What It's Really All About



Mosaic Cross


In less than four hours fifteen family members will arrive to celebrate my oldest son's twenty-first birthday. I love parties; love hosting gatherings in my home. But as a struggling mitochondrial disease afflicted mom, it's not easy.

I about went over an edge two days ago. My brother fainted in a restaurant and spent a night in the hospital. My family was (and still is) waiting for the results of a second biopsy on a growth in my mother's mouth. And my surgery foot hurt in a new way that had me close to that edge by each days end.

It all seemed a little much.

After a doctor visit and MRI of my foot yesterday, I sat in a pharmacy waiting to pick up pain meds. My podiatrist thinks I've suffered a stress fracture and encouraged me to take the pills. My knee scooter and I were settled in when an older gentleman with dark sunglasses sat next to me and said, "Do you mind if I ask why you're not just using crutches?"

"Not at all. Give it a spin," I replied,"it's a lot more fun than crutches." He didn't accept my offer so I continued, "I battle a neuro muscular condition and had to have ankle surgery recently that required six weeks of no weight bearing. I couldn't have maneuvered on just crutches. This was much easier."

"Oh," he replied, "That makes sense. Will you get better?"

Surprised by his candor I replied, "Probably not. But it's OK. God keeps taking care of me."

"I've been sick a lot lately," he offered. "But I'm a lot older than you."

 "What's up with you?" I asked.

He went on to describe a litany of physical ailments that have plagued him the last six months -a recent heart attack being the scariest. As I listened to him and thought about the fact I don't even know what I've done that could have caused a stress fracture, I blurted, "You know what? The good thing is today really counts. Good Friday really matters!"

He told me he goes to church but lives alone and worries about how much longer he can handle life on his own. I didn't have an answer for his concerns. But the closest I got to a Good Friday service yesterday was the few moments I shared with that man, knowing we could both handle what lies ahead because of what happened on the cross.

My doctor just called. The MRI showed a stress fracture so I get to heal all over again. But that time with my pharmacy friend reminded me again of what it's really all about.

There's a battle down here; a battle for our hearts. Which is why the Apostle Peter commanded us to, "Be alert and of sober mind. Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour. 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." (1 Pet. 5: 8 - 9)

That enemy of our souls wants nothing more than to convince us, through all the crazy stuff that happens every day, that the God of heaven does not love us. And yet the God of heaven sent His son to die a brutal death as payment for every life that walks this earth - yours and mine included.

Believing that divine truth every day, no matter the pain and suffering in our lives (or the lives around us) requires courage and rising above what we feel in the moment.

He loves us. The God of heaven cares deeply about our lives. Good Friday counts. And Easter Sunday even more.

A friend of mine from high school lost her husband to ALS last Sunday morning. The mother of five posted this on her Facebook page only a few hours later,

"'For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.' (John 3:16) My sweet husband went to be with Jesus this morning. Thank you Lord for granting him eternal life and for giving me peace knowing that he is with you. I love you honey and will be with you again before you know it."

That's faith in the moment; a hurting one choosing the eternal perspective that allows the peace that passes understanding to transform the darkest of nights.

 It's time for a shower and pain medicine. And for a party to celebrate life. Because "God so loved the world..."

Savoring the Little Things

A neurologist suggested a pain medicine change about a month ago. Over the next few weeks, I stopped the two pain meds I'd been taking, and allowed Effexor to do its thing. I'm different now. Calmer and pain free. But almost so calm, it's easier to rest than to push to do the extras - like writing.

As soon as the migraine medicine Topamax was eliminated, I slept through the night without the jarring anxious thoughts that used to wake me around 3 am. What a relief. Knowing scripture commands that we do not worry, I longed for my middle of the night thoughts to calm. Effexor has helped.

Amitriptyline was the next to go. It was first prescribed for me over ten years ago by a doctor at the Mayo clinic in Minnesota. I traveled north after local doctors couldn't offer an explanation for severe wrist pain. The cause remained unclear, but the prescription eased the pain. It made me quite sleepy, though, especially when Baclofen was added to combat my spastic legs five years later.

So in time, I asked for a change. Two years ago, that change involved Topamax, which I could only handle at a very small dosage because it increased anxiety. I didn't realize how much it had affected me till I stopped it a month ago.

It's much easier to savor the little things now.

I don't write about them much, but I teach close to twenty students a week. On Tuesdays my teaching day ends with nine-year-old Sophia. I wait till the end of her lesson to sing The Candy Man. Harmonizing with her young voice as she bounces to the music melts my worries every time.




On Thursdays I meet with Landon who has nailed his new piece every week for the last month. His enthusiasm has fueled my own and helped me value what I do. Because in my self scripted life, I was Amy Grant by now, traveling the world and performing my songs to sold out crowds.

My left ankle is quite swollen instead, and both legs unstable. So I didn't even try to fly to Philly this weekend with my sister and mom to see my aging grandparents. My boys made an unexpected trip home, though, so I'm savoring time with them... along with the fresh flowers on my table from Judy and Sue (pictured above); an unexpected email from a friend; new paint on my bedroom walls; Kalso Earth Shoes that disguise my awkward gait; a closet full of colorful batik dresses from our Go Fish store; and a husband who stays by side and loves me when I can't maneuver far.

Sophia's favorite line from our song states, "Who can take tomorrow, dip it in a dream, separate the sorrow and collect up all the cream? ... The candy man can 'cause he mixes it with love and makes the world taste good."

The words may seem simplistic. But then again, when "you separate the sorrow and collect up all the cream", there's much to savor in life and even love to pass along.

I can't claim to have conjured up a good attitude all on my own. Yes, the right drug helped. It's not an easy journey down here. Which is why Paul encouraged us by writing, "Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus..." (Phil. 4: 6-7)

Helping us savor the little things that keep life very much worth living.

Team Trey and Aunt Susan Attempt to Save the World

Transitioning from knee scooter to two legged mobility proved more of a challenge than I expected. A new therapy tool loosened the tight joint this weekend, lifting the fog from my brain. I would never have guessed a rolling pin, suggested by my physical therapist to message my leg, would have been the tool of choice. I'll never roll a pie crust the same again.

As I struggled to walk and keep my heart from overwhelm, I remembered a story I promised to write months ago... because Team Trey and Aunt Susan never want to forget the 2 AM rally cry that rocked our vacation world last summer.

We've lost count of how many years our family has traveled to Sandestin for a week thanks to my Dad's time share generosity. He reserves three units on the bay side and 13 of us head that way. Since Jessica, my sister's daughter, asked to bring a female friend last year, the girls bunked in my sister's unit while the four male cousins stayed in mine. Thus my six-foot-four, fifteen-year-old nephew, Trey, was asleep on the pull out sofa outside my bedroom door when strange noises woke me.

Trey is pictured far left... then Kimber, Jess, Nathan, Sam, and Josh.

At first I thought a fight had broken out on the floor above me. But when I crawled out of bed and opened my bedroom door, I realized the sound was coming from outside our main entrance. Trey woke up and followed me to the door.

I peered out the peep hole and saw two females, a blond and brunette. We were still considering our options when they attacked each other in a bonafide cat fight. I didn't think. I just got mad and swung the door open and chewed the girls out for making so much noise in the middle of the night.

Trey later said, "Man, Aunt Susan you sounded bossy and mad."

 "I didn't just sound mad," I replied,  "I was mad."

My resolve surprised me. I'd spent the week maneuvering for the first time with my new red walker, purchased for the trip. Still, after strolling on the sand, my ankles were much weaker than normal. Earlier that evening, I'd gazed at the ocean from a far, unwilling to risk the short walk to the water's edge.

I felt weak and disabled. Not bossy and strong.

But the girls froze after my scolding. Apologies tumbled out as they begged us not to call security. Bloodshot eyes and bloody wounds explained the reason for the fight. The youngest claimed her older step-sister caused the bike wreck. Having lost the key to the unit next to ours, they pounded on the door and rang the bell, in a vain attempt to wake their parents.

Team Trey and Aunt Susan went into action. I kept the girls from going at it again while Trey searched for first aid items. When bandages and antiseptic arrived, I knelt over the accident victim and cleaned her wounds as she wept.

We stayed with them for at least twenty if not thirty minutes until their mom finally opened the door. In that time, my anger gave way to grave concern. I shared as much Jesus as I could to under-age, intoxicated, college girls while cleaning cuts and scrapes in my pajamas.

Definitely not our norm.

When they disappeared behind the door, the yelling grew loud again. Trey and I listened in stunned silence as the voices carried through the walls. Sandestin is a classy resort. Tending to mayhem in the middle of night had never seemed a potential.

We saw the girls one last time before leaving the next morning. They apologized again. And my heart broke; their deep wounds clear.

Trey and his brothers spent a night at my home during Christmas break. With only four controllers for five kids, Trey left the video game action and found me in the kitchen.  As we talked, we resurrected the memory. I hadn't thought about it in months. But I've thought about it several times since.

Bottom line, it doesn't matter how weak my ankles get or how slow my pace may be. As Paul stated, "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) Towering Trey played body guard while I took action that night, making us a perfect team to shine. So as I continue to heal and live with more limits than before, I'm grateful that in spite of my disabilities, God can use me.

I often forget. So I write to remember.

"He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak. Even youths grow tired and weary, and young men stumble and fall; but those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength.
They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint." (Is. 40: 29 - 31)