"In order to write about life, first you must live it." ~ Ernest Hemingway

Category: God (Page 2 of 3)

Hearing God

A few weeks ago, I was going through a particularly challenging time with my health issues. I felt like I was caught in the hamster wheel of the medical world yet once again. Of course, I am always caught up in the medical world because of this chronic illness, but some times are worse than others. Usually when I am attending more than two medical appointments every week, that is a sign that the hamster wheel is going too fast. I was on and off antibiotics and larger doses of steroids for three consecutive sinus infections since May, I found out that my immune system wasn’t working properly, I was having issues with my eustachian tubes in my ears, which was causing a lot of pain and some hearing loss, and the list went on and on. I had a vacation coming up and I wasn’t even sure how I was going to pull that off….

During this time, out of the blue, I received an e-mail from the pastor of St. Paul’s Episcopal Church in Suffolk, Virginia, Rev. Keith Emerson. He had been doing an internet search on Matthew 21 from The Bible and the topic of being beaten down in life. This search brought him to a blog pot I wrote on February 26, 2012 called “Beaten Down and Other Musings.” I had been going through a particularly dark time when I had been dealing with some life-threatening medical issues including a run in with Guillain-Barre and some blood clots that were found in my lungs.

So Rev. Emerson wrote me, told me how he came upon my blog, and talked a little about the meaning of Matthew 21 and his words were profound and very timely. His words of encouragement calmed me and him mentioning that previous blog post also reminded me of how much worse things were in the past and of how strong I really am. It comforted me to know that a total stranger, somewhere in this world, took the time to care and reach out to me.

I eventually went and read Matthew 21 later that day and I also went back and read that old blog post. By doing so, I gained some perspective into my current situation.

In that moment of reading that e-mail, and in all the moments that followed, I truly believed that God was speaking to me through this stranger, in a way that was clearer to me than it had ever been before:

Keep going.
Don’t give up.
You are strong.


I did reply to his e-mail and Rev. Emerson sent me the link to his blog, the one which contains the sermon he ended up writing. He informed me about the positive effect it had on a member of his congregation. This was such a prime example of how God uses each of us in order to make a difference and how telling our stories can make an impact on the world.

I have included the sermon below. You can visit Rev. Emerson at his blog by clicking here: Check Out The Sermons

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October 6, 2014
Beaten Down/Raised Up
Rev., Dr. Keith Emerson

The tenants seized the slaves and beat one, killed another, and stoned another.  Again the vineyard owner sent other slaves, more than the first; and they treated them in the same way.” 

Here is one of my all-time favorite stories.  It will give you a chuckle, not a laugh, but it comes back to me again and again.  A man owned a bakery that was famous for two things: fabulous, fresh-baked bread and a talking parakeet. The bird repeated almost everything the baker said.  Well, as you can imagine, the shop was very popular and at different times of the day was jammed with customers.  It was not uncommon for multiple people to shout an order at the same time.  In the face of such an onslaught the baker would insist, “One at a time!  One at a time!”  One day the unthinkable happened: the parakeet escaped out the front door of the shop.  The baker, only a step or two behind, dashed outside and spied the parakeet perched on the branch of a nearby tree where it had already attracted the attention of a huge flock of mean-spirited crows.  Dozens of birds were diving at the parakeet from all directions.  It was then that the baker heard his parakeet squawk, “One at a time! One at a time!”

I suspect each of us knows what it feels like to be that parakeet.  No one gets through life without being challenged, and my experience is that challenges don’t confront us in a nice, orderly fashion. They tend to come in bunches, don’t they?  Doesn’t the old expression ‘kick a person when he is down’ hint that challenges tend to attract more challenges, hardship seems to begat more hardship, affliction has a way of multiplying, and tough times often test us with even tougher times.  At one time or another, everyone one of us has been that parakeet in the tree. Some of us are ducking for cover right now and screaming or pleading or begging with all our might, “One at a time!  One at a time!”

Earlier this week I happened upon a blog post written a few years ago by Christine, a forty-year-old woman who lives in Massachusetts. She has been diagnosed with Sjogren’s syndrome, an autoimmune disease that attacks the glands that secrete tears and saliva.  Some time after she began to deal with this, Christine developed blood clots in her lungs.  Then she was diagnosed with Guillain-Barre syndrome, where the immune system attacks nerves and leads to profound muscle weakness.  More treatment led to head pain, nausea, and increased tremors.  Add to this dealing with health insurance, which is not easy even under the best of conditions, as well as the day to day challenges we all face (her computer crashed) and it is pretty easy to understand why Christine gave her post the title “Beaten Down.”

“My body wants to feel pretty again,” she wrote.  “It feels disfigured from the bruises and the rashes.  From the hair that is starting to fall out, from the steroids and the often pale, makeup-less face that stares back at me in the mirror… the darkened eyes that used to be so much more vibrant.   My body does not understand that it is an effort to get it clean every day right now.  Will I ever be able to do an activity again for more than ten or fifteen minutes without needing to sit or lie down,” she wondered? “Will I ever be able to stoop down again without falling over or needing help to get up?  Will I ever be able to shower and wash my hair again without it being this epic event that exhausts me and makes me shake?”

Some of you have been in that place, others not far from it, and surely the rest of us can sympathize with Christine and her plight.

When Jesus tells a parable he invites us, the listeners, to locate ourselves in the story.  Which person or character are you?  We may see ourselves in multiple characters, or, as our life changes, may recognized that we have shifted from one person to another.  Where do you see yourself in today’s parable of the vineyard owner and the wicked tenants?  If things are going well then you may not identify with the servants and messengers who are treated rudely, disrespected, beaten, and/or killed. But my guess is there have been times in your life when you are they and they are you.  You don’t have to have been victimized by thugs to fill their shoes.  Sometimes life itself is the thug and it hits us with more than we can handle.  As with Christine, it may be health crisis.  It might center on a relationship.  It could involve employment.  Life has lots of ways to beat us down.

When I was younger I had a problem.  I believed that life should never do me wrong.  It wasn’t like I had never been challenged.  My father died when I was twenty.  I had the girlfriend or two who broke my heart.  I had a friend or two that betrayed me.  But I was making the path for my life laying one brick at a time and it seemed that nothing could or should get in my way.  That assumption was challenged mightily after I graduated from seminary and took my first job as an assistant to the rector of a parish.  Nothing in life had prepared me to work with a person as dysfunctional as he was.  He meddled and manipulated and basically made miserable both my professional and my personal life. To make matters worse, I was completely unequipped to deal with such a person and that is a recipe for disaster.  Eventually, I was unemployed and nearly broken by the experience.

Last week I told you about a decision I had to make: keep my word and work for a church whose job offer I had accepted, or break my word and accept a new, second offer.  That dilemma came during this time of unemployment.  I hope you remember the counsel I received from priest who had welcomed me into the Episcopal Church (“What do you want your word to be worth?”) and the letter he wrote to me (“Blessed is he who giveth his word to his brother and dissappointeth him not… even though it be to his own hindrance”). You may recall I said that letter was the most powerful and formative correspondence I have ever received.

What I shared with you last week was the first part.  Today I want to read the second half, which addressed the residue I carried with me after the pain and disappointment of my first calling:

You may feel your experiences in ministry to date warrant cynical and angry responses.  The truth is that negative experience does not exist.  There is simply experience.  The Lord is with us when we use our experience to deepen our love and to strengthen our praise.  The cross was not a “negative” experience.  On the contrary, it is for us the ultimate witness to the power of God to evoke grace in every circumstance.  I pray that you will be entirely free of the fault of resentment which will rob you of all joy and disable you as a man and therefore as a minister.  Let all clamor cease in your heart, and if that is not possible, lay that fault penitently and incessantly before God in prayer.  Resentment and self-pity are the virtuous vestments put on by unregenerate egotism for disguise. No one, of course, is deceived, except oneself. 

Congratulations on your new appointment.  Accepted with humility and offered in love, your ministry will be blessed.

Over the years the truth and wisdom of his words have been born out in my life time and again.  Life, like the ocean, is what it is. Sometimes the tide goes out, sometimes it comes in.  Some days are calm while others are rough and choppy.  There are days when everything is as you would like it to be and other days when a hidden rip current is ready to take you for a ride into the unknown (and unwanted).  More than when I was younger, I now receive moments of grace with thankfulness and humility and I am better at facing adversity with joy, faith, and patient acceptance. To quote again my friend,“The cross was not a ‘negative’ experience.  On the contrary, it is for us the ultimate witness to the power of God to evoke grace in every circumstance” and “the Lord is with us when we use our experience to deepen our love and to strengthen our praise.”   I see and sense that better now than I did years ago.

At the end of Christine’s blog post she writes this:

I was sitting in church this morning and looking around at the various people scattering the pews and wondering how many of them were feeling beaten down right at this moment?  Or wondering how many of them had maybe felt beaten down at a different time in their lives?  A time where some things did not make sense or that they felt they had endured more than their fair share of beatings so to speak.  I don’t have to know all of their stories to know that those stories are there in some form or another.  Tales of survival. Tales of people who became stronger and more compassionate people because of what they had to endure.  Journeys that were easier than mine and definitely journeys that were more difficult than mine.  People who were beaten down but yet rose up.  Again. And again.  And again.  Just like I will.


Her words remind me of the ancient Japanese proverb: “Fall seven times, stand up eight.”  “My strength didn’t come from lifting weights,” another person said.   “My strength came from lifting myself up every time I was knocked down.”

In the parable he told, Jesus is of course the son who is killed, as he himself one day will be crucified. He then quotes a rather obscure psalm that describes how the rejected stone becomes the cornerstone.  The message for us is straightforward: Life’s challenges and trials have a way, through the grace of God and the power of resurrection, to make us stronger, better, and more useful than we were before. We who gather here this morning are stones weathered and hewed by the experiences of life, yet witnesses to God’s grace to use every experience to evoke a working of grace.

Our Wedding Ceremony

“I promise to always be your best friend. The person you can count on to confide in and to lift you up when you are down. I will be the gentle hand in the middle of the night and your port in every storm. I promise to do my best to make the rest of our lives together full of joy and laughter. I will always honor our marriage and I will love you all the days of my life.” ~ Me
  
 
May 18, 2013

Until that day, I never believed that there was such a thing as a perfect day. I wasn’t looking for perfection. At some points in the seventeen months preceding that day, I was just looking to make it to the day in one piece.
 
Until that day, I never believed it was possible to live so fully in the moment that my mind could be free of any other thoughts.
 
Until that day, I never quite fully understood the magnitude of the love that surrounds my husband and I.
 
May 18, 2013 was our wedding day. For those of you who know me or follow my blog on a regular basis, you know that it was no small feat to get to this day. 2012-early 2013 plagued my husband Chuck and I with crisis after crisis; from me being almost paralyzed and then developing life threatening blood clots in my lungs to the illness and death of Chuck’s mother. There was also a lot of other bad stuff in between. Yet despite those events, we continued to plan our wedding day. We felt it was important to celebrate our love with those in our lives. We had made a decision to split up the ceremony and reception into two separate events to make it more manageable with my autoimmune illness. The reception is still to come on June 1st.
 
 
I have always been a big believer in the fact that it is the marriage, and not the wedding itself, that is the priority. Keeping that attitude in mind, I approached May 18th with a fierce determination to not allow myself, or us as a couple, to lose sight of the significance of what we were doing. And like all weddings, there were issues. Due to ending a friendship, I lost a bridesmaid two months before the wedding. There was a phone call less than 72 hours before the wedding that none of the flowers I had picked out for the groom and groomsmen were available. People I was expecting and hoping would attend were either unable to attend for various reasons or made a choice not to attend.  But when I woke up that morning at 5:30am, none of it mattered. What did matter was that by 1:45pm, this man whom I love with every fiber of my being, was going to be my husband.
 
 
I will admit, the day before was tough on me physically. Everything went very well; we got the church parish hall dining room set up like we wanted for the dessert and coffee hour we were having after the ceremony and the rehearsal/rehearsal dinner went off without a hitch. But the day was a busy one and we were both exhausted. Chuck spent that night at a hotel because he knew it was important to me that we not see each other before the ceremony the next morning. My friend Nicole, who was a bridesmaid, stayed overnight with me but unfortunately I was too exhausted when we got home at 9pm from the rehearsal dinner to even be social. Sorry Nicole!
 
 
The next morning found me spending three hours at a salon with Nicole and my maid-of-honor, Chuck’s daughter Stephanie. It was a beautiful day out. 73 degrees and sunny with a slight breeze. I was a bit nervous, probably more from anticipation than anything else. I truly enjoyed this time at the salon with them and their excitement was evident. They were amazing as they ensured that every single detail was attended to and I honestly felt that if something bad went down, it would be handled. By the time we got to the church, ten minutes before the start of the ceremony, my nervousness had dissipated and I was excited to see Chuck.
 

 I was having a small issue with my dress and we changed our plans and got to the church earlier than planned. Because it was not yet 1pm, we went to the parish hall to recheck my dress issue and wait. Our parish hall is across the parking lot from the church and I was standing in a room looking out the window to the church and parking lot. It was such a surreal experience to watch our guests come in. Everyone looked so happy. I mean, seriously happy. I stood there and wondered – how did I get so blessed?
 
Chuck and I had put in a lot of thought and effort into the ceremony itself. We wanted it to be personal and we wanted it to convey our love to those in attendance. The ceremony started off by Nicole and Stephanie going down the aisle, escorted by my brother Dennis and one of our friends, Lou. The song was Can You Feel The Love Tonight? by Elton John. Then came a moment we had kept secret from as many people as possible. Chuck played and sang Marry Me by Train as I came down the aisle. It was such a beautiful moment. The guitar chords can be a bit tricky and I know he had been working on the song for months. He did such a great job and I honestly don’t know how either one of us got through the song. It was amazing to see the faces of our loved ones as I walked down the aisle. It was amazing to see my stoic dad with tears in his eyes.



Smiles.
Tears.
Joy.


Since the ceremony, I have had several people mention one word to me and that is: radiant. People thought I looked radiant. The thing is, I felt radiant. At the risk of sounding arrogant I am going to mention that although we only have a small portion of our photos back, there is not a bad photo of me because so far, there is not one where I am not smiling. I just felt so content, so blessed, and so at peace. Funny how true love can do that.


We began to progress through our ceremony. We each had written our own vows. We had asked a couple that we are good friends with, and who have been married for 39 years, to speak about marriage during the ceremony. Our friend, Tom, sang You Raise Me Up during communion. Communion is not an event that many people in our faith incorporate into their wedding ceremony but it was important to us. We elected to present communion to our guests ourselves so I held the (gluten-free!) bread and Chuck held the wine (aka grape juice). Although I had cried before this point while I was saying my vows, it was communion that almost did me in. One of the first people to come up was my Auntie Helen and she was bawling. I could feel her love for us through her tears. And getting to see everyone as they came to the communion table was overwhelming because of the genuine joy and love on their faces.

The ceremony finished up and we exited the church to the sounds of our friend Dan playing We Are Family on the piano. We rang the church bell on the way out.  A receiving line followed and then down to the parish hall dining room to spend time with our loved ones. It was wonderful to be able to see family and friends that I had not seen in a while. We got home around 4pm and immediately finished packing to go away for a few days. Our Disney honeymoon isn’t until September but we wanted to get away and decompress for a few days. That blog will be in the near future hopefully!


If I could sum up the entire day in one sentence I would say this: it was the best day of my entire life. Shocking considering that initially, I really wanted to elope! And I have had some amazing days: the day I graduated from nursing school, the day that Chuck proposed, the day that I found out I was cancer-free, and even the day I was married the first time. But right now May 18th is the best day. The main reason is because of the fact that the day represents that I found and have been blessed with this great love. The man that I feel privileged to spend the rest of my life with. On that day we outwardly got to celebrate our love and the union of our two lives and of our families. The day represented our willingness to work through difficult times and issues in order to commit ourselves, before God, to each other.



It was the best day because of the people who surrounded us and the wedding represented all of the support we have received both individually and as a couple from family, our church family, and our friends. I have so many snapshots in my memory bank of people. I have often told Chuck that when I am in a bad situation with my health and I am feeling down and sick, I often play back positive images in my head of good times we have had together and it helps to relax me and helps me to refocus my energy. Typically it is a memory of Chuck and I on the beach in Maine or some other happy time where I felt loved and safe.


The people in our lives have given me a new image.
The one from our wedding ceremony.
The one where I see their faces and feel their love.
The one where I hear words of joy and sounds of laughter.
The one where I feel an abundance of love, hope, joy, and peace.



I am grateful for this incredible day that we had together. I am grateful for every moment that I chose to not give up on true love. Most importantly, I am grateful for my husband and the beginning of the next chapter of our lives together.


Photos Courtesy of Susan SB Photography: https://www.facebook.com/SusanSBPhotography/info

Keep Going

There are very few people who follow my blog or who are even in my life who know the extent of the disaster my life was from about 2001 through 2009. I was in a destructive marriage with a man who was abusive, an alcoholic, had PTSD, and was just a difficult person to live with. A man who decided about two years into our marriage that he did not want children. I had distanced myself from some of my family and many of my friends. I held a job that I loved but yet found very stressful. For some of those years I was seventy-seven pounds heavier than I am now. I had a food addiction and low self-esteem. There were many times when I considered suicide and the threat was real enough that I was hospitalized several times for depression. For a period of time, I was even considered to have bipolar disorder and I was trialed on every class of psychiatric medications that existed. The diagnosis was later retracted by the same psychiatrist who diagnosed me and my mood issues were thought to be the beginning of my autoimmune disorder, coupled with significant environmental stressors. Then the physical symptoms of my autoimmune illness began.

2008-2009 found me very sick with Sjogren’s syndrome. I eventually ran out of sick time and FMLA and lost my job. On the day that my ex-husband threatened me and I thought he was going to be physically violent because he was so drunk, I told him we were done. I got divorced and lost my home. I lost one of my beloved dogs. No job, no home, no kids, no health, no marriage…no nothing.

But wait, I did have something. I had God. I had my family. I had a few friends.

I had myself.

So why am I even bothering to tell you all this six days before I marry my second husband? Because I want people to know. I want to tell anyone reading this who thinks that the only way out is through suicide that there is always a better way out. There is help out there. You can change your situation. The feeling of hopelessness you have now does not mean that things can not get better.

My upcoming marriage has stirred up a lot of emotions recently. Obviously that is due in part to the fact that I am marrying this incredible man who is my best friend and whom I love with all my heart. But the emotions are also there because over the past few weeks, I have stopped to think about where I am and how far I have come. Because at some point I stopped letting myself be a victim. I dealt with my depression and anxiety. I saw a therapist. I developed a positive attitude. An attitude that got me through some pretty dark days. I worked on my relationship with God and with myself. Step by step I made changes in my life that enabled me to be a whole person rather than the empty shell of one that I was during those years.

I still struggle with health issues. I still struggle at times with my self esteem. But at the end of the day I like the face of the person looking back at me in the mirror. Sometimes it is hard for me to think back on the past and even believe that was me. However I have to look back from time to time because those experiences have helped make me the courageous and determined individual I am today.

I am at peace.
I am happy.

So please don’t give up. You are worth more than the sum of your bad experiences. God has put you in this world for a reason. The reason may not be apparent to you now. It may never be apparent to you but I promise you, your presence in this world will make a difference to somebody.

Be strong.
Keep going.

Ushering Them To The Other Side

Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep

Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there, I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glint on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you wake in the morning hush,
I am the swift, uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circling flight.
I am the soft starlight at night.
Do not stand at my grave and weep.
I am not there, I do not sleep.
Do not stand at my grave and cry.
I am not there, I did not die!
Mary Frye (1932)


One of my biggest fears is dying. It always has been. To be honest, I am not sure if my excessive fear is typical because nobody ever talks about it, at least not in my social circle. I hear all these stories of how people have made their peace with the fact that they are dying or going to die and I cannot wrap my head around that. I do admire and respect these people because to me, it seems like they have a strong faith; one that gives them the courage to face what may come next. I wish I had that courage when it comes to death and dying.

It’s not like I have lived this sheltered life of perfect health and harmony. I have had experiences that have had the potential of ending up on the other side: a cancer diagnosis, a car accident where my life flashed before my eyes as my car slammed into a guardrail several times on the highway, a heart procedure that came with all the usual risks. There have been occasions where I have considered the possibility of ending my own life. Seems ironic that I would consider that idea considering my fear of death, but people think all kinds of crazy things when they are in desperate situations.

I think my fear has to do with the unknown of life after death. Despite my Christian beliefs, I do not feel one hundred percent assured that there is this eternal life after we leave our body. Or maybe a better way to put it is that I don’t know what this eternal life truly looks like. What does it feel like after you die? Do we feel anything? Do we have internal thoughts like we have now? Are there bright lights and angels singing when our soul ascends into heaven? What if there really isn’t a heaven? Too many unknowns for me. Maybe not enough faith.

I had the opportunity recently to be with someone as they died. I had never experienced that before. I have had people close to me die, but I was never present when the actual event took place. For weeks, I have been trying to gather my thoughts and words together to describe how being present with someone you love, as they leave this life, can change a person but the words would not come through the wall of emotional grief that still sits in my heart and my mind. Hence why this entry feels so disjointed to me. But I know that some of the words have to be written because until I get them down, I will not be able to write about anything else.

People talk all the time about the wonders of being born. The miracle of life. A new baby signifies joy and happiness. People gather around the new baby and usher him or her into this world with love and devotion. My experience of being present with my mother-in-law as she died was that the process of dying and death itself deserves just as much love and devotion as the process of being born. However I am not sure that most of our culture recognizes that fact. Maybe because to most of us, it is such a sad event. Maybe because we are already mourning our own loss. But it’s not just about us and our own loss. It’s about the person who is dying. Their needs. We are not alone when we are born. I think we should not be alone when we die. Unfortunately, we do not get to choose how or when we die so oftentimes, dying alone is inevitable.

I watched my fiancé and one of his sisters keep vigil at their mother’s bedside for well over twelve hours before she left us. One of them on one side and one on the other, always touching her in some way. I watched, while stroking her head, my mother-in-law take her last breath. A moment that is permanently etched in my memory. A memory that often comes back to me in my dreams, or even sometimes as a nightmare. But as difficult of a process as it was to be involved with, I saw during those twelve plus hours that it wasn’t just the sadness that filled that room, but the love. The love between a son and his mother. The love between a daughter and her mom. The comfort and love that was unfailingly given to my mother-in-law during her last hours was just as important, probably even more important, than the love she received the day she was born.

I have come to recognize that being with a person as they prepare to leave this earth is a privilege and one of the greatest things that we can do for another human being. Is it gut wrenching and one of the most difficult things one might ever do? Absolutely. But it is an opportunity that many people do not get. An opportunity to remind your loved one how much they are loved because I truly believe that your words are heard. It’s an opportunity to say goodbye. It’s an opportunity to gracefully usher a person to their final destination.

To be honest, it has taken me some time to get to this perspective. The visual images of my mother-in-law in her last hours still weigh heavy in my mind when I least expect them to. However when I consciously and intentionally think back to that day, it is not the memories of her physical state that jump to my mind first. No, not at all. It is the other things. Hearing the quiet whispers of reminiscing between my fiancé and his sister at 3am as I nodded off in the empty bed beside them. The loving words spoken by my fiancé to his mother. The image of my sister-in law holding her mom’s hand. The movement of my mother-in-law’s hand indicating that she could hear us. The grace and strength that my fiancé demonstrated. My own strength. The moment that she did not take another breath after hearing her breathe for twelve hours; the sign that she was finally at peace.

I pray for my mother-in-law that she is in a much better place, wherever that may be. A place where she experiences no pain, disappointment, sadness, or loss. A place where she can rest and be filled with all of the happiness and joy that she so richly deserves. A place where love constantly surrounds and cradles her. A place that perhaps may be called, heaven.

Reclaiming My Voice

 

“Music exalts each joy, allays each grief, expels diseases, softens every pain, subdues the rage of poison, and the plague.” ~ John Armstrong
 
 

Grief is a sneaky invader; creeping up on you when you least expect it sometimes. Maybe it makes its guest appearance after a random conversation or during those still hours when the house is quiet. Sometimes grief is over the loved one we have lost. Sometimes grief comes in the form of losing something that we were once capable of doing.

My invader made a visit last Thursday. I wasn’t prepared for it but then again, are we ever really prepared?

I understood the circumstances of why I was feeling particularly sad last Thursday. I had been spending some time last week with a friend of ours at doctor’s appointments. He had asked me to be, as a nurse and as a friend, a second set of ears in preparation for a major upcoming surgery he was having this week. A surgery he was going through without his wife, who suddenly passed away at such a young age; almost two years ago.

His wife, my friend.

Of course I have thought about my friend in these past two years, but it has been a long time since I have mourned her. I had gone through my grieving process and I had chosen to remember her with fond memories and joy. However last week made me stop and think about how very unfair life can be sometimes. It didn’t seem right that he couldn’t have her there with him by his side. What a loss this world experienced when she left us. The grief felt palpable once again.

Once I came home from the second day of doctor’s visits, the house was quiet when the grief hit me and I decided that maybe the best way to deal with it would be to go on my computer and browse through some photos and videos of my friend. Remember her with laughter. Like the photos she took of me eating soggy grilled asparagus. It looked like I was eating worms. Don’t ask! I eventually ended up scanning YouTube for videos as our church posts its services and choir performances videos on there.

Choir.
A tough place for me to be lately. Actually, I haven’t been there as much.

My friend was in the choir and she was the one responsible for getting me involved in our church choir. Singing for God has been one of my steadfast passions until recently. I say recently because not being able to sing for the past few months, due to struggles with my autoimmune illness, has been a loss for me. Sometimes the difficulty has been with my lungs, fatigue, the dryness of my vocal cords, or issues with reflux affecting my throat. The fact that this has happened to other Sjogren’s patients has just discouraged me all the more. A lot of the time, I truly cannot physically sing and sometimes it is just energy that I cannot afford to spend that particular day or week. Although I have to be honest, I do wonder if occasionally I am just so exhausted and discouraged, that it is just easier to sit it out. Don’t tell anyone though because most of the time, people don’t understand that part of having a chronic illness unless they have experienced it themselves.

As I was looking through these church videos, I came across a YouTube video of my fiance and I singing the song “Mary Did You Know?” at our church Christmas cantata last year. A cantata dedicated to my friend’s memory. A song that has become significant to me because I had to overcome respiratory issues to be able to pull off that performance. It was a good performance. And I was grief stricken again. Because when I heard my voice on that video, I felt like physically, I wasn’t in the same place as last year. Actually I know I am not. My illness has taken more from me physically this year, including at times, the quality of my voice. Is that selfish? Maybe. Because let’s face it, compared to my friend not being here, it’s not as significant. But it is still my loss.

Fast forward to Friday. I am sitting at a Women of Faith conference in Hartford, CT. An incredible event that you will probably hear more about at a later date. I am thoroughly enjoying listening to a Christian comedian. A man named Mark Lowry.

Mark Lowry.
Why does that name sound familiar?

I decide to stop torturing myself trying to place the name because this man is so funny, I don’t want to miss a word that he says. He’s that good.

What I didn’t realize, until he opens his mouth to do so, is that this man can also sing. What a voice on him! What a talent to be able to make people laugh and to be able to sing like that.

What I also didn’t realize? That this man write songs.

How do I know this? Because at the end of his performance, he sang a song that he wrote. A song that over thirty recording artists have performed since he wrote it.

The song?
“Mary Did You Know?”

Seriously? Come on.

Now you can say what you will about coincidence and such but here are the facts. I had tickets for this conference for months, but did not know that the man who wrote the lyrics to this song was going to be there. I had not watched the video of that Christmas cantata in at least eight or so months. I also did not know about my friend’s surgery until last week.

So I don’t believe this was all coincidence. I am typically not a person who makes radical proclamations and I certainly do not typically write about them publicly online; although maybe I will more often now.

I believe this was God speaking to me.
I believe this was my friend speaking to me.

I believe they were telling me that as long as I am not harming myself, to keep singing as best as I can, when I can, but to push a little harder.

I believe they were telling me to stop comparing myself to other people. To get back to my speech therapy exercises, to do some research online, to stop reading about what other Sjogren’s patients can and cannot do for a while.

And finally, I believe they were telling me to believe a little less in my illness and a little more in myself.


































































































Photo Courtesy of Google Images

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