Gosh, there are so many things I could write about. I could write about the verses I have been drinking in with my eyes, so greedy for more. I could write about the grip of depression that comes with resisting to accept Fibromyalgia. I could write about the anger that surges and explodes at the most inopportune times. I could write about how it annoys me that when I type out Fibromyalgia it had a red line underneath. I could write about the little things- like going to McDonald's and feeling like I was on the Vegas strip on just the one road I once considered "homely." Back than I was settled in my California roots, busy was a fact of life, and anything quiet seemed slow. Arrogant me! Ha! The stimulation of the other cars, all the lights, sounds, movement... it's way too fast for me now. Such a treat to even ride along in the car to go through a drive-thru. It's always surreal being out among people. Being holed up and easily (over) affected by everything makes for social phobia from me, the once social bee. And it becomes so much more about enduring then about living despite trying to live normally. That's the thing- I'm not "normal."
I don't say that in a degrading way or in a way to put myself down. I say that because it is crucial that I understand my limitations and accept them. These last years have been frought with change. I feel like I am playing catch-up of all of it... death, moving a few times, leaving Mylie, leaving California, their divorce and how that changed the home we all shared, losing friends, losing my job, losing my independence, losing my car and most of all Fibromyalgia whipping me around with great intensity.
I could write about so much but the truth is I am not ready to. God is speaking to my heart, showing me areas of sin and rebellion and flesh, purging me, strengthening feeble hands and feet. Feet that long to stop moving towards Him. To stop altogether. The hopelessness has permeated just as deep as the greatest joys have.
I feel.
And I wait.
I yearn to accept, grasp, fully know, walk in my current lifestyle.
But I don't know what that is yet.
I haven't let go of yesterday. That image of a healthy, strong me. But right now I feel like life is a blur. I forget each day, I forget conversations, I forget details. The most vivid memories are the ones I had right before I got sick. Now it's all just a stream of color and sound rushing out out me. I have been bleak. I have been down and out. I look at blogs where people post only the highs of life and not the lows. That's not real. We need the dark to make the light shine so bright. We need to admit the brokenness so others understand the beauty of restoration.
So I speak the truth....
I am mad.
I am depressed.
I am furious, actually.
I am dark.
I am dismal.
Not all of the time.
I also smile.
I also laugh.
I also get hopeful.
But mainly I grieve.
And in this grief comes healing. Not all at once, but it pours over me when it comes.
I feel no shame in saying that I am depressed. This has been a crazy, whirlwind of the last 2 years. This pain is drawing me close to the heart of God, back where I need to be. This hurt is blinding, and it is devastating. It's also a part of accepting how my life has changed.
I strived really long to stay "the same". For who? For others, but for myself too.
Who wants to be sick? I liked my role. I liked being "Mama Moon." I liked being strong. I liked being busy. I found out really fast who my friends were when I got sick. Which relationships were one-sided. They ended as soon as I stopped pursuing them. But I'm still learning. I still have trouble with boundaries. I still find myself feeling the responsibility to pursue, to be the "good friend."
People have actually told me that I am no longer fun, that I am mean now, and that I have changed. All a blow to my spirit, but it's true. I have changed. I am still changing. And I am okay with that now. Because it means in my imperfection God still thinks I am worth molding. He still finds something He can use despite the weak limbs and aching bones.
A willing heart.
He asks that of me.
Do I have a willing heart?
Not 3 years ago when I went to the Philippines.
Not 7 years ago.
Not even yesterday.
Today.
Right now.
Am I willing?
A huge chunk of this is about Facebook. Oh, the love/hate relationship we have. My flesh loves Facebook. Loves it. Back in the days when I had my original account I posted numerous photos. My daily life with the kids and with friends. I was immersed in it. But back then I also had real life, thriving relationships. I met with friends for Bible study, movies, Starbucks, dinner. I went to ballet recitals and Girl scout trips and parent days at school. I worked everyday. Life was full.
Sometime over the course of when I first got sick-sick and now I have come to rely on Facebook as the main source of my relationships. This would not be a bad thing had I already grappled fully with being ill and what that means and accepted it all.
I have not.
Frequently I feel conviction in my spirit with Facebook, but my flesh justifies it. My support group is on there, family, so and so's new baby.... etc. This is my struggle alone. It is not about an obsession with Facebook or time wasted. I know the positives. I know it is a valuable tool. I love that it has enabled me to connect with old friends, especially after Fibro and the move cross country. I love that I have met amazing people from other countries and states. I love how I can constantly be in touch with five hundred "friends." But it is a hindrance to my healing. God has spoken to my heart countless times, and I have been disobedient. I have not yielded this area to Him. Who am I to ask why He is calling me to give it up? I know it is so most especially by how the idea of it horrifies me. To not have Facebook is like social suicide in the normal world, let alone the Fibromyalgia one.
Again, not everyone shares this conviction. It is mine alone. I don't know if I am being called away for a season or for good, but eventually I am going to have to silence my flesh and take that step of faith forward. Right now being on Facebook prevents me from facing the true isolation of Fibromyalgia, of being without Mylie in my daily life, of having moved. It creates a false sense of what was, and so I am not letting go of the past and moving forward into where God would have me.
I am stuck.
I also feel a conviction about how Facebook is complete self-propaganda. I remember how I would post photos of myself all the time. It's like the me, me, me show. I never had a vain heart while doing it, but to reflect back on that makes me cringe. Verses about not keeping a record of sins, about not coveting, etc. come to mind at random times. I think about my girls who started their Facebook profiles at 14 years old or younger. When they are 25 will they really want to go back and look at the old ways they lived? Not in some fond memory land but a real place of recorded conversations and immaturity? Also seeing everyone else's highlight reel is prone to adding to the inadequate feelings of being 31 and disabled.
Basically Facebook has become a place for me to stay fixated on the past, or fixated on the life I no longer live. It links me to people I should have said goodbye to a very long time ago and it promotes time away from God. It is far too easy to forget the sweetness of being in the Word when I am constantly plugging into hundreds of lives with the click of a button.
When God called me out here, it was with this scripture:
God's Message came to me: "Son of man, you're living with a bunch of rebellious people. They have eyes but don't see a thing, they have ears but don't hear a thing. They're rebels all. So, son of man, pack up your exile duffel bags. Leave in broad daylight with everyone watching and go off, as if into exile. Maybe then they'll understand what's going on, rebels though they are. You'll take up your baggage while they watch, a bundle of the bare necessities of someone going into exile, and toward evening leave, just like a person going off into exile. As they watch, dig through the wall of the house and carry your bundle through it. In full sight of the people, put the bundle on your shoulder and walk out into the night. Cover your face so you won't have to look at what you'll never see again. I'm using you as a sign for the family of Israel."
Ezekiel 12:1-6
It was crisp and clear and direct. But it wasn't the time. He gave me that scripture to marinate on and to prepare my heart for the following year (2011) when He would split me from my old life, take me from Mylie, and set me on a new path here in NC. The idea of NC was exile to me. This (2010) was only 8 months into being sick-sick and I still had hope of getting better. I was still forcing myself to activities and I didn't know I definitely had Fibromyalgia. So the idea of moving to this quiet, country place was horrifying. The idea of leaving Mylie was horrifying.
God gave me an extra year. He closed doors, opened windows. He prepared the road before us.
And now here I am, and there are a million distractions. They come by way of texts, Facebook, blogs, television. I could be resting sweetly in His arms. This time of trial is a gift. It's excruciating, but it is a gift to know this suffering. To share in His heart for people. To learn afresh of His heart for me. But I resist that gift every time I choose over Him.
My flesh cries out as if burned. I like my comforts. I like the illusion of still being connected to my old life.
But he whispers.... "Let go...."
Am I willing?
