Stephan and I have again set ourselves to rising at 5am each morning (excepting weekends). The following side effects have occured:
-house is always clean
-breakfast is always made and consumed
-Quiet Times are always had BEFORE the day starts
-we are well showered (we were showered before, but now we are WELL showered! =)
-encouragement notes and text messages are being sent to friends
-the kitchen is always clean
-our sleep is better than ever
-there's always hot water for our showers
-our evenings are always free of chores, etc, and we are thus free to accept or issue spontaneous invitations to hang out with friends
...and I'm sure there's more good to be gleaned from this habit. More as it develops.
25 July 2008
Warning:
The following post may be considered 'graphic' for squeemish individuals.
I've had a recurring Ganglion Cyst on the top of my right foot for about a year and a half now. The first time it appeared it went away on it's own. The second time I managed to dispel it with a good hard massage. This most recent third time, the massage only made it worse, so after declining Stephan's servant-hearted offer to hit it with a hammer (I trust his intentions, but not his aim or force control), I went to the podiatrist.
After a quick examination and an itemization of my options, I opted to have the 'filling' (hereafter 'jelly') removed with a syringe.
Some brief history before we move on. I was at one time a pre-med student. I wouldn't consider myself squeemish at all. I've babysat enough years to now be grossed out by certain things. I'm also simply fascinated by the things our bodies are capable of - and, to a lesser degree, interested in the 'whys' when something goes wrong. When the cyst was bigger, I had the following exchange with my husband.
"If I need surgery, do you think they'd let me watch?"
"...well, would you really want to watch?"
"I'd want to, but I'm unsure if I could...I'd think it would be a little different when it's your own body."
Back in the exam room, Doc brings in Needle #1. "This is the anesthetic," he explained amiably. He was a very nice guy...and as I was to find out, a very good, very unafraid, shot with a needle.
At this point I'm watching, very interested to see what transpires. Needle #1 is on the approach and Doc sticks it in...then turns it (this is a flexible needle)...and begins redirecting it all around under my skin. I watch as the cyst grows to the size of a silver dollar. Apparently the anesthetic was ballooning just under my skin.
I quickly pulled down the other armrest of the chair, which had been tucked up until this time. I thought I'd made it through, until he withdrew the needle and circled round for another pass. All my blood pooled in my stomach and I sucked in a deep breath. I couldn't watch him drive that bendy-needle around under my skin again. The sight was worse than the sting, which was really only minimal. It certainly isn't the thing I remember.
I smiled feebly, under control and glad that part was over. That was the only portion of the procedure that was supposed to sting. Doc explained that he'd give the drugs a few minutes to take effect, then come back and do the real work. I felt pretty sure I'd be OK to watch that part now that the pain was gone.
I pulled out my copy of When I Don't Desire God by John Piper and read some. When Doc returned, I was collected and ready to see the show.
Needles #2 and 3 accompanied Doc and he explained them to me. "This," he said, holding up and unwrapping Needle #2, "is the syringe that we'll use to suck out the jelly." (Yep, he said jelly. I know, sounds fruity.) I didn't consider the needle big or long until he took aim and drove it home.
I averted my head and clenched my teeth. "So," I said, staring hard at the relaxing piece of art on the wall. "I had a discussion with my husband whether or not, if I needed surgery, I'd want to watch."
"We wouldn't have let you watch," doc said. I glanced down only to see the needle being withdrawn (phew, right?) only to be re-aimed and driven in again. I swear the thing went up to the hilt. I looked away quickly.
"Well, let's just say I know now I wouldn't have wanted to."
I felt the pressure (not pain) of a few more attempts, then heard Doc say "Oh! And here comes the jelly!"
It worked as a kid, and it still works now. Ask my husband. We were running through a FREEZING parking lot with rain pelting down on us one day in college and I was screaming "Hurry! Hurry!" to him as we dashed toward the car. I was stopped in my tracks by a little antenna ornament that had Micky Mouse pants and ears. After staring a moment I cried "Hey! Look at that!" I guess its not bad to delight in little things...or little triumphs, like getting the cursed jelly out of my foot.
When Doc said that, I looked down again, and he was right! The gelatinous stuff that made the cyst a cyst was slowly being drawn into the syringe chamber! It was translucent pink and looked much better out of my foot than in, in my opinion.
When we came to the end of the jelly, I remembered what was going on and looked away again.
Needle #3 was a steroid shot to hopefully encourage the cyst not to return. I let the Doc take the reigns from here and didn't even look once. My tummy was fluttering and he seemed to not need any more direction from me.
Once done, he slapped on a Band-aid and wrapped my foot in a compression wrap. It was important to keep the area compressed initially so the cyst didn't just re-inflate. I nodded obediently, but in my mind the thing would have been perforated with so many needles that there was no chance it could inflate again immediately. However, Doc was Doc and I was going to have a beast of a bruise on the top of my foot, for sure.
I made an appointment to be back in 2 weeks, then went on to work to tell the tale of the dragon slain and the battle won.
(And by God's HUGE mercy, the spot is neither badly bruised or painful. I can go to work today and walk with confidence and a legitimate excuse for wearing my flip flops for days in a row!)
I've had a recurring Ganglion Cyst on the top of my right foot for about a year and a half now. The first time it appeared it went away on it's own. The second time I managed to dispel it with a good hard massage. This most recent third time, the massage only made it worse, so after declining Stephan's servant-hearted offer to hit it with a hammer (I trust his intentions, but not his aim or force control), I went to the podiatrist.
After a quick examination and an itemization of my options, I opted to have the 'filling' (hereafter 'jelly') removed with a syringe.
Some brief history before we move on. I was at one time a pre-med student. I wouldn't consider myself squeemish at all. I've babysat enough years to now be grossed out by certain things. I'm also simply fascinated by the things our bodies are capable of - and, to a lesser degree, interested in the 'whys' when something goes wrong. When the cyst was bigger, I had the following exchange with my husband.
"If I need surgery, do you think they'd let me watch?"
"...well, would you really want to watch?"
"I'd want to, but I'm unsure if I could...I'd think it would be a little different when it's your own body."
Back in the exam room, Doc brings in Needle #1. "This is the anesthetic," he explained amiably. He was a very nice guy...and as I was to find out, a very good, very unafraid, shot with a needle.
At this point I'm watching, very interested to see what transpires. Needle #1 is on the approach and Doc sticks it in...then turns it (this is a flexible needle)...and begins redirecting it all around under my skin. I watch as the cyst grows to the size of a silver dollar. Apparently the anesthetic was ballooning just under my skin.
I quickly pulled down the other armrest of the chair, which had been tucked up until this time. I thought I'd made it through, until he withdrew the needle and circled round for another pass. All my blood pooled in my stomach and I sucked in a deep breath. I couldn't watch him drive that bendy-needle around under my skin again. The sight was worse than the sting, which was really only minimal. It certainly isn't the thing I remember.
I smiled feebly, under control and glad that part was over. That was the only portion of the procedure that was supposed to sting. Doc explained that he'd give the drugs a few minutes to take effect, then come back and do the real work. I felt pretty sure I'd be OK to watch that part now that the pain was gone.
I pulled out my copy of When I Don't Desire God by John Piper and read some. When Doc returned, I was collected and ready to see the show.
Needles #2 and 3 accompanied Doc and he explained them to me. "This," he said, holding up and unwrapping Needle #2, "is the syringe that we'll use to suck out the jelly." (Yep, he said jelly. I know, sounds fruity.) I didn't consider the needle big or long until he took aim and drove it home.
I averted my head and clenched my teeth. "So," I said, staring hard at the relaxing piece of art on the wall. "I had a discussion with my husband whether or not, if I needed surgery, I'd want to watch."
"We wouldn't have let you watch," doc said. I glanced down only to see the needle being withdrawn (phew, right?) only to be re-aimed and driven in again. I swear the thing went up to the hilt. I looked away quickly.
"Well, let's just say I know now I wouldn't have wanted to."
I felt the pressure (not pain) of a few more attempts, then heard Doc say "Oh! And here comes the jelly!"
It worked as a kid, and it still works now. Ask my husband. We were running through a FREEZING parking lot with rain pelting down on us one day in college and I was screaming "Hurry! Hurry!" to him as we dashed toward the car. I was stopped in my tracks by a little antenna ornament that had Micky Mouse pants and ears. After staring a moment I cried "Hey! Look at that!" I guess its not bad to delight in little things...or little triumphs, like getting the cursed jelly out of my foot.
When Doc said that, I looked down again, and he was right! The gelatinous stuff that made the cyst a cyst was slowly being drawn into the syringe chamber! It was translucent pink and looked much better out of my foot than in, in my opinion.
When we came to the end of the jelly, I remembered what was going on and looked away again.
Needle #3 was a steroid shot to hopefully encourage the cyst not to return. I let the Doc take the reigns from here and didn't even look once. My tummy was fluttering and he seemed to not need any more direction from me.
Once done, he slapped on a Band-aid and wrapped my foot in a compression wrap. It was important to keep the area compressed initially so the cyst didn't just re-inflate. I nodded obediently, but in my mind the thing would have been perforated with so many needles that there was no chance it could inflate again immediately. However, Doc was Doc and I was going to have a beast of a bruise on the top of my foot, for sure.
I made an appointment to be back in 2 weeks, then went on to work to tell the tale of the dragon slain and the battle won.
(And by God's HUGE mercy, the spot is neither badly bruised or painful. I can go to work today and walk with confidence and a legitimate excuse for wearing my flip flops for days in a row!)
21 July 2008
Reason to Hope
I came back into the living room this morning, holding a Midol loosely in my limp fingers. But I don't think that was what made my husband shut his bible and gather me quickly into his arms. He knows that look in my eyes - the lusterless film of another hope deferred and the countenance of a heart growing sicker and sicker...
I wrote a post over two years ago called "a show of hands..." In it I said the following:
My life hasn't changed much in 2 years... My list is still tacked to the fridge - and it isn't so yellow anymore...it's turning an awful shade of brown... I
try not to, but my heart keeps another little list of all the things God hasn't given me - and then a sub-list of all the circumstances he's orchestrated that magnify the pain I feel at not having those things. I'd never done it before, but a few nights ago I sat down and got real with God, laying my catalogue before him and telling him exactly what was on my sinful mind.
"Why are you doing this to me?" I asked, not charging him, but truly confused at this pattern of laying a desire before me, having it look promising, even hopeful, then removing the fulfillment. "One more 'no'..." I'd say in these situations, and they abounded. I wasn't trying to garner pity from the God of the universe - it's just that if he truly was the God of the Bible, which he IS, then he was purposing these things for my good and betterment. Not feeling good or better, I was appealing for help, and, if it pleased him, clarity.
As I rambled on, I heard old counsel ringing in my ears. "You could have it worse - some women aren't even married..." But somehow, comparing myself to people who 'had it worse' wasn't salve to my soul (though I do need to be more grateful) - in fact, it almost encouraged me to make comparisons in the other direction as well. What of the people who had it better? More old counsel..."They may have gotten something you desire," my memory said, "but they're probably struggling in a different area. Everyone has their trial."
I clenched my fists. But at least they have a bright spot in their life to take comfort from as they face their hope deferred... I thought. Where's my bright spot? I just want some desire of my heart fulfilled that I can point to and say 'I may not have X, but I have Y, so it's not so bad.'
My heart is an ugly place. Scripture calls it "deceptive above all things and desperately sick", unable to be understood by any man. The more I see of it, the more I hate it. This time was no different. I shut my eyes in disgust as the Spirit revealed what was going on. I hadn't thought it would be God's fault - but I wasn't quite expecting this news.
I've always known God was in it, and I've never charged him with being a meanie - but I've laid my confusion before him over and over again, sometimes in frustrated tones, sometimes through sobs and tears. I didn't see his good for me in it all. I've asked him for years to show me, if it pleased him, his purpose for me in my sufferings. I won't claim that this is the answer to that prayer - but it is certainly from the Lord.
He's allowed these different things to come into my life to show me I want them.
He's taken them from me to show me I idolize them.
I don't think I've ever had a more painful season of my life than this one. Trying to describe it to Stephan once I said "it's just been years of consistent, low-grade suffering, like a dull headache painful enough to distract you but not enough to incapacitate you." But here's the truth - it's not inconsistent with God's character for him to not give me a 'bright spot' in my life to point to and take my comfort from as I wait for my other desires to be fulfilled. He wants to be my bright spot - he should be my bright spot. He is indeed the only thing that will ever give me the solace and comfort my soul screams for in the face of earthly disappointments. I have a sun of a bright spot in my phenomenal husband - but in the face of these other unmet desires, even such an extraordinary gift as he is not comforting. Wonderful though he is, he too is a broken cistern, just like everything else I want. He and those other things will never satisfy me. Only God, the fountain of living water that overflows and never runs dry, will quench my thirst for fulfillment. Nothing else even holds water.
All of God's gifts are meant to point us back to him - the giver. He doesn't use his gifts to buy our love - and we should love him in the absence of them. If we don't, we need to ask ourselves if it was ever really God we were loving, or just the stuff he gave us. This is where I find myself now - is it God I love, I crave, I thirst after - or is it just his gifts?
I know what I want the answer to be, but I'm terrified of learning that lesson. It's a big lesson. but God's a big God, and an able teacher, who promises to finish what he starts. Beyond that, he's patient. I have much reason to hope.
I wrote a post over two years ago called "a show of hands..." In it I said the following:
"It seems like all the women in my life are getting what I want before I am. My list goes on and on, and they seem to be regularly checking off their desires while my list remains on the fridge, yellowing, with only 2 or 3 boxes checked and no new fulfillments on the approach."
My life hasn't changed much in 2 years... My list is still tacked to the fridge - and it isn't so yellow anymore...it's turning an awful shade of brown... I
try not to, but my heart keeps another little list of all the things God hasn't given me - and then a sub-list of all the circumstances he's orchestrated that magnify the pain I feel at not having those things. I'd never done it before, but a few nights ago I sat down and got real with God, laying my catalogue before him and telling him exactly what was on my sinful mind.
"Why are you doing this to me?" I asked, not charging him, but truly confused at this pattern of laying a desire before me, having it look promising, even hopeful, then removing the fulfillment. "One more 'no'..." I'd say in these situations, and they abounded. I wasn't trying to garner pity from the God of the universe - it's just that if he truly was the God of the Bible, which he IS, then he was purposing these things for my good and betterment. Not feeling good or better, I was appealing for help, and, if it pleased him, clarity.
As I rambled on, I heard old counsel ringing in my ears. "You could have it worse - some women aren't even married..." But somehow, comparing myself to people who 'had it worse' wasn't salve to my soul (though I do need to be more grateful) - in fact, it almost encouraged me to make comparisons in the other direction as well. What of the people who had it better? More old counsel..."They may have gotten something you desire," my memory said, "but they're probably struggling in a different area. Everyone has their trial."
I clenched my fists. But at least they have a bright spot in their life to take comfort from as they face their hope deferred... I thought. Where's my bright spot? I just want some desire of my heart fulfilled that I can point to and say 'I may not have X, but I have Y, so it's not so bad.'
My heart is an ugly place. Scripture calls it "deceptive above all things and desperately sick", unable to be understood by any man. The more I see of it, the more I hate it. This time was no different. I shut my eyes in disgust as the Spirit revealed what was going on. I hadn't thought it would be God's fault - but I wasn't quite expecting this news.
"Be appalled, O heavens, at this; be shocked, be utterly desolate, declares the LORD, for my people have committed two evils: they have forsaken me, the fountain of living waters, and hewed out cisterns for themselves, broken cisterns that can hold no water." --Jer 2:12-13You don't want ME, I heard the Lord say. He was right. I want many other things, and I want them badly. These things have paraded in front of me over the past few years, and have gotten close enough for me to realize I want them. It hurts like a blow when they slip through my desperate gropings, and the force of the blow increases every new time I receive a 'no' from the Lord. Another chance at part time work impossible...another month without the hope of motherhood...another service opportunity given to someone else or made infeasible by existing, restrictive circumstances... There are more categories than this, and numerous examples within each category. I feel like Hannah, who's suffering scriptures says 'went on year after year'. It's so painful - I feel like my bones are rotting.
I've always known God was in it, and I've never charged him with being a meanie - but I've laid my confusion before him over and over again, sometimes in frustrated tones, sometimes through sobs and tears. I didn't see his good for me in it all. I've asked him for years to show me, if it pleased him, his purpose for me in my sufferings. I won't claim that this is the answer to that prayer - but it is certainly from the Lord.
He's allowed these different things to come into my life to show me I want them.
He's taken them from me to show me I idolize them.
I don't think I've ever had a more painful season of my life than this one. Trying to describe it to Stephan once I said "it's just been years of consistent, low-grade suffering, like a dull headache painful enough to distract you but not enough to incapacitate you." But here's the truth - it's not inconsistent with God's character for him to not give me a 'bright spot' in my life to point to and take my comfort from as I wait for my other desires to be fulfilled. He wants to be my bright spot - he should be my bright spot. He is indeed the only thing that will ever give me the solace and comfort my soul screams for in the face of earthly disappointments. I have a sun of a bright spot in my phenomenal husband - but in the face of these other unmet desires, even such an extraordinary gift as he is not comforting. Wonderful though he is, he too is a broken cistern, just like everything else I want. He and those other things will never satisfy me. Only God, the fountain of living water that overflows and never runs dry, will quench my thirst for fulfillment. Nothing else even holds water.
All of God's gifts are meant to point us back to him - the giver. He doesn't use his gifts to buy our love - and we should love him in the absence of them. If we don't, we need to ask ourselves if it was ever really God we were loving, or just the stuff he gave us. This is where I find myself now - is it God I love, I crave, I thirst after - or is it just his gifts?
I know what I want the answer to be, but I'm terrified of learning that lesson. It's a big lesson. but God's a big God, and an able teacher, who promises to finish what he starts. Beyond that, he's patient. I have much reason to hope.
11 July 2008
Fruit flies and English Lotion...
We've had the smallest ever fruit-fly issue in my office lately...
We've taken to clapping the little beasts between our hands. You can randomly hear CRACK!s and cries of "Got 'em!" throughout the day. Makes we ladies feel very Amazonian, or like Martial Arts Masters, like catching flies between chopsticks.
My coworker got 3 in a row the other day. I was feeling good. Their was obviously something in the air (other than the flies).
One of the little beasts entered my no-fly-zone. I fixed him in my predetor-like gaze. Your life is forfeit, I thought at him.
He circled lower. I followed him with my eyes. Emboldened by my stillness, he landed on the pump of the bottel of lotion I kept at my desk.
I froze, keeping him in my scope. Brilliance falls on me like lightening every 2 or 3 years, and my plan of attack rolled out before my eyes. I immediately concurred with the epiphany and slid my hand slowly across my desk and over to the base of the lotion bottle. it was about an arm's length away.
I wrapped my pincer-like fingers (weapons of death, I thought accurately to myself) around the bottle and began drawing it nearer to me. My Nemisis didn't move. Puny beast! I thought, arrogantly sitting there as I draw you into the event horizon of your doom!
He was close now. I was sure I had him. All I had to do was...
With squirrel-like speed I swung my other arm around in a full arc (for I have an amazing conceptual understanding of physics) and aimed to hit my target dead on! Surely I would - no, had won the day! Sew my name on the inside of the collar baby, the battle was mine!
Contact did send a substance splattering everywhere, but it wasn't the crushed remains of my rival. No, I hit the fly's landing pad (aka, the pump of my lotion bottle) with laser-scope accuracy - and sprayed lotion all over my computer keyboard, exposed desk, lap, shirt, and some parts of the floor. After a moment of frozen disbelief, surveying the carnage and computing the data, I erupted into the biggest belly laugh I'd experienced in months. For some reason I'd thought the pump on my bottle was locked - an irrational thought, given that I never lock the pump, it just sits on my desk.
I cleaned up, then jumped up and told everyone I could find what had just happened. It was one of the best days of my life. Let us thank God for laughter!
We've taken to clapping the little beasts between our hands. You can randomly hear CRACK!s and cries of "Got 'em!" throughout the day. Makes we ladies feel very Amazonian, or like Martial Arts Masters, like catching flies between chopsticks.
My coworker got 3 in a row the other day. I was feeling good. Their was obviously something in the air (other than the flies).
One of the little beasts entered my no-fly-zone. I fixed him in my predetor-like gaze. Your life is forfeit, I thought at him.
He circled lower. I followed him with my eyes. Emboldened by my stillness, he landed on the pump of the bottel of lotion I kept at my desk.
I froze, keeping him in my scope. Brilliance falls on me like lightening every 2 or 3 years, and my plan of attack rolled out before my eyes. I immediately concurred with the epiphany and slid my hand slowly across my desk and over to the base of the lotion bottle. it was about an arm's length away.
I wrapped my pincer-like fingers (weapons of death, I thought accurately to myself) around the bottle and began drawing it nearer to me. My Nemisis didn't move. Puny beast! I thought, arrogantly sitting there as I draw you into the event horizon of your doom!
He was close now. I was sure I had him. All I had to do was...
With squirrel-like speed I swung my other arm around in a full arc (for I have an amazing conceptual understanding of physics) and aimed to hit my target dead on! Surely I would - no, had won the day! Sew my name on the inside of the collar baby, the battle was mine!
Contact did send a substance splattering everywhere, but it wasn't the crushed remains of my rival. No, I hit the fly's landing pad (aka, the pump of my lotion bottle) with laser-scope accuracy - and sprayed lotion all over my computer keyboard, exposed desk, lap, shirt, and some parts of the floor. After a moment of frozen disbelief, surveying the carnage and computing the data, I erupted into the biggest belly laugh I'd experienced in months. For some reason I'd thought the pump on my bottle was locked - an irrational thought, given that I never lock the pump, it just sits on my desk.
I cleaned up, then jumped up and told everyone I could find what had just happened. It was one of the best days of my life. Let us thank God for laughter!
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