What Living Could Be Like

I wasn't planning this, but I became the admin of a faith based mitochondrial disease FB group about two weeks ago. So I compose thoughts while drinking coffee, hoping to encourage myself and maybe others. The challenge stirs thoughts I might otherwise ignore. The words come from a different place so for now, I'll divert from my typical blog posts and share some of them here.

And if you're interested in joining the group, you can find it here: Walking by Faith with Mitochondrial Disease.

May 24th:

Today I'm enjoying day old coffee because it was easy to fix. I'm sitting on our wrap around porch (with leftover pollen) while a cool breeze blows. After a frenzied three weeks, there is calm. And I'm soaking in the moment when all feels right with the world.

In contrast, I cried real tears twice this week. Once due to fear when severe instability and pain altered my gait and the other when an old relational wound resurfaced. Waves of anxiety washed over me and I wept. And knew I needed rest.

The day my ankle popped last week, I spent the morning thinking about what it would be like if I could live with more faith than fear. Peaceful mornings remind me everything's OK. He's got it under control. But then the ankle pops and anxiety builds and I struggle to keep overwhelm from gripping my soul.

Which is why we need community, why I value a place to write, and why I’m thankful for a pastor who called and prayed for me the day I couldn't quite get my spiritual breath.

Still I wonder, as I dwell in His presence today, what living would be like if I could train my heart to bank on the fact the trees are just bushes to God; my mountains mere molehills from His vantage point; and my limitations simply an opportunity for Him to show His power.

For, "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: 28-31)

Rising Above Disease Sharing the Music in Me

Years ago a famed author told me, "Those who can do and those who can't teach." I've wrestled with my profession ever since, feeling that teaching voice and piano is less respectable than finishing a book or singing through out the globe. I still hope to publish my words and sing more than I do now, but for the past ten years, teaching private lessons has done more than just pay the bills, it's kept me going. 

I saw it more clearly this spring - after the ankle reconstruction. Time with students distracted me from pain and made me feel useful even on the slowest of days. And then, in late April, I got an invitation to an event at Pebblebrook High School, a well respected school of performing arts close to home. One of my students, a senior at the school, graduated in the top 5% of her class. The top students were asked to write a speech, thanking two teachers who have impacted their lives over the years. And Meredith chose me. 

Not only did I get to listen as she read kind words about our time together...

But I even came home with a certificate! 

Thanks, Meredith, for a sweet time, indeed.

I was out late that evening and again two days later when Don and I met with a friend in need. So by the time I drove to Athens with Sam on Mother's Day weekend to pick up Nathan from school, my legs were wearing down. Heavy, wobbly steps carried me through his dorm as we packed his stuff and loaded it in the car. We crashed in a hotel room a few hours later so Nathan could finish church commitments before leaving for the summer. 

Sam claims Nathan and I snore in harmony.

Sam, Me, and Nathan (who is working towards a degree in choral music education at UGA)

Nathan not only had to play hand bells Sunday morning, he agreed to sing at an evening event as well. But as a Mother's Day gift to me, the three of us ended up singing an arrangement we rehearsed that afternoon of It Is Well with My Soul at the concert that night. I don't know when we'll sing together again. So I relished this moment with my young men who wouldn't even sing in front of me years ago.

Proof from far away...

And up close.

I held onto walls and worked hard for balance as we left the church, but my heart was bursting with all kinds of cool mom feelings.

Monday proved a day of survival. But by mid week I thought I was getting back to my odd normal. When I took a step after teaching three hours on Wednesday, however, something popped in my right ankle. I'm still waiting for the results of a stat MRI. But last night some of my students who can't attend our end of the year recital gathered at our store to sing. The ankle was tired. Every step took effort. But my students did such a good job I had a hard time going to sleep.

I may need another surgery; may be hobbling for months. But these recent music memories lift me above the disease and make me thankful for the days I've spent in a small practice room, helping others connect to the music in their own souls.

For now, that's more than enough.

A View from Lookout Mountain

This is me on a mountain - far from my normal routine. A mito mom friend, Amy, invited me to leave town and this was the view outside our room on Lookout Mountain two weekends ago. The sky was ocean blue; the temperature crisp, but not cold; and the conversation nonstop. So we paid the entrance fee to Rock City - which was radical living for me.

My knee scooter and I couldn't navigate fat mans squeeze or the rope swing. In fact, it didn't take long for me to make sure I was on the handicap path, avoiding slopes and stairs. The walk wasn't too long so one scoot at a time I made it to a vantage point well worth the effort.

Amy and I sat in rockers till closing time, chatting while gazing over the mountains edge. When I barely had enough time to scoot back to the entrance, I got crazy and climbed three stairs so she could photograph me on this bridge.  

Then we traded places.

As we prepared to leave, an tourist photographed us together. And this is my favorite photo because time with Amy changed me. Iron sharpened iron so when I came down the mountain, life was better than before.

I'm still amazed how sharing one another's burdens lightens your own; how time with a kindred spirit eases the journey and offers perspective lost in day to day drudgery. Time on the mountain reminded me that He is big and our problems very small, for, "He sits enthroned above the circle of the earth, and its people are like grasshoppers. He stretches out the heaven's like a canopy and spreads them out like a tent to live in." (Is. 40: 22) For "He has established His throne in heaven and His kingdom rules over all!!" (Ps. 103: 19)

We live under God's big tent sky and are such a blip in the realm of eternity that when I grasp that for more than twenty-three minutes, my worries dissolve into "light and momentary troubles (that) are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all." (2 Cor. 4:17)

It's not that my problems aren't real. It's just that Creator of the Universe is so much bigger.

It took two weeks for my mitochondria to catch up after our weekend away. I napped more than normal and lived the bare necessities. But my heart has been full to overflowing, for "I am confident of this; I will see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living." (Ps. 27: 13)