Cast ALL Your Burdens...

Sometimes, anxiety likes to wake me so that we can hang out together.  While I'm flattered and all, it's just not really my cup of tea.  Or coffee, which I can't actually taste today.  Maybe tomorrow...

It goes something like this:

A:  "WAKE UP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

:::gasping for breath:::

me:  ...what?

A:  "YOU'RE GONNA FORGET TO TAKE YOUR DAUGHTER TO HER DR APPOINTMENT!"
me:  ugh, no I'm not...it's on my calendar.

A:  "YOU'RE GONNA FORGET TO PAY THE MORTGAGE!"
me:  when have I ever 'forgotten' to pay that?  No one 'forgets' their mortgage payment.  C'mon, you gotta do better than this, Anxiety.

A:  "YOU'RE NOT GOING TO GET ANYTHING DONE AT WORK TODAY!"

:::chest tightness begins, Anxiety seems to be hitting a nerve, gotta talk to God::: 

me:  I will get done what I'm able to get done...

A:  "YOU'RE NOT GOING TO DO ANYTHING RIGHT TODAY.  HAHA!"

:::adrenaline rush, we're so done sleeping, it's time to talk to God:::

So what do I do...half asleep, yet fully awake?  Well, I mess it up.  I respond by making trades with the Lord.  Trades, ya'll.  As if I haven't read the verse hundreds of times.  "Cast ALL..." not some.

I also think of everyone else who may be feeling anxious.  Because at 3am, there's plenty of time to think.  Students taking, or getting ready to take, their finals.  Friends going through health challenges, financial burdens, concerns for their children, job stuff, marital stuff...all sorts of stuff.  I asked God to be with each of them and make His presence known.  Comfort those kids, those friends...be in those circumstances...bring them - us - through it all.

And He will.

By the time I was done conversing with God and got tired again, it was time to be up for work.  So?  I passed the time by making a picture from one of the flowers my kids took a picture of.  This flower was so striking that maybe it will help me (and maybe someone else) remember.  All anxieties, not some.

Be well, friends!

That Awkward Moment When A Pop Singer Captures Your Life w/MS

I very well may be Demi Lovato's oldest fan.  I mean, do women who are on a 4-5 week color cycle typically have her songs on their iThingie?  Probably not.

(women under 30 are wondering what a 'color cycle' is...and my response is, "just wait, sister.")

Regardless of how often I may or may not have to pour unnatural goop onto my hair, or what my iThingie library consists of, one thing is for certain:

Demi Lovato nailed it.

Let me give you some background...

This morning, I had an argument with my husband.  While these are rare, they are usually bad.  They are bad, because arguing with one's spouse is bad.  In addition, they are bad, because I do not address things as they are happening.  Instead, I mentally record every "I-can't-believe-he-just-walked-past-that-giant-laundry-basket", every "I-know-he-didn't-just-drink-the-last-of-that-iced-tea-and-not-put-a-new-pot-on-the-stove", and every "did-he-really-put-that-mug-in-the-sink-when-I-just-loaded-the-dishwasher?"  And then?  After I've collected too many of those and begin to answer myself with, "yes...yes he did...", they all come flying out.

That is bad.

Like this morning.  I smashed my hand after losing my balance while descending the stairs with an overflowing laundry basket.  Hope you followed all of that.

We did the usual exchange, which goes a lot like...I yell, he stares, I yell some more, he stares, I ask him what he's looking at, he stares, I yell until I've tired myself out.  But not today.  Today he was snappish (after the first few rounds of stares).

him:  "Why don't you say you need help?"
me:   "Why don't you GET. UP.?"
him:   :::blank stare:::
me:   "Do you understand that my whole body is twitching and vibrating right now?  And that I should not have to carry these baskets all the time!"
him, snarky:  "How am I supposed to know that you're not feeling well and all...twitching and...!"

oh. no.

me, interrupting and erupting:  "LET'S OPERATE FROM THE STANDPOINT THAT I NEVER. FEEL. WELL., OKAY???  C'MON!  WE'VE BEEN DOING THIS FOR ALMOST 15 YEARS NOW!"

...and then I started to do this new thing where water leaked out of my eyes.  What could my husband do?  But stare?  And go to work?  Nothing.  That's what.  At least the tears stopped me from continuing to speak, 'cause I won't talk and cry, 'cause then people will know I'm like...crying.

Ugh, this.  It's just one of those realities for my husband and I.  And maybe for others out there in The Land of Invisible Symptoms.  I assume.  He assumes.  I assume some more.  I have enough of him assuming.  I explode and ruin my chances at Proverbs 31 Wife of The Month.  Again.  I tell him I'm sorry for arguing.  He tells me he's sorry for not realizing I need help.  I tell him it's not his fault he's not clairvoyant.  We laugh it off.  And I remind myself of what is trying to tear me down.  It's not my husband watching the morning news with a cup of coffee.  It's not the housework that never has an end point.  It's not even that person who takes the best parking spot.

It's ms.

And here's where Demi nails it.  She goes and sings a song about a building and I think we can all get with it, or at least certain parts.  Especially if you're a little silly like me and find it both humorous and simpler to personify ms at times.

Go on and try to tear me (us) down.  I (we) will be rising from the ground.  Possibly falling into the wall like this morning, but rising nonetheless.  Because skyscrapers.





Dear Demi:

It's okay that we're on a first name basis, right?  In any case, I greatly appreciate your music.  Someday, I hope to see you sing in person.  I'll be the oldest lady in the crowd with the scuffed left shoe and the 2 teenagers hiding their faces while I sing along.  Keep up the great work!

Sincerely,

Tina (because we're totally on a first name basis)

Update: What Was Actually The Matter w/My Son

First - I want to thank you all for your prayers and thoughts and for my son.  I'm beyond humbled by the overwhelming response to what was essentially a "dear diary" post.  You guys are amazing.  Seriously amazing.  And I mean that :)

Next - I want to tell you the good news!

A cardiologist at our local childrens hospital confirmed that the chest pain he was having after his hockey games?  Totally not cardiac.  No restriction of activity necessary.  No follow up appointments.  No more deductible charges or copays.  In his beautiful accent and somewhat gruff bedside manner, he reported that it is "not da heart".

I immediately knew what that meant.

Reflux.  He has reflux.

And, while GI stuff is still "stuff"...it's nothing he can't get under control with a little dietary modification and a little medication and a little maybe-stop-eating-jalapenos-why-don'tcha.

So today, as we wrapped up the weekend by swinging through our local walmart in search of dress shirts that actually fit for an upcoming trip, I couldn't help but giggle at him the whole time.  He was so carefree.  Smiling.  Laughing at the more trendy clothing on the racks, because he's a very old skool kind of guy...as evidenced by his nifty pair of wingtips.  Humming and singing a song that was stuck in his head.

This song:




No wonder he was so carefree :)

There’s no space that His love can’t reach

There’s no place that we can’t find peace

There’s no end to Amazing Grace

My Son's ER Visit, Sunday Night Gameplans, and Galatians

Last week, immediately following my son's first week back to physical activity (a.k.a. dek hockey game), he started with chest pain and a heart rate that could best be compared to...dub step.  Several hours after his game, he started to feel a little better.  Rather than take him to the hospital, primarily because he was feeling better, I decided to call the doctor first thing in the morning.

She didn't really have much to say except, "take him to the hospital if it happens again, unless you want me to order tests."

Kay?

This week, immediately following my son's second week back to physical activity (a.k.a. dek hockey game)...the same thing happened.  So I followed the doctor's orders and took him to the hospital.

:::Sidebar:::

We've been through so many years of doctor/hospital stuff, he and I.  We had a great conversation about that in the middle of the night as he waited to hear his test results and whether or not he'd be staying.  He really just wanted his bed, but he couldn't yet lay flat without discomfort.  He did say that the gurney was much more comfortable than he thought it would be and turned down offers of warmed blankets and refreshments.  He didn't want to trouble the nurse.

When I looked into his face, he was really just an overgrown version of the toddler who sat very still on each hospital gurney and doctors' table so many years ago.  His gaze fixed on...me.  Gauging whether or not I doubted the medical team, so he'd know if he should doubt them.  Gauging whether or not I looked scared, so he'd know if he should be scared.

Me? Scared?  Nah.  Because the only time I was scared for him was in 1999.  And that's when I found out that God was real.  Before then?  Nope, didn't believe that.

But...because I know that, and because I've told him that story and he knows that, and because we are surrounded by SO MANY friends who focus their prayers and kind thoughts on us, there's no reason to be afraid.

:::Sidebar finished:::

The end result of his hospital visit was...his EKG and xrays came back fine.  We're to follow up this week with doctors, because there is something going on.  They were just ruling out an emergent situation.

So it's Sunday night and I find myself sitting here, working on a game plan for this week.  Ya know, which 'son calls' should be made first over my lunch break.  Will I even bother with the ped, or go straight to old faithful Childrens Hospital.  I'm not one to play.  I think we all know what I'll be doing.  I'm looking over our checkbook.  Taking a peek in the pantry.  Asking the husband if we can make it another week without ordering heating oil.  I look over at my son, knowing how far the Lord has brought him, feeling a sense of absolute peace with whatever may come...and find him staring at his electronic device with a look of sadness on his face.  I ask him what's wrong and he says that his friend is going through a time of sadness, stress, and disappointment.  He explains ways that he just wants to fix it, but knows he can't.  He decides the best thing he can do is pray for his friend and ask God to comfort and bless them in this time of literal "ugh".

Amen.

Just as so many are doing for him...and he doesn't even know it.

We all battle something, right?  But?  We all have each other.  I thank God for that.

It doesn't mean things will be easy.  It doesn't mean they'll always go the way we want them to.  But it does mean that we can get through it, whatever "it" is.


Bear one another's burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ. - Galatians 6:2

MS = Why I Don't Commit to Stuff

I love serving others.

Serving others and volunteering is a blessing and not just to those on the receiving end.  I think we can all get with that.

But.  I also have an "energy bank".  And over the past-almost-15yrs, I've gotten pretty good at knowing how to "budget" something for which you have no steady income, nor consistent expenses.  What's my secret to managing my energy bank?

There isn't one.  It's day to day.  The only successful management of my energy bank is to do the things I absolutely must do (get up, go to work, come home) and leave the other things to be sorted through after those 3 have been accounted for.

There was a big event planned at my kids' school.  Emails and notices came around weeks ago with bunches of opportunities to smile and socialize and serve and bless others as they went about the itinerary of this great day.  I was chomping at the bit!  Countless times, I began an email to those in charge.  "I can help!"  But, I never actually sent any of them.  It's as if ms froze my index finger and simply would not allow it to click the mouse.  I told myself that...if it was meant to be?  It would be.  I would wake up on game day with at least some energy and tiny measure of strength.  I also told myself I would not feel guilty about it if I didn't.

That's something I've also been working on for the past-almost-15yrs ;)

Today was game day.  I woke up to a beautiful sunrise!  Obnoxious birds, scream singing with elation!  Our horrendous winter has finally given way to a burst of spring!  I had a nice conversation with my husband before he left for work.  I had a nice cup of coffee placed in front of me.

I could do this!!!

When suddenly, and I'm talking pretty suddenly, something like a weighted blanket washed over me.  I picked my coffee mug up, drew it to my mouth, and...just tasted warm liquid.

Ugh.  Looks like today's an "I can't taste stuff" day.

I told myself...that's okay!  I don't need to be able to pass a taste test to go smile and socialize with a bunch of people!  I told myself to go to the shower and wash the blanket off.  After serving at the event, I would come home and take my kids out for breakfast.  Yes!  That's exactly what I would do...

But.

When I got to the top of the stairs, that voice came into my head.  You know what it said..."if you lay down for a couple minutes, you'll feel a lot better."

Lies.

Four hours later, I woke up to a beautiful, sunny day.  Birds still screaming with elation.  At some point during my slumber, my kids had opened a couple of windows to allow the fresh, spring air in.  And started laundry.  And did the dishes.  And cleaned the kitchen.  And looked at me with smiley faces and said, "Good morning, mom!  Didjya sleep good?"

Yeah.  I did.

"Do you want breakfast?"

Yeah.  I do.  Sure.

My plans = wake up early, go serve at the event, come home, wake my kids, take them to breakfast.

MS's plans = wake up early, punch Tina in the face, send her back to bed, render her day useless.

What really happened = wake up early, get punched in the face, get sent back to bed, wake up to find that I was actually the one being served, give giant hugs to my kids, and spend the rest of this beautiful day with them.

My "energy bank" may be kinda low, but my blessings are innumerable :D

Mac Arthur Park - a story about a cake

Yep.  That's the best title I could come up with.

I'm sorry in advance.

****************************************

My husband turned 44 last week.

And there's something you should know.  My husband?  Loves his birthday.  And he doesn't just love it.  He L.O.V.E.S. it.  In fact, he could best be compared to the camel in the commercials.

"Know what's in 2 weeks?  What's in 2 weeeeeeeeks!  Honey.  Hey kids.  Guess.  Guesssssss what's in 2 weeks!"

All I could think was...really?  Do you want me to rent a moonbounce?  Cotton candy machine?  Wooden yard animals proclaiming, "John's 44!"

Really?

But what he really wanted, aside from attention, was his annual chocolate-cake-with-peanut-butter-icing.  Homemade.

Just the mere word "homemade" deducts about 10 points from my Energy Bank.  

As the days wore on, my husband's countdown changed.  "What what whaaaat!  8 days til my birthday!" and "5...5...5 days til mah birthday!" and "3 more days, 3 more days...til what, you ask?  MY BIRTHDAY!  YEAH!!!"

Guess what else changed by the day?  My...presentation, if you will.

We're having extreme weather, and you all know how much MS likes extremes.  About as much as I like my own birthday.  I found myself dragging through each workday.  So mentally exhausted.  So physically vibratory.  My legs gave out while I was walking through our local grocery store in search of the perfect lunch to the point where I had to seek stability at the salad bar.  I took that to mean my perfect lunch was at the salad bar.

Let me tell you what makes people stare.  A woman dressed in business casual, holding onto the salad bar railing with both hands, trying not to fall into the food nor smash her face into the sneeze guard.  People stared, then walked away...muttering things.  Yet all I could hear in my mind, through my obviously embarrassing moment of lower extremity instability, was my husband's countdown to his 44th year.  "What what whaaaaat!"

:::gotta be kidding me:::

By the time we were at Birthday Eve (again, really?), I had nothing left.  Not physically.  Not emotionally.  Simple tasks, such as emptying the sink, wiping down the stove, and sweeping the floor, were no less daunting than running miles and miles in the sweltering heat was during my sporty days.  It didn't help that I reached saturation with my husband.  Every towel of his I picked up off the bathroom floor and every dirty dish of his I loaded into the dishwasher made me hate the idea of baking his cake.  In fact?  I came to hate the actual cake.  I began to run scenarios in my mind of baking the cake, sitting it behind my rear tire, and backing over it.  Hey honey, what's that in the driveway?  What what whaaaat?

Cake.  That's what.

I decided not to.  Cake did nothing to deserve a Yokohama tire print down the center.  Plus, I'm really trying to be a Proverbs 31 wife.  Nowhere in those scriptures is it revealed that the "wife of noble character" marched her donkey, in a stomping motion, across her husband's birthday flax...loaf?  No.  I would ask the Lord to forgive my horrible, cake destroying thoughts.  Create in me a clean heart, and renew a right spirit within me.  A nicer, more patient, more gentle me.  The me who wants to glorify You with everything I have.  That woman does not drive over food.

Finally, the birthday came.  I woke up in the morning and felt as if my entire body, complete with vibrating legs, stabby chest, and squeezing head, weighed 600lbs.  I dragged myself from my puffy cloud of swirling blankets to the coffee maker, to the shower, to the closet, down the stairs, to the car, and to work.  I had a great day :)  I then balanced our checkbook, remembered stuff I was sure I'd forget, got laundry started, and felt like I'd experienced several victories all at once!

But I didn't make the cake.

My husband came home and looked on the counter...but it was not there.

He opened the microwave...but it was not there.

He peered into the refrigerator...but it was not there.

"I'm sorry.  I didn't make your cake."

To which my husband stopped for a moment, looked at me in order to attempt to figure out whether I was being snarky or about to burst into tears.  The answer to that was simply "yes".

I had carried the guilt for days.  I'd argued with myself in that ugly way that I do.  I told myself it was ridiculous for a grown man to be so excited about a random birthday.  I told myself that he needed to get over himself.  And I told myself that I didn't care about his cake.  But then, my good self surfaced.  It's not ridiculous that he was being joyful and silly.  He works very hard for us.  He never asks for anything but that stupid cake.  The stupid cake I truly did care about, because I care about him.

And anyway, MS is stupid.  Not cake.

Enter tears.  Enter Donna Summer's song from my childhood.  Someone may have left the cake out in the rain.  They may never have that recipe again.  But at least they baked it in the first place...which made me cry more.

Fast forward a day.

My son has this wonderful, amazing, beautiful friend.  And she loves to bake.  And she bakes really well.  And she came over.  And you know what?

She and my son made the cake.  The cake that's half gone.  Or half full, depending on how you interpret a cake plate.

This time, my tears were those of gratitude.

I stood at the sink, washing their used dishes and utensils, replaying their laughter in my mind, giving thanks to God for a pair of 14yr olds who would rather do something for someone else than have actual fun in playing a video game together.  They were sitting at the kitchen table, kinda just...hangin' out...with me.  In that moment, I realized that baking his cake together and being in the same room as stabby me was "actual fun" to them.  All I could do was shake my head and smile through the tears.

To some, it was 'just' a cake for my husband's birthday.  My kind, loving husband.  To me, it was an obstacle I could not seem to overcome in the midst of overcoming everyday life.  But!  Those kids came to my rescue.  Sort of like the railing at the salad bar, but far less awkward.

Well done, kids.  You are appreciated.  Like...you don't even know :-)

Happy "Sweet 16th", Beautiful Daughter

Happy Sweet 16th to the most...

Wow.

I'm having trouble with the huge listing of adjectives, because I start typing and they sound like I'm quoting the fruits of the Spirit.  I guess I actually am.

What can I say about my Bean?

Christ-like.  Every adjective I type falls under that.  Loving, caring, kind, compassionate, resilient, selfless, incredibly hard working, just...amazing. And beautiful.  And smart.  And...amazing.

It's not easy being a kid in this house.  These kids have experienced some rather unflattering, possibly worrying, borderline frightening moments where their mother was (okay, 'is') concerned.  The awkward word salads, Olympic-sized falls, days of post-shot side effects, and pseudobulbar roller coaster rides.  Those are just the highlights.

It's not easy being my daughter.  She's grown up in the shadow of a mother with holes in her head, and a brother who's had a rough handful - maybe 2 handfuls - of years with his health.  There were times she's felt overlooked.  Ugh, just typing that brings tears to my eyes.  If she only knew how often she was at the forefront of my thoughts.  All the lengthy drives to my appointments and studies...and to her brother's appointments...I wanted nothing more than to be home with her, sitting with her, reading to her, playing games with her.  And all the times I'd choose to go to the rehabilitation hospital's chapel to read and pray (instead of clip coupons and gossip with the other moms) while my son was receiving treatments...and the times I took their picture with me so I would have the courage to inject myself with medicine that was making me horribly ill - she was foremost in my thoughts.  My oldest 'baby'.  My beautiful little girl.  Sure, I had told her how much I loved her and wanted to do things with her, you know, as I was dozing off or on my way out the door to yet another appointment, but I always wished she could truly know my heart.  I would whine to the Lord and explain that it...all this health stuff...wasn't fair for these kids.  None of it.  Not fair.

But God...

...has made Himself so visible and real to her, occasionally through those hard moments - maybe 'especially' through those hard moments - which I had determined to be "not fair".  She has a scripture for every occasion.  When the going gets rough, and it certainly has done that, she seeks refuge in the Word. She is an example.

That's what I could say.  She is an example...of Christ-like living.

She's also a quiet leader who envisions herself in a ministry position.  She prepares Bible studies and devotionals with a peaceful smile that she probably doesn't even realize she's wearing as she works.  I suppose it speaks to that verse in Philippians about the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, guarding hearts and minds in Christ.

That peaceful smile :)  God has done - and will continue to do - incredible things through her.

And she's my Bean.  I can't measure my love for her, because no one's ever come up with those sorts of words.  Not even me - in my most intricate of word salads.

Happy Birthday, Bean.  You are loved beyond words...even made up ones ;)