by April | Apr 26, 2012 | Encouragement, Faith
My son will also do just about anything to stay out of trouble. I don’t mean actually avoiding trouble (he’s 9), but he hates to be caught at doing something wrong. Instead of fessing up, though, he just starts to yell, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” at the top of his lungs. It’s not a real apology—it’s just him trying avoid the consequences of having done something wrong.
So, the other day, during one of his sorry screaming fits, I came out with something brilliant. So brilliant that it convicted me to my bones. “You’re not really sorry. If you were, you’d quit doing the behavior you keep apologizing for, and you’d never do it again.”
Wow. Who said that?
It was one of those moments the flashlight I was shining on him turned back around and smacked me in the eyes. Don’t you hate when that happens? You’re busy trying to make an example out of an issue and it turns out…to be relevant to you.
No, this isn’t one of those dark confessions kinds of blogs. But it was worth thinking on. How many times do I repeatedly mess up and need to go to God and ask for forgiveness for the same thing? Everyone has issues where they fail and need to start over, and thankfully, God’s goodness and grace prevails through the glory of Jesus, and He remembers our sin no more. But I have to wonder…is He shaking His head at me when I ask for forgiveness for the same thing over and over again? Am I like my son, screaming I’m sorry at the top of my lungs just to avoid punishment?
Sometimes, it’s hard to say I’m sorry. I think those are the times we are being the most thoughtful about it—the most meaningful times. When I’m really sorry, it takes me a while to come around to it. I have to put down my ego and my pride and go to the person I’ve wronged. It’s very humbling. It’s life changing. It’s me changing.
1 John 1:5-10 This is the message we have heard from him (Jesus) and declare to you: God is light; in him there is no darkness at all. If we claim to have fellowship with him and yet walk in the darkness, we lie and do not live out the truth. But if we walk in the light, as he is in the light, we have fellowship with one another, and the blood of Jesus, his Son, purifies us from all sin. If we claim to be without sin, we deceive ourselves and the truth is not in us. If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness. If we claim we have not sinned, we make him out to be a liar and his word is not in us. (full text here.)
by April | Jan 28, 2012 | Chronic Illness, CVID, Encouragement, Faith, Immune Deficiency
So, last week I posted about my nervousness in starting subcutaneous treatment for my CVID. Well, on Tuesday, I took the plunge (no pun intended!). I also had a lovely visit with an excellent nurse who trained me. She explained each step, and we got me numbed up for the injection sites. Before I knew it, we were hooking me up to the pump (this involves four subcutaneous needles and tubing being attached from my abdomen to the pump). Then she took my vital signs. My blood pressure is usually excellent, but on Tuesday, it was higher than normal. So was my pulse rate.
As I sat, she chatted with me and the infusion started. Every fifteen minutes the nurse took my vital signs to make sure I wasn’t having a reaction to the infusion. I watched each time she jotted the numbers down. As I relaxed and realized everything was going okay, my blood pressure and pulse dropped. Before I knew it, 2 1/2 hours had gone by and I was done. The nurse gave me a grin as she wrote down the last vital check—all at very normal levels. “You’re not nervous anymore, right?”
She’s was right. Sometimes facing that unknown can be worse than the actual event. And I have a pretty good imagination (thus the writer in me). Unfortunately, I’m also a bit of a pessimist—so I tend to expect the worst and am usually pleased with a better outcome. I didn’t have a reaction (so we put away the Epi-pen until next time), and I didn’t get a headache or nausea. I did get some pretty awesome swelling though, that has finally gone down today (Friday). I understand that gets some better over time as my body will adjust to the treatment.
Something else happened today that I did not expect. For about a half-hour, I felt a bit different. By the time I caught on to what it was, the moment passed. It was what can only be described as feeling well. There was an open window of healthiness, the sun streaming in, a lightness for a period of time in which I didn’t feel the groggy, achy flu-like fatigue I’ve had for so long. I don’t know how else to describe it. Then, before I realized it for what it was, that window crashed closed, and I fell to tears.
People who are chronically ill set a new level on themselves (at least this is my experience and the experience of my friends). This is what feels okay, this is what doesn’t (what passes for okay for someone chronically ill would feel quite sick by a healthy person’s body). I’ve spent so much of this past year feeling lousy, I think I’ve forgotten what it feels like not to feel icky. In fact, as happens often with CVID, I’ve felt worse and worse, less and less able to keep up with life for the past ten years. Tired from doing easy tasks, overwhelmed by decisions, catching every cold that comes by. Some friends chalked it up to age—but it’s not just that. Today, I had a window of proof.
I’m going to try, while I fight a sinus headache off tonight, to hold onto that vision, that view of wellness. Because of that window I glimpsed through today, praise God, I’m hoping for more—when frankly I was afraid to hope at all.
Ephesians 3: 20 Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen. (read in context here)
My son will also do just about anything to stay out of trouble. I don’t mean actually avoiding trouble (he’s 9), but he hates to be caught at doing something wrong. Instead of fessing up, though, he just starts to yell, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” at the top of his lungs. It’s not a real apology—it’s just him trying avoid the consequences of having done something wrong.