Spilling Time

On my lunch hour yesterday, a bag of dried thyme burst open when I dropped it.

“I just spilled a bunch of thyme,” I remarked to Allyson as I passed her on the way to retrieve the broom from the laundry room. 

“Mmm,” she replied, eyes never leaving her cell phone screen.

“Doesn’t that sound poetic, spilling thyme?” I asked, but I was left to ponder that thought alone.

I did ponder over it all through my customary lunchtime walk in the park. What could it mean to spill time?

Sonlight Shining Through the Cracks

Last Friday, a blog reader I didn’t know I had reached out to check on me. I told him I’ve been writing a blog entry in my head for weeks, and I knew it was time to write it down and share it with you.

I wrote most of this entry on my lunch break that day, sitting at my cluttered kitchen table next to the window. The sky was a dull gray, and I felt too chilly to venture out for a much-needed walk in the park. Even so, I didn't feel as down as I might have felt a week or two before.

Over these last weeks of forced isolation, God has been working a transformation in me. Actually, it started before COVID-19 locked us all in our homes.

Ever since I started working again in early January, I’d gradually been feeling better in mind and body. The daily warm greetings from my friend Laura, and the repartee between her, myself, and our colleagues gave me a reason to get out of bed and pack up all my meals, drinks, and snacks each day.

One area of my recovery lagged behind, though. I missed my old closeness with Jesus dreadfully, and I often cried when I prayed about it. Because of all the struggles I’d been through over the preceding six months, I often found myself listening, if only for a moment, to my enemy’s constant refrain: “Maybe He really isn’t good. Maybe He can’t be trusted.” 

Come Walk With Me for a Mile or Two

I've been working on a longer blog entry but thought I’d share a few reminiscences that carried me to a happy place today.

In need of motivation for sweeping and mopping my kitchen, I searched YouTube for “80s cleaning music” and found a fabulous three-hour playlist. 

By the second song, I was feeling so sad over the contrast between those carefree days and the current Covid-19 worries and resulting isolation that I almost turned the music off. But then the third song inspired me to tell myself, “Relax… don’t do it.” I forbade myself from thinking unhappy thoughts and just enjoyed one song after another, letting the memories swirl through my head and even my body as I remembered….

• driving my old green bomb (a 13-year-old 1973 Dodge Coronet) as fast as I dared, with the windows down and an Alphaville ("Forever Young") cassette blasting, on the short commute to my summer job at Six Flags Over Texas amusement park. My driver’s license was practically still warm from the laminator. (I cried when my dad made me buy that back-firing monstrosity for $1000, but I soon realized I could carry five belted friends; mine was the car of choice for off-campus lunches.)

• Too many Girl Scout trip memories to tell. My two faves: (1) the time the most mischievous in our troop stuck menstrual pads covered in red marker to the side of our chartered bus. I was mortified because the prank wasn’t discovered until we’d been driving a few hours. The rest of us couldn’t figure out why people kept honking. Good times! (2) the tearful reunion of various configurations of feuding, hormonal adolescents in Washington state when someone played Michael W Smith’s “Friends Are Friends Forever” over and over on the bus. (I don’t know how our leaders managed up to 28 girls for up to 3 weeks at a time. Maybe a bit of wine after we’d all turned in for the night.)

• countless sleepovers with Dawn, a Girl Scout friend. Riding our bikes all through the neighborhood. Swimming in her pool. (I was jealous of how great she looked in her bikini.) Telling secrets in the dark.

• slow dancing with Kenny at a dance hosted by my Girl Scout troop. I was shocked when I discerned a spark of romance while we laughed uproariously at the Spandau Ballet song that was playing; I’d thought I hated Kenny due to his merciless teasing for years in English class.

• flirting with older boys in chemistry… and math… and economics. But never in German class. My memory of that class was discovering that someone had opened the second-story window and stuck licked gummy bears to the casement. They'd drawn speech bubbles with the words, “I’m gonna jump.” Also I remember my friend Dawn painting her fingernails and toenails in class. I had a picture I wanted to share but can't find it. Frau G was pretty cool, and a great teacher. (When I caught one of those older boys, I didn't know what to do with him, so I ran away.)

• first real kiss in my front yard. I think his name was Mark.

• sharing a better kiss under the stars on the high-jump mat at the local college with my first real boyfriend

• going to the Ranger game with another Girl Scout friend, fearless M. In the first inning, she convinced a young man to buy her a very tall beer, after which she: -decided the game was boring and we’d have more fun on our own -stole a Barry Manilow cassette from a random unlocked car on the way out just to drive some faceless person crazy -called our mutual crush Coach K on a pay phone(!), and then put the phone up to my mouth. I don’t remember what I said, only that I spluttered rather than spoke. Ah, Coach K. He was 23 years old and rather cute, very short but with the most delightful muscles. He responded to all my journal entries and made me feel like I had something meaningful to share. He is the only teacher I ever remember having a crush on. -enlisted my help looking under the couch cushions at her dad’s apartment for loose change for donuts at Winchell’s, where she sat down on a curb to pee. -somehow delivered me home safely before my 11 p.m. curfew. I'd never been so relieved to slip through the front door.

• sneaking out of choir with M to buy 9-inch chocolate chip cookies at the French bakery, and then getting caught and crying when Mr. M. expressed his bitter disappointment in me

That 80s playlist got me through sweeping, mopping twice, and folding a load of clothes, plus writing a blog entry. Thank you for walking a bit down memory lane with me. I hope you enjoyed it as much as my daughter Allyson did when I read her my list just now.

What are your favorite memories from your teen years?

Sisters Emily, Amy, Me - 1986 (age 16)

1984 (age 14)

Siblings Melody, Emily, Rick, Amy at my first wedding - 1989 (age 18)

Prom night with Byron (first husband) - 1988
Most vivid memory from that night:
a girl throwing up on the hem of my dress in the bathroom

An Uninvited Guest

I've missed you guys lots. I think of you often and have many stories to share but very little time to write them. My life is mostly consumed with planning meals, cooking them, and cleaning up the kitchen afterward. Throw in laundry, exercise when the weather permits, and plenty of sleep, and there go all 24 hours in my day.

Here's a story that a normal person would never share, but when you read it perhaps you will understand why I just had to tell it. If you're terribly shocked, my guess is that  you haven't been reading this blog very long....

I'd been anticipating my Sunday morning shower for two reasons. First, due to my severe dry skin, I shower only twice a week in the winter. Oh, how I love standing under the warm water--not too hot!--for as long as I dare, even though I know my skin may hurt for a day or two afterward.

Second, I'd just gotten all my hair cut off on Saturday, and this would be my first time to style it. I was really hoping it would look as good as it did when I'd left the salon.

I'd mistakenly set my clock an hour ahead on my dad's advice, so this week I planned to enjoy a leisurely shower before church.

I let the water run for a good three minutes while I brushed my limbs, back, and stomach with a natural-bristled brush to stimulate circulation and lymphatic drainage. It stings just a bit, but it's very invigorating.

The water was nice and warm when I stepped in, turning my back to the flow and closing my eyes as I sighed, "Ahhhh."

It only took a moment to wet my shorn locks, and then I opened my eyes to reach for the preservative-free shampoo bar, which I keep on the shower ledge outside the door. (I learned the hard way that you can't keep a shampoo bar in the shower, or it will melt away to nothing.)

I wasn't wearing my contacts, but I had no trouble spotting something that didn't belong in the corner of the shower pan, to the right of the door. It was big and brown and... terrifying! Had Ethan still lived at home, I might have mistaken my uninvited shower guest for one of those toy bugs that used to take my breath away for a moment. This water bug, as motionless as a toy, was the length of my thumb, and all too real.

Like the bug, I froze. The only thing that moved was my vocal cords; I started to scream but sort of swallowed the sound even though Allyson was sound asleep on the other side of the house and couldn't possibly have heard me. Maybe I didn't want the giant roach to hear me. In any case, the only sound my throat emitted was a strangled squeak.

My thoughts seemed to tumble over one another in slow motion. What should I do? If I moved, the bug would run. The only thing I had in the shower that might kill this thing was a bottle of neem oil, but if I hesitated even for a moment, the bug would run at me.

The sensible thing to do would have been to step out of the shower, reach back in and turn off the water, dry off, and return with a shoe. But the warm water was so divine, and the bathroom would not have had time to steam up yet, and I couldn't bear the thought of stepping out into the cold with my soaking-wet body. So I made a very foolish decision.

I decided to share the shower with the roach and just try to finish very, very quickly. There was only one problem with that plan. Although you can use a shampoo bar, with its luxurious lather, quite quickly, there's no rushing the process with a conditioner bar. You're supposed to run the bar up and down the strands of your hair, which is surprisingly hard when your hair is super short. Basically I just rubbed it all around my head while I kept my eyes trained on the still motionless roach.

So far, so good. Now all I needed to do was rinse my hair and wash my armpits and nether regions with yet another soap bar. There was no question of shaving the legs today.

I'd just begun the rinsing--carefully, with my eyes open--when the roach started scurrying toward my feet. I yelped out another strangled screech and sprang into action without any conscious thought.

In one motion, I somehow flung open the shower door and leapt over the brass-edged shower pan, landing on the fluffy rug. Meanwhile, the roach ran to the opposite corner, behind where I'd been standing. I don't know who moved faster, but somehow we missed meeting in the middle.

With water spraying through the open door and streaming in soapy rivers down my body, the rug was drenched in seconds. I scarcely noticed the cold as I stared at that bug, statue-still once more, and pondered the best course of action. I really did not want to smash a roach on the wet shower floor when I was only half done washing.

After 30 seconds or so, I flipped over the plastic drain lid, pulled down the shower head from its hook, and blasted that bug toward the gaping hole. It happily scrambled down when it reached the edge, and I slapped the drain cover back in place.

Back under the warm water, I was unable to enjoy the rest of my shower because I couldn't stop mentally replaying a video I'd shown my students last year. Roaches' articulated exoskeletons are incredibly flexible and strong. Did you know they can be compressed to half their height and still run full speed?

That meant that my shower buddy could easily squeeze back through one of those holes in the drain cover any time it wanted to.

My trembling as I slathered neem oil over my wet skin was not just from the cold, therefore. But I finished the process without incident and was soon standing on the waterlogged rug. The only problem I had to deal with was washing that rug, which was dirty anyway.

So it all turned out fine in the end... even my hair.

Photo from that fateful morning--with clothes

For the record, my house is not infested with roaches. Those water bugs live in the creek across the street. The ones who wander in are usually slaughtered by my cat Arwen. A typical Russian Blue, she is an accomplished hunter, so typically all I might encounter is a dismembered leg--or head, eww!!

I may have to rethink my policy of keeping Arwen out of my bathroom.

Beyond What I Could Ask or Imagine

One of the beads strung on my necklace of answered prayers is a new job that far exceeds anything I’d asked or hoped for. Around Thanksgiving I finally had the courage to take an unflinching look at my finances, and I knew I had to start job hunting immediately. My original plan was to substitute teach through the spring semester and seek a position as an ESL (English as a Second Language) teacher for the fall.

I wanted to substitute two or three times a week at the middle school where I taught last year, both to continue exerting an influence on my former students, who are now eighth graders, and to help out my colleagues. Very few substitute teachers will return to that school, and consequently the teachers frequently must cover each other’s classes in the absence of a sub. The job is beyond exhausting under the best of circumstances, and I know from experience how hard it is to lose one of your off periods. Since my weekly volunteer time there was typically the best part of my week, I was actually looking forward to working as a sub there. 

At the same time, I had a nagging sense of unease about returning to the classroom. The stress and hard work of last year was undoubtedly a factor in the recent flare-up of my autoimmune disease, Hashimoto’s thyroiditis. Although my recovery over the last five months has been dramatic, I don’t feel confident that my body could currently weather the stress of a job that demanded virtually all of my waking hours. How could I keep up with my prescribed whole-foods diet and still plan lessons, call parents, and grade papers?

Of course, I prayed continually about this. With my mouth, I repeatedly surrendered my will to God’s, yet my heart didn’t want to let go of my dream of teaching, which I felt certain was my calling. Hot tears rained on the carpet in my prayer closet many nights as I asked God for clear direction. Echoing my sister Amy’s prayers for me, I asked for the right door to open and the rest of the doors to close. 

The door to substitute teaching in my old school closed with a slam that was practically audible. The district declined my application, with a form letter that informed me they’d chosen “other applicants who were more qualified for the position.” More qualified than a certified, experienced teacher? I was flabbergasted because I know how short-handed the district is, but peace pervaded my heart as I recognized this answer to my prayers. At that point, I could have applied at the closer school districts where I’d planned to seek a permanent position next school year, but I hesitated. This felt like a sign. Maybe God had other plans for me.

During  a Thursday prayer meeting at my Spanish speaking church, Palabra Viva, I sobbed as I knelt at the altar. “Lord, please help me let go of everything… my hopes, my dreams, my past. Help me believe that I can serve you anywhere. If you can use me, I am yours. But please heal this hurt in my heart. I trust you. I know your plans for me are perfect. Please open the right door for me. Show me the path you have chosen for me.”

I also requested prayer about my job search. “Necesito un trabajo,” I said simply. “I need a job.”

The next day, a Friday, I updated my resume, moving the instructional design experience to the top of the Work Experience section. I meticulously detailed all of my former instructional design duties and pared down the sections for my teaching jobs.

Around 4:15, I updated the career objective in my online job app, Indeed, and then uploaded the new resume. Around 4:30, I applied for my first job, as an instructional designer of online courses for reading teachers. The job description and bullet points for the ideal candidate could have been culled from my own resume: experience as a classroom teacher (5 years preferred; that is my total number), experience as an instructional designer (I have 10 years), knowledge of second language acquisition preferred (I have recently become almost fluent in Spanish). 

To make the job even more appropriate for me, the subject matter would be the science of reading, with a focus on phonics. My five years’ experience were all in a reading classroom, and I’d tutored my low readers in phonics the previous year. Still, as I clicked the Apply button, I prayed, “Lord, help me not to get my hopes up. This job seems perfect, and the pay range is wonderful, but I know your idea of perfect is not the same as mine. Only you know the job that is best for me.”

At 8:53 on Monday morning, fewer than 72 hours after I’d applied, I received an email inviting me to apply on the internal website. My heart fluttered when I read the closing line: “We would love to review your qualifications further.” 

Just Plain Beautiful

Today on the way to the park, I reflected on the morning's sermon, centered on the resurrection of Lazarus. Pastor Stephen pointed out the difference between the resurrection of our bodies in the last day, and the resurrection of our spirits while we are alive. "You can have salvation and eternal life, but not be really alive," he explained.

"Father, what do you need to resurrect in me in 2020?" I whispered as I approached some Frisbee golfers intent on their game.

"Would you resurrect my joy? How about laughter? Oh, I love laughter. I really want to live this year, to enjoy that abundant life that you-"

At that moment, a butterfly captured my attention as it flitted across my path, practically grazing my knees. "Oh, Lord!" I breathed as I followed its progress.

How can I describe the beauty of this butterfly? There was nothing imposing about it, nothing flashy. It had a wingspan of perhaps one inch, and a simple wing structure similar to a moth's, with no intricate color patterns. Still, the flutters of solid yellow fading into the distance over the grass made me think of summer sun warm on my back.

"Oh, it's beautiful!" I exclaimed. "Thank you!"

An answering thought filled my mind. It's beautiful like you. Simple, not flashy. Just doing what God made it to do. Not worrying. Just riding on the breeze.

Tears filled my eyes. "Help me see myself as you do," I prayed. "I know I am beautiful to you. Just the way you made me."

I thought of the butterfly that a student drew for me last year, and the connection I made with a verse that God had given me during that difficult time: "Beloved, we are God's children now, and what we will be has not yet appeared; but we know that when he appears we shall be like Him, because we shall see him as He is." (1 John 3:2)

I thought of a caterpilar's metamorphosis, and my own, over my lifetime. "I can't wait to see you as you are, face to face," I said. "And then I will be so beautiful like you."

But then I whispered the words that flowed from my heart. "I am already beautiful, like that simple butterfly. I am not yet what I will be, but I'm beautiful just as I am."

A desire filled my heart then, to follow the butterfly's example by doing what God made me to do, what feels to me like flying. I wanted to write.

So there you go. Thank you for reading.

Like a String of Beautiful Beads

Years ago, when my dear friend Laura passed away, her mother gave me a rosary that she had treasured; it was from Jerusalem from wood harvested in the Garden of Gethsemane, as I recall.

I never knew how to pray the rosary with the beads, nor even what the groups of beads stood for, until my friend Gentle explained it to me. She had grown up Catholic but was attending my Protestant church when I met her.

I loved the idea of a necklace that could aid you in daily prayers and remind you of Jesus's sacrifices for us. Although I couldn't possibly remember all that Gentle showed me, I could relate to the idea. It seemed similar to the way I flip through the business cards where I have recorded the precious memory passages that God has given me over the last 17 years. While I recite the passages, I don't really look at them much, but the feel of the velvety edges from years of handling triggers an explosion of connections--memories of the miraculous and unique ways that God used to confirm each passage, of promises fulfilled, and promises yet to be fulfilled.

Often, I have to stop to praise God or thank Him for the answered prayers that I know are coming. For example, one morning in the park when I quoted, "I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty" (Philippians 4:12), I set the cards aside and said, "God, thank you for allowing me to experience being in need for the first time in my adult life. Thank you that this passage isn't just words for me. How can I experience the wonder of your provision if I never truly understand what it is to be in need? Thank you for this opportunity to trust you. You have always been faithful, and I know you will continue to be faithful."

If you've been reading long and you have a great memory, you may recall that I hung Laura's rosary, along with some promises from Scripture, on my car's mirror back when I was an Uber driver and aspiring teacher.

I'm sorry to report that after a few months in the Texas sun, the necklace string melted! I had not noticed that it was made of wax. I lost all the beads, but I kept the crucifix... somewhere.

To be honest, if I had a necklace of prayer beads now, I'd have to say that in recent months most of the beads would be devoted to prayer requests rather than praises. I do write a gratitude list every night before bed, and I thank God for things as small as a muffin with almond butter and raspberry jam or as big as a restored relationship.

But I have been praying for lots of things for what feels like a very long time. It has now been six months since I suffered a severe flare-up of Hashimoto's thyroiditis that led to alternating bouts of hyperthyroidism and hypothyroidism and a host of painful symptoms caused by my own immune system, and five months since I have received a paycheck.

Though I have felt better and better with each passing week, I still have joint pain when I lose sleep or eat a food that my immune system reacts to. And my skin has been painfully dry this winter, more than any other year in my life--most likely due to hypothyroidism even though my energy level is good and my body seems to be in better health than I've experienced in years.

Over the last couple of months, I've struggled to keep my focus on the positive rather than focusing on my pain. I've struggled to keep my eyes and my heart fixed on the undeniable fact that God loves me more deeply than I can comprehend, even when I feel lonely and isolated.

Slowly, slowly, the balance has tipped. I now have more happy days than sad days. I smile more. I'm starting to laugh again. For the most part, I've stepped out of my funk, and I dare to believe that I am learning the lesson that God has for me in this trial.

One by one, God has been answering my prayers. Here are just a few of the things God has done for me in just the last couple of weeks.

1. A close friend to pray with and hang out with; God gave me two. For about four years, I have been praying for a special friend whom I could pray with and spend time with on a regular basis. Most of my close friends are teachers with no social life during the school term, and they live far from me. I wanted a friend who could hug me with arms.

Even Before I Call

I wrote this entry this past Sunday (December 8), but couldn't get it to post that day. The Friday that I refer to in the entry was one week ago.

Friday was a stressful day for me, though I felt pretty good physically. I spent the majority of the day working on a cover letter, but I wasn’t satisfied with it. And then I completed all but the last screen of an online job application, only to be kicked back to the home screen without any of my changes being saved. 

“I’ve got to get out of here,” I said aloud. “I can’t do this one more minute.” 

The afternoon was mild, so I mounted my bike and followed my usual route over the park trails. I tried to keep my thoughts in the moment, to focus on the few remaining green leaves and the sound of the water, but my thoughts kept returning to the job applications. 

About halfway through my ride, I had a thought so pathetic that I shocked myself: “In April I’ll be 50. I wonder how much longer I will live.” I thought about the longevity of my parents and grandparents--thank you, Jesus--and figured I could have another 40 years or more left. “I’m so tired,” I thought. “I want to be at the end.”

Immediately I repented. “I’m sorry, God. No, I don’t want to skip past my whole life. I don’t want to skip any of it because I know you work in all things for my good. You promised me abundant life. This isn’t abundant life… being bound by fear and worry. Please help me take hold of the joy that you have for me in this time of trouble.” 

Still on the Path

I’ve missed you guys so much these last weeks. I think of you often and want to tell you my stories, but either I get too busy wrecking and re-cleaning my kitchen, or I decide I don’t have anything worth saying. I keep waiting to learn the lesson so I can share something uplifting with you, but I’m just not there yet. 

So I will just tell you like it is. I’ll start with the good, tell you about the parts that don’t feel so good, and end with the great.

The Good

I have been following my personalized autoimmune diet for about three and a half months now. I eat only the foods that provoked the lowest level of antibodies on my blood test. I enjoy a fair variety of red meat, fish, poultry, vegetables, and fruits--all organic and pasture raised so as to avoid toxins from pesticides. 

Most of the pain that I had during my acute flare-up of Hashimoto’s thyroiditis and prolonged bout of insomnia has faded out. I sleep soundly each night, and my energy level is good, especially on days when the weather and my schedule permit me to ride my bike.

I no longer react to fragrances nor to essential oils, which I now apply to my thyroid daily (lemongrass, frankincense, and myrrh). When I react to a food, I no longer get tachycardia or bradycardia (high or low heart rate). I don’t get manic any more; that was the effect of severe insomnia, which creates a chemical state in the brain that is remarkably similar to intoxication.

In many ways, I feel healthier than I have felt in years:

• I’ve gained 10 of the 20 pounds I had lost since last May.
• I no longer get shaky and anxious when I am hungry, nor do I need to eat every 1.5 to 2 hours. 
• My hair is getting thicker.
• The outer edges of my eyebrows are growing in. (Hypothyroid patients typically lose the outer third of their eyebrows.)
• My nails are thicker, and they no longer split.
• Despite being off all thyroid medication for nearly 5 months, my energy level is good and I still have none of the typical hypothyroid symptoms except dry skin and cold intolerance.
• After nine years of perimenopausal symptoms, my periods have become more regular and the night sweats have stopped. This should also mean that my iron levels are returning to normal.
• My resting heart rate is lower, which contributes to deeper sleep.
• My digestion is much better. The frequent stomach pain, reflux, and diarrhea have almost completely stopped. Better digestion leads to better immune function and better mental health.

After two months of solid sleep, I feel ready to return to work and am now looking for a job. In the interim, I get myself out of the house and satisfy my desire to be with people by volunteering at my local library and at the junior high where I used to work. I particularly enjoy leading bilingual story hour at the library, but my happiest days each week are the ones when I’m working one-on-one with struggling readers at the junior high.

At the end of a happy day

I have committed my latest scripture passage to memory and find great comfort in meditating on it daily. Although I usually can’t feel God working, I do believe that this trial is achieving for me an eternal glory that far outweighs the struggles. One day I will share the whole story with you, and then “all of this [will be] for your benefit, so that the grace that is reaching more and more people will cause thanksgiving to overflow to the glory of God.” (2 Corinthians 4:15)

The Parts that Don’t Feel So Good

I spend much of my time feeling alone and lonely. Of course I see Allyson, but she’s a typical busy teen. I see my family every week or two and my friends occasionally, and I often talk with them on the phone, but sometimes I just want a flesh-and-blood hug. I want to see the tears of laughter on their cheeks when we share a belly laugh. I want to just hang out.

Some days when it’s raining or too cold for me to get out on my bike in the sun, I feel unbearably sad and hopeless. I have to remind myself over and over that this time of trouble is light and momentary when compared to a lifetime or to eternity. I know that brighter days are waiting for me just around the corner.

Worse than the loneliness is the anxiety that tries to reclaim its hold on me. The main trigger is agonizing over my financial position and over the heavy responsibility of choosing a direction for my career. My heart wants to return to teaching, but the timing is wrong, and it’s hard to imagine taking care of myself adequately while managing such a crushing workload. Taking a job that I could leave at work each day and where I could earn more money makes sense, yet it also feels like turning my back on what God called me to do. 

Another trigger is fear that my condition could be worsening. Over the last couple of weeks, I’ve had occasional pain in my joints and the residual pain in my skin has become more intense on some days. It could be something that I ate, but I suspect that the main cause is the stress of job hunting and applying for social services to help me through this transition. 

One moment that brought unexpected tears was a trip to Walmart with Allyson and my sister Amy, who was Christmas shopping. As I glanced at aisles and aisles of items I could not afford, my mind flashed back to countless mundane trips to Walmart. On those other days, despite my careful budgeting, I could always toss a few small items into the cart without the slightest concern. How could I not have known how blessed I was? Would I be able to do that again, or would my illness prevent me from earning a good living going forward?

My worst anxiety gripped me last Tuesday, as I drove home from my first trip to the food pantry. It seemed impossible that I could be a recipient at the same charity where I once volunteered with my church home group. This isn’t supposed to happen to a person who adheres religiously to the Dave Ramsey budget, nor to a person who had scarcely been sick a day in her life. What if I couldn’t find a job? What if I lost the house?

I rubbed my sternum with one hand and switched on the blinker with the other, glancing twice over my shoulder as I merged onto the off ramp. “God, I need you,” I called out. I pictured Jesus seeking out a lost lamb. “Come and get me, Daddy!” Warm tears cut trails down my cold cheeks, and I dashed them away so that Allyson wouldn’t see.

A few blocks later, I pulled into the garage and sat for a moment clutching the steering wheel and breathing deeply. “I know you’re with me,” I whispered. “This light and momentary trial is just for a season. Even if I can’t see it, even if I can’t feel it, I know you are working in me. You will finish the work that you started in me, Father.” I drew in a few more big breaths, my shoulders relaxing as I  imagined rolling my burdens into Jesus’s capable hands.

I rubbed my knuckles across my eyes one more time and called through the house door for Allyson. “Come help me unload the groceries!”

“See what I got?” I said, with a determined smile. “Look at these.” I pointed at some miniature tarts that I would be unable to eat.. “I think they’re… pumpkin.”

“Nice!” Allyson replied, wearing a matching determined smile. “And ramen?? Cool.” I grinned; ramen noodles have been a source of contention between us due to their absolute lack of nutritional value, but I’d brought home one pack for her, along with several boxes of Kraft mac and cheese.

While we made room in the impossibly crowded pantry, I explained the other resources I’d learned of that morning: food stamps, help with utilities and Internet, and job placement agencies.

“In about an hour, I have an interview with Sprout’s [one of my favorite grocery stores],” I said. “I’m supposed to take my resume, but I don’t have time to update it from when I was looking for a teaching job. Maybe I-”

“Mom!” Allyson rolled her eyes. “If they hired Ethan with zero experience, you have nothing to worry about. Just relax.” 

“You’re right, baby.” I decided to work on the cowlick on the back of my scalp instead of modifying the resume.

The interview went okay, but I left feeling unsettled about the idea of working there, mainly because there would be no set schedule, and I’d probably work well past 10 at night. My sleep is still one of my main priorities, and I guard it carefully.

I explained all of this to Amy on Thanksgiving day two days later. Tears filled my eyes when I said, “It’s not that God isn’t talking to me; it’s just that I can’t get quiet enough to hear Him. I know if I could just be still, He would lead me.”

“Sarah, remember that the steps of a righteous man are ordered by God,” Amy replied with a warm smile. “No matter what job you get, whether it’s a transitional job or the next position God has chosen for you, you can be sure that it will be the right place. God is ordering your steps, and He is going to provide for all of your needs.”

A church song from my childhood sprang to the forefront of my memory, and I took a moment to marvel at the power of music both to preserve and to resurrect memories. In a voice just loud enough for her ears, I sang, “Rejoice for the steps… of a righteous man… they are ordered of God, they are ordered of God…. Remember that song, Amy?”

She shook her head.

I kept singing. “In the time of trouble, God will uphold you. God will sustain you. God will preserve you. In the time of trouble, He will lift you up. So rejoice; your steps are ordered of God…. Oh, thank you, Amy. I needed to hear this.”

Amy recounted the story of her transitional job at Radio Shack a few years back. “Remember, I didn’t want to take it because the pay was too low. But it was the perfect place for me, a place to heal.”

“Yes, didn’t you have a really supportive boss there?”

She nodded and told me how she’d regained her confidence there, and how God had then given her an even better job than the one she’d lost.

Back at home a couple of hours later, I sat at my table listening to the first Christmas songs of the season. Just like every other year, my heart thrilled to the wonder of Jesus coming to dwell among us, becoming Emmanuel, God With Us. 

And then I looked up at the collection of scriptures taped to my refrigerator, the ones that got me through the toughest work year ever last year. “Wait for the LORD,” I read aloud. “Be strong and let your heart take courage; yes, wait for the LORD.” (Psalm 27:13-14).

There at my table, with Christmas music in one ear and the faint giggles of Allyson and her two cousins in my other, I felt hope bubbling up deep inside me, a hope spontaneous and delightfully unexpected. I thought about the scripture I'd just read: “Let your heart take courage.” That must mean that my heart wants to be courageous. Yes, of course it does. According to the Apostle Paul, my heart can overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit… if I trust in Him. (Romans 15:13)

Well, I’m learning that it’s a lot harder to trust God when you’re in pain, you’re unemployed, and your bank account is dangerously low. I realize that that is the point. I know that God has allowed all of this for my good and for His ultimate glory when His purpose is fulfilled in me. 

As I said at church this morning to my friend Alicia, who has gone through her own terrifying hard times and come through to the other side, there are some lessons that can’t be learned any other way. How can I learn to rely on God alone if I still think I can rely on myself? 

What I most want to learn through this trial is not to put so much importance on my emotions. I want to stop judging my spiritual walk based on how I feel at any given moment. I know God loves me just the way I am, and I want to learn to do the same. I want to “fix my eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen” (2 Corinthians 4:18). 

Now For The Great...

God has been so faithful to me through these last few months. I could tell you so many stories of divine appointments and sacred echoes, but you wouldn’t have time to read them all; I really need to start writing more regularly again.

I will share just one story, the most recent. Through a friend at my Spanish-speaking church, Palabra Viva, I found a hair stylist who works out of her home. She does a great job and only charges $12.50 for a basic cut, without styling. 

This past Wednesday, the day after my visit to the food pantry, I prayed all the way to her house, asking God to help me trust Him and let go of my fears. For the last couple of miles, happy tears flowed as I sang along with the radio. The lines that moved me most were: “So I will run into the waves / As courage comes to take fear’s place / With perfect love, perfect love.”

“Please, Lord… let your perfect love take fear’s place,” I breathed. “Help me believe.”

The first thing I noticed when Patty opened her door was her broad smile, but then my eyes were drawn to her T-shirt: “FAITH over FEAR.” My heart quickened, and fresh tears shimmered in my vision. “Oh, I needed to see that today,” I told her. “It echoes the message God just gave me through a song. Have you heard ‘What Can Take Away My Hallelujah’ ?”

“I love that song,” she said.

While she snipped at my overgrown locks, we talked about my health struggles and my current dilemma over my career path. Patty shared her own experiences with unemployment and changing career aspirations, and the faithfulness of God.

Like Amy, she encouraged me to surrender my will to God and to trust Him to lead me and provide for me. She assured me that my emotions are normal and urged me not to be too hard on myself. On my way out, we held hands and prayed for one another, and she told me to contact her any time.

That evening, she sent me a text message with a meme that gave me chills. “We are hunted down but never abandoned by God. We get knocked down, but we are not destroyed (2 Corinthians 4:9),” 

“That is a verse from my current memory passage,” I replied. “It’s very special to me.”

“Amen!” she answered.

I marveled at God’s kindness and tender love for me. How kind of Him to bless me with a cheap haircut, a new sister, and a sacred echo to show me that I am still on the path that He has chosen for me, that my steps truly are ordered by Him.

I look forward to sharing with you whatever I find around the bend.

Alight With Joy

I'm sorry for my long silence. In my last post, I described my search for joy. Since then, I've been so occupied with relishing my joy that I haven't had the time to write. You would think that a person on sabbatical would have plenty of time to write, but that has not been the case. Even now,  I couldn't possibly describe all the beautiful things that have come to me each day, so I will tell you just my favorite story. And then I will show you a few pictures of my favorite moments.

Ever since I answered God's call to quit my corporate job about three years ago to return to teaching, I had not devoted the time to memorize any new scripture passages, nor even to study my existing ones very often. I meditated on scriptures daily in my classroom because it was the only way to keep my sanity, let alone my hope. But I missed my scripture memorization terribly.

For the last couple of months, I've wanted to begin a new passage, but I couldn't choose among so many beautiful scriptures that God had given me these last months through sermons, through cards and messages from friends, through songs in English and Spanish, and even through Uber drivers from all over the world.

Because I had felt so utterly alone, I'd thought to find a passage about angels ministering to me, but somehow that didn't feel right. On Thursday, October 3, I was walking and talking with Jesus in the park as I do virtually every morning. As I drank in the sight of the graceful trees arching over my favorite part of the trail, I reminisced over all the times I had walked this path with my Beloved. "You shared my hardest times and my most beautiful joys," I whispered... because it was a beautiful morning and I wasn't the only person enjoying the park trails.

"You know," I went on, "I really want to start memorizing another passage. It would be so helpful for my mental focus, and you know how I delight in your Word, Beloved. What passage should I-"

In that familiar way that He has, Jesus answered my question before the words had left my mouth. A verse flitted through my mind: These light and momentary trials are achieving for us a glory that far outweighs them all.

"Oh, that's perfect!" I exclaimed. "I know that is exactly what's happening to me right now. Thank you for allowing this trial that feels so endless. I know there is no other way you could help me grow so much in my faith."

I glanced up at the tree with two knobby protuberances that always remind me of pendulous breasts and the ghost of a laugh bubbled up inside me. I walked a few paces in silence and then continued my prayer aloud. "You have always confirmed every memory passage for me, for all these years. I feel sure this is the one, but I will wait for you to confirm it before I begin. I can't wait to see what creative way you use this time."

As I turned back for home, I felt God telling me to send two cards--one thank-you and one sympathy card. I obeyed His instructions immediately because I was still pretty forgetful at that point. [Who am I kidding? I've always been forgetful.]

I went straight to the desk where I used to spend so many hours working from home. There in the old-fashioned cubbies were two cards with no envelopes. I rummaged through all the other cubbies and unearthed a couple of mismatched envelopes that would almost fit. As I pulled them out, my eyes fell on a black composition notebook that had been resting on top of my desk for months. I'd been meaning to reread my gratitude journals so I could remember God's faithfulness to me and have faith that He would continue to be faithful; I snatched up the journal and took in the dates: April to December of 2018.

I made myself write out and mail the cards before I cracked open the journal to a random page. Can you imagine my astonishment when I saw, in my own hand, a reference to the verse I'd just quoted in the park? I'd written about a Francis Chan sermon, about fear, that I'd listened to while grading a stack of tests. "If I can remember that all of my trials are so momentary, then I can rest and be at peace knowing that my rejoicing in heaven will last an eternity. Why get worked up over something so temporary?"

On the next page was a story about my dad making dinner for me after a particularly trying day at school. "He told me about his prayers for me, and said he [believed] the enemy [had been] attacking because a breakthrough [was] coming," I wrote.

Tears filled my eyes. A breakthrough really had been around the corner. I'd written those entries on October 8, 2018, in the middle of my deepest struggles last school year. Just two months later, I found the strength and hope to make it through the long spring semester when I spent Christmas break doing a mental detox from negative thinking. At that time, I blogged about a seed of light that God revealed to me in the Spirit. He told me that the seed was sprouting below the surface of my mind, in the darkness of the rich soil, and that one day it would burst through the ground and shine.

I recognized in that moment, as I read my own journal, that the seed of light was even then breaking through the surface after the two darkest months of my entire life. My heart pounded with wonder. "God, you've never confirmed a passage so quickly," I breathed. "Thank you for light in my darkness."

Looking for My Joy

As I mentioned in my previous posts, my body is in excellent health. My sleep is much better overall, and that means the episodes of mania are fewer and farther between. The mania only occurs when I lose a whole night or nearly a whole night of sleep. Physiologically, chemically, severe insomnia is almost identical to being intoxicated: mania.

The cause of my sleepless nights at this stage is not reactions to food. It is anxiety over being alone for another day, another day, another day. As I mentioned in a previous entry, God is sending me friends, but typically they can only come on the weekend. The neighbors are busy, my family is far, and Allyson is withdrawing from me because she is 13, which is perfectly normal at this stage of adolescence, but she thinks it is because of my illness. That is partly true, but I know from all the mothers in my life that girls usually have conflict with their mothers when they hit puberty. Allyson runs away at the faintest hint of conflict because she is afraid.... afraid of losing me to my illness.

More anxiety arises in me because I also am afraid of losing my daughter. I was so sick for so long, and there were vacations, and I had to stay with my mom and dad for a month, etc. In all of that, Allyson and I were separated. We are struggling to rebuild our relationship, and she keeps leaving every time we have any sort of disagreement. She thinks she is the only teenager whose mom embarrasses her!

This is making me really sad, and my joy has departed. You can't manufacture joy when you are legitimately lonely and heartbroken. You can listen to music. You can exercise. You can walk in the park. You can dance to a catchy tune on the radio. You could ride your bike if you could find a way to get the tires fixed. You can go to Pilates and start your own Zumba class in your house.

You can pray even when you can't feel a hint of God's love even though your head knows He is with you and He is good and He loves you. You can choose to praise Him even though your heart feels like a stone.

Hugs help, but when you are alone you can't get those, except on Wednesday at Bible study and also at church if you go to a church where they know you. Sometimes I lose sleep on the weekends when I am around Allyson and feel rejected, and then I can't drive to my own church 30 minutes away. So I get hugs once a week or so.

I am trying so hard to find joy, but it does not work that way. Joy is like a butterfly. You can watch for it, you can wonder at it when it alights on a bush next to you or even lands on your shoulder. But you can't grab for it. It will fly away. You can't force joy. You have to let it in.

In the past, for many years, I struggled with anxiety. If you've been reading long, you know how I battled that: with scripture. I found scriptures about peace and security, and I read them out loud over and over and over whether I felt safe and peaceful or not. Over the course of three weeks or so, that stubborn anxiety fled. I've had to do the same thing whenever I had a relapse, and I still do it. The sticky notes are still on my kitchen cabinets.

Now I realize I need to do the same thing with joy. This week, the enemy is trying to put depression on me because of my prolonged loneliness and longing for my daughter's love, but I am not going to receive that "gift" from him nor that label. I am going to meditate on scriptures about love and joy and delight; I am going to speak my joy into existence.

I need your help. Will you please comment with your favorite scriptures on joy? I will make more stickies and memory cards, and I will start meditating on joy and thanking God for joy until it is so. However long that takes. God's word is truth; it is Jesus. Jesus is THE way, THE truth, THE life. His Word never returns void. My joy will return, and I will not be grabbing for it. I will be allowing it to alight on me once again, just as it did in Costa Rica this past June.

Please pray also for reconciliation between me and my daughter Allyson. Pray that my grievously wounded heart will heal, and that hers will as well. I would also appreciate any advice from parents who have experienced conflict with their adolescent children, and what they did to get through this painful phase.

Thank you always for reading, for loving me, and for supporting me. I love you.

Recent Picture When Ethan Brought Allyson
to Visit Me at My Mom's House (July 2019)