"He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty..." (Ps. 91:1)
I'm a news junky. And my refurbished computer makes surfing the web for odd tidbits of news an easy past time. Sifting through dramatic stories bordering on the morose, however, takes it toll. In time, my spirit is heavy; my soul downcast.
Ironically, I often wallow in news muck when I'm already a bit disheartened, as if I'll find a story to feed my thirst. Instead of "feeding" my soul, the bundle of bad news leaves me numb. And then I dwell in numbness.
"He who dwells in the shelter..."
I went to Emory last week for an EMG, hoping for clarification as to my odd physical issues. They performed the test and stated emphatically, absent a bed side manner, that I do NOT have a myopathy. While I'm fine not having a myopathy, their assertion contradicts what another respected physician noted last June.
And I fight dwelling in crazy lady land.
Sam is scheduled for a muscle biopsy based on the results of our tests last June. Emory's neurologists stated I should ask this other doc about his findings. After a day or two of deliberation, it became clear we should continue with the biopsy.
As a side note, I just googled the pediatric doc's name and found he was featured as the only recommended pediatric neurologist in a recent addition of the Atlanta Magazine. Check this out if you need a "Top Doc"...
http://www.choa.org/Menus/Documents/media/Atlanta_Magazine_Full_Story.pdf
Regardless, as my head hit the pillow last week (after reading too many news stories), the office visit replayed in my mind, the doctor's voices almost hypnotic in their determination to convince me their test was superior to the other. I began to question the last four months of progress, which led me straight down the path to crazy land.
But then a gentle prompting pulled me back. "He who dwells in the shelter..." And I remembered there's a shelter, a divine presence, a place of refuge where the Almighty takes each hit, if only I will dwell there, setting my heart in that place of peace.
He who dwells...
Where do you dwell? I know where I want to dwell. I want to dwell where "I will say of the Lord, 'He is my refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust.'" (Ps. 91:2)
My boys and I memorized this Psalm long ago and used to say it each morning on our way to school. I just read it aloud this morning.
The promises are rich for "He who dwells".
Monday, September 28, 2009
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Me and My EMG
Sam and I had abnormal EMG's in June. An EMG tests the health of your muscles. So basically, the test showed our muscles aren't quite healthy.
Two and a half months later, I saw an adult neurologist at Emory. He told me I needed to have another EMG to validate the results of the first one. When I left Emory on August 26th, I was scheduled for an EMG on Monday, Sep. 14th.
A week later, a scheduler from Emory called and told me they had to postpone the appointment due to an emergency. The test was bumped to Sep. 24th until she called again last Friday trying to delay it more. After my urgent pleas, she agreed to perform the test on Tuesday, Sep. 22nd.
I'm not holding my breath.
"It is not for you to know the times or dates the Father has set by his own authority." (Acts 1: 7)
The delays concern me since I'm not sure what shoes I will wear once the weather turns cold. My ankles are weird and not accommodating many shoe options. And the one pair that didn't hurt my ankles, in time, hurt my back.
"And why do you worry about clothes? See how the lilies of the field grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these." (Matt. 6: 28-29)
Some weeks I must pace my driving. Some days I must choose to sit still. Some times I must run my fingers along a wall to keep balance while moving forward. It's comical in an upside down sort of way.
"Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me. But he said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.'" (2 Cor. 12: 8-9)
I turn forty in a few weeks and never dreamed I'd be facing an odd muscle thing at this point in my life. And I guess until my test on Tuesday, I can hold out hope for another diagnosis. But the biggest hope I can grab hold of far surpasses normal legs, warm shoes, or medical understanding.
For "he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was upon him, and by his wounds we are healed." (Isaiah 53: 5)
That's the crazy, cool part. Right now, right here, through Jesus Christ, we are healed.
Two and a half months later, I saw an adult neurologist at Emory. He told me I needed to have another EMG to validate the results of the first one. When I left Emory on August 26th, I was scheduled for an EMG on Monday, Sep. 14th.
A week later, a scheduler from Emory called and told me they had to postpone the appointment due to an emergency. The test was bumped to Sep. 24th until she called again last Friday trying to delay it more. After my urgent pleas, she agreed to perform the test on Tuesday, Sep. 22nd.
I'm not holding my breath.
"It is not for you to know the times or dates the Father has set by his own authority." (Acts 1: 7)
The delays concern me since I'm not sure what shoes I will wear once the weather turns cold. My ankles are weird and not accommodating many shoe options. And the one pair that didn't hurt my ankles, in time, hurt my back.
"And why do you worry about clothes? See how the lilies of the field grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these." (Matt. 6: 28-29)
Some weeks I must pace my driving. Some days I must choose to sit still. Some times I must run my fingers along a wall to keep balance while moving forward. It's comical in an upside down sort of way.
"Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me. But he said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.'" (2 Cor. 12: 8-9)
I turn forty in a few weeks and never dreamed I'd be facing an odd muscle thing at this point in my life. And I guess until my test on Tuesday, I can hold out hope for another diagnosis. But the biggest hope I can grab hold of far surpasses normal legs, warm shoes, or medical understanding.
For "he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was upon him, and by his wounds we are healed." (Isaiah 53: 5)
That's the crazy, cool part. Right now, right here, through Jesus Christ, we are healed.
Friday, September 11, 2009
Looking Back
My computer died last week. It hadn't worked well for months. Looking back, I put off the inevitable as long as I could. So Labor Day weekend began with a trip to the computer doc.
My computer spent the long weekend in rehab and came home a few days ago. It's amazing. A friend installed upgraded parts I never dreamed I would own right now. I can traffic the Internet with ease and add to blogs without battling for proper word spacing. My desk is a mess since I dug everywhere to find software to reinstall. But the computer's so easy to work with, I can write surrounded by chaos.
It reflects the recent skirmish in my heart.
When I found out Sam had to have a muscle biopsy in early August, I lost normal momentum. I spent days haggling with insurance companies and doctor's offices. Yet even when the procedure was scheduled and close at hand, I felt slowed and unable to find my happy place. Ironically, he got sick last week and the procedure was postponed a month. It's still not over.
But after long hours of quiet last week, perhaps even a shut down of sorts, I found Susan again. It could be the antibiotics I'm on. It could also be the work of that new supplement I've been taking. But somehow it seems more than that.
The creative side of my brain has concluded that God upgraded my hardware to better serve my software. I'm learning what to care about versus what to let go of, and it's an intriguing process, forcing me to go against the normal emotional flow of my heart.
It's tricky. But I spent an hour today surrounded by an enthusiastic group of elementary aged singers and can't wait to teach them my favorite elephant song next week. My ankles are weak. My legs still unsteady. But I could sing and help a few others learn songs that speak of hope and joy and the good in life.
"The Lord is good to those whose hope is in him, to the one who seeks him... Let him sit alone in silence for the Lord has laid it on him." (Lam. 3: 25 & 28)
There are times of quiet; times when hours in a blue recliner offer an escape or perhaps a respite of sorts.
But "men are not cast off by the Lord forever. Though he brings grief, he will show compassion, so great is his unfailing love." (Lam. 3: 31-32)
A new computer. A stronger heart. Both after a crash of sorts.
Looking back, I understand.
My computer spent the long weekend in rehab and came home a few days ago. It's amazing. A friend installed upgraded parts I never dreamed I would own right now. I can traffic the Internet with ease and add to blogs without battling for proper word spacing. My desk is a mess since I dug everywhere to find software to reinstall. But the computer's so easy to work with, I can write surrounded by chaos.
It reflects the recent skirmish in my heart.
When I found out Sam had to have a muscle biopsy in early August, I lost normal momentum. I spent days haggling with insurance companies and doctor's offices. Yet even when the procedure was scheduled and close at hand, I felt slowed and unable to find my happy place. Ironically, he got sick last week and the procedure was postponed a month. It's still not over.
But after long hours of quiet last week, perhaps even a shut down of sorts, I found Susan again. It could be the antibiotics I'm on. It could also be the work of that new supplement I've been taking. But somehow it seems more than that.
The creative side of my brain has concluded that God upgraded my hardware to better serve my software. I'm learning what to care about versus what to let go of, and it's an intriguing process, forcing me to go against the normal emotional flow of my heart.
It's tricky. But I spent an hour today surrounded by an enthusiastic group of elementary aged singers and can't wait to teach them my favorite elephant song next week. My ankles are weak. My legs still unsteady. But I could sing and help a few others learn songs that speak of hope and joy and the good in life.
"The Lord is good to those whose hope is in him, to the one who seeks him... Let him sit alone in silence for the Lord has laid it on him." (Lam. 3: 25 & 28)
There are times of quiet; times when hours in a blue recliner offer an escape or perhaps a respite of sorts.
But "men are not cast off by the Lord forever. Though he brings grief, he will show compassion, so great is his unfailing love." (Lam. 3: 31-32)
A new computer. A stronger heart. Both after a crash of sorts.
Looking back, I understand.
Friday, September 4, 2009
The August Butterfly Dance
Has anyone noticed the number of butterflies dancing in mid air the past few weeks? We spent the weekend in south Georgia for a family wedding. As we traveled country roads, I was amazed at the number of yellow and orange butterflies flitting about.
Years ago, I noticed that Pear Trees shed their blossoms in mid-March, creating what I affectionately dubbed, "March Snow." Just about the time their smell overtook their beauty, a storm would blow the tiny blossoms off the trees, covering my driveway in a blanket of white. I still look forward to March snow; to one last twirl of white before winter is gone and spring grabs hold.
And after driving through a canopy of dancing color this weekend, my antenna will be up next August to see if the phenomenon repeats itself. I have a feeling I've overlooked the late summer occurrence for too many years.
Dancing butterflies stir my deep places. And they've needed stirring lately. Our first genetic test came back negative in early August which means Sam will undergo a muscle biopsy next week--if his recent cough goes away. It's only minor surgery. But the mom in me has felt a little overwhelmed by it all lately.
I know there are much worse things. Even Sam recently said he doesn't like visiting his neurologist's office since we see some fairly sick kids while waiting. Perspective is a good thing.
But if God brings us to mind, I'd appreciate your prayers. Sam needs to get healthy this weekend so the biopsy can take place Sep. 10th at 9 am.
"For since the creation of the world God's invisible qualities--his eternal power and divine nature--have been clearly seen, being understood from what has been made..." (Rom. 1:20)
...especially as it relates to dancing butterflies.
Years ago, I noticed that Pear Trees shed their blossoms in mid-March, creating what I affectionately dubbed, "March Snow." Just about the time their smell overtook their beauty, a storm would blow the tiny blossoms off the trees, covering my driveway in a blanket of white. I still look forward to March snow; to one last twirl of white before winter is gone and spring grabs hold.
And after driving through a canopy of dancing color this weekend, my antenna will be up next August to see if the phenomenon repeats itself. I have a feeling I've overlooked the late summer occurrence for too many years.
Dancing butterflies stir my deep places. And they've needed stirring lately. Our first genetic test came back negative in early August which means Sam will undergo a muscle biopsy next week--if his recent cough goes away. It's only minor surgery. But the mom in me has felt a little overwhelmed by it all lately.
I know there are much worse things. Even Sam recently said he doesn't like visiting his neurologist's office since we see some fairly sick kids while waiting. Perspective is a good thing.
But if God brings us to mind, I'd appreciate your prayers. Sam needs to get healthy this weekend so the biopsy can take place Sep. 10th at 9 am.
"For since the creation of the world God's invisible qualities--his eternal power and divine nature--have been clearly seen, being understood from what has been made..." (Rom. 1:20)
...especially as it relates to dancing butterflies.
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