Tag: woman

Waiting

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Like an iris corm sleeping beneath the chilled earth

I, too, wait for my moment to emerge from below.

Weathered by icy snow, or warms-n-thaws that heave me so

My countenance strains under the stress despite a Divine plan.

When I stopped asking, “why?” I was left with less hope not more

For my search for meaning had brought me forward to face another day.

No answers have come, few bigger prayers have become reality

Yet my Lord has carried us with His unending love and care just the same.

We are going to make it to a better place one day, don’t you see?

The one where no tears carry the day and all is lovely and good.

Until then I wait or drag myself up after torments in the night, the day

Shall all thus make the happy ending sweeter one glorious day soon.  JJ

varigated iris, hope beyond, Christian, iris, inspiration, garden, meaning, gardening, metaphor, poetry

 

A Tender Place

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Hellebores, hybrid, tender, lenten rose, blog, poetry, prose, Winter, early Spring

So if the Lenten rose can bloom amidst the snow

Yet if I not carry forth my joy past the continuing rain

Does that make me a bad person, my beloved, my dear?

He told his tale with passion once and again and again

Yet I have not seen the same victory these many years

Does that make me ungrateful before my Savior, my King?

To celebrate this one’s renewed life, ’twas hard-won indeed

Doth makes me part of this man’s humanity in Christ

Yes, takes little, no none from my own pool of goodness . . .

And yet I cried and pushed myself away, away for a time

Lest my tears steal more than the punch line to come,

Dost my ingrace keep me from moving forward one day?

Aye this is a tender place whereat I have landed

Not bad, non-indifferent, full of meaning that I like

Where life meets the road upon which it travels and perceives.

My Lord knows this woe:  He cried for the sorrows we do endure

Then gave the breath from His very lips so that we may live,

Be free of it all at last, the strife, every bit, you and I both.

For we two understand what it means to face death

To fear the life places that would ignite some others to thrive

But it took a tragedy beyond belief to get us moving right.

We may have wrestled then let go as our Redeemer carried us along

Finding one day that peace hath returned:  covering the tenderness

Becoming the places that defined us whilst ending the story done well.

[My hope is that I am in one of them right now, Gentle Reader.]  JJ

Do you see me?

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I shook for almost 3 hours in that clinic recliner chair after a treatment that was supposed to help me.  Why did the nurse wait to answer the call light when I finally figured out what I needed to do?

treatment, recliner, hospital, bark a lounger, adjustable, IV infusion

I couldn’t speak properly but had to go to the bathroom greatly, knowing it would require transport via wheelchair and considerable physical assistance.  Why do I have to risk the episode worsening as I attempt to blurt it all out and even help operate the dang chair?

My left arm and leg were too weak and unstable as they seized with the rest of me so pivoting on a leg opposite the grab bar was the only way to land on the toilet dontcha know?  Why do I have to keep repeating that initiation of speech or movement makes the convulsions worse then be forced in a situation to have to do both anyways?

Each jolt repeated hundreds of times that night made the headache spike while wrenching my neck, spine, low back but alas I could do nothing to stop it or change its course.  Why did not voiding alleviate the symptoms like it had so many times before?

The infusions of fluids were supposed to help me treat the dysautonomia they said and address the dehydration but instead pushed me deeper into an exacerbation of my worst symptoms.  Why did not both doctors return my calls about my care that week, that day?

My beloved rescued me, drove me home, and helped me start the decontamination procedures to minimize the influence of exposures that could make the episode persist.  I feared falling in the shower after mumbling that I thought I could do it myself after he left.  Why do these heartaches keep happening to us?

I am still so very sick a year post IV antibiotics, genetic coaching, IV and compounded nutritional treatments, testing and treatments beyond that most experts would ever comprehend.  Why am I still at this level of strife FIVE YEARS down the road with no money for a big new direction, a possible cure?

The symptoms concerning me most recently are the ones where my cognition becomes dulled.  Why . . .  How in the world will we figure this out if my mind goes dim now?

I place this need to know “why” at the foot of my Lord’s cross who crafted this journey for me and my beloved for this time in our lives.  Thank you Jesus for Steve’s love.  I surrender my questions, my suffering, the thorns in my flesh, and the weakening of my mind to Your mighty hand with trust o’ God of the universe Who reigns!  Whether the battle is in the heavenlies or in my heart, my flesh, I let it all go to you now and ask for your covering my Jesus Christ.

God’s Word captures the submission of Job to the Lord in His time of suffering:

25 I know that my redeemer lives,
    and that in the end he will stand on the earth.
26 And after my skin has been destroyed,
    yet in my flesh I will see God;
27 I myself will see him
    with my own eyes—I, and not another. (Job 19)

2 “I know that you can do all things;
    no purpose of yours can be thwarted.
3 You asked, ‘Who is this that obscures my plans without knowledge?’
    Surely I spoke of things I did not understand,
    things too wonderful for me to know.

4 “You said, ‘Listen now, and I will speak;
    I will question you,
    and you shall answer me.’
5 My ears had heard of you
    but now my eyes have seen you.
6 Therefore I despise myself
    and repent in dust and ashes.” (Job 42)

Me too.  I trust that You always see me.  I will trust in you.  JJ

The Proper Blend

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Like a fine wine that melds flavors as it seasons in an oak barrel over time

Everything I do is a mixture of good and the other from meals to enduring “it” all.

My beloved likes his hot sauce, his cheesy toppings and bold flavors along the way

Mine’s gotta be subdued, seasoned with salt from the sea and little else but with ghee.

In the area of health my River Bear gets on the water even on a late wintry day

Where I rejoice if I can wander outside with the pup or try the more mundane of little things inside.

Steve puts up with so much:  dashed plans, travels alone, a romantic night turned into caregiving

Wifey-poo’s illness cancels plans, sours the embrace, changes everything we once held dear, I sigh.

There is no proper blend when dark symptoms fend off many moments of goodness again and again

We just Cape Diem my love, for we know not how long we have anyways as we pray and pray and pray.

Tis a lesson learned to live in the moment, capturing each breath expanded with gentle care

For we never know what may come before the movie credits roll . . . beyond the edge of what we once held so near.

Will deliverance come tomorrow or much later than that with this new thingy again to try?

Like the windows that saw the sun shine on them today, I will wait expectantly on my Lord with my Gentle Hero at my side.

The Space Between

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Perhaps this was a movie title or that of an old business card

Ah, the lingering spaces between events good, bad, or ugly

Do hold some value despite their lack of measurement on scale.

I spend them wandering through the hallways of our home by day by night

From bed to couch to chair to bed, ahhhhh not much going on here

When sickness marks the hours wanting for an answer, something new.

Antibiotics are on hold from now til whenever as this past year ends

With little change beyond fewer hours of the worst of the hell, I guess

And the unwelcome addition of thirty-four new diagnoses to boot!

I have learned so much of what to do and what not to do as well

My stack of papers tell a long tale witnessed by ERs, a few friends,

A weary husband, and scores of medical peeps paid by someone to care.

My goal to find meaning in these places between crises, visits to hell

Has gone dry like a wellspring once filled with life now bone on bone dry

Stained with spent tears, one worn-out puppy, and a purse now threadbare.

The money went away with five years of living the, uh, alternative life:

Don’t call me “disabled” for there still is a bit o’ fight within me, down deep

To endure this long “medical leave” on my way to a makeover not yet revealed.

So as I breathe in the goo between the more defined places of this life

I take note that here is where energy can move along unencumbered

And one day may bring me to my own railway “Station” or at least my next big stop . . .

♥

Gentle Reader, I hope you will be there waiting for me, won’t you?  JJ