Endure

From one grim soul to another.

Author’s Note: I wrote this newsletter on Wednesday while dealing with some intense symptoms brought on by a convergence of events: an oxalate dump, paired with a mold exposure, combined with several weather fronts coming through. I felt horrible and had to pretty much go to bed for two days. It was frightening. These days I can usually function well after my year’s long battle recovering my health after a couple decades of undiagnosed Lyme disease. But when I “go backwards” or feel like I’ve gone backwards, it can be disorienting. It feels like a bad dream. Like some creepy hand reaching up out of the ground to pull me below the surface by my ankles. The first thing that goes is my ability to think clearly (this is not just an emotional reaction but a physical one, in fact, and goes with the chronic illness territory) and that effects how I feel about all the other stuff—the pain, the fatigue, the inability to get anything accomplished. “Endure” is what I wrote while in the middle of it.

I considered posting something else, something a little less dark now that I feel so much better, but I’ve decided to let you read it after all. Because…life can unpredictably nose dive. It doesn’t matter whether you’ve got my health problems or not. Everybody’s got something that can send them to a very dark place in just a matter of hours—a bad relationship, financial problems, dysfunctional family dynamics, you name it. There are some hours of life you must simply endure until they end. It is important to flex that muscle of endurance so that you don’t immediately go to the dark place. If you ask God for the grace to endure what is before you, He will give it, and I wanted to remind you of this for whatever it is you have to endure right now or will endure in the future. So, here it is, and I hope it’s of use to you.

Endure

It may come as a surprise to you that I sometimes stare at an empty screen for as long as a half an hour or more, trying to come up with something, anything, to write. It’s not every week. Most weeks, I have a rough idea of what I want to say and then it develops as I type. Today, my mind is nearly empty. Well, not quite. What’s in there might frighten or depress folks, and that’s about the only thing that’s in there at present.

It has been a difficult few days. I spent a few hours in a building with a lot of mold in it Monday night, and that exposure (at least I think it was the mold exposure) knocked me flat on my back for nearly forty-eight hours. If it wasn’t the mold, I don’t even want to know what did it. I am so tired of going to the doctor, listing my symptoms, getting bloodwork done, trying a new treatment… It’s been five or six years of appointments and it’s getting a bit old. I’m just kind of done with a lot of things at the moment.

I’d rather talk about the gorgeous landscaping I’m accomplishing or all the amazing new progress I’m making on my book or the new gluten free bread recipe I tried today. But, I didn’t do any of those things today because I have been in bed.

Well…I’ve been fighting being in bed with some malice. I hate being reduced to bed. I get up, make breakfast, eat it, get hit with a massive wave of yuck, go back to bed, and don’t sleep even though I’m exhausted because I’m afraid I’ll waste the day away sleeping. I get up an hour later, and stagger (yes, stagger, because I keep having head rush and balance issues every time I get up lately) out to the new flower bed I started which is being colonized by Bermuda grass, and then I attack it ferociously with a garden claw. My head hurts too much to think or plan, but I can at least rip out weeds. I take the disappointments of my life and wasted youth, fertility, and vitality out on the stupid weeds and feel like the day is not completely lost.

I know. Nothing is wasted or lost, really, when Jesus is King. But, I am only human, and the reason for all of this pain and uselessness is quite opaque to me.

Perhaps if my head and neck didn't hurt quite so much and if the fatigue weren’t quite so intellect-sapping, I could draw some inspiring analogy between the trials of life and tending a garden. But all I’ve got at the moment is a psalm of survival.

“I’m going out to kill weeds, body, because I’ll be *$%@#! if you’re going to keep me in bed one more minute.”

That’s about it. And while I’m out there, I ask God for some energy with which to meet my obligations. Energy to clean the toilet. Energy to feed the dogs. Energy to keep the laundry going. Energy to fulfill the promises I’ve made to people. And He has given it.

I’m sorry if this strikes you as awfully grim. It is grim. But I feel that there are some of you out there feeling pretty grim yourself, and maybe you need to know that you’re not alone.

I spent a lot of time staring today. I stared at the sunflowers and zinnias and scarlet runner beans and sweat peas I started from seed weeks back. I hope they keep growing and bloom soon. I could use some color. There was a little toad hopping around near them and I was glad to see him. I told him to, please and thank you, eat all the flies and mosquitos he can hold. A cow must have died next door, because about twenty turkey buzzards were congregated in the field for hours. And then, they all just silently floated away. Not quite as nice as the toad, but not uninteresting either.

I listened a lot, too. The beating of hummingbird wings punctuated my day at regular intervals. I heard finches singing and chattering and fighting with each other around the bird feeder. I heard the cows munching in the field.

I said hello to a calf. I said hello to a toad and a squirrel and a finch.

I heard and saw and said all these things even though my eyes were glazed over and my ears were ringing. It’s a big, beautiful world. Even the buzzards floating around in the sky are beautiful in their own way. And I’m still here to see it and be in it. So that’s something.

So, don’t give in. Don’t give up. Go out and whack some weeds or whatever it is that’s your corollary to my weeds. Keep your eyes and ears open. It’d be a shame to miss toads and flowers and finches. Ask God for the strength you need for the day. And someday, hopefully soon, the clouds will open up and the sun will shine, and for a little while once more, it won’t feel like a chore to put one foot in front of the other.

Endure.

Housekeeping

The next chapter of The Pursuit of Elizabeth Millhouse will arrive in your email inbox on Wednesday morning at 7:00 as usual. Please do consider upgrading your subscription from free to paid to support the republication of the novel. And if you found this post oddly encouraging (?), please share it around with friends who might be having a rough time.

That’s all for now. Until next time, folks…