This song came to mind with the burdens of late. “Keep moving forward,” my brother used to say. “Trust in the Lord and lean not on your own understanding . . . ” we find in Proverbs 3:5-6. And when I was a girl, it was the singing of Mother Superior in the Sound of Music that captured my spirit. She begins with the instruction that, “we have to live the life we were born to live.”
Ah yes. Now I shall praise my Lord Jesus Christ for bringing it to mind. May the wonder of my youth, the life I was born to live be rekindled in my soul. You too, Gentle Reader. You too. JJ
Lying in the dusk immobile on the asphalt was not the place I had intended to be on Sunday night. It was only the second time I had attempted to ride my bike this year and it ended in a bit of a disaster when my toe clip malfunctioned . . .
Lying on my chase lounge icing my sore, bruised, scraped elbow the next day came with a pretty view of our garden. Both the clematis and the wisteria had started climbing the 8-foot trellises that flanked the flagstone patio. From every angle but this one, their foliage plus the hydrangea, Japanese maple, dwarf mugo pine, and two goldenthread cypress blocked the view of the neighbors. Perhaps in another year the landscaping plan will have achieved its goal of complete privacy!
Lying on the grass after dizziness set in post-crash last night, all I could see above me was a few buzzing mosquitos against the early night sky. I had no idea the extent of my injuries. How would I make it home? We were two blocks from our house and I had not yet moved my left arm in searingly sharp pain. Steve hovered nearby, having dismounted his road bike, waiting for a word from me.
Lying in bed this morning, the wretched convulsive episodes were particularly long. They jarred my tender left arm and beaten-up spirit. The tears flowed easily: the big crocodile type ones that come from deep within. “How much more trauma could my broken frame handle?” I wondered. Probably “all of it” would be the Biblical answer but definitely not in my own strength! The Lord breathed life into me once again and helped me get up out of bed when my world stopped shaking. It was afternoon: time to get breakfast I guess.
Lying on the treatment bed in physical therapy today, I was glad that my PT was a competitive cyclist. Like my husband, he had crashed his bike a couple of times as a consequence of the toe clips of his cycling shoes not disengaging from the pedals. Jason made it sound like a normal occurrence. When you must stop suddenly and the quick turn of your ankle fails to disconnect the cleat that attaches your foot to the pedal, you can do nothing to brace yourself from falling. You simply fall straight down sideways to the hard asphalt or concrete below you. Your elbow usually ends up taking the brunt of the impact. Yup. For me this was followed by my knee, hip, shoulder and head. Thank the Lord for my helmet!
Sitting after dinner talking with my beloved Steve this evening, we reviewed the accident. There were misunderstandings between us that needed to be clarified and a plan put in place should an acute situation like this come our way again. This incident was unlike the medical episodes I encounter every night that often require his physical assistance or supervision. Yet it was very difficult to separate the two types of stressors. We agreed: all we really wanted was a nice activity that we could share together. Instead something went terribly wrong . . . again! So sad.
Reliving the whole ordeal yielded two truths that made this experience significant for our future times together. First, when I was crying in pain I was also scared not knowing if I had any serious injuries (as I still couldn’t move my left arm), struggling to get myself up off the ground the second time, and unsure how to position myself to walk home with my bike. Steve had offered to go get my truck to bring me home. Some other ideas he had ended up stirring some resolve within me to force myself to do as much as I could on my own. Even in this time of mini-crisis, I would not fall victim to another major setback in my health. I cried and groaned in agony for two blocks, stopping periodically as needed. I was going to make it home under my own power no matter what! This attitude carried me though the pain of later dressing and icing my wounds. (Gratefully nothing would be broken or even sprained!)
The next morning was difficult as already mentioned. The second truth was realized as I later was able drag my way through my daily routines. For many of us those routines might mean interacting with real people. For a largely homebound person that means checking social media! And what I found under my brief post on Facebook about the accident and my gratitude for no serious injury . . . was as humbling as it was empowering. My beloved made a comment in which he called me a “tough one.” Really? Yes really! And yes, I guess I am! He added a thought this evening that not everyone can keep on going with all of these struggles going on at once. His words meant the world to me. The person closest to me in this time of unbelievable struggle believes in me. He said I was tough!
Now you and I both know, Gentle Reader, the source of the strength that lies within me. It is not my own, it comes from the Lord. I embody His strength when I have none of my own. When my resolve can bring me no further, my Jesus’ hand covers mine over the handlebars and together we roll that crazy thing home. And when I had to wash open wounds it was the Lord showing me what to do, giving me the courage to do it too. My beloved helped me apply the compression bandages to keep down the swelling and pain. It was my Heavenly Husband who gave me the idea to use this kind of dressing of which I had never used before and was incredibly effective. Wow.
Lying in bed later on tonight I will have much praise for my Lord and for my beloved husband. My arm is working fairly well a day later and I will recover fully. I have learned a little more about the physical toughness that goes with the mental toughness of recovery from serious illness or accidents. Both will happen in this life to all of us. It is my prayer, Gentle Reader that no matter what situation you may find yourself in someday that you too will find the Giver of strength available to each us that knows no boundaries. I’d love to hear about your travels with Him too. Kind of like a bicycle built for two, eh? JJ
First ride this year: that’s me taking a quick ride around the campground, January 2015
Usually I refer to myself as a “kayaking widow,” as soon as the weather warms up in the great State of Indiana. My beloved Steve races kayaks and now an outrigger canoe (OC-1) on the United States Canoe Association circuit. This requires practice and travel to river or lake events at least twice per week during the warmer months, in addition to work and church commitments. Since I am largely homebound I send him happily on his merry way . . . with snacks and a kiss, of course!
But it wasn’t always this way. Just 3 years ago I joined him on Tuesday nights for the paddles of our local kayaking group. (See the About Julie blog for details on the day that I got pulled from the water!) If the races were local I would join him on Saturday mornings to cheer him on from the start and possibly the railing of a bridge along the course. “Goooooooo Steeeeeeve” was my mantra and I loved it. I am so proud of Steve, having watched him progress over these past 7 years of our marriage from a recreational paddler to a National competitor in surf ski racing. And this year he added the OC-1. Oh yeah!
For the first time in THREE YEARS, I would be joining Steve at the USCA Nationals scheduled this year in Warren, Pennsylvania. The last time I was in PA was when I had purchased my first sea kayak (Think Fit) as I was progressing from a tandem, pedal-driven, plastic Hobie Oasis to a real fiberglass boat suitable for racing. I had a near-drowning experience as I was testing out that boat which only served to reinforce that I had what it took to face the worst of perils when paddling in open water. Dozens of paddling experiences followed over the next few years including upgrading to an introductory surf ski myself: the Stellar SR. That is the kayak in the photo of the article referenced above.
Flash forward FOUR YEARS and we now are grateful to have a travel trailer aka as a “mold avoidance clean room” that affords me the opportunity to travel with Steve and stay overnight. The plan for this trip was to stay at a local KOA Kampground while shuttling to and from the stages of the two racing events in which Steve was registered to compete. Miraculously and despite convulsive episodes each day and night, I was able to join him at the side of the Allegheny River on Friday for a full day of events. We were bushed by nightfall: Steve having paddled 15+ miles at breakneck speed and me having participated in over 12 hours of outdoor activities for the first time in a very long time. It was a win-win for both of us!
Then came Saturday morning. The night was a rough one for me but not as bad as they could be for sure. Steve overslept 45 minutes and scurried about to get himself, his special nourishments, breakfast, and doggie duties covered before leaving for a second day of racing. Adrenaline was pushing him beyond the fatigue he too was battling. As for me, the morning seizure attacks died down as I pulled myself out of bed just as he was leaving! It was clear that I was NOT going anywhere and would be a kayaking widow in the woods of the campground that day. Swell. Sadly I heard my truck pull away along the dirt road with my beloved therein, headed past the Kinzua Dam and beyond to the water’s edge without me. To see my River Bear in action WAS WHY I CAME! I was crushed.
And then my brain cleared. A few crumbs of achiness remained yet I was upright and thinking straight. “I should stay home and rest,” I reasoned, “maybe take the dog for a walk later and be, well bored out of my mind for the rest of the day thereafter for sure! Who wants to read Suzanne Summer’s book, Tox-Sick, when there’s an exciting USCA race going on out there?! Not me. I AM GOING TO THE RACES!!!”
There was one BIG problem with this: how the heck would I get there? I had no vehicle and the race start was a 17-minute ride away by car. I had no car. I had no truck. I had a dog and that was it! Looking back I believe it was the Lord nudging me on to keep getting ready.
“Pack up your stuff, grab some food and get out to the office. See when it opens and maybe someone will be going into town this morning and can drop you off.”
Alright. “Shouldn’t I eat some breakfast? I mean, I get sick sometimes when I don’t eat breakfast?” And so I bemoaned some more as I continued in motion, getting dressed and figuring I would have to leave the pup behind in the locked travel trailer with the air conditioner running all day. “Keep moving,” was the leading of my heart. “You might have to leave on a moment’s notice if this works out so you need to be ready!” Out the door I scurried, hoping that most of me was covered with clothing and foot-coverings suitable for a campground!
The office didn’t open until 9:00 a.m. It was around 8:15 a.m. I had seen what I deduced was the owners shaking out their rugs out the front door of the adjacent mobile home so I could maybe knock on their door . . . No that would not be nice. But look! There’s the car leaving their campsite that left yesterday morning around this time. Maybe they are long-termers who are leaving for work or something and can take me? So I stood near the middle of the dirt road in between the office and campsite Number 2, waiting for the car to drive by. Surely the driver would see me and stop? Nope. She never even looked up from her steering wheel as she drove straight by me. Sish! Surely I could not have looked that threatening, no?
What to do now? “Stay put,” was the leading in my heart. Maybe I could go back to our CampLite and wait for the office to open? Someone would drive me to the Visitor Center and I would get our truck and just catch up with Steve somewhere along the race course. He would be shocked to hear, “Goooooo Steeeeeve” from the side of the river like the day before. Our reunion at the finish line would be sweet. Well, no. Then I saw around the corner of the dirt road in front of some other campsites a car with its lights on! In front of it was a large motor home that I soon discovered was travelling with the small SUV behind it that had its lights on. They were leaving too!
The driver of the motorhome stopped when I motioned from practically the middle of the dirt road as he approached. My heart was beating fast and my voice trembled as I poured out a quick version of my dilemma then waited for his response. The man got out and talked with his wife who was driving the vehicle behind him as I stood shaking like a schoolgirl waiting for permission to go to the bathroom from the headmaster who had seen enough already. The man got back into the motorhome.
“I’ll take you,” was all he said through the window he opened. Oh wow! He said yes! She said yes! I REALLY AM GOING TO THE RACES!!! So I quickly gathered my things; said goodbye to the big brown puppy-dog eyes that were ready for another day of fabulous sniffs, hugs from cute little girls, and wide open spaces; locked the door and did not look back. I hopped into the passenger side of a stranger’s large motor home and hitched a ride to my second day at the 2015 USCA Nationals. I was going to be with my River Bear!
The gentleman was in town with his wife to visit their daughter at a local Mennonite college. They owned a large dairy farm in southeastern Pennsylvania and had just opened a restaurant with a storefront too: September Farm. They were headed to Bradford for the day which is over 12 miles in the other direction from where I was headed. His low-fuel light had just turned on and he did not know where to find a local gas station. Later I realized that it is possible that he might not have made it all the way to Bradford if he had not backtracked to Warren (5 minutes of travel beyond where he had dropped me off) without running out of gas. Dave talked about him and his wife, Roberta, meeting a sweet couple through Farm and Ranch magazine that were like angels to them. I said to Dave that he was my angel that day. Yes, I do believe in angels!
Steve was shocked to say the least, when I came up behind him with a gentle, “Goooooo Steeeeeve!” to let him know that I had made it and in time for the starting gun. He was still getting ready after the 8:30 a.m. race meeting, leaning over his Stellar SEL when I kinda snuck up behind him. I had made it in time to see him launch in what would become a great day of racing. We embraced with tears. Steve said he felt a magnificent boost carry him down the river, through the Plume Rapids, and passing paddlers with greater ease than he had ever noticed before.
Steve takes 1st place in The Senior Class, K-1 Unlimited at the 2015 USCA Nationals
Later Steve was awarded a first-place medal in K-1 Unlimited for his age group and finished in the first group of a large field of athletes. We laughed the rest of the weekend about me hitchhiking just to see him. Steve said he had never felt so loved! I laughed then shuddered to think of the dangers that I had not experienced in the fearlessness I experienced when following the leading of the Holy Spirit in my heart that day.
I am grateful for so much these days!
I made it to the races despite the odds against me and learned some new things on Saturday: Dairy farmers can be angels. Love transcends the greatest of heartaches then brings us back to what or who matters most. Follow the leading of the Holy Spirit! And life is a daring adventure or nothing at all.
In the end I got a taste of what it means to live again. And that is a good thing my Gentle Reader! JJ
Please forgive me for leaving you hanging, Gentle Reader! I left you hanging by a thread in this blog almost 2 weeks ago. Clearly I made it out o.k. from the doctor’s office!
Since there were many hairy details in the horrible situation I was in on July 29th, I will shorten things up a bit here. In my last post, I ended whilst lying on my side, paralyzed and inches from the floor after a convulsive episode in the exam room of a Physician’s Assistant (PA). The second of two severe seizure attacks had occurred since entering this room and the second of two episodes of neurological collapse was in progress. Eventually the PA returned and forgot everything I had ever told her about what to do in this circumstance; she even forgot that in the first episode (that she had witnessed) I was unable to speak or move. All she kept asking was, “Do you want me to call an ambulance?”
Finally I was able to break through what was happening in my brain to express the greatest need in my life at that moment, “PLEASE REMOVE MY GLASSES!” As she wrenched my neck and lifted my head I screamed in excruciating pain from having had my eyeglasses and sunglasses wedged against my face for so long. Extreme sensory sensitivity accompanies the worst convulsive episodes; pain in particular is magnified as if you had tried to electrocute me! So when the PA tried to remove them, it was as if a bolt of lightening had jolted through my face! She asked again about the ambulance. “Did I want to get up onto the table to be more comfortable?” I could not speak or move at all. Then she left. A long time later she returned. Then she left. A long time later she returned. Then she left.
To pray was my focus since the trained medical professional was of no help! Thankfully after a long time, it was the Lord Who helped me twist and turn my torso so I could lie on my back across two chairs with my legs pulled up underneath me. It took about a dozen tries before I could lift my head segmentally to reach a sitting position with my head supported by the wall behind me. Never did a wall seem so comforting . . .
Eventually a nurse, the really sweet one, came into the room with a wheelchair so I could be taken to the bathroom. Herein I benefitted from my training in transfer techniques as an occupational therapist. My arms were starting to regain motor control but my legs were like dead weight . I lifted them one at a time with my right arm (more functional than my left) off of the leg rests of the wheelchair and onto the floor, braced myself with the grab bar along the wall next to the toilet and pivoted myself around; I reversed the procedure with more adaptive techniques to do all of the things I needed to do in the bathroom. By the time I was wheeling myself out of the bathroom, the really sweet nurse had returned to take me to the hospital in the building next door. At last, over three hours later and feeling majorly beat up, I would be getting the IV fluids as ordered!
Unfortunately the IV “Lactated Ringers” didn’t help me much. The nightly convulsive episodes returned followed by wake-up tazoring the next morning. I was so beat up from everything. The following evening I did make it to the grocery store when things had temporarily stabilized. Such an ordeal! Calming my anger at my medical providers has taken every day since then. The doctor never mentioned it when I saw him last week. He did not even ask if the IV fluids helped me to feel any better. Sometimes that guy is just too focused on test results (or whatever) to examine the overall process of this patient’s sickness, the clues that might be hidden in plain sight. Oh well. The second appointment to review additional test results last week was cancelled (as are about 35% of his appointments). A minor flare up of the ol’ anger distracted me once again, gratefully for less time . . .
So who really cares if I live? Suffer? Die? I have spent the last 15 days meditating on this. The real question emerged beneath these cries and it was not to find out if anyone really cares or not. There are people in my life who love me and for this I am grateful. The real question turned out to be whether or not I had submitted this illness to the Lord as a living sacrifice. Who is really in charge here? Did I offer it to the One Who sees all, loves me more than anyone? Could I view laying this illness at the Lord’s mighty throne of grace as an act of both obedience and worship? He calls believers to do this, by the way in Romans 12:1-2
Therefore, I urge you, brothers and sisters, in view of God’s mercy, to offer your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and pleasing to God—this is your true and proper worship.2 Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is—his good, pleasing and perfect will. (Romans 12)
The Lord knows that our bodies are not perfect and that our world is not perfect. Why would the God of the universe desire me to make alms to Him with my weaknesses? He desires our devotion in all things and loves me and you just as we are. But wouldn’t he rather have a tithe or act of service? NO! He is God not some distant authority figure or Santa Claus. He loves us, has mercy on us, completes us, pours out His blessings, defends us, and promises to make good out of the fallen things of this world no matter how ugly.
1 Peter 5:6-11New International Version (NIV)
6 Humble yourselves, therefore, under God’s mighty hand, that he may lift you up in due time.7 Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you.
8 Be alert and of sober mind. Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour.9 Resist him, standing firm in the faith, because you know that the family of believers throughout the world is undergoing the same kind of sufferings.
10 And the God of all grace, who called you to his eternal glory in Christ, after you have suffered a little while, will himself restore you and make you strong, firm and steadfast.11 To him be the power for ever and ever. Amen.
I am holding out for the promise that lies within these words. He will restore me in due time. Who cares for me? Who cares for you? The Lord Jesus Christ, that’s Who! In Him we will find rest no matter what may come our way. We can be sure of it! JJ
Jesus is for the Wounded 
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