cold or flu that I can nurse for a while and then return to the world perfectly refreshed, restored, and ready to rumble. Nope-- this'll be here for the rest of my life. So why coddle myself? And yet… there are times when I do push through and get stuff done, but it's because I WANT to, not because I've guilted or hated myself into it. Hating myself into doing something will generally lead to resentment, and that's just the first step onto the merry-go-round of Hell. 

What I've discovered is that, basically… I'm a grown adult and can do what I want! Whether that's spending the day on the couch with movies and tea and my cats or doing laundry and sweeping the house before answering mail, it all comes back to doing it of my free will and not letting myself lose my boundaries or letting them be breached--breached by my own self. How weird is that?! I'll tell ya, it's hard to find the balance that you need to be happy and productive while still being "lazy" because you need to be. And trying to find that balance is exactly the sort of thing that has led to a silent blog. Well, that and fingers too stiff and painful to type. That's a sticking point for sure.

Oh, quick side note: I have a mental health evaluation for disability on the 10th of this month, so I'm kinda nervous but mostly happy. This means that they didn't just reject me out of hand! Yippee! But I've also heard horror stories about how these things go, with obviously and legitimately disabled people being turned away without receiving the help they need. Most everyone has told me to lie, embellish how sick I am, because otherwise I won't get disability. I shudder to think that the system is so far gone that this is standard advice from experienced people. When I say that I won't and don't lie, they backpedal to "Well, just exaggerate then". That… isn't as repulsive, but I still don't feel comfortable doing it. I say that if I am exactly myself and they turn me away, then I will just appeal again and again and again until they are sick of me and give me the money to get me to go away ;) (Shawshank Redemption. Who says movies don't teach you anything?) I have strong speaking skills, and I know that I can be very descriptive and good with words when trying to communicate a point, so I'm counting on that to tip the balance in my favor. I'm told that I'm quite charismatic. Here's hoping it works! The inspector is a woman, and I have this mental image of an older blonde woman in a navy skirt suit, thin, wrinkled face, no trace of humor anywhere, lips pursed, very observant (hawk gaze) and totally crisp and pointed in conversation. I imagine her to be very intimidating. I wonder if my imagination will prove true? I'll have to let you know, of course :)

**Author's note: One of the new/aggravated symptoms I'm dealing with is, for lack of a better term, short term memory loss. I believe I can attribute this to the pain medication I'm on, but it does make for some interesting experiences. This post, for example, was written while I was literally falling asleep at the keyboard. It was totally coherent and even eloquent to me at the time, because I knew what I was trying to convey. The next day, when I realized that I had written a post (because I'd forgotten that I had, actually!) I came over to read it because, naturally, I couldn't remember what I'd written. I found it to be… not quite as lucid as I had thought it was. Apologies. If you can muddle through this and make sense of it, I just may hire you to be my FibroFog Interpreter. I didn't want to delete this, though, because I mean… it's my writing. A piece of myself, coherent or not. So, here it shall remain, if only as a testament to "this is your brain on drugs".**

I'm given to understand that there are many "steps" when it comes to acceptance and grieving of a chronic illness. It may not immediately seem clear as to why someone would need to "grieve" when they're clearly still alive. I mean, grieving is for when people die or you break up or something, when a relationship is lost… right? Right. However, unless you've encountered it yourself, seen it in the life of someone you know (to whatever degree of closeness), or have just thought about it quite intently, it's unlikely that anyone would understand the phenomenal amount of loss involved with a chronic illness diagnosis and the life after the diagnosis. I spoke of death just now; in a very real sense, a diagnosis of a chronic illness is both the death knell for the "old life" and the harsh squall of the newborn as a "new life" unfolds before the patient. Due to the completely unpredictable and generally misunderstood nature of chronic illnesses, though, many times that life unfolds only minutes at a time. There are no grand, sweeping vista of plans and ambitions or sweet, sleepy forests of peaceful routine followed decade by decade.

The landscape of the chronically ill and the average healthy citizen can appear deceptively similar to the casual observer. Often, the land of the ill is surveyed with a passing glance and dismissed with a nonchalant, "you don't look sick!" After all, the sun still speckles brightly along warm earth paths of smiles and laughter, mountains of various sizes and relative distances are scattered through the view, and always, always, the loud gushing streams of cool forward momentum and purpose weave and twist their way in and out of both expected and unanticipated settings. Look closer, though, and you will see troubling changes that stir up an unease within, changes that make you want to run for your life lest you be contaminated as well and your own precious world poisoned.

The straight furrows of garden plots are worn and cracked, dry with fatigue yet managing to bring forth a feeble crop. The cheerful cottages, clearly once a source of pride and sustained labor, now seem to troop sadly across verdant meadows bare of livestock. Lush banks of flowers cover crumbling masonry and low, stooped walls, draping the entire panorama in a rippling, delicate gown of every hue imaginable. The colors are a riot, but blend together to create the most intricate and exquisite of tapestries; every bloom is perfectly placed, from the single frothy Queen Anne's Lace to the tightly bunched carpet of creeping phlox, and what could have been hills barren and uneven becomes a spectacular faceted gem of pure joy.

The chronic illness world can be a harsh, ugly place. The cottages and relationships that we have so carefully labored over and constructed with our own hands through years and years of work, they often fall into some state of disrepair. Those who live in the cottages can do some of the upkeep themselves, but the true purpose of the cottages demands a synchronistic cooperation in order to truly thrive. Beyond the cottages, the near-empty fields mutely allude to the loss of hobby and gainful employment. The sweet silence of the air brings a sharp contrast to the usual sounds of looms clacking, animal noises, children squealing and squabbling; the normal sounds of a busy life have been replaced with a hollow, pealing silence that resonates down to the very bones.

The flowers though; ah, the flowers. The flowers make it all bearable, if not tolerable. The origin is unknown except to the owner of the valley, but such a rich and varied selection is found but rarely outside the landscape belonging to the chronically ill. It seems that the soil of normal lives just does not cultivate the proper atmosphere or soil in order for the plants to grow to their fullest and most luxurious. Well-groomed flower gardens can be seen among the graceful landscaping of nature itself where people have taken to cultivating particular joys and gratitudes, while others appear to be content to take theirs wild and unsolicited.

In my mind's eye, my landscape looks much like north central Idaho, or perhaps western Montana. It is rugged and choppy, coated with mountains and sheer cliffs and whitewater rivers dashing themselves ever downward. It is sparsely populated, and those that are there tend to keep to themselves and be self-sufficient-- no coddling these cottages. Practicality reigns supreme, yet nature itself inspires a veneer of beauty to soften the edges and uplift the heart. Those same rugged mountains are swathed in dark evergreen forest, underlaid with countless varieties of bush and berry and other barks. The seasons change, time inexorably marches on, and even the death that time inevitably brings wears naught but a thin, shimmering mantle, spinning and flaring in the sudden colors of Fall before the cloak is thrown aside and the naked white bones of the world come to the fore of collective consciousness.

The landscape of my illness is part beauty, part blight. Pockmarked scabs of raw gashes in the earth can be found mere steps from a tranquil, dainty pond embroidered with ferns and sweet puffing breezes. I can always find flowers to sustain me, even if it's just one, but the wanton loss, destruction, and waste that I see around me as my world crumbles… it sears my soul with a thousand putrid colors that I dare not do anything with but swallow. Every day is another Pandora's box: the lid is cracked open by morning light, the evils escape and howl through the welkin to begin their outrage anew, and Pandora slams the lid shut tight, having only hope left to herself.

The thoughts and feelings of such a continuous cycle of dismay and disappointment take a heavy toll, and the words do not come easy. They boil and roll around inside of my head and my heart, percolating all the way down to my fingertips… but at the last minute my heavy heart shakes her head and says it's too much, too much, and we're all (all of us pieces parts together) too tired to argue so we cover our eyes and turn slightly to the left, hoping that the results will scatter in the sweetly sweeping breeze. They never do, and I grow heavier and heavier as I wait for the words to finally squeeze themselves from my very pores and splash across the page. I wait for the words to write themselves, to unwrap the weighted intensity of themselves and float out into the world, because I don't understand them while they are inside of me, not really, and if I can read what they have to say about themselves then I just might be able to make some sense out of all of this. My landscape is beautiful, in its own way, but it is also terribly confusing and wickedly deceptive, and I am afraid that someday I may drown in my own confidence.

I got a notification last night  that I had received a comment on an older post of mine. I LOVE getting comments (kind of feels like when you get a letter in the mail, you know?), and this one stirred me pretty particularly. Cherryblossoms wrote to me on the post "God won't protect you… or will he?" from May of 2012. This is what she said:

"Hi cassandra, i see ur blog was written a while ago and i just gotta say it REALLY spoke to me. I have not faced abuse but emotionally i resonate with all your struggle in trusting God. I've had a chronic illness for a while and last year was really...really hard. Suicidal at times. And in retrospect i can certainly see where God provided for me but like....exactly like u said, i didnt feel protected. and then i thought well...was i promised to be protected? and if i'm not how am I supposed to trust someone who doesnt seem to bother to protect me, if He could? I mean i sure wouldnt trust another person who did that to me, stand by and do nothing when maybe they couldve done something. And if it was all to teach me a lesson....well okay...did my suffering have to be that overwhelmingly painful just for me to learn something? like really? and im still not sure about what i learned. i have vague ideas. mostly i just think i learned how to be real pissed off all the time. and like u i sit here and think, im such a bad christian! i feel the same. how do i tell people jesus loves them when i still feel hurt for feeling abandoned? Anyway, i wanna know if , since time has passed since this post...if u've found wisdom or solace or anything u can offer me. hopefully u see this comment lol. anyway, take care u sound like a lovely woman nonetheless < 3"

I, of course, had to reply…

"Life with a chronic illness (or more than one) is hard. Period. And I think that some emotions are universal, regardless of abused/not abused, etc. Have you ever seen The Princess Bride? One of my favorite lines from that movie has always been when Wesley, under the guise of the Dread Pirate Roberts, tells Buttercup, "Life is pain, Highness. Anyone who says differently is selling something."

I can't say that I've come up with any answers… or wisdom… or solace. In fact, I don't even consider myself to be a Christian any longer. I just couldn't reconcile my experience with the facts presented in the Bible. I may come back to it someday, I can't really say… but at this point, I'm more of a quasi-Bhuddist/skeptic/deist/agnostic. Still figuring it all out. What I HAVE decided is that God wasn't responsible for my pain, I don't think. My abusers made the choice to be world class jerks, and the responsibility of my pain lies with them. Could God have stopped it? Maybe. Did he? Not that I'm aware of. But, basically, I've learned to live my life from the inner strength that I possess within myself, and the strength and hope offered to me by the people I've surrounded myself with. 

Now that I'm an adult, I can choose who I let into my life for the most part. I had no choice as a child or young adult whether to let those painful, toxic people into my life. So I surround myself with people that will feed my soul, and I stand amazed at the fact that they seem to feel the same way about me. I am learning to own my own strength, light, and love, rather than dissembling and deferring with "humility" and giving God all the credit. You say that your last year was really hard, and you were suicidal at times. (If you read some of my more recent posts, you'll see that I've been there at times lately as well.) But… you're still here. You chose to fight, to hang on, to believe in hope (maybe), and it's that strength within you that will carry you. Find hope where you can and where it suits you best. If that's in church and a belief in God, then more power to you. I have found, though, for myself… I have found that I lead a happier, more peaceful, more fulfilled and strong and hopeful life as a non-believer than I ever did as a Christian. I know that's blasphemous to some people, but it's the truth. It's safe to say that I'm a better, more authentic person now than I have ever been before in my life.

I have no idea if that addresses any of the questions floating around in your heart, but it's all I've got to offer. Thank you for the comment-- it really brightened an otherwise crappy evening (feeling VERY poorly, physically), and I hope to see you around. Oh, and thank you for the compliment :) I hope you see this!"

I've held back from outright stating some of this stuff, because honestly… I'm afraid to catch flak for my new beliefs (or lack of them, I should say). Since I spent so many years immersed in an intensely Christian culture, an overwhelming majority of my relationships and friendships are with people who are staunch Adventists and who feel that everyone should be an Adventist. If you're not, you're lost. And I really, really don't want to deal with the stigma or evangelistic efforts that would come with such an admission. I mean, if we're being honest here, it's not a state secret. It's pretty plain from my Facebook page that I've changed my stance on a lot of things, without my ever having to say anything. But I want to be seen as me, as a person, as Cassandra… not as my beliefs. Not as my religious affiliation. 

Did I tell you that when I "came out" to E about my lack of Christianity, she seriously considered asking me to resign? Why? Because our organization is faith-based, and we, the leaders, must set the example. I personally think that the organization is stronger for having a diversity of beliefs and religious convictions, as the population that we are trying to reach doesn't all fit into the standard Protestant mold. It's unfair to expect them to, and I think it's unfair to require the staff to all have the same beliefs and life choices. I mean, I totally respect other's beliefs. I have no problems with you if you're Christian, Pagan, Muslim, Greek Orthodox, whatever. It doesn't matter to me. As long as you're a good person (wherever the catalyst for that comes from) and you treat others with fairness and respect, we're good. I could wish that the same attitude were applied to me. I don't want to be discriminated against for my lack of Christianity.

And, honestly… I'm afraid. I'm afraid to lose friends. I'm afraid of being judged, of being attacked, of being the target of some campaign to change how I feel and think and believe. I have my reasons for my choices, and it feels so very invalidating for someone to assume that they know better and that if I only listened to them I would see that I am being a fool and need to come around to their point of view. I also hate the pity that is reserved for "the lost". Please, please, please… just treat me like a human being, yeah? My bestie J is a marvelous example of how the relationship between believers and non-believers should be. She sees me as a person, not an evangelistic target. We discuss religion and God and exchange thoughts, theories, viewpoints, etc., but at the end of the day we both respect each other's choices as valid and reasonable and know that the other has perfectly legitimate thoughts and feelings that went into those choices. My other friend H is a good example of this as well. It is kind of sad, though, that I find myself so appreciative of interactions that bear the mark of basic respect. I wish it were a more common thing, and that I didn't find myself living in fear of the Christian community, or the conservative SDA community, to be more specific.

Having been a part of the chronic illness community for about a year now (or at least on the fringes, watching what goes on), I've come across many a list of what not to say to someone who is chronically ill, or things that chronically ill people don't want to hear, etc. Shoot, that's what Chronic Illness Cat is all about! I think some of it comes from the fact that people with chronic illnesses feel marginalized and discounted by society's understanding of and relation to sickness and the mainstream attitudes that accompany it. I mean, here in America, sickness kinda makes us uncomfortable. So does poverty, pain, abuse, disease... anything that's not happy and shiny and new. Unless it's particularly awful and heart-rending, in which case we'll obsess over it. (This takes me back to my very first post in which I muse about the pursuit and idolization of perfection in society and how that has affected my thinking.)

So with that uncomfortable feeling as the backbone of this attitude, I would say that the muscle and flesh of it is the expectation that all sickness/disease is acute. That is, you get sick and then you get better. Even those diseases that we have claimed as poster children (think breast cancer or AIDS) are of a similar vein; either you get better or you die. There is a definite "end", a trajectory that you can pinpoint your particular location on. Well, with a chronic illness like fibromyalgia or UCTD... there is no trajectory. There is no "end". And that brings me to the point of this little musing/rant.

I get annoyed sometimes by the things that people say when it comes to my illness or my symptoms or how I'm feeling physically. I mean, I get that it's the elephant in the room, since it's kinda taken over my life, but one of the things that irks me a little is when people ask how I am, then tell me that they hope I feel better soon, or better yet, "get better". I'm always tempted to take the easy way out and just say "fine", but I realize that this would only feed the monster. Once I say "fine", the next time that I'm actually honest and say that I feel pretty horrendous the person is going to wish me well so that I can go back to being "fine".

I'll let you in on a secret. Now that my life has altered so drastically, I don't actually mean I feel "fine" when I say that. It just means that I don't want to bring you down by telling you that I feel awful, because you either are made uncomfortable by my physical misery or you will pity me (which is a completely different animal from the genuine compassion that my support system exudes... which is why I'm lying to you and saying "fine", because you're clearly not in my support system.). Also, it could mean that I just don't have the energy to explain why I'm not feeling fine, and what exactly is wrong with me, and that I'm anticipating some sort of advice that I don't feel like dealing with or dodging. This is especially true for very religious/in the medical field/a natural health and healing advocate/some combination of the three/good god help me if it's all three people. Another possibility is that I sense that you are merely making polite conversation and you don't really care how I'm feeling, so telling the truth would only a.) make things awkward, and b.) imply a level of friendship and confidence that I'm not willing to bestow on the likes of you.

I guess it's just that, if you don't know me, then I'm obviously not going to go into gory detail unless asked. (Hey, sometimes it happens.) If we're only acquaintances, then I'll probably go with "fine". But if you know me, even if we're not close or you're not a part of my support system, then you should know that I'm pretty damn sick. You should also know that it's not going anywhere, so wishing me a "get/feel better soon" is basically just blowing hot air up my butt. I'm not getting better, folks. I might be sustaining, sometimes, but barely. I feel like I'm getting worse, just from the sheer numbers and scale of my symptoms. My life is hard, and hearing "feel better soon" feels like a casual dismissal of everything I work so hard to do. I'm upright, and maybe even dressed. Do you know what an accomplishment that is? So telling me to "feel better soon" is just like... so minimizing. Taking it and scaling it down to the level of the common cold. Like telling a double amputee that you hope they feel better soon because you twisted your ankle last week and you totally know how they feel.

It's just that... I mean... "feel better soon". If you know me at all... then you'll know that I won't. I'm not going to. And I don't want to be all Negative Nelly here, but I'm just speaking from practical experience. I mean, yes, we can all hope that I feel better, that my symptoms recede, and that I can live a normal life again, but... I guess I've kinda given up on that. I mean sure, it'd be nice, but my focus has shrunk to dealing with the immediate present, to getting through each day. I might take things a week at a time, but that's about as far out as my scope goes right now.

And you know, I'm sure it comes from a place of "I don't know what the heck to say to you" and "I genuinely care about you and wish you the best". It's just the way that I'm taking it. It's not how they mean it. I know this. But it's still irritating... yet I choose to just let it go, because I know it's on me, not on them, to navigate the world with this handicap. I don't ask them to bend to me, watching every word they say. It's unrealistic and unfair. So I'll just come here, let off the steam, and then make my merry way back into the world. I mean, shoot... I didn't know a thing about chronic illnesses or chronic pain until it smacked me upside the head, so how can I expect everyone else to know and understand what I'm going through and where I'm coming from? There's just no way.

I'm lying here, in a world of hurt, contemplating tomorrow.

I don't understand why my pain has just been getting worse and worse, but I'm hopeful (and fearful) that tomorrow will hold answers for me. Well, truthfully, no matter what the tests say I will have answers. Either I have MS or I don't. Either it's lupus or it's not. Either they see something wrong with me or they don't. Either we know what's killing me slowly or we know to look somewhere else, to some other solution.

C seems pleased at my efforts to be healthy and live a full life in spite of the pain and sickness. We took the snake for a walk tonight, and we walked all the way down the block to the canal, then followed that down to the main road before we retraced our steps. I'm proud of myself. I've made it a goal to take a walk every other night, and C is supportive of that. I love taking walks with him, and there's no point in walking during the heat of the day anyway, so I may as well wait for him to get home before I go out.

I worked several hours today and accomplished a great deal, more than E thought I would. She had to go out and run some errands so I finished the tasks she needed done that day and just kept going with filing and other projects that have been lying around for a while. I've got more phone calls and stuff to make tomorrow, but the good news is that the board approved an hour increase for me, so I can work up to 8 hours a week now! That is, if I can physically handle it, of course. But I really want to try to maintain 8 hours a week. Not only can I use the money, but it is also good for my peace of mind and my sense of industry.

As much as I'm involved in the HJ these days, it came as a funny realization to me today that I really don't feel the need to attend the sexual assault support group for myself anymore. At least, not right now. I'm in a good place, I've got good coping mechanisms and healthy tools in my toolbox, and I'm in a pretty steady place in my life. In addition, most of my energy is focused on the fight for my physical health these days, and my emotional health is not the main priority for healing any longer. I'm sure I'll still pop in from time to time, and there may be a time when I need to go back in a more long-term fashion, but... I guess I've moved to a new place in my healing journey, one where I can give support as well as receive it. I am getting support from places other than group now, and it's enough for me.

It's funny... I was musing today that I have gained a lot from my battle with chronic illness. I've grown a lot as a person, my perspective on life has been refined and tempered, and I am much more intentional in my relationships and my lifestyle. My support network has been finely crystallized into a distinct entity, whereas before I just had... friends. I've learned a lot about boundaries and humility and accepting care from others. I've learned a lot about letting others care for me as a friend, and how to care for others in a truly open way. I've learned even more about taking care of myself in all aspects, and I've learned how to listen to myself. (Mostly.)

So no matter what answers (or lack thereof) tomorrow brings, it's just another step in this rich, tumultuous journey that I'm on. I'm grateful for it... but sometimes I wish it hurt less. In so many ways.

I found my Never Shout Never cd, and I've been listening to it today. Isn't it funny how a certain cd or song can evoke such a strong memory of a certain time, or a set of emotions? I first heard the cd when I was home this last Christmas visiting the folks, and I listened to it incessantly the whole time I was there and for the next month or two.

What comes to mind is bravery. My friend L had just begun another very aggressive battle against her cancer, and Mom and I really got into the Bring the Bling thing to encourage her. I drew a lot of inspiration from her and her fight, because I had just been diagnosed with fibro the month before, and I was still reeling, trying to figure out my new life and this addition to my identity... not to mention struggling with intense pain before I ever got painkillers.

I was full of bravado, hope, and optimism, despite my fear, uncertainty, and pain... and that's what comes up when I listen to this cd, especially this song.

Incessant pain has a way of wearing you down over time. I was brave then, but I hadn't lived with this for as long. I'm still brave, but in a different kind of way. The fresh young soldier is filled with vigorous bravado; the weathered veteran has a worn, hardened bravery. Neither are wrong, but they are very different.

I'm still trying to figure out how to live with the pain and the host of other symptoms that accompany it. It's a day by day process, and sometimes I don't want to do it anymore... like today. I wanted to give up, get out somehow... but the only way out when pain is your life is to quit life altogether, and while I may be desperate enough to contemplate it, I'm not desperate enough to carry through. There is too much that I love holding me here. Too many people that I love, to be specific. If I weren't selfishly hanging around to take in all that love, I could still say that I wouldn't want to betray their love and trust by leaving of my own volition. Either way, I've gotta keep going, if only for the sake of the love and support that is showered upon me on a regular basis.

I spent a good portion of this morning crying on the couch, defeated and discouraged. After some time, I crawled back into bed with C, who partially woke up and wrapped me in a sleepy embrace. He just held me for a very long time, and it was what I needed to calm down and stop sobbing silently. I realized (again) that he does want me here, he does love me... I am valuable to him, even in my current condition.

So, tomorrow is a new day. Here's hoping I'm brave enough to face it with a smile on my face.

I've been getting the urge to pamper myself. Enough with the stress, already-- go do something fun!


And I might. (Except it costs money...)

But I've done a lot the past few days. So you know what I might do right now? Instead of telling myself that I "should" be doing even more?

I think I'm going to drive my happy little butt to Pier One to window shop... right after I get some coffee from the cafe next door. Because I can. (Okay, okay, so mb I'm going to get one of those Caramel Apple Spice thingies... but still!)

Orrrrr... maybe... I'll pick out a nailpolish that I really like and do my nails?

Hmm. Or maybe I'll grab a green tea and watch that movie I borrowed from L.

Or... maybe... I'll text E for that meeting we're supposed to have, drop off my library book while I'm out there, grab one of the three nailpolishes that I already have and restock on meds while I'm home... and go out to coffee with E so we can meet and do that at the same time! (Or maybe some boba?)

Hmm... but I still need onions. And possibly salad dressing.

Decisions, decisions.

Maybe I'll just sit here and pleasantly ruminate on the possibilities for some self-love, without ever actually taking action.

Because, really... when it boils down to it... I'm still doing all these things alone.

Where is my mommy when I need her?!

Sending C off to work... Dear Lord, I love that man!


Spoke to the local Rotary Club this morning with E, to raise awareness about the Healing Journey. 6:30 a.m. I haven't been up that early in months! It felt good, though, despite having only gotten 4 hours of sleep (I've been having a series of days where things just aren't running according to my ideal timeline... and they're all things beyond my control, mostly. That's okay. All's well that ends well, yeah?)

I've got an interview tonight for that part time nanny job, and tomorrow I'm finishing the application for the temp labor place.

So, today... I'm cleaning C's apartment. S is gone, so, honestly, that means some of the clutter will be gone. He's fairly neat, which I appreciate, but I never can put things away, because I'm not sure if he's using them or not.

I hung out at the library yesterday, and found a book in the young adult fiction section called "hold still". The protagonist, Caitlin, is struggling to make sense of herself and her life in the wake of her best friend's suicide. Her progress is gratifying, and she ends up reaching out to help others around her also find hope and make sense of the tragedy. I liked it. I tend to gravitate towards the young adult fiction, I think mostly because that seems to be the genre that treats subjects like this one (or just basic emergence and identity) realistically.

I've noticed that I also seem to gravitate towards this particular writing style-- the very real, detail-oriented, yet eloquent narration of daily events, and the emotions that accompany the events.

I suppose it's because I just... resonate... with the idea of somehow recording the seemingly mundane and trivial pieces-parts that make up the whole of an experience. Life is poetic, and the symmetry and grace is found in the objects and sounds that surround us, the play of light and shadows throughout the day. When I think of V High School, for instance, I think of the taste of chocolate milk, the sunlight filtering through the leaves of my tree, the feel of cold, gritty, damp earth on my fingers, the worn sheen of the green rubberized tables...

When I think of home up north, I think of the crunch of gravel beneath shoes or tires, the jarring jolts of potholes, the crisp evergreen air softened by the scent of earth and shrubs, and the cold dew on my hands as I pick raspberries. I think of the smell of the S's house, but I also think of unyielding despair and agony, of stress and stretched out on my bed, the red and cream quilt and incense, of cool, smooth floors and warm fur. I think of the rich, salty taste of popcorn and the smooth, creamy tang of green drinks. I think of the vibration of the Vitamix, and the warmth of the sunlight through the kitchen windows. I think of the rough wood of the deck on my bare feet, and I think of Titan's breath steaming in little puffs as he waits on the ledge. I think of the smell of the print shop and of the repetitive echo of the racquetball court.

I want to keep all those little things, and tuck them deep inside where I won't forget them... where I will feel them always... because those are what make up my memories. I have so many gaps where I just don't remember anything at all (mostly from childhood), and I wonder what happened? What was I touching, tasting, smelling, feeling? I think that's part of the reason why I used to be a hoarder. I needed concrete things to help me remember, to prove to me that something happened... something tangible to keep me grounded.

And so, I love books that record the little incidentals that truly make up the moments we live in. It is when I am aware of those little things that I feel like I'm really alive, really here, really focused. It's so easy for me to zone out and forget what surrounds me, to retreat to a dream world, as it were. I like to hear the music of the world around me, though. I feel alive in a way that I can't really explain. (Another reason why I hate depression... it just kind of dulls my senses and it feels like I'm walking through an invisible, dampening fog.)

"It is better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all."

I used to think this expression was silly and pointless, but now I begin to see the truth of it.

Loving someone can be a beautiful thing, even if it's an unrequited love. That makes it hard, but it's still beautiful and special. I did not know I could experience love like this, and it's pleasantly surprising.

I've been thinking about D a lot lately, especially on this trip for some reason. Mom and I have talked it over quite a bit, as she's quite knowledgeable in the inner workings of men. (At least, it seems that way to me-- she's had a lot more time and experience than I have. That applies to life knowledge, period.)

A couple of days ago, I set things up to go work for his mom, S, when I get back from my trip. That'll earn me some gas money for my little/big adventure. After S and I finished our conversation, I realized that it's been almost a year since I've seen D, and it's been the better part of 6 months since I've even heard his voice. I realized that I miss him. I miss him a lot. Still.

In bed that night, I was tossing and turning, and crying. I asked God (again) to take this love out of my heart and replace it with a platonic love. (It hasn't happened yet.) It's so weird... it's like, the more time passes, the more my feelings increase, increment by increment. That's so DUMB! I want to be over him, I want to move on, and I don't want to feel this way anymore!

Part of the reason I know it's love and not lust or infatuation or whatever is because a.) I recognize lust, and I'm not pining after his body (although he is good looking), and b.) I'm concerned about what's best for him instead of what I  want-- a new concept in relationships for me. Oh, and c.) I'm willing to let him go. I don't have to have him, especially if that would be detrimental to him.

And I've evaluated several times whether or not writing to him is the right thing for me to do, in the light of "What's best for D?" (Or, at least, trying, since I'm still new at this kind of thing, and because I don't have any input from his side to help me balance out my evaluations.) It was the right thing for me to do, but now I've come to the place where I realize that to continue would be selfish of me.

I cried and prayed for D (and then some other people after I stopped crying) and tossed and turned for two hours. Could NOT sleep. So, as I was praying some more and thinking, the idea came to me that perhaps I cannot sleep because I need to actually write the letter I was thinking about writing at the beginning of the two hours, telling D the truth about how I feel, and basically saying goodbye.

So, I did. I wrote D a letter telling him how I feel, how I felt hurt when he stopped talking to me, that I'm praying for him and his future wife, and that I won't be writing to him anymore.

And then I mailed it.

And then I panicked a little.

However, I believed that night, and still firmly believe, that it was the right thing to do.

I didn't do it to "get him back". I mean, sure, there's a little hope there that he will read the letter and come sweep me off my feet, so to speak. I won't lie. However, that is outweighed by the near certainty of absolute silence and no response whatsoever, which is what I'm in the process of resigning myself to.

So why? Why write a letter that won't change anything? Because I feel that it is fair for him to know, so that when he goes into a future relationship, he has a bigger knowledge base for decision making. If I do not tell him the truth about what happened on my end of things in the relationship, I'm robbing him of the ability to really make a decision, because he is acting on limited information. Like, how can I be upset if I never hear from him again if he thinks that I never really cared in the first place, so why bother?

I guess I just felt that it was important to the health of his future relationships for him to understand what happened in this one. I've felt that way for a long time, but never knew how to bring it up. "Yes, the garden is doing great... the radishes are up now, and by the way, never just stop talking to your girlfriend 'cause you'll break her heart like you did mine. Oh, and our cole crop seedlings are simply thriving!" Riiiight.

As for me, it was kind of a freedom thing, a step forward in moving on.

Yes, I love and have loved him, and there is no shame in that. It's not a bad thing, and I don't have to hide it. It proves that I'm human, thank goodness.

I freaked out a little, though, because egads-- what will he think of me?! And what if he reads it and does do something? What if he calls me?

And, honestly, though I'm resigning myself to the likely reality of not hearing from him, I will be sad and disappointed at some point, because it's kind of like rejection, and who wants to risk that? But I know that someday I can and will love someone who loves me in return, and that will be glorious. So, until that day, I'm just resting in God and his timing.

For now, I want to learn how to love God better.

And you know what? As hard as it is to love someone who seems to ignore you, this has given me a tear-filled glimpse into the heart of God that yearns over humanity. It's both beautiful and tragic at the same time.

However, as Mom pointed out earlier today... D can't forget about me, either. I mean, I left, and he was leaving... and that's when he calls me and wants to get together? And then we break up, time passes, he's seemingly forgotten about me... and I get that text about how he thinks about me a lot.

So maybe there's more there than I thought there was. Mom also mused upon the fact that, since he's been married before, it's obvious that he's, as she put it, a "leaper". He gets involved in relationships, not runs away from them. So his running away might mean that he's defending himself against hurt because he has some strong feelings too, or because he didn't think that I was really interested, etc.

And we both pondered the situation of his past-- after getting involved in drugs and drinking and stuff, then moving back home to help take care of his mom, this is the first time he's really been“straight”on his own, by himself, for himself... not to please someone else. And he's chasing a dream he's had for years. I think, she thinks, we all think that he really needs this time to learn, to grow, and to figure out who he is and what he wants.

In the meantime, I'll be moving to one of the Adventist capitals of the world, practically, and meeting plenty of nice, handsome, young men. Won't that just be wonderful? :) Have fun in Alaska, D. I love you, but I'm chasing my dream, too.

Besides... I'm too restless to settle down! Hehe.

*Note: I never actually used the “L-word” in the letter. I just told him that I came to care about him deeply, and still do.

Yesterday I got sick, fever and all. (Okay, really, it shouldn't surprise me, since I've been fighting off a low-grade respiratory infection for... a month now? And I've had--relatively--quite a bit of sugar over the past few days, since it's a holiday and all. A chocolate bar and my very own container of mint chocolate chip ice cream. Oh, and I shared a gallon of green tea with J. Bad idea... but delicious. ^_^) So I didn't do much of anything, really. I stayed in my pj's most of the day.

Today... I stayed in my pj's until, like, 3 p.m. Didn't do much. The fever's half gone, just a very low-grade one of a degree or so. Paltry, really. (Emergen-C saves the day!!)

I'm torn between whether to enjoy and luxuriate in the freedom to do absolutely nothing if I wish, or whether to give in to the guilt and scorn I feel toward myself upon doing absolutely nothing.

But can I not, if I choose, stay in my pajamas and watch 2 chick flicks in a row if I desire?

Yes. I can. I have that choice. Is the the wrong choice? That I cannot say, but I do know that I have the choice. It is my decision, and I need to be okay with it, whichever way I choose.

Moving on from that... Mom and R (mostly R, I think) have decided to give J the counseling she desires, once they found out that on our insurance it's only a $20 copay each session. She and I had a talk on the way home from church last week, and she broached the topic.

"I think I need therapy."

"What makes you say that?"

"I'm really depressed."

Ah. I get that. I shared with her what I've learned, how it's helped... and how I used to (and still do) self-medicate with music, relationships. She was like, "I do that too! I listen to music to make myself feel better, to forget everything." Huh. We're more alike than I thought. Which is odd, considering that we haven't lived together much in our lives. Once Mom finally got custody of the two little ones back, I was already in high school, and a couple of years later I went away to academy. Then they moved to the midwest, and we've seen each other, like, once a year for the past four years.

Anyway, I told J that I'd champion the cause for her, and I shared our conversation with R two days later. I could tell that he really wanted to help J get better, but he just hadn't realized that it was so affordable. (PTL that I started counseling and worked out the cost on our insurance already!) He's going to start looking around for someone good to take her to, and possibly even Jr. We all agree that K needs it too, but the problem is the desire to change, you know? K doesn't seem to feel her need, so she won't talk or work through things. J feels her need, and that makes all the difference.

I've discovered that I love perch. The fish. It's delicious. I'm finding that I really enjoy fish! Who knew?

The reason I felt the urge to blog was because I need to process through the future, and the coming changes.

I haven't had the guts yet to even touch my feelings about the S's, because they're so ambivalent. Maybe after I leave and it's "safe" lol. When I left for summer camp, there were no problems, but the intervening months have brought up conflicting feelings within me, and I desire to understand the roots of these feelings. I do know that I love them, and they're family. That's enough for now, I think.

Gramma agreed to allow me to bring Holly with me! She's not *thrilled* with the idea, but she'll accept it... I think more for the sake of her love for her granddaughter than anything else. Oh well... what are connections for, if not to milk for personal gain and satisfaction? Kidding...


The movies I've been watching lately and the books I've read have gotten me to thinking... what's my focus in life, what's my purpose? What am I aiming for? And what are my "side focuses"?

I kind of see it as having one large passion to pursue, and then having little passions (like hobbies) on the side. And this, along with personality, comprises who you are.

So who am I?

Being here, without a schedule, without expectations, has given me a glimpse into the near future, when I will be on my own, determining a vast portion of my daily life. And, truly, it's those little decisions that collide against each other, one by one, until you have this massive pileup that is "how the day went".

What food choices am I going to make? How often will I eat, what will I eat, and how much? (This affects my budget, too!) (Oooh! I can work my way through the soup cookbooks I got for Christmas!)

How will I get my exercise? I'd like to go for walks and go hiking in the nearby mountains, but I definitely don't want to give up racquetball. Ought I to join a gym? I'd love to join an exercise or dance class. I've been toying with the thought of taking up jogging... which I've previously hated, but who knows? I passionately love nutritional yeast flakes, onions, and avocados, three things I could not stand until just a few years ago.

I think I'll join the library. I need a fresh supply of books to occupy my mind.

I'll have sermons to prepare, undoubtably, and special musics to prepare for as well. I want to work with the youth again-- at least start our game nights back up, get some activities going. The family that plays together stays together :).

Of course I'll be taking piano lessons, which I'm SUPER stoked about. Music is definitely a "side passion".

I'll be working with the Healing Journey, so that means support groups at least once a week, plus additional extras, like fundraisers. I am going to ask S if I can job shadow her as a social worker, so I can see what it's really like. Mom and K brought up the idea of volunteering at the animal shelter to walk the dogs, and I'd LOVE that! I also want to get involved with the homeless shelters around Y. Homeless people frighten and intrigue me. I'm not homeless in the sense that they are, but I have been. If not the homeless shelters, then the battered women's shelter. It's a secret location, but unless they've moved in the last 6 years or so, I think I know where they are.

Above all, my decision to attend school in the fall must remain firm. It's partially because this is a good thing I know I'll benefit from, and be able to help other people with, but more than that-- it is my commitment to a decision, my undeterred pursuit of a goal that I have set.

I've been tossed about by circumstances, chance, and whimsy for so long... I want to push through obstacles and achieve something. Yes, my personality is partially fickle and capricious, and that's fine, but... at least this once... I want to persevere.

This is a season of change, I recognize that. And I'm discovering much about myself, about what I like and dislike, about my boundaries. That's a good thing. (Heh, realizing that D and I may be more compatible than I had initially thought, too... interestingly. But figuring out who I am apart from a desire to please anyone else is a much better way to do things!)

I'm realizing how paradoxical I am, too. I am fragile, to be sure, but I am also strong beyond belief. It takes a special strength to have lived the kind of life I have and come out the other side a survivor, rather than a victim. The very next breath I took, the very next heartbeat, made me a survivor. Victims die, survivors live. And even though I survived broken, I still survived. Nothing can change that.

Now, in this time of uncertainty and learning, I am still strong. I will not shatter, even as the waves of risk pound and rush through my very being.

I will pursue my goal, and I will enjoy it! I'm going have fun living, for crying out loud!

And if that means that some days I stay in my pajamas until 3 p.m., then that's okay.

By the way, you know what sucks?

Yeah, I still love D. For crying out loud. I wish I could just forget about him, but... he's got a tender place in my heart. Don't get me wrong-- it's not like I'm ready to move to Alaska and marry the guy. That would not be a wise decision. But I still find hope floating to the surface, and I think about him frequently enough for it to be noticeable to me.

I asked my mom how you know when you love someone, and she said that, basically, it's when you want what's best for the other person no matter what, even if it goes against what you want, or even hurts you. You care about what's best for them before you care about what's best for you. Upon digesting and pondering that... that's where I'm at with D. It's pretty simple, really.

Unrequited love bites. That's all.

Part of my pressing forward and pursuing my goal is forgetting about D, forgetting about Alaska (for now-- I still REALLY want to go there someday), and forgetting about romance and relationships.

Did I mention that I feel doomed-- er, that is called-- to singleness? LOL. Seriously, though, I've finally come to that place where I've made peace with the thought of being single for the rest of my life. Thanks, D. You helped with that. No, it's not a knee-jerk defense against being hurt again. It's a thought out conclusion, something to the tune of You know... being single really isn't bad. I mean, I enjoy it. I want to get married someday, sure, but if that doesn't happen... that's okay. Doesn't mean I won't be lonely at times, but it'd be okay. Yeah. I'd be alright. I can focus on learning about God's love instead of some guy's. ^ _ ^

I had a teacher in grade school that didn't like me much. I think it was a grudge against my family that somehow got redirected towards me, but I'm not sure. Regardless, my teacher didn't like me much, and I sometimes got into trouble. (I would NEVER get into trouble otherwise! Uh-uh, no m'am! lol)

One year, we were drawing pictures of the Advent- you know, classic manger scenes- and I got into trouble for making mine too realistic. In my drawing, Mary was lying in a pile of straw on the floor of an empty, dirty barn, her dress hiked up to mid-thigh, blood all over her legs, and bags under her eyes. Yeah, in retrospect, that may have been a bit graphic. I mean, aren't ten year olds supposed to be sheltered from that kind of thing? But I was tired of all the serene, surreal manger photo-ops that had ushered me through so many holiday seasons.  I wanted to draw it how it really was, how it really happened- dirt and blood and lack of sleep and everything. (To placate the teacher, I went back with an eraser, got rid of the blood, and lengthened Mary's hemline. The bags stayed.)

Today, the church service got me thinking... we tend to make Christmas so shiny and magical, we lose sight of what really happened. It's become so sparkly and tinselly that it has lost all relevance to every-day living.

What really happened?

First of all, you have a girl, probably younger than myself, facing her first pregnancy and her first marriage, all at the same time.

Will he believe me? I mean, what a story! He's going to divorce me, and then what will happen to me? I can't support myself, especially with a child! I have to believe that God will work it out somehow, because this was his idea, but... seriously?!


And I thought applying for schools was tough.

After Divine intervention, Joseph decides to go ahead with the marriage after all. Stressful for the both of them, as people are prone to talk, but probably a great burden off of Mary's mind. She had stability and economic security for the future, both for herself and her coming child.

Then, they get news that they have to travel to Joseph's ancestral home-town, in relation to a tax hike. Great. Just what they need- heavier taxes, not to mention traveling expenses! But they make the trip regardless.

A modern day walk from Nazareth to Bethlehem is 157 km (97.5 miles), which would take about a day and a half, depending on how fast you walk.

If you think about it, the trip is probably what induced Mary into labor, irrespective of whether she rode a donkey or walked.

So, there they are in a foreign city, all the hotels booked, and Mary is going into labor with her first child. She has no women around to help guide her through this very important event, no hospital to check in to... no private place to have this child. Is she going to have the baby on the street? No, someone offers the use of the barn. The barn. You know... the place where animals eat, sleep, and relieve themselves. Not exactly the most sanitary place to have a child.

So Joseph helps his wife have her first baby. She has no anesthesia. They have no umbilical clamps. Where did they get the water to clean up Mary and the baby? Where did they get the cloths? You can't exactly use a towel and then throw it in the washer for the next day. Did she bring a spare change of clothes? Did she have a spare change of clothes?

But, really, I see the beauty in God's bringing shepherds as the first people to come pay their respects to the very new family. Shepherds are accustomed to birthing sheep, and know what to do in the aftermath of the entrance of a new life. Perhaps they were able to assist Joseph in making Mary more comfortable, offering tried and true remedies to relieve the pain, practical tips on keeping the baby safe and sound, making sure infection doesn't set in, etc.

The manger scene we present now is gilt-edged and sparkly, echoing with the sounds of the Vienna Boy's Choir. In reality, it was a pretty crappy day from our perspective. Nothing went "right", and yet all went according to plan.

That amazes me. Nothing went "right", and yet all went according to plan. God's hand was still on them, even though it did not fit the mold of the typical situation.

I think we tend to do that to Christianity, in general. We airbrush it, spray paint it with gold, scatter some glitter on it... we pretend it isn't hard. We present this glamorous, sparkly facade so that people will want some of what we got, but when they break through the thin, scintillating crust, they find that it is hard.

Yes, Christianity is hard. But we don't want to tell people that, because they might not want to follow God if they know it will be hard. My generation was raised in a culture that embraces, and even glorifies, instant gratification and the path of least resistance. We don't like difficult. People don't, generally, as a rule, like difficult. I have come to the point, however, where I like difficult... in a certain way.

It's like the day my Mom brought home new cups for everyone. She had found a great dollar store and brought us each home a cup. Mine was made out of stone, and K's was made of ceramic, painted pearlescent silver and gold, and styled to look somewhat "Roman". It was pretty, but I have always preferred wood or stone over ceramic. Now, years later, we still have our cups, but the ceramic is cracked, and the paint is chipped and peeling. It's still lustrous, but not as appealing. My stone cup, however, has maintained every iota of its charm and dignity throughout the years, and now currently houses my toothbrush, toothpaste, and floss.

I see this as a comparable analogy. Yes, following God is hard. It's not the pretty painted, ceramic cup that we sometimes make it out to be... but it's sturdy. It is beautiful, but a beautiful that has substance, purpose, and lasting value.

The damage that we do when we superficialize the manger scenes is this-- we trick the world into complacency. They don't understand that we serve a God who understands "hard". He gets it. He did it. As the newborn in the ill-equipped barn, and as the one who had to let him go into a world fraught with danger and pain... God gets it. He understands.

Christmas is not about shiny. Christmas is about reality- about grit, and hay, and excruciating pain, and... enduring beauty. Substance. Hope. Meaning, purpose, and joy.

There is joy, but it's not necessarily sparkly. There is glory, but it's not necessarily shiny and gold. Our plastic and paper Christmases have robbed us of the understanding that, in following God, things don't have to be going "right" to be according to plan. In fact... it's usually when things are at their most "wrong" that God blazes through the most brilliantly.