A Memorable Thanksgiving

I'm interrupting our series again, this time so I can participate in "At the Well." This week's writing prompt was one I simply couldn't resist.

Share with your readers a testimony of how God brought you thru a difficult time.

What is the most memorable Thanksgiving you have experienced?

That question could only bring one very remarkable Thanksgiving day to my mind.

(Photo from Stock.xchng by jvdberg)

I'd never done any Thanksgiving entertaining since the troubles began with my kids (two of them have special needs). But back on the Thanksgiving of 2004, we decided to have friends over to celebrate with us. We would have the big meal around noon, so I skipped breakfast in order to have a good appetite for the feast.

I also drank lots of my favorite caffeine source (Diet Dew, thank you very much). And, at that time I was taking a prescribed medication which, among other things, had a stimulant effect.

And I was under stress. Lots of stress.

The house was a mess. It always is, and at that point in their lives, my kids weren't able to be any real help. In fact, it was often quite the opposite.

I had just tackled the unenviable job of mopping the bathroom floor, the kids were acting up, and I was mad. Definitely not in the spirit of the day.

Worse yet, I was definitely not in The (Holy) Spirit. To be honest, back then I don't think The Spirit was in me. He was working on me, drawing me, but not in me yet. And a lot of His work could best be described as demolition. I had built lots of very thick walls, a veritable fortress of self protection around my heart, and every brick was held in place by the mortar of anger. Fear plastered every surface. Within my stronghold I stood fiercely, stubbornly alone, trusting no one, depending on no one, sharing my heart with no one. I put up a smiling front in public, but that's all it was. A charade that hid a multitude of self-destructive heart sins.

And on Thanksgiving Day, 2004, my heart said, "Enough is enough."

The pain struck as I simultaneously mopped the floor and yelled at one of my kids. And it was unlike any pain I had ever felt before.

Don't get me wrong; I'm very used to pain. I have some pretty serious back problems that have plagued me since I was a young child. And at first I thought this was my back...but it wasn't the same as any other back pain. And something in my inmost being knew that this was serious.

I tried adjusting my spine with a little technique that I use, but the pain only got worse. It sat heavy in between my shoulder blades, and it brought tears to my eyes...not because the pain was that severe (though it was pretty bad), but because my soul knew I was in a crisis, even if my mind hadn't come to grips with it yet.

"I have to go lie down. My back hurts." I made my way upstairs, but the pain made it a little hard to breathe.

My husband could sense that this was out of the ordinary, and he came up with me. Bless his heart, he just stayed there, never leaving me, while I worked through what was happening.

The pain isn't really in my spine. It's not that far back. It's in the center of my chest.

Don't be ridiculous, Betsy. You can't be having a heart attack. You don't have heart problems, and you aren't overweight, and you've never smoked, and you just turned 40 less than a month ago. There's no way this is a heart attack.

Lying down didn't lessen the pain. It should have, if it was merely back pain.

I finally took the risk of sounding like a fool. "John, it's not likely, really...but this could be my heart."

He hovered close while I told him all the reasons that it couldn't be my heart...and yet I think he knew I wasn't convinced.

The pain started traveling up toward my jaw.

"I hate to bother our doctor over his Thanksgiving dinner..." Our doctor was also a member of our church, and had been our Sunday School teacher for a while, but we weren't close friends or anything. I sure didn't want to make a fool out of myself and ruin his Thanksgiving in the process. But I did have his home phone number.

"Maybe we'd better call him just to see what he thinks."

John told the doctor what he knew, and I could tell the doctor wasn't thinking it was serious enough, so I took the phone and talked to him myself. He decided that, while it was likely to be nothing at all, I should get it checked out. He would call ahead to the hospital and tell them to expect me.

We called our would-be dinner guests and explained the situation, then bundled up three rowdy boys and drove toward the hospital.

My hands were white. Very, very white.

John checked me in at the emergency room. I just sat and worked on breathing. Actually, I was feeling a bit better now, and the color was returning to my hands.

My children ricocheted around the waiting area. Autism doesn't mix well with such settings. When the staff came to take me to triage, John decided he'd better take the kids home. I agreed.

So there I lay, in the little curtained-off triage section, alone. Sure, the staff came by sometimes, read the readouts from my monitors and talked to me. But much of the time I was all alone, except for the voices of the other sufferers beyond my curtain. One little child screamed and screamed and screamed. He had a gash on his jaw that would require stitches. I felt for him, and for his mom. I'd dealt with my share of screaming children in my life, and that sound wracked my nerves like nothing else.

Finally the cardiologist himself came in. "Your cardiac enzymes are elevated. That can only mean one thing. You've had a heart attack. And you keep having arrhythmias. We'll have to admit you to find out what's going on."

I called my husband and filled him in. Then I lay on my back and watched the lights on the ceiling go past as my gurney was wheeled along the hallway. It's a strange, vulnerable position to be in.

Alone.

Aloneness suited me just fine. It was simply the external match for my internal reality. If anyone else had been there, I would still have been alone. I wouldn't have known how to let anyone into my fortress if I'd wanted to. And why would I want to?

Later that day...or maybe the next, I can't remember...anyway, I was soon wheeled into the cardiac cath lab. A huge-bore needle went into a blood vessel in my thigh, and a camera-fitted catheter weaved its way into my heart. It found a blockage...not caused by plaque, but by a spasm of a coronary artery.

Stress-related, they told me. Go figure. The caffeine and the prescription medication and the empty stomach hadn't helped, either. They put in a stent, and I had to lie completely still, not moving at all, for 4 hours afterwards so the big hole they'd made in my blood vessel could be fully sealed.

That should have taken care of everything, but it didn't. My heart raced uncontrollably. Just to get up and walk to the bathroom sent it shooting up to 130 beats per minute. Nobody knew why.

I stayed in the hospital for 4 days while a new regimen of medication stabilized my heart. I'll have to take those for the rest of my life, most likely.

Four days is a long time to lie in a hospital, mostly alone, and think about your own mortality. And perhaps one of the most important realizations to come out of that time was this rather startling one:

I don't really want to die.

As if that weren't startling enough for someone who used to call God a "cosmic sadist" for refusing to strike me dead with lightning, the following realization followed close on its heels:

I want to live not for my own sake,
but for my family's.

I'm ashamed to say it, but that was probably the first truly unselfish thought I'd had in years and years.

It's hard to be unselfish when life is one endless stream of vicious attacks, and you think you're in it alone.

Fast-forward four years. Every Thanksgiving has been a reminder that I'm blessed to be alive. But writing this down has started some new thoughts for me.

How much of the change in my soul began with that incredible day when He first gave me back my desire to live?

I have more to be thankful for than just surviving. I'm thankful that God is teaching me to love Him, and to trust Him, and to love others, and to let others into my fortress. Better yet, he's teaching me to take a chisel and work with Him on pulling walls down altogether.

That's an awful lot to be thankful for!

-----------------------

This week's "At the Well" is being hosted by Laurie over at Women Taking a Stand. Be sure to drop by there to read her thoughts on this topic, and to find links to other participants' postings as well. Remember to leave comments if you were blessed!

"At the Well" - Guest Blogger

I am thrilled to have my sister, Mary Waterloo, adding her own story in poetic form to this week's "At the Well" meme. I told her what the given topic was...

How do you give thanks during difficult times?
Share with your readers a testimony of how God brought you thru a difficult time.
What is the most memorable Thanksgiving you have experienced?

...and I casually mentioned that she might want to write something down. (I happen to know that she had had a rather unforgettable Thanksgiving back in 1995, just a few days before my oldest son was born.) She doesn't have her own blog, so I said I'd post anything she wrote to mine. I kid you not, she wrote this poem in about 7 minutes and emailed it to me. It's my pleasure to share it with you all.

(Photo from Stock.xchng by Brunatka)

The next day was Thanksgiving
And I was still at work
My pager started buzzing and
I grabbed it with a jerk.

The message, a little garbled
The words not sinking in,
"Surely they are kidding?"
I pondered, with a grin.

It said my house was burning,
Could I please come on home
The firemen were waiting
Covered in that funny foam.

Fast, I drove through traffic,
Still trying to explain
"Surely just a burning pan!"
Begged my frantic brain.

Oh such devastation,
Twas near a total loss.
Still I cried in great relief
There was no human cost.

So much went up in smoke
But thanks I still was giving
Every life that meant so much
Was still among the living.

The Father gives and takes
His plans beyond our ken
His praises kept my soul alive
Here, and now, and then.

------------------------------

(Note: This experience of "Guest Blogging" was so much fun for my sister that she has decided to start her own blog. It's called "Eye on Creation," and you can find it here.)

This week's "At the Well" is being hosted by Laurie over at Women Taking a Stand. Be sure to drop by there to read her thoughts on this topic, and to find links to other participants' postings as well. Remember to leave comments if you were blessed!

Whose Priorities? (Another Way It's Not About Us)

(If you're here because of a link from "At The Well" for 10/27/08, don't worry, you're in the right place!)

Image by crunklygill via Flickr I heard myself inwardly praying just now, "Lord, please give me wisdom in my priorities."

"Whose priorities?" He asked.

Oh. Yeah. Right.

Lord, I need wisdom in Your priorities, don't I? I could be incredibly wise about my own priorities and be a complete fool with Yours.

You know, when we remember that everything revolves around God, it can simplify a lot of things.

Should we or shouldn't we bow our heads and close our eyes and thank God for our food at the restaurant? We can ask ourselves what impact we do or don't think that will have on other patrons. We can ask ourselves whether or not we'll look foolish. Some people will come down on one side of that argument, and some on another.

Or we could ask ourselves what God deserves.

That simplifies everything, doesn't it?

Should I finish my housework, or should I work on my blog? Ah...now that's not as simple. Both can be done to the glory of God. If I just ask the Lord to give me wisdom regarding my priorities, I might not hear the still, small voice. I might not really be listening for it, because I'll be too busy thinking about my own desires and weighing them in my own scales.

But if I ask Him to give me wisdom about His priorities, I know exactly what will happen (because it has happened). Which does God command women to do? Which of those things would my husband rather I did? Which would benefit my family more? It's really very easy, when I consult His priorities instead of my own (which tend to be far too strongly influenced by my personal preferences).

Lord, help us to remember to look at our choices and ask:

What have You commanded or taught us?
What do You deserve from us?
What would bless You?
What would glorify You?

And then please increase our love for You, so that Your commandments will be a joy to us, and we won't insult You by thinking of them as burdens (1John 5:3).

Who am I? - "At The Well."

I am actually writing this on November 10th, but I'm dating it back to July 27th. Are you wondering why? Read on.

I'm writing this in response to this week's "At The Well" meme. The question asked was, "Who are you?"

I almost chose not to participate in this meme. There are so many things going on in the world right now that burden my heart and prompt me to pray and to share serious matters with my readers. I've been writing about things like the results of the election, and the need to repent, and the problem of false assurance. These things matter a great deal.

The trivial details of my life just pale in comparison.

I was afraid to have such trivia on the front page of my blog. So that's why I fluffed the date on this one. It will be buried in obscurity. Call me weird, but it's the only way I could bring myself to write this.

Who am I? I was a daughter and sister first. Daughter of a man whom I believe was unsaved, but who called himself a Christian; and of a believing but very downtrodden, emotionally abused woman.

Sister of my sister and brother, who bear scars like mine.

I was also privileged to be the granddaughter of some really great people. My grandparents were flawed, of course, but oh how much I owe to them and their love for the Lord and for me! I hope you'll take the time to read more about them here.

I've already shared about my experience of being unsaved for many years...completely self-serving, unloving, prideful...while thinking myself saved, and the fact that during those years I knew my Bible well and spouted a lot of good stuff to others. (God was so unimpressed!) I've shared how He held me even while showing me how incredibly hostile my heart really was toward Him. And I've shared how He finally brought me to Himself.

I haven't talked much about my family, though.

I have been married to John for 18-1/2 years (give or take a few months...I didn't feel like doing the math). We met at church in Tampa, Florida and were married there. At the time I was a Image via WikipediaSpeech Pathologist (my Master's Degree was earned at the University of South Florida). I did most of my work in nursing homes and hospitals, doing speech/language/swallowing therapy with people who had had strokes or other debilitating conditions. My husband was pursuing his Computer Engineering degree at USF while working full time as a computer technician. Our firstborn came along in 1995, and God granted my lifelong dream of becoming a stay-at-home mom. (The career track never appealed to me.) Shortly thereafter my husband graduated, and immediately was let go from his job because his degree made him overqualified.

His job search (and job find) led our family to Marshalltown, Iowa, where our next two sons were born in 1997 and 2000. Image via WikipediaNow, you have to try to imagine what a shock it was for this Florida girl to move to Iowa in the winter. I was 31 years old, and I had never seen snow in my life (except for a light dusting on a trip once...my excitement over that dusting made the locals laugh). We moved to Marshalltown the day after a blizzard. LOTS of white stuff, everywhere! I had also never experienced Fall, except for one trip to see the foliage in the Blue Ridge mountains back in the '80's. So my first Fall in Iowa was a thrill.

It was while we were living in Iowa that the problems became evident.

Our firstborn was an extremely bright but quirky child. Our middle son showed some unusual traits that, with my training in Speech Pathology, caused me to wonder about autism. But he was developing normally for the most part, and the pediatrician laughed at the thought of him being autistic. I abandoned that thought myself when he grew into a very sociable, talkative toddler. By this time I was expecting #3, and was extremely exhausted. I slept a lot during that pregnancy, more than I should have. But I honestly felt as if someone slipped me sleeping pills every day. I simply couldn't function as well as I needed to. By God's grace, my children didn't suffer any harm during one of my involuntary naps.

Then came early 2000. Autism descended on our home, right about the time youngest son arrived (an unrelated event, of course). My precious middle son disappeared, and was replaced by a screaming stranger whose hands flapped before his eyes, who no longer communicated, who only screamed, and screamed, and screamed.

He'd seem to do better for a while, and then things would get really bad again. There was no escape for me, no rest. No sleep, even at night. Just screaming for months on end. I wrote some free verse about that time here, so I won't go into it again.

During that time I descended into a pretty significant depression that lasted for years. I can honestly say I spent years just hanging on by my fingernails. In addition to autism, Phillip was also diagnosed with bipolar disorder (the reason why he fluctuates so incredibly), and my oldest son began unravelling until we had to seek help for him. Turns out he has Asperger's Syndrome and ADD.

Those were very dark years, and much has faded into a blur of non-memory. But so much of the trauma was of my own making, because I retreated further and further into myself instead of learning to trust in God more so that I could love more. It's only been relatively recently that the depression has lifted and God has been making changes in who I am. I have a long way to go, but I'm learning to love Him and trust Him as never before.

For what it's worth, that's my story.