A strange thing happened in the shower...

A strange thing happened on my way to cleanliness in the shower. I scratched my cornea. How the damage occurred and which wash cloth and/or bathing product is to blame is a mystery. All I know is that one minute I was basking in the heat of the shower's strongest water pressure and a moment later I was cringing from an unrelenting stabbing pain torturing my left eye.
Houston, we have a problem.
Immediately I knew something was terribly wrong. This wasn't a simple soap-sud intrusion. This pain was fierce. Out of the shower and staring in the mirror I searched my bloodshot eye for any signs of debris but came up with nothing. I tried dropping solution in my eye and winking with the enthusiasm of a flirtatious teenage girl. Nothing seemed to help.
Three hours later and the pain was still causing me grief so I decided to take drastic measures.
I called the eye doctor.
Typically I'm not one to run to the doctor or call on a Saturday and beg for an appointment but the acute attack on my delicate orb had me worried. Thankfully one patient had just canceled. Could I be there in an hour? I could have been there in five minutes.
An hour later I was sitting in the big chair and dark room of the doctor's office. She flooded my left eye with all sorts of drops. One to numb, one to flush, one to illuminate. The fluids stung and made me flinch but the doctor never let a drop miss my eyeball target.
A few minutes and "hmms.." later the kind doctor slid away from her phoropter machine with a conclusive look on her face. On a pad of paper she drew a picture of an eyeball with a cornea in the center. Then she drew little lines all over the cornea and on the edges of the eyeball. "See those lines?" she asked. "Those are abrasions. You have them all over your cornea."
The doctor went on to confirm that the many little lines on her drawing were indeed the cause of my pain. That was the bad news. The good news was that the cornea is a quick healer. So off I went with a temporarily numbed eye and a prescription for eye drops to see me through the pain of recovery.
Ever since the scratched cornea proclamation I've been racking my brain, recalling my pre-pain experience in the shower. I've been going through the lathering and rinsing in my mind, asking myself, "When did it happen?...How did it happen?" And I keep coming up with question marks. I don't have a clue yet the evidence is there. The scratches are visible and the pain is undeniable. There was a precise moment in time when the incident took place and the damage occurred but I can't explain the how of it all.
Sometime during my brain-racking a little song began to play in my mind. You'll probably remember it from the grade school playground. "This is the song that never ends...and it goes on and on my friend." I remember being so annoyed by that song as a child. Kids would sing it over and over again and if you told them to stop they'd just increase their volume and turn the refrain on repeat a few extra times. But today when the song came to mind it didn't annoy me. It made me laugh because, for the first time in seven years, I saw my life in that song. The irony of my health condition is that song come to life. This condition and the saga of my symptoms go on and on, my friend. Somehow it started, I'll never know how and I've often wondered what it was. But the saga has continued being belted out forever just because...
Just because God has allowed it. Just because God has a purpose for it. Just because God intends to take every symptom, struggle, sage and scratched cornea to strengthen my faith. This ongoing refrain that God has allowed to play on repeat in my life has baffled me from the start. For years I have been as confused by the multitude of symptoms plaguing my body as I have been about the scratches on my cornea.
And yet the song plays on. God has taken the little sing-along ditty of my youth that drove me bonkers and used it to drive me to the foot of Christ's cross. I don't know if this song will end or when but I know Who is writing it and as long as He keeps playing this refrain, I'll keep singing along.

One Special Card

To celebrate my sixth date-less Valentine's Day I came up with an idea to honor the holiday and spread God's love. I purchased stacks of blank greeting cards, stickers and heart shaped stampers and wrote on the inside of each card a scripture about love. I searched my Bible concordance and Google and filled the cards with verses revolving around accepting Christ's love, sharing God's love and living a life of love.
After writing over fifty verses on fifty blank cards I took them and my Valentine's Day card decor to church where I grabbed the old and the young, the willing and the reluctant, to add whimsical stickers and rosy colored stamped images to the front of the cards and envelopes. Personal messages were encouraged but not required.
Once completed, our decorated scripture cards were delivered to men in the local drug rehabilitation program at our city's Christian rescue mission. I delivered the cards to the receptionist at the front desk who counted them out. We had made just enough with three to spare. The receptionist thanked me for the gesture, returned the extras cards and passed out the rest during the resident's morning meeting.
Making those cards, as simple as an act as it was, made my Valentine's Day. For the rest of February fourteenth I thought about the men who would receive a personal message of hope and prayed that they would find encouragement in the truth of God's word. Little did I know that is just what one of those cards would do for me nearly a month later.
My own card delivery came on a windy afternoon standing on a city sidewalk. As I struggled to my car with a bag full of books and assorted papers a massive gust of wind came and nearly knocked me over. I caught my balance - barely - but couldn't catch all of my papers. I looked down to see that the wind was carrying away three envelopes, two red and one white. The left over Valentine's Day cards.
Before I could reach them all the two red envelopes went flying up and away. I scurried ahead to the pavement ahead just in time to catch the last envelope, a white one with two cartoon stickers. I froze when my eyes caught site of the hand writing. It was my own.
Out of fifty decorated card the only one that remained was one decorated and written by me. I clutched the card extra tightly for fear that the wind would snatch it out of my hands. Still sealed shut, I hadn't a clue which verse would be inside my special card and I couldn't recall if I had written a personal message to a mystery recipient. But I knew that whatever was inside that card was meant for me. God had preserved and protected it specially for me.
Once out of the windy city street I pulled out my card and ripped open its seal. I had decorated the blank cover with a pink stamper displaying the words, "made with LOVE." I smiled, knowing that the sentiment was true, not just an empty claim.
Inside I found the scripture that God had kept just for me. 1 Corinthians 13:7, "Love...always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres."  Then I saw a message, the personal message written by my own hand, that said, "God is love!"
I folded up my card and caught the lump in my throat. Yes, He is. 
On the Sunday afternoon that I wrote that message I could never have imagined that it was penned for me, to be received on a windy street on a day when I so desperately needed the steadying hand of God, His hand of love, to encourage and sustain me. But God knew. A month ago when my hand grabbed a purple pen and a pink stamper God knew who would be opening up the white seal of that white envelope covered in stickers.
For a month God kept that card waiting till just the right moment, just the right windy day, when He would deliver it to the pavement in front of my feet. He left just enough seconds for me to grab hold of His message of love and truth. Inside He gave me just the right words to still my soul and give me peace.
God is love. He is love for me and He is love for you. The message may not always come in a wind swept card. Sometimes God sends His message of love in a rainstorm and sometimes it comes in the warm rays of the sun. In every season, on every sidewalk, God has a message of love because God is love and He always protects, always trust, always hopes. And He never, ever fails.

Balloons Part 2

For weeks I have taken my daily walks and past the big oak tree that provided me with the balloon epiphany I told you about last month (see: Eternal Balloons, Endless Hope). Yet for all of my strolls past the bare tree I haven't really taken a look at it. In fact, until this morning, I can't remember one single walk that I have scanned the leaf-less branches for a sight of my colorful bunch of balloons.
Until today. On today's walk I looked back to the tree and there they were. The balloons - my balloons.
A few weeks back, when I first spotted the balloons, they were freshly released, still in their helium-filled state. Had the inflated balloons freed themselves from the oak's arms they would have drifted beautifully up into the sky. But tangled on the bare branches of the tree, the balloons couldn't fly. It was in those trapped balloons that I saw a vision of how God has been holding my hopes and dreams in His outstretched arms. By letting go of the balloons I had inflated with my heart's desires and deepest longings I had expected them to float off into the oblivion of the sky but that wasn't their fate. God had caught them, trapped them, keeping them safe ever since. 
But today as I looked up into the tree my eyes beheld a very different scene, followed by a drastically different epiphany.
The balloons were still there alright but they were a little worse for wear to say the least. In the weeks spent in the branches of the tree the bundle of balloons had been beaten by storms and ravaged by winds. For weeks the elements took their toll on the flimsy rubber, leaving them deflated, punctured and completely flat. The words and cartoon images that once covered the colorful air-filled decorations had been washed clean. In their current depressed state the released balloons wouldn't have soared beautifully into the sky. They would fall to the ground in a heap of trash.
But somehow in those balloons I could still see my dreams. Beaten down, battered and broken, those balloons still looked like the hopes I've released to God. Like those balloons, my deepest longings have been held in His arms during fierce storms and ravaging winds. He hasn't let them go. Through temperature changes and deep freezes God has kept my dreams alive. Through every relentless, ravaging trial God has sustained me and my hopes.
Today, years after releasing my dreams and hopes into God's care, my heart's longings have changed. Like the balloons held in the grips of the oak's branches, my hopes have been deflated of the puffed up air that won't last. My dreams have been purified. The deepest longings of my heart have been cleansed and washed.
And God isn't done yet.
I need not fear what He has planned because nothing - not a wind, rain, sleet or hail storm on earth - has the power to disrupt God's will. God has a plan for me inflated with the promise of His eternal hope for the future. Despite the passage of time and the passing of storms, God has not forgotten a single one of my heart's desires. The Almighty God, the keeper of my balloons, is protecting my hopes, purifying my dreams and transforming me in the process.

A story of contacts, failure and learning to try again

I took the thin, flexible piece of plastic and poked at my eye, a routine practice familiar to all contact lens wearers. I've been performing this morning ritual, ie. poking my eye with thin plastic, for over a decade. The process of placing the malleable plastic on the tip of my right hand pointer finger and holding open my eyelids with my left hand has been part of my morning agenda since I was in high school. So adept am I at putting in my contact lenses that I've completed the exercise in the dark, without a mirror. Impressed?
In the interest of full disclosure I have to admit I haven't always been this skilled at contact lens insertion. My first attempt was a dismal failure. I remember the scene well...
It was sixth grade and I was new to the world of corrective lenses. Convinced that I didn't want to be labeled a four eyes, I told the optometrist I wanted contacts. The office staff was happy to escort me to little desk and set me up with a bottle of solution, portable mirror and two little tiny pieces of plastic. Their instructions were vague and did nothing to calm my fears about having to poke my own eyeball. I flinched, dropped numerous lenses and left the doctor's office wearing my glasses and a pair of painfully red bloodshot eyes.
It took years before I would finally conquer my contact lens fears and try again. Thankfully, my second go-around with Acuvue was much more successful. I bucked up, proclaimed courage and confidence and poked my eye with serious determination. That second attempt awarded me a happy ending and my own personal bottle of Opti-Free Contact Solution.
My contact lens success was over a decade ago so you can imagine my surprise when just the other day, upon inserting my trusty pieces of plastic, my eyes began to burn. I blinked, looked in the mirror and saw the same set of eyes that stared at me in my sixth grade optometrist's office. They were bloodshot and pained. I popped the contacts out of my eyes and examined them for rips and tears but both were entirely in tact. I broke out my contact solution and carefully cleaned both lenses before placing them back on my recovering cornea but the moment the plastic hit my eye the burning returned.
Perplexed and in pain I took out the contacts and threw them in the trash like I was passing off a hot potato. Over the years I've dealt with a variety of eye related problems as a result of MS but this one was new. I've had pain, blurred vision and episodes of temporary blindness but never eyes-on-fire, cornea-a-blaze burning. Every unusual, inexplicable eye related symptom has resolved on its own so I didn't think much of putting on my old-school tortuous framed glasses. I shut the drawer on my contact solution with the promise to return again tomorrow.
And return I did. The very next day I opened up a fresh new pair of contact lenses and, without a moment's hesitation, poked my pointer finger into the clear solution. With my right eye lens perfectly positioned on my finger tip I sent my hand towards my eye and, viola, the contact stuck. A second later I had the left lens in place and my vision was clear and bright. Not a single blood vessel in my eye was bloodshot. Not even a single watery tear graced my pain-free eyes.
I will never know why one day my eyes rejected my contacts and the next they accepted them with open arms - and eye - but I know this much: I'd still be stuck in my glasses if I hadn't overcome my fear of failure and tried again.
In life and in contact lenses there will be days of utter failure riddled with so many bumps in the road that I end up in a ditch - wearing glasses. There are bound to be set backs that derail my progress forward. There will be days when one step forward will be followed by five back. I can be assured that in this life I will experience disappointments and failures.
But I can come back again tomorrow.
The failure of my yesterday does not dictate the success of my tomorrow.
Every morning that I wake up, no matter how miserable the prior day's defeat, I open my eyes to a clean slate and a chance to begin again. Each day I can begin anew by releasing the failures of my past and embracing God's promises of future success.
With the dawning of each new day I have the opportunity to put in a new set of lenses and wear a renewed vision for the future that says so long to failure, pain, disappointment, setbacks and bloodshot eyes.
And hello to victory.
Victory in Jesus.

Simple Pleasures

Pippy and Molly trotted alongside me, basking in the rare February sunshine. Fifty five degrees and not a cloud in the sky is unheard of in a northern Pennsylvania winter and the dogs knew it. Their furry faces were downright cheery.
Together the three of us breathed in the fresh air and familiar scent of lake water brushing up against the rocks at the bay's edge. Pippy and Molly pranced with all of the thrill and excitement of liberated hostages. They sniffed at tree stumps and dirt with exuberance, as if they were discovering nature for the very first time. In their prancing paws I could practically hear the refrain, "Free at last, free at last, thank God I'm free at last."
Along the surface of the bay I took in the sight of dozens of small little boats dotting the surface of the still blue water. The small crafts bobbed up and down and swayed left to right as fishermen stood up and cast their lines into the chilly waters below. Not a chunk of floating ice in sight, the men could cast their line and reel while leaving the ice-pick at home - a fisherman's February dream.
Back on dry land little tricycles and big wheels went zooming past me. Parents followed in hot pursuit, reminding kids to use their manners. But what child could possibly remember manners when a rare winter bike ride was underway? One youngster struggled to make her little legs pump her shiny pink Barbie bicycle. Thankfully her Mom came to her rescue and gave the fledgling rider a much needed push. The little girl went speeding effortlessly down the pavement as she let out a few "yipees" and many bouts of joyous laughter. Glee was written all over her face.
It was on this snow-less pavement, in the middle of February, walking with my furry friends, that nothing truly significant happened.
And yet everything significant happened because it was on that ordinary walk that I remembered how God is in the little things.
Under the unexpected February warmth, basking in the winter sun, I was reminded that life's simplest pleasures can be God's greatest gifts. Watching Pippy and Molly enjoy the natural beauty and wonder of God's creation prompted me to follow their lead. As the dogs sniffed at the tantalizing treasures of soil and earth below, I decided to embrace the awe and enchantment of their wandering noses by looking at the sky above. Gazing overhead, I simply reflected on the wonder of God's creation and as I did a smile broke out across my face.
How awesome is our Creator God! 
In the shining sun I could see and feel the mercy of God and the abundant warmth of His love. Blessing and thanksgiving washed over me like a tidal wave. Without a single word or sound uttered my heart began to cry out passionate "thank yous" to the Maker of the beauty and the designer of the precious simple pleasures surrounding me.
The scene was so lovely that Pippy, Molly and I added an ex
tra mile to our walk bu all walks, even the best of them, must come to an end. Thankfully, recognizing and rejoicing in God's simple pleasures and abundant goodness need never end.
On warm days and cold frigid days, it is my prayer that I will keep the lesson of the simple pleasures forever in my heart, prompting me to look upon the beaming face of God and say with all my heart and soul, "Thank you."

Lunchables and Life in 1999

Today I made a routine stop at the gas station to refill my car's empty tank. This is usually an uneventful occurrence and today was no exception. As I watched the screen click by in gallons and dollars I decided to play the fill up game. You know the one where you pick a dollar or gallon amount and challenge yourself to stop the flow of gasoline at that one particular moment on the pump's digital screen? The "stop on the precise cent" gas pumping game has no reward but I'm quite sure that most every adult plays it. I play it nearly every time I get gas and nearly every time I lose.
Today I chose to stop the fueling ritual at "$20.00." I watched the screen like a hawk with my hand gripping the lever, prepared to release the latch at the perfect moment. At nineteen dollars I slowed down the flow of gasoline. I judged the fueling speed as I counted down. Three, two, one. Release.
On the screen I saw defeat. "19.99." So close but yet so far.
When playing the fill up game this is normally when I go for the fueling equivalent of a Hail Mary pass by attempting to swiftly pull and release the gauge with such precision that only one cent worth of gas releases. I almost never succeed in my feat and today I didn't even go for such a play. The moment my eyes looked upon the numbers 1-9-9-9 I knew the game was over. It was supposed to be over because 1999 was, today, precisely where I was meant to stop.
When I gazed upon 1-9-9-9 I didn't see dollars and cents. I saw a year; my ninth year of life. In 1999 I was in the fourth grade. I remember that year well. It was, in many ways, a challenging year for me. It wasn't the school work that created a problem. It was the feeling of being alone.
In 1999 all of my friends were in other classrooms. That was tough enough during math, science and school projects but it was at its worst during lunch. Since the seating in the elementary school cafeteria was separated according to classroom no friends in class meant no friends at the lunch table.
I remember eating at the end of the table, feeling like an outcast as I munched on my Lunchables. I could see my friends across the cafeteria but I couldn't sit next to them. I couldn't join in their conversation or share in their laughter. I could see companionship and belonging but it felt a world away.
I've done a lot of growing up since 1999. I no longer eat Lunchables and I don't get my meals from ladies in hair nets. Adulthood has freed me from the cafeteria of my childhood but it hasn't freed me from feelings of loneliness. I often feel just as alone as I did as a nine year old girl.
Being trapped in a body plagued with MS, a condition that is so hard to explain, can be utterly isolating. No one can see the pain and torment gripping my body. No one can truly know the toll on my spirit caused by a malfunctioning body. There are days I feel just as removed from companionship and alienated from the world as I did during fourth grade lunch.Today as I reflected on my loneliness of 1999 I realized that it is not so different from my loneliness of today, in 2017. But there is one glaring difference.
Now I know the truth. I am not alone and never have been.
In 1999, as a young girl, I didn't understand this truth. I didn't see that God was right there with me at the lunch table. God never missed a day or skipped a lunch. He was never absent and never even dreamed of going to sit at another table. God was there with me for every Lunchable and every soggy chicken pattie. As a vulnerable nine year old girl I never looked up to behold His presence. I didn't reach out to Him to keep me company.
But today, in 2017, I see that God was with me then and He is with me now. In my physical struggles, pain and suffering God has been present as my comforter and sustainer. He's never missed a single spasm or flare up. During every hot flash He's stuck by me. God has never let me endure my pain alone. When I've cried, God has been there. When I've laughed, God has been there. When I've had bad days, lamented my lot in life and begged for it all to end, God hasn't even contemplated switching tables.
God has and always will be with me. From the gourmet meals to the worst of the cafeteria offerings; from the highs to the lows of my physical condition. God is always there as my companion and friend. I am never alone because God takes a seat right next to me at every table.

I am well

I used to think my sickness was a curse. Some cruel form of punishment for past wrongdoings. When I became sick I believed I was the cause of my illness. Something I had done in my previous life, my life before I became one with Christ, must have brought about my malady. I believed that my sickness was a consequence for my rebellion.
Years ago God lifted that veil of misunderstanding. He showed me that when He forgave me and when I accepted that forgiveness, my transgressions and every evidence that they were ever perpetrated was removed. God forgave and forgot. When my eyes were opened to this truth a heavy burden was lifted from my shoulders. I wasn't the cause of my health crisis. My sin didn't bring about my sickness. I was and am forgiven and free.
The burden of self-guilt and blame lifted years ago but one question has remained. Why am I sick? I've asked this question so many times I sound like a broken record. I question why my health took a drastic and sudden turn for the worse and what set the whole decline into motion. Like a young child longing for understanding I've raised my question to God, seeking clarity and truth. If I am not the cause of my condition, then what did cause it and why?
For years I have been waiting for God to answer my question. From my knees on my floor I've been calling for help, writing messages of SOS in the sands of my heart's desperate cries. Little did I know that I was asking the wrong question.
All this time I've been defining my sickness in terms of my physical condition. God's definition looks much different. And so is His answer.
You see, here is where I went wrong. I thought that being sick was all about the failing of my body but God's definition of sickness is entirely different. He defines sickness as a weakness in heart. Sickness is not a condition of the body. It is a separation from Christ.
In that moment of revelation God showed me that His primary concern for me is not the functioning of my body. It is the wellness of my heart.
And that's when I received the answer to my question.
You are not sick. You are not weak because you're heart is strong in Christ.  
God had to cleanse me of my faulty definition of sickness before I came to realize that I was asking the wrong questions and seeking the wrong answers. The right answer, the one my heart has longed for all along, was written long before I ever posed the question.
I am not sick at all. I am well because all is well with my soul.