Posted in The Christian Life

Yep, once again, my health has taken over my summer plans.

I was hoping to get online tonight and post some fun thoughts from my weekend rafting trip, or a cheerful hooray because we finally completed Philippians in our women's study after a year and seven months (which we did tonight, BTW).

Instead, I get to tell you that my right eye (the good one) just hemorrhaged again, after seven months. Stepped off the platform after worship yesterday and suddenly couldn't see out that side. Wonderful.

I'm doing better now emotionally. Everyone else seems more upset about it than I am, maybe because I've been through it several times before. The thing that I'm getting this time around is that it's like the grieving process in a way.

I was supposed to teach Sunday School yesterday, so in the rush from worship to the classroom, I pretty much tucked it away -- that's the denial. "No, it has to be something else. I don't have time for this." A mother and daughter came in and took over for me (they knew because the dad is the elder that I asked to initiate prayer after the service, since Pastor was already starting the lesson). That was such a blessing, and allowed me the time to fully comprehend what was happening to my eyes.

When the board prayed for me, I finally hit the grief stage. Having been through this, I knew that surgery will follow (pray for me on July 1), and that all the things I meant to do this summer will be put on hold or canceled altogether. It also means that whatever progress I've made in controlling my blood sugars went out the window with the pizza and pop I had Saturday night, and the McGriddle I had that morning (my assumption may be wrong, but I'm assuming that's the reason it happened at the time it did). So I cried, but only for about five minutes.

Now, that's not a brag. That's almost a criticism of myself, actually. With all the changes that will occur in my life in the next six months because of this, I should have cried for at least an hour. Five minutes. I don't know whether that's good or bad. Either way, It's grieving, and I hit it in front of most of the church.

The next part, the acceptance and coping, seemed to hit immediately. I worried about the plans Dan and I had with our friends and a river raft; Dad ended up taking my place on the raft, and Mom drove me to meet them afterward for dinner. I was still running around encouraging ladies to come to Bible study, and talking about next week's Sunday School lesson, and making plans for the ladies' activity in a week. If it wasn't for the blur in my vision, it would have been just any other Sunday. Almost sounds like denial again, doesn't it?

I thought so too, until today. Now I see it as the anger stage too.

My pastor's wife was sick and home from church yesterday, so she called today to pray with me and find out how I was doing. She said, "Dani, I don't even know how to pray for you." Most everyone's just praying for my eyes and my vision, but Pastor and his wife are both nurses, and understand that it's more than that. The whole thing is so complicated, and this is so common for diabetics, that simple prayers for vision and health every week, every day, seem to be not near enough to address the real issue.

I told her that my prayer request is for peace and rest. I go through stuff like this all the time. Comas, broken bones, vision problems, pain in my feet, threats of dialysis, so many other things, all the time. I actually said, "I just want to be left alone." Not being isolated from friends and people who love me, but from the constant feeling that my life is one disaster after another. From the sorrow I feel for my family who has to care for me instead of enjoying the summer, or the carefree days that we watch other families share. From the physical suffering. From the comments like "what is it this time?" or "It's always something with you, isn't it?"

I began to understand Job in a different sense. He lost so much, much more suddenly than I have, but a deep loss nonetheless. He mourned over his loss. He bent under the weight of it. He begged God to tell him why, to stop the pain and loss, to explain Himself. He buried himself in what had to be done, burying his children, cleaning up the mess that his life had become, all the while questioning God and feeling angry at no one in particular.

I know how that feels. I'm not angry at God; I've known since I was a child that I would endure these things before His promised healing would come. I'm not angry at myself; I may not have my diabetes under complete control, but I try every day. I'm not angry at doctors, family, society, anything. I'm just angry, and hurting, and frustrated, and tired of the battle.

When I think of Job sitting in the dirt, scraping off the scabs with broken pottery, listening to his best buddies say, "Give it up, Dude. Curse God and die," I now see the tired eyes that look up and respond with quiet determination. "Though He slay me, yet will I trust Him."

My eyes are tired, but this won't stop me. I'm reading, but with glasses now. I'm driving, but with a strength in my left eye that I never had before. I'm teaching from my memory and from the promptings of the Holy Spirit. I'll get through this, just like I have every other disaster that's befallen me. My God is bigger than the Boogey Man (thanx, VeggieTales), than the prince of this world, than this disease. This will all be to His glory someday. In Philippians 4, at the end of the chapter and of the book, Paul says, "this suffering is nothing compared to the glory that He will reveal to us later." Amen; this is truth; it can't be argued.

In the meantime, pray for me. For peace in this storm. For patience with all the changes and frustrations that come with this. For grace in accepting the help of my family and friends. For the faith that I know God is creating in me. Thanks.