sick – Jesus is for the Wounded

Zero to 60 and the UPS Driver

Published on January 6, 2022January 7, 2022 by Jesus is for the WoundedLeave a comment

She lifted her head and barked out that ferocious alarm that let anyone who came near, especially those in brown UPS trucks, not to mess with her or her people within. And within two hours, she was gone.

The ad on Craig’s List was for a free German shepherd dog. My husband said that German shepherds were a great breed for a pet dog but I was a little skeptical. Maybe afraid is a better word. I had witnessed the torture of a German shepherd and was further traumatized by the behavior of one in heat when I was still a kid. Flash forward to bites by a Rottweiler and an Akita as an adult, the latter sending me to the Emergency Room for a tetanus shot, and you could say I wasn’t a big fan of big dogs. I still always loved dogs. The gerbils that me and my brothers had as kids didn’t satisfy my longing for a real furry friend. That’s all you get when your Mom is a single parent and I do understand. Flash forward over 4 decades and off to a town an hour’s drive south of us Steve and I went to pick up Elle. What a great decision!

Elle was timid and small, tied to a tree when we arrived to the address out in the country. “Are you sure she is going to be o.k.?” I asked Steve as the owner pointed to her and simply said, “Take her.” “She’ll be fine,” reassured Steve and he was right. Within about the first 20 minutes of the drive home, the approximately 5-month old German shepherd puppy went from scared to picking her head up and exploring the new life ahead of her. The first few days are a blur to me now. She was born outside so gratefully we never had to house-train her. What a bonus! We got her checked out then spayed according to the guidance of our new Vet. I remember fondly cuddling Elle’s neck in her slumbered state from the pain medication after the procedure. That posture of her tucking her head down to receive my affection close-in would be our special thingy throughout her life. What a special bond we had!

A couple of moments stand out to me the most over the course of the next 13 years or so. The first was when we learned a little more about who our dog really was. Steve and I were hiking at a local Acres Land Trust park when he decided to let Elle off her leash for a bit. Before long Elle was racing from point to point between us along the trail, leaping over downed logs and sliding many feet in the leaves covering the path as she zoomed one way then back the other. If you’ve ever heard of large canines getting a case of the ZOOMIES then this is exactly what happened. We laughed so hard! It might have been on this same outing that we learned something unique about German shepherds. We were walking along the trail when a couple of deer crossed our paths, up along a ridge about 100 feet ahead of us. As soon as Elle saw them, her pace slowed as she put herself between us facing the “threat.” Well we didn’t know that the deer were a threat but to Elle they must have been so! We stopped in amazement to watch both the deer scamper away and our dog keep a close eye on them until they were out of sight. Some very detailed sniffs followed by our fuzzy protector when we got up to the line where the deer had crossed our path. Good dog!

There was the time when we tried to get Elle to ride in our Hobie Oasis kayak to no avail. She preferred swimming in the water, any water, alongside our outrigger canoe and especially when there was a tennis ball to chase from the ball chucker! Retrieving the ball launched to the end of our property was her favorite thing, over and over and over again! Or maybe it was chasing after the radio-controlled car or airplane? She raced around the courtyard in front of our home, hoping to get a bite of the rubber tires of the RC car Steve had bought to enjoy with his son, Daniel. The trick was to grab the car before Elle pounced on it as if it was some kind of live prey to be devoured! Noooooo! The same was true with the RC airplane my husband expertly flew in the open and pond areas behind our home. Even though the plane was at least 50 feet up in the air, Elle ran and ran and ran after it, nearly crushing it when the battery wore out and the foam glider touched down for a landing. The race was on to see who could get to it first with our Pup racing in for the kill on the grass strip of our backyard! As Elle got older, her chasing of the plane was interrupted by stopping to take a dump or a swim, or a sniff, or otherwise rest, before charging off again with her nose in the air tracking the plane. We loved every minute of it and so did she!

Then there were the tragic days that I spent battling my serious illness while Elle slept softly on the floor across from the bed, in front of the tub in the Master bathroom. She wasn’t what you would call an affectionate dog yet one who would definitely seek out hefty scratches around the ears when we came home. When one of us came home from an errand or work, the other would send Elle out to the car to be the first greeting. She learned quickly not to jump up, instead how to nuzzle her way past the open car door to the driver’s seat to welcome either of us home. I loved that. But it was a different story when I was sick in bed. Was she just watching and waiting to make sure I was o.k.? Or frightened by the screams of pain and seizing that erupted virtually every single night as I writhed in the bed in front of her?

For years the convulsive episodes met me every morning for about 30 minutes as I awakened. I had to lie in bed like a victim succumbing to a beating before I became functional enough to attempt to use the bathroom. One particular day, early in the afternoon, I simply could not get out of bed. My head pounded from the daily headache, body hurt so badly, ears were ringing, and I simply could not think straight enough to get things to be any different. Trying to drink some water or even the breakfast that I had prepared and placed bedside the night before was beyond my ability to accomplish. Those times were especially sorrowful. So I called over to Elle. She seemed very confused when I invited her up onto the bed, next to me. She wasn’t allowed on the bed nor on any furniture. “What is this?” she must have wondered. It took a few tries and some coaxing at a time when she clearly was able to jump up into the back of a truck and onto most furniture. I guided her to lie down next to me and there we stayed for a long time. Her warmth comforted me in a way that nothing else could possibly have come close. I needed my Puppers and she was there for me.

As the years went by, Steve and I got to take our Elle along as we traveled to many different places. She’s was an excellent traveler and went west with us a few years back, to many United States Canoe Association events to cheer Steve at his paddling races, and to Florida about ten times. She just hunkered down behind the passenger seat and off we went on one adventure or another. She never had an accident unless very sick. Her loyalty to us, to the way things should be, to her role as protector, a lover of most kids (unless you were a rascally boy big or small) was precious. She was my Elle-Beast, Puppers, Pups, and Elle: all names to which she would respond as quickly as Steve’s clap of his hands. He was her Alpha dog; she did put up with me and was obedient most of the time with a little extra encouragment . . . And treats of course!

I really wouldn’t have had it any other way. At least today. Today I’ll say that she was a perfect dog, a perfect pet. They all are after they are gone. So go squeeze your furry friend for me today, Gentle Reader. I’m sure I would love your pet as much as our Elle. It’s just the way it should be. Unless you are a UPS driver, of course! Then y’all better watch out! JJ

The trials of discontent

Published on November 11, 2020November 12, 2020 by Jesus is for the WoundedLeave a comment

Perhaps the greatest challenge a follower of Jesus Christ must face in his or her walk with the Lord is how to handle the evil that is in our world. When it touches our own lives in the form of discontent, when things are not as we think they should be and we are unable to accept it, then we may be tempted to break fellowship with the Lord our God. He has ordained the length of our days, the vessel in which we live, and every detail of our lives whether good or bad. Recently it occurred to me that not accepting His will for my life is a sin that keeps me from any form of peace. And now I know from wence it came.

A particularly horrific convulsive episode about a week ago left me whimpering on our bed. The searing pain in my neck and broken frame notwithstanding, I wondered for the several thousandth time, “how can I endure this level of suffering Lord?” My Jesus had shown me many incredible things through the trials of battling serious illness; my Jesus was always right there with me when I called upon His throne of grace. But like the old song goes, “Is this all there is?” Is this all there is to my life when entire beautiful days upon days are spent suffering in bed?

The truth that we see is not all that there is to know or behold in this life. Only by faith in the Lord Jesus Christ do we come to understand what the fullness of life means. We will have both joy and sorrow. We confess our failings, surrender our will to the Lord, and receive the Holy Spirit, beginning our eternity right here in the midst of all the good and bad; He helps us endure all things for His glory. But I didn’t know all of this when I was 3 years old. All I knew is that a neighbor boy named Danny was babysitting us and molested me while I was taking a nap in my big girl bed. I knew where the pills were that my mother took. So at some point thereafter I crawled up onto the kitchen counter, opened the cabinet door, reached way up onto the top shelf, grabbed that bottle of pills and ate a bunch of them. The only other memory I have of the incident was feeling scared while lying on a gurney in a hospital. I must have been crying too because the images are unclear. I had to go to the bathroom. I asked if I could get up and go to the bathroom and a man said NO. I felt the warmth of the urine on my legs and underneath me as someone said something about pumping out my stomach. And then I was OUT.

In a single flash of a moment after that convulsive episode, I knew what the Lord was trying to tell me. Or at least I think I do! He was showing me that by taking those pills, even as a small child who knew she had been hurt badly by someone everyone trusted, I was trying to take away the pain and the life that God had allowed for me. My little mind could not bear what had happened to me. The reality that the ugliness of that scene was ordained by the same God who created me and crafted all of my days from beginning to this end was too much to understand. I would not have been old enough to say the words to my Mom or Dad describing what that boy had done to me nor felt safe doing so. My parents weren’t exactly touchy-feely type folks. Can a 3-year old feel shame? Dirty? Worthless? Overwhelmed? Traumatized? Terrorized? Surely! While I have known, grieved, and forgiven the players in this scene for a long time now, I didn’t know that my survival from that day forward in my own strength would be marred by discontent. Nothing in my life would be good enough, or so I thought, to make me truly happy or at peace EVER. The seeds of several of my character flaws were planted that afternoon. I know that it wasn’t my fault any of this happened. I was just a little kid. To survive abuse is actually a noble task and accomplishment. What IS my responsibility, however, is to figure out what to do with what happened to me, layer-by-layer as each level of understanding is revealed in my walk with the Lord over my lifetime. In due time we must all ask ourselves: Will I grow up damaged or will I heal and thrive? Fifty-seven years later, the wound from this particular scene finally healed completely.

I grew up in what you would call a “blue collar” family. My Grandfathers worked in their respective trades: my Dad’s father as an auto mechanic and my Mom’s father as a maintenance man/operator in the boiler room of an ice cream factory. My Dad got a job at the General Motors Tech Center as a non-degreed draftsman. Each of them were very skilled at their respective vocations. My Dad in particular, would end up redesigning slot car motors to make them among the fastest in the world and co-authored over 30 clutch-assembly patents with Borg Warner later in his life. Although each of them would earn a living wage to support his family such that their wives could stay home and raise the children, there was always an attitude that it was not enough. I have come to call this mindset a “scarcity” mentality. The adults in my family never seemed satisfied with the income or the lifestyle or the relationships to which they acquired. First it was my Mother’s Mom taking the last of her grocery money to purchase tickets in the Irish sweepstakes. If only she would win then she would be happy! I think she did win a time or two. I don’t think it ever changed much of anything though.

The harder part of this dynamic for me came from my parents, especially my Mom. “If only we could win the lottery” she would say, “then . . . .” fill in the blank with some material gain of some sort that she thought would solve our problems and bring happiness. Without realizing it, I adopted this mantra as well. It sure helped when my parents got divorced or when my Dad missed a visitation or when my Mom wouldn’t come home at night from her carousing adventures with Parents Without Partners. If we had a windfall of cash then it would solve all of our problems, right? This was back in the days before there was common knowledge that most people’s lives are not better when they win the lottery! Family relationships tank when relatives come calling for money and out-of-control personal spending often leaves the prize winner in debt not set for life! Sadly this mindset and experiences of abuse and trauma contributed to addictive behavior in my teenage and young adult years. What became my addiction of choice that I thought was my winning ticket out of my inner turmoil? Work-a-holism. I nearly drove myself into permanent injury working so hard at school, the early days of my career in healthcare, graduate school, and one relationship after another. By the grace of God, He showed me a better way when I learned about addictions when doing contract work at a large mental health hospital. My years continuing to seek answers ultimately led to a personal relationship with Jesus Christ. A new level of healing and a less frenzied pace of life began in my thirties.

That wasn’t the end of my discontent, however. Somehow I still looked more outside of myself than to the Cross for meaning, healing, self-worth, hope. A handwriting analysis in my youth said I was a very determined person. Well, yes, and that was not necessarily a good thingy! I sought counseling and studied God’s Word which did help me in many good ways. Yet like breaking in a wild colt, it still took repeated heavy tragedies from 2003 to 2007 to soften me for the biggest gift and the biggest trial that were yet to come. I am meeting you here after both of them: 1) marrying my Intended Beloved Steve and 2) enduring a serious illness that brought thousands of seizures virtually every day over 9 the past years. I have been grateful for the former.

Steve is an amazing man of God who loves me dearly as I do him. The serious illness not-so-much. I had never accepted the Convulsive Disorder or Dysautonomia or Dystonia or Functional Movement Disorder or Non-epileptic seizures or whatever you want to call it. What I came to realize this past week is that not accepting this illness is not a form of defeat. Rather, it’s not accepting that this is the Lord’s will for my life for my best good. It is the journey for me that will bring Him glory. And how am I handling it? I am denying His will for my life when I reject the pain and suffering that goes with the numerous blessings. Instead, I must trust that like all of the trials that have happened in my past, this illness serves a greater purpose. I may or may not ever really know what that purpose is. The episodes and medical complications may never stop. If I am to succeed at letting go of my discontentment with a traumatic event in my life at age 3 years old, I must also let go of the other thing that I hate in my life. Believing otherwise is believing a lie: a lie from the author of human suffering, sin, and death himself, Satan. No magical thinking (like a lottery mentality) is going to cover or remedy this lie. I MUST DENOUNCE my discontent, leaving it for my Lord to redeem.

How about if I repeat that another way:

No happiness or peace will come if I hold onto discontent over the Lord’s will in my life.

I knew in an instant, why that memory of me as a toddler came to me while grieving after another seizure. Both sorrows were and are part of my Lord’s Divine plan for my life. He will redeem my suffering one day and it will end. He will make all things new and good, and right; I will be whole. In the meantime, I am a steward of the experiences, people, places, and things He ordains for my life. My responsibility is to accept them with no expectations, no exceptions, no deal-making (“if only this . . . then that”), no holding back. So that night I let both sorrows go and wept deeply for a good long while.

Sometime later I shared my inner story of this incident with my beloved Stevers. He is warm and tender at these times as if to be my Jesus with skin-on. I am so blessed to be loved by this man after God’s own heart. His response? He marveled at how long abuse can affect the life of an abused person. Years. Decades. That a person can carry hurt his or her entire life because of the evil actions of someone who hurt them when they were little. I agreed. Yet for me, the hurt is never the same each time I get to revisit it. Each time I get to grieve some more. I get to heal some more. It takes what it takes. I get to see how the Lord uses even the ugly stuff to give me tools for coping and a gift of compassion for others. If I had not developed work-a-holism and that health challenge of hypoglycemia then I would have become an alcoholic. How do I know? My siblings and Mother were alcoholics, my Dad was mentally ill. One brother who overcame alcoholism struggled to find meaningful work then tragically had a stroke and was never able to function independently again up until he died earlier this year. He suffered with unspeakable pain and spasms every waking hour of his life. He had traded his bottles for cigarettes. What I am trying to say is that each of us had horrific wounds to overcome. Today I am the only one still here of my immediate family to write the stories. Oh Lord, may these words yield some goodness beyond the tales of sorrow for the goodness that is there too.

Because there is much redeeming value in our stories beyond the sorrows. Nothing is wasted Gentle Reader, in God’s economy of time and space. Letting go of the sin of discontent, perhaps after grieving its root-cause, is a work of the Holy Spirit in our lives. He will bring you to it and see you through it. Healing is complicated and can take a very long time to process. Be encouraged. I tell you as in the song of Peggy Lee, the BAD is not all there is to a fire or the circus of the circumstances in our lives or a long lost love! There’s even more to life than the happiness of a fleeting moment such as in a windfall or slow dance with your beloved. Just go to the Cross. There you will find a peace that transcends all understanding. The best gift of all is waiting there for you this day, this night. He promises. On this we can rely.

Will you? JJ

31, 23, and 6:13

Published on April 27, 2019April 27, 2019 by Jesus is for the Wounded2 Comments

Never could I have ever imagined that I would spend the better part of the 5th decade of my life battling a serious illness. Then on cue from the Masterful Maestro, Jesus Christ, a few tweaks in 1 type of medication and 2 supplements began to turn things around. What has transpired seems miraculous to me.

31 symptoms aren’t as bad right now as they were when I wrote them down on December 29, 2018. A few more are gone.

23 triggers of sometimes violent, convulsive episodes have diminished in severity as they were when I wrote them down on December 29, 2018. A few more are gone. A few days per week I have none.

And in a matter of a few hours from now, at 6:13 a.m. to be exact, I will be able to board a plane all by myself to head back to Rochester, Minnesota and the Mayo Clinic. An aggressive schedule awaits me for my follow-up treatment and medical visits. I’ll stay in a special condominium that will accommodate any ongoing chemical sensitivities; I’ll even learn to Uber and Lyft. Yay!

I am hopeful that things will turn out alright. I am slowly getting stronger and pain levels are coming down with various therapies that are finally working! Master Gardening activities are ticking up and I have a sewing project that I work on in the hours when I am feeling better. Call it my transition back into life.

What a good feeling. Thank you Lord for seeing me through to this day. Thank you also to my beloved, Steve, who has faithfully walked with me during thousands of dark days and nights. I am so blessed. Restoration is coming at last and I am as humbled as I am grateful.

Lord, please hold my heart and my hand as I make this trip. Let’s go! JJ

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.

1 Peter 5:10