RSS

Category Archives: Adversity

How to Discourage a Suffering Friend » Vaneetha Rendall

The holidays are upon us and we will soon be interacting with friends, family and acquaintances that we don’t see on a regular basis. As a result, you may find yourself visiting with a suffering friend or family member–wanting to be supportive and encouraging but not really sure how to go about it. There are some common phrases we’ve all used, but they aren’t always received in the way we intend them to be. Therefore, it’s probably more important to know what not to say and why.

I encourage you to read this article by Vaneetha Rendall. The information is worthwhile anytime, but it might make your holidays more enjoyable for everyone if you read it in advance of the typical get togethers common this time of year.

Below is a teaser and a link for the article. I hope you will take the time to follow the link and read this informative article – for yourself, and for the suffering people you love.

“What’s the best way to discourage a suffering friend?

I can tell you what I’ve done.

I’ve told suffering friends about how other people are going through more painful trials. I’ve given examples of how brave, godly and optimistic these other people are. I’ve freely doled out advice, even mini-sermons, about how their horrible situations will turn out for the best. . .”

Source: How to Discourage a Suffering Friend » Vaneetha Rendall

 
Comments Off on How to Discourage a Suffering Friend » Vaneetha Rendall

Posted by on November 21, 2016 in Adversity, Chronic Illness, Faith, Grief

 

Tags: , , , ,

Impulsive Decisions

dsc_0078I did something I probably shouldn’t have today.

It was impulsive.

I certainly didn’t consult the Lord before I acted. People rarely do when they make impulsive decisions . . . But maybe, maybe, I just wanted what I wanted and didn’t want to be told no—even if it was in my best interest.

 

I’ve seen a lot of doors closed in my lifetime and sometimes I just want to bust in, take what I want and live with the consequences. It’s not as if I deceive myself into believing I won’t suffer any consequences. Oh no, my eyes are wide open.

What’s one more set of consequences in this life of mine? At least the consequences I face will be of my own making instead of suffering consequences for the choices of others.

My impulsive actions weren’t sinful, but just because something is lawful doesn’t mean you should do it.

I thought I made peace with this last year, but today it just rose up and I executed a short internal debate then bit the bullet and placed the call.

Right from the get go things didn’t go smoothly. I encountered a determined gatekeeper. I should have just hung up but by this point, I was all in.

And there was no getting past this gatekeeper without explaining the full nature of my call.

And so I spilled it. . .

In frustration I rambled off something that went like this: ‘I want to talk to Roger Wilson because he was involved in a car accident on December 26, 2013, in which two of my daughters were killed. I’m not calling to place blame, I just want him to answer a question or two.”

And there it was . . .

And the gatekeeper?

His wife—who was also in the truck that day.

So I asked her my question.

‘At what point on the road that day did you realize the red truck had moved into your lane? It’s a hill. Did you see the truck before or after you topped the hill?’

I’m not really sure I got the answer I wanted because I’m still not sure I know exactly where they were.

dsc_0062What I got instead was a recitation of the driver of the red truck’s actions. I gather they had been aware, even concerned, about the other drivers actions before he pulled in front of their vehicle, into the passing or fast lane if you will, moving at a rate of speed significantly below the speed limit and slowing further has he applied the brakes to gain access to the turn lane he was so hellbent on getting to.

She told me she hated what happened.

Hated what happened to us.

Had prayed for us.

dsc_0079After I reiterated the question, I was told that there was no possible way they could have stopped, could have avoided the collision. That the officer who took their statement had said as much. She said the other driver was traveling about 35 miles and hour and people were passing him and that there was no way to stop when you are traveling at “65 miles an hour or whatever” and someone pulls in front of you going 35 miles per hour and braking.

She went on to say that the accident turned their lives upside down and more so for us.

She kept saying I hate it. What exactly does she hate? That it happened. That they were involved. That my daughters were killed.

I thanked her for speaking with me. Even thanked her for her prayers. Told her I appreciated it and said a hasty and awkward goodbye.

During the course of the call, a few things became apparent to me. Things that bothered me. Things which precipitated that awkward ending to the call.

She never acknowledged the fact that her husband was speeding at the time of the accident. It’s right there in the accident report and verified by the vehicle’s computer chip. In effect, she refused to accept any responsibility whatsoever, on her husband’s behalf, for the collision.

I’m not sure why.

There is no possibility of any further legal action against her husband, so it can’t be excused as an action to protect her husband or their assets.

Is she living in denial?

Maybe she’s actively trying to convince herself that her husband is in no way responsible for the deaths of my daughters. Maybe that allows her to sleep at night.

And because there was no admission of wrong doing, and because it became apparent that her goal was to advocate for her husband’s innocence, there was no offer of condolences. I never heard the words, “I’m sorry for your loss” let alone “I’m sorry for the role my husband played in the accident.”

Instead what I heard loud and clear was, ‘We were not at fault.’ That’s pretty much what I got out of her comments, but the unspoken message was, ‘We were victims too.’

dsc_0056All I really wanted was to know when the driver of the red truck pulled into the fast lane. The best I could hope for was an apology for the law he broke that inadvertently put him in the path of the reckless driver who cut into his lane. An acknowledgment of his wrongdoing. Remorse over the consequences his individual choice made in our lives. An expression of sympathy. I guess it’s just too much to ask to have people take responsibility for their actions in this day and age.

One of the things that bothers me most about the collision is that because both drivers were at fault to varying degrees, they can each point a finger at the other and excuse their own behavior. The driver most at fault (95% at least) points his finger at the other driver and says, ‘I would not have hit that van, those girls would not have died, if the other driver wasn’t speeding which caused him to rear-end my truck’. And the driver least at fault says, ‘This accident wouldn’t have happened if the other guy wasn’t on the road because he had no legal right to be since he didn’t have a drivers license. It wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t pulled out in front of my truck.’ And neither one has to look themselves in the mirror and admit that their actions contributed to the deaths of my daughters.

And that’s precisely why I probably shouldn’t have made that call.

I’m a floor mat.

I wanted so badly to say, ‘Your husband is not blameless. He was breaking the law too. He made fewer mistakes, but he is not innocent of the deaths of my daughters.’

But what would be the point?

Aside from saying it out loud, confronting her with the truth, I would have just initiated a defensive and defiant response further abdicating her husband’s responsibility and guilt.

FullSizeRender (8)

The Honorable Judge John LePage – McDonald County Missouri Circuit Court

I wonder if she realizes that because her husband was speeding there was no way to prosecute the other driver for the crime he was clearly guilty of: vehicular manslaughter.

I wonder if she realizes the rate of speed at which their vehicle was traveling determined the force and speed at which the red truck was pushed into oncoming traffic. Less speed equals less force.

I wonder if she realizes that because he was speeding justice was denied my daughters.

I wonder if she realizes that even the maximum sentence for the misdemeanor offense of careless driving was cut in half by the judge who excused the paltry $500 fine and six month suspended jail sentence because “the other driver was speeding”?

That in and of itself is all kinds of wrong as the defendant was being prosecuted for reckless driving. He should have been sentenced based upon his actions alone.

Her husband is responsible for much more than exceeding the speed limit. His actions resulted in the perversion of justice. His actions served to excuse everyone at fault.

Had he not been speeding the impact of the two trucks would have taken place seconds later and our van would have passed by that point of intersection unscathed. But no, this was the result of one unlicensed and reckless driver meeting up with one speeding driver . . .

 

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

My daughters died but in spite of the fact that two drivers broke multiple laws that day, no one, not one person is held responsible? Say it isn’t so! But it is . . . because it’s the other guys fault.

And Wow, just wow! Am I suppose to feel badly because the speeding driver’s life was upended? Am I suppose to consider him an innocent victim? Did his wife expect me to pardon his behavior?

Before I made that call I could have convinced myself that at least this one driver accepted responsibility for his actions, but now, I will pay the piper. I will have to live with the knowledge that both drivers consider themselves guilt free.

Is anyone else nauseated by that fact?

We sing about the day the music died, but who really cares? The day integrity died is far more disturbing. The drivers, the prosecutor and the judge each demonstrated an appalling lack of integrity.

And because I so desperately wanted every single piece of the accident puzzle, I will have to cycle through the process of forgiveness one more time. I will have to make peace with more anger. I will have swallow another serving of resignation. I will have to surrender my right to see justice meted out yet again. And that’s all on me. I didn’t consult the Lord. I didn’t want Him to tell me to let it lie, that He’d take care of it, that knowing would only hurt me more. I just wanted answers in spite of the fact that it would change nothing. Nothing. So I’ll suck it up and shoulder the consequences my insatiable need to know demanded. I’ll suck it up because those pictured below are worth it.

10451733_797124930349429_7292530056341311929_n

But this I know—of this I am confident—denial and excuses will not protect the guilty from the wrath of God. Grace is their only escape if their hearts aren’t already too hardened to receive it. Justice will be served; in God’s time, but it will be served.

And what I heard today can only be described as a deceptive half-truth. A sin of omission. It’s just one more sin to add to the cup of iniquity. One more sin adding to the cup of the wrath of God. One sin filling those cups drawing us ever closer to Christ’s return when God will proclaim the cup of iniquity full and the cup of the wrath of God will be poured out upon the wicked. It will be judgement day.

I’m in no way saying that the two drivers, the wife of this driver, the prosecutor or the judge are not saved. Only God knows the heart of man, but woe to the man who knows to do good and does it not, for that is sin. (James 4:17 paraphrased

 
15 Comments

Posted by on October 6, 2016 in Adversity, Faith, Grief

 

Tags: , , ,

Down the Damascus Road, Again . . .

damascusroadI have found there are points in my life where I find myself completely unable to accept God’s obvious plan. Maybe you’ve found yourself in a similar situation? It’s what I refer to as my “Road to Damascus” experience. By that point in time I’m filled with frustration and anxiety and doing everything I can in my own power to change the circumstances I find myself in only to have God pull me up short and shine a painful, blindingly bright light of truth down, revealing that I am not just kicking against the pricks but actively working against His greater plan.

It’s hard to describe how it feels to know that the thing you least want to accept in your life is an irrefutable part of God’s plan. Oh, to be a two-year-old again so that the temper tantrum I want more than anything to throw, while not tolerated, is at least understood.

Harder still and completely beyond my human capabilities, is the ability to change the desperate desire of my heart, let alone make any attempt to surrender and embrace God’s unacceptable plan.

I firmly believe changing the heart and embracing God’s plan only happens at the point where a believer’s brokenness is met by the active work of the Holy Spirit in that believer’s life. Surrender definitely comes before embracing the plan.

In fact, embracing the plan may never actually happen and it may not even be something God expects from me — from any believer. Maybe all God really expects is for us to quit actively working against Him — not because we have the power to prevent His plan from unfolding but because the fight — the anger, fear, frustration, anxiety and bitterness exhausts and destroys us from within.

Maybe simple resignation, surrender to the inevitable, is a victory in and of itself. Maybe surrender, resigned or not, allows one the energy to take the next step, endure the next blow, and the next, until only the sorrow and quiet emptiness remain leaving room for the Savior to fill you from the cup of consolation and enabling the broken believer to receive the only remaining hope worth clinging to — an eternal future promised to stand in stark contrast to every aching moment the present reality reflects. Maybe that’s sufficient until the day we are made like Him.

 
9 Comments

Posted by on October 1, 2016 in Adversity, Faith, Grief

 

Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

A Mourner’s Thoughts On Sickness, Sorrow, Pain And Death – Scott Sauls

Scott Sauls, Pastor of Christ Presbyterian Church in Nashville, a man well acquainted with ministering to the sick, sorrowful, those in pain and those grieving or living in anticipation of death, opens God’s Word and reveals important scriptural truths about suffering. This post has the power to equip the Saints as well as offering much needed validation to the suffering. Click on the link in red below to read Pastor Sauls’ article.

” Let all who have ears give heed to what the Spirit is saying to the Churches.” ~ Revelation 3:22 (Weymouth New Testament)

Source: A Mourner’s Thoughts On Sickness, Sorrow, Pain And Death – Scott Sauls

 
Comments Off on A Mourner’s Thoughts On Sickness, Sorrow, Pain And Death – Scott Sauls

Posted by on September 17, 2016 in Adversity, Faith, Grief, Links

 

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , ,

Thirty Minutes

hourglassI had a biopsy Tuesday. I was a bit surprised when the doctor told me that I had handled the news that the biopsy was necessary in an appropriate manner – in other words – he was glad I didn’t freak out. This is the fourth time I’ve had to have follow-up appointments when the initial tests revealed unexpected results ATA (after the accident).

I find that ATA I am no longer shocked or surprised by disconcerting news. I’ve just adopted a low-level of expectation mixed with a high-level of resignation.

The nurse told me prior to the procedure that they do a lot of these biopsies and that a cancer diagnosis is very rare. My tongue-in-cheek response was, “Please don’t use that word rare. I’ve found that if it’s rare it happens to me.” Stillbirth is rare. ARSACS is rare. Losing two children in a car accident, while not unusual, is also rather rare among the population.

The biopsy wasn’t as uncomfortable as I expected in spite of finding that the pre-procedure medication hadn’t quite done the job it was designed to do. An additional step was required, which the nurse assured me was NOT a rare occurrence. The three of us, the doctor, nurse and I actually found a host of things to laugh about throughout the process.

As I left the clinic Tuesday afternoon I found myself thinking, ‘This is the most normal I have felt ATA.’ It wasn’t that I escaped the awareness of Bethany and Katie’s deaths. Nor did I forget Gracen’s disease and her prognosis. Those things are simply deeply ingrained in my being. They are ever before me. They have shaped me in so many ways. They color my perception of everything I see, hear and experience.

I don’t really know what made the interaction with my doctor and nurse different than all the interaction I have had with others ATA. Maybe. . . hopefully. . .  it reflects that a measure of heart-healing has taken place. I am both hopeful and wary of finding out if that will prove to be true.

clocksIt was a period of time in which feeling good (in spite of the fact that I was having a biopsy and all that implies) didn’t feel bad – didn’t feel as if laughing or smiling or enjoying simple conversation diminished the inherent value of my daughters. There was no guilt – no shame – and believe me I found many a reason to feel both of those things!

It was thirty minutes, not of escape, but of the assurance that there could and maybe even would be more moments like this. Moments when each one of my children is a joyful part of me, not simply a bitter or wounded reminder that life is not what I hoped, expected or dreamed it would be.

I fear I’m not describing these moments well at all, but suffice it to say that it was the first time that I discovered that living another day might not be so bad. That I might eventually enjoy life again. Not the naive existence I walked before Cole was stillborn, before Gracen and Katie were diagnosed, before Bethany and Katie died, before Gracen survived even as her health continues to deteriorate. No, it was a glimpse of what might be possible in spite of all those other things.

For thirty minutes of my life Tuesday . . . I felt free.

I felt for the first time as if God just might have some good plan for me in the here and now; not just my eternal future. Believe me when I say that I have long known intellectually that God cares about my here and now as well as my eternity, but it’s the first time I actually felt as if that was true. Finding any single occurrence where my mind and my feelings agree is huge for me.

HUGE!

For two and a half long years I have struggled to find a way to make my mind and emotions agree . . . and I’ve failed miserably. I honestly don’t think it’s something I have any power over. I think that’s the Holy Spirit’s job, so I don’t believe I’m a failure. I do, however, think the Holy Spirit is meticulous and that takes time – more time than I have the patience for.

So for now . . . all I want to do is bask in the thirty minutes of freedom I experienced.

30-minutes-400x234-1_1Those thirty minutes were worth waking up Tuesday.

Worth getting showered and dressed.

Worth having a biopsy.

Those thirty minutes. . .

That feeling of freedom . . .

it’s priceless.

 
6 Comments

Posted by on September 7, 2016 in Adversity, Faith, Grief, Muscular Dystrophy

 

Tags: , , , , ,

Lessons on Suffering

Pauls-thorn-in-the-flesh

It was the Spring of 2013, and I was struggling with the myriad of difficult circumstances our family was facing and attempting to reconcile my spiritual beliefs in light of those circumstances.

Gracen and Katie had been diagnosed with ARSACS, a rare and progressive form of muscular dystrophy a year before. Their prognosis was not encouraging. We saw increasing deterioration in Gracen’s health, which seemed to be moving faster than we’d expected based on the limited amount of information available. Bethany had completed her freshman year of college at the University of Central Arkansas and was growing increasingly cynical toward the faith of her youth. And David’s job was in jeopardy. He is the sole breadwinner for our family and we were unsure if he would qualify for unemployment benefits. Needless to say, I was a tad stressed.

Funny how none of the things above was my personal problem. Each one was a battle for those I love most deeply and as a wife and mother, their suffering became my own. The curse of empathy is the ability to personalize another’s suffering as your own and that’s exactly what I did. Every physical setback Gracen and Katie experienced resulted in grieving the lost abilities for my daughters and for myself. Each time Bethany attacked a biblical truth, I ached and feared for her, for her future, for her eternal safety and for myself knowing her choices might lead me to endure painful consequences alongside her. And I was well aware how a man’s job impacts his self-esteem not to mention the burden of financial insecurity.

One morning I sat out on my back patio with my bible and smartphone and began searching the scriptures for what God’s Word said about suffering. This is what the Apostle Paul wrote about his own trials:

7 And lest I should be exalted above measure through the abundance of the revelations, there was given to me a thorn in the flesh, the messenger of Satan to buffet me, lest I should be exalted above measure. For this thing, I besought the Lord thrice, that it might depart from me. And he said unto me, My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness. Most gladly, therefore, will I rather glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me. 10 Therefore I take pleasure in infirmities, in reproaches, in necessities, in persecutions, in distresses for Christ’s sake: for when I am weak, then am I strong.”  —  2 Corinthians 12:7-10 (KJV)

When Paul asked God to remove the thorn in his flesh, this was God’s response:

(2 Corinthians 12:9)  “My grace is sufficient for thee . . . “

“My strength is made perfect in weakness . . . “ KJV

Or in another translation

“My power is perfected in weakness . . .” NASB

006-jesus-gethsemane

Christ praying and sweating blood in the Garden of Gethsemane

In 2 Corinthians 12:7 Paul tells the reader the purpose of the thorn in his flesh. I find it interesting that Paul knew and understood why he was suffering, just as Christ did in the Garden of Gethsemane, yet both Paul and Christ asked for their suffering to be taken from them. That tells me that understanding God’s purposes doesn’t make suffering any easier to endure. Knowing why doesn’t make the hurt or the fear go away. The truth is that, in our humanity, we are desperate to escape pain in spite of recognizing God’s greater plan.

In this particular case, the purpose of Paul’s thorn in the flesh was to keep him humble. Paul understood that the normal human response to being singled out by the resurrected Lord—and receiving the sheer abundance of revelation he received—would commonly result in pride; a very destructive character trait.

Paul described the thorn in his flesh two ways:

1)  As a gift; well he doesn’t actually call it a gift.  He simply says it was given to him which implies to me that it was a gift and its purpose implies it was a gift from God (to keep him humble).  Funny how a message from the enemy to buffet a believer could be seen as a gift from God when it serves His purpose. And it was a good thing because it saved Paul from the pain and destruction pride brings. Maybe some of our sufferings are considered good from God’s perspective because it saves us from a fate that is far more detrimental to our overall well-being or damaging to our character.

2)  As a message from Satan to torment him.  It’s as if God allowed Satan to afflict Paul, just like God allowed Satan to afflict Job.  The Bible is riddled with such instances.  Satan intended this thorn in Paul’s flesh to hurt Paul just as Satan, via the conduit of his brothers, intended harm, even death, for Joseph.  Satan was also allowed to bring Christ to the cross, although Jesus laid down his own life in obedience to God.  Satan’s intent was to destroy God’s plan of redemption but again, God thwarted Satan through Christ’s resurrection which defeated the power of sin and death in men’s lives. It appears that two plans are being implemented simultaneously with very different goals. Satan’s goals are destructive but God is well aware that Satan has set out to destroy His children and God uses Satan’s own devices not only to thwart Satan’s plans but to triumph over them. Isn’t that the most satisfying form of serving justice and meting out righteous vengeance—to turn your enemy’s own evil plans against him? It’s pretty much the ultimate slap-down.

Although the message Satan wanted to communicate to Paul isn’t directly outlined, we can extrapolate it ourselves based on what we’ve heard other broken believers express through trials. Here’s a reasonable sampling:

1)  God doesn’t love you or He wouldn’t have allowed this bad thing in the first place

2)  If God really loved you, He would have healed you from this affliction

3)  God isn’t as powerful as He claims because He obviously can’t heal you or He would have

4)  God can’t protect you from me (Satan) – I’m more powerful than God

Just like Job, when Paul didn’t respond to suffering the way Satan expected, Satan added to Paul’s affliction.  2 Corinthians 11:23-27 says that Paul suffered more than any man for the sake of the gospel.  Paul:

1)  Received 39 stripes on five separate occasions at the hand of the Jews

2)  Was beaten with rods three times

3)  Was stoned once

4)  Was shipwrecked three times

5)  Spent a full day and night in the ocean on at least one occasion

Throughout his journeys to spread the gospel, Paul’s life was in danger from robbers, fellow Jews, Gentiles and false Christians wherever he went and however, he got there.  He suffered from cold, exposure, manual labor, sleepless nights, hunger & thirst all while shouldering the concerns of the churches he planted.

Satan uses affliction to:

1)  Discourage and torment believers

2)  Derail efforts to spread the gospel

3)  Cause believers to doubt God’s love, kindness, and power

I recently read a very interesting article about John 10:10, “The thief cometh not, but for to steal, and to kill, and to destroy: I am come that they might have life, and that they might have it more abundantly.” The article examines the Greek words in this verse to aid in gaining a better understanding of the scripture. Click on the following link for an eye-opening read from the Renner Ministries Blog:

The Devil Has a Plan For Your Life!

God uses affliction to:

1)  To prevent us from becoming prideful — 2 Corinthians 12:7 (See above); Or maybe to prevent us from developing some other trait that damages our character or is personally destructive.

2)  To save His chosen people:

“Now do not be grieved or angry with yourselves, because you sold me here, for God sent me before you to preserve life. . . God sent me before you to preserve for you a remnant in the earth, and to keep you alive by a great deliverance.” — Genesis 45:5 & 7

“You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good to accomplish what is now being done, the saving of many lives.” — Genesis 50:20

3)  To provide His children with the assurance of their own salvation:

The Spirit Himself testifies with our spirit that we are God’s children.” —  Romans 8:16

4)  Conform us into the image of Christ and share in the fellowship of His suffering, His consolation, and His glory:

“But we all, with open face beholding as in a glass the glory of the Lord, are changed into the same image from glory to glory, even as by the Spirit of the Lord.”  — 2 Corinthians 3:18

“And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose. For those God foreknew he also predestined to be conformed to the image of his Son . . . And those he predestined, he also called; those he called, he also justified; those he justified, he also glorified. — Romans 8:28-30

“And if we are children, then we are heirs: heirs of God and co-heirs with Christ—if indeed we suffer with Him, so that we may also be glorified with Him.” — Romans 8:17

“For just as the sufferings of Christ overflow to us, so also through Christ our comfort overflows. . . And our hope of you is stedfast, knowing, that as ye are partakers of the sufferings, so shall ye be also of the consolation.” — 2 Corinthians 1:5 & 7

“But rejoice that you share in the sufferings of Christ, so that you may be overjoyed at the revelation of His glory.” — 1 Peter 4:13

5) To produce endurance, develop your faith, and lead to increased spiritual maturity:

“Be assured that the testing of your faith [through experience] produces endurance [leading to spiritual maturity, and inner peace]. And let endurance have its perfect result and do a thorough work, so that you may be perfect and completely developed [in your faith], lacking in nothing.” — James 1:3-4 AMP

6) Enable us to comfort and encourage others who are suffering:

“Blessed be God, even the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies, and the God of all comfort; Who comforteth us in all our tribulation, that we may be able to comfort them which are in any trouble, by the comfort wherewith we ourselves are comforted of God.” — 2 Corinthians 1:3-4

7) To display the works of God:

“His disciples asked him, “Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?” Jesus replied: “Neither this man nor his parents sinned,” said Jesus, “but this happened so that the works of God might be displayed in him.” — John 9:2-3

crown-and-thorns8)  To earn eternal rewards that will far outweigh the temporal suffering we experience in life:

“Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.” — 2 Corinthians 4:16-18

 

Why is it important that we understand God’s purpose in allowing His children to suffer?

I think it’s critical that we realize that God uses affliction for a variety of purposes and each trial a believer encounters may serve a completely different purpose.

One thing I have discovered through child loss is that fellow Christians often try to encourage the grieving by reminding them that their current suffering will allow them to comfort another hurting soul somewhere down the road.  This may or may not be true. Depending upon the circumstances, the level of trauma involved, or the personality of the bereaved, God may never intend that believer’s suffering to be used to minister to another. The experience may be so negative that the individual may not be able to support and encourage another. The pressure to minister may re-victimize the believer or the individual may not be able to talk about their situation without inciting fear in another thereby doing more damage than good.

I have also discovered that those who are called to minister to others generally are not capable of taking on that role until a significant amount of healing has taken place in their own lives. Discernment is definitely required before encouraging anyone to minister to another as a result of their trial and also required for the tested, the survivor, to know if God is really calling them to this type of ministry or to minister to a specific individual. Ministry is about more than shared experience. Personality and approach matter.

Of all the purposes of suffering I uncovered in my research, all but one can generally be confirmed in hindsight. The one that can’t—when God allows suffering in order to prevent something He deems more damaging to His child. There are some things we will never be able to understand or explain.

Suffering almost always leads to the why question. But ultimately, having a definitive answer doesn’t make the suffering less painful or even lead a believer to embrace the pain for the joy that lies before them. Knowing why is less important than the fruit God produces as a result of affliction. Understanding why may come in hindsight, but even if it doesn’t, I believe there’s always a purpose, whether I approve of it or not, and God allows it for our individual, eternal good.

As Ruth, my grief counselor, pointed out to me recently, at creation, God proclaimed everything He created “good” not “perfect”. Why would Adam be made caretaker of all of creation if there were no problems to resolve? Had there been no problems, Adams job would have been superfluous.

Perfect is a life without problems, without suffering. Good is a life that includes problems, inconveniences, and even suffering. It’s a life that matures through time and experience. It’s a life that includes overcoming adversity, recognizing our dependence upon God, helping our fellow man, bringing glory to God and earning eternal rewards. We don’t earn anything unless we work for it. And God’s grace is sufficient to enable us to live a good life in spite of trials, afflictions, and suffering.

 
2 Comments

Posted by on August 26, 2016 in Adversity, Faith, Grief, Muscular Dystrophy

 

Tags: , , , , , , ,

Pre-Move-in Day Challenges

move-in-dayAs the day dawned Friday morning it finally dawned on me how little time I had left with Gracen before the fall semester begins.

I sucked in a shallow breath.

Dread settled deep within.

The funny thing is, I’d been aware of this encroaching date all along. I just refused to think about it. I gave it an intellectual nod when the thought of her back to school date came up and quickly pushed it out of my mind.

But thoughts like those have a way of festering beneath the surface of one’s psyche. I’d noticed the signs—typical stress reactions for me. Nights spent reading that stretched into the wee hours of the morning or even until daybreak, the soreness at the tip of my tongue from rubbing it on the inside of my lower front teeth, the itchy feeling beneath my skin, a desire to write then frustration swelling when I was unable to put anything down on paper as my mind flit from one concern to the next. Creeping anxiety.

But it wasn’t until this morning that I counted the remaining days. Today, Saturday and Sunday. Move-in day—Monday afternoon. Then I will turn my back once again and hold my breath waiting and hoping.

Waiting for that phone call.

Hoping it doesn’t come.

You know, the one where a university official calls to tell me Gracen’s been hurt . . .

or worse.

Oh yes, worse is always on my mind.

Then again maybe you don’t know.

Maybe after you dropped your child off at college and piled back in the car your worries were vastly different from mine. Maybe you fret over poor judgment, too much freedom, a lack of academic commitment, or maybe you are more concerned about the echoing silence that will greet you when you once again cross the threshold of your home.

All those things bother me too, especially the silence, but mostly because I fear it could be permanent—that that last hug might really be the last hug—ever. That thought lurks.

The other lurking thoughts are regrets. Regrets for missed opportunities. Really for forfeited opportunities. Those I consciously chose to skip for reasons related to anxiety and depression . . . I’m ashamed to admit.

And that’s really it I think. Fear and shame constantly assail my heart and soul.

I should be handling this better.

I should be healing instead of falling apart more and more as time goes by.

I should be able to make decisions.

I should be less afraid of people; of social situations. What does it matter what anyone else thinks?

I should quit escaping into fiction.

I should, I should, I should, I should not. And every un-distracted minute is filled with shoulds, should nots, and fear—because anxiety is just a synonym for fear.

She’s sleeping late. Is she breathing?

Is she safe in the shower?

Will she be safe when she returns to school? Not safe from others. Not safe from impulsive decisions or risky behavior, but safe getting out of bed, getting in the shower, getting dressed in the morning. Safe doing all the simple tasks we routinely do without thought.

And fiction and sleep are the two activities that shut out the shoulds, should nots and fear.

But there are times when I can’t focus to read or write and sleep eludes me and that itchy, tingling feeling under my skin about drives me insane. I find myself frantic for some escape. Trapped inside this human shell while inwardly keening for release.

Now I understand why people drink to intoxication—the befuddled mind is their escape and they are pleasantly numb.

But there will be no escape for me. Just repeated hopping up to leave the security of my bedroom for some distraction only to find the available distractions (talk, TV & pets) annoying so I flee back to my bedroom. A shower maybe, but the pounding water doesn’t shut out my thoughts. A drive . . .

to the crosses . . .

only to feel frustration rise.

Oh to be able to rip the top off my head and let all the painful, toxic thoughts and emotions escape!

I don’t know how to do this, Lord! I don’t know what to do let alone how to do it. I spin in circles like the Tasmanian Devil and hear only silence from You. Unbearable silence. I’m defeated by the truth that there is no fixing this. There are no good answers. No paths without pain. No solutions whatsoever. I need You to speak, to step in, to do something—something I can see—something that won’t hurt. Something that reveals a purpose for this madness.

Something that carries me through Friday, Saturday, Sunday, and Monday. Something that prepares me for the silence I’ll return home to and wake up to Tuesday morning. Something other than the dread of that phone call coming; of the remaining pieces of my life-shattering at my feet.

I just need . . .

Something.

 
8 Comments

Posted by on August 20, 2016 in Adversity, Faith, Muscular Dystrophy

 

Tags: , , ,

Déjà Vu Day Arrives

save-alarms
The alarm rang at 4:15, shocking me awake from the four restless hours of sleep I’d managed to get prior to waking Gracen. Time to dress and leave for the hospital for her scheduled appointment to have her wisdom teeth removed.

The day went much as I’d anticipated.

It’s just a hospital I told myself when I first noticed the Mercy sign glowing in the predawn sky.

An inane conversation followed, “Maybe this time we will arrive early enough to get a handicap parking space.” (No such luck Monday when we arrived for her pre-op appointment.)

“Score! Right in front of the hospital entrance.” (Not many people out at 5:00 a.m.)

It’s not an emergency—nothing serious—just wisdom teeth—I told myself as I exited the car and unloaded the wheelchair from the trunk.

Deep breath in.

Exhale.

One foot in front of the other.

Whoosh! The pneumatic doors slide open. All’s quiet at the front desk: nary a volunteer in sight. Elevator ride. Registration. One more elevator ride to the third-floor surgery waiting room.

Thank God for social media and a smartphone! Facebook status updates and videos meet the currently limited duration of my attention span. Reading is simply not possible.

“Gracen Boxx”, the intake nurse calls and we are off. Double doors swing wide after a card key is scanned and we enter the surgical pre-op area which I silently note is eerily reminiscent of the ICU corridor at Freeman Hospital, just a slight bit narrower. I quietly suck in a deep breath as I follow the nurse who is pushing Gracen’s wheelchair to room 323.

Scrubs.

Tile floors.

Medical equipment.

A tech, Kim, enters the room, lowers the bed as far as it will go, and places a gown on the bed along with a plastic drawstring bag in which to store Gracen’s street clothes. The anticipated snick as the curtain is drawn follows as Kim exits the room and Gracen and I left alone in the small cordoned off space.

We gown her up, make a quick stop at the restroom next door then I maneuver the wheelchair into place, lock the wheels, move the foot pedals out of the way, lift Gracen to a standing position and perform an efficient quarter turn before seating Gracen on the edge of the hospital bed. It’s just a wee bit too tall requiring that I boost her up and back before elevating her legs and spinning her another quarter turn to lay prone.

I indulge in a deep breath before shifting the tray table and a chair down to make room for the wheelchair to sit in an out of the way corner.

Sit down!

In comes the pre-op nurse, Jennifer.

The blood pressure cuff velcroed in place.

Temperature taken.

Pulse and oxygenation recorded.

When did you eat and drink last?

When did you last take this medication and that medication individually until the list of her normal meds is thoroughly reviewed.

The dreaded IV is inserted and a steroid injected into the port in her left hand.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Doctor Baker enters the room in blue surgical scrubs. He greets us, asks if we have any questions and reassures us that all will go smoothly.

Next up the Anesthesiologist quickly followed by two operating room nurses. I hug and kiss my only surviving child and whisper, “It will be okay.”

hospitalbed2And then it happens. . . the moment I most dread . . . the wheel locks are released and Gracen is moving away from me. “I love you”, I call out to her retreating figure.

The first set of doors swing open, my eyes track the progress of her bed. A second set of doors swing wide . . .

and I pray.

It’s just a simple one line prayer that spontaneously whispers through my mind as the first set of doors begin to swing closed and she’s gone. . .

beyond the reach of my care.

I swallow hard.

Breathe in.

And begin pushing Gracen’s empty wheelchair back down the hall to the surgical waiting room. The fact that it’s empty is significantly sobering to me. It’s a stark reminder of what I fear most—a day when it [the wheelchair] becomes permanently empty.

I’m doing fine, I tell myself, and it’s true.

Then just before I enter the waiting room my mind flashes to another woman I know of whose husband years before was admitted for knee surgery, and something completely unexpected and terribly wrong happened and he never returned home to his wife and children. A painful, life-altering and devastatingly tragic loss of a godly husband, father, son, and beloved coach.

I swallow hard.

I know deep down in the places of my heart that I refuse to examine too closely, that this too could happen to me. Hasn’t it already happened three times before? An inconceivable cord death and the firstborn child we’d looked forward to with such anticipation never came home from the hospital. An unexpected motor vehicle accident and Bethany and Katie never even made it to the hospital. The incomprehensible diagnosis of an extremely rare and progressive disease. I know all too well that life is fragile. That it can be snatched from my feebly grasping hands oh, so quickly, so unexpectedly. I wish I could un-know it. How I wish I could return to my prior state of blissful ignorance!

Deep breath.

I find a seat, drop into it and retrieve my tablet.

I force myself to concentrate.

Ten minutes later David appears and I can breathe just a little easier. Just a little deeper.

I didn’t expect him.

Didn’t ask him to come.

But he read my blog post about this day and concluded that he was needed in spite of the seemingly innocuous nature of this surgery. The same procedure performed years ago by the same doctor in his office on my oldest daughter, Bethany. David was not present that day.

Life has changed in irrevocable ways.

I’m different.

My soul is bigger than it was before—filled with knowledge too wonderful for me—and my soul has shrunk in equal proportion by the invasion of personal experience with the fallen world—a world filled with sin and death. 

I’m very different.

Painfully different.

In no time at all, Dr. Baker stands before us. The surgery is over, it went well, no unanticipated surprises and Gracen is waking up.

Shortly thereafter we are called and escorted back to room 323 which we find empty.

We wait impatiently and then she appears, pale and groggy, but breathing. No neck brace, no breathing tube, no stitches in her face, no shards of glass shimmering in her hair. I stand and touch her cold forehead. Ask if she’s warm enough and request additional heated blankets for her feet and calves because her circulation is poor and they are often cold to the touch.

I take a seat.

Reply to a text or two.

Faint-WomanTen minutes or more pass waiting and watching Gracen’s sleepy eyelids open to half-mast then flutter closed again. And then, out of the blue, I begin to feel faint. I can feel perspiration begin to form on my upper lip and forehead. I feel like I’m going to hurl any second and I ask David if I’ve gone pale.

The tech coincidentally enters the room right after, takes one look at me and asks if I’m okay. She gets me a cold wet cloth with which I mop my face and the back of my neck. David begins to fan me then turns to Gracen as she mumbles a question around her gauze-filled mouth.

She wants to know if I’m okay.

The nurse enters the room. The tech sent her in. I tell Jennifer it’s just stress. I’m embarrassed to have such an out of proportion response to a simple and reportedly successful procedure. I feel the need to explain, but I remain mute. Does she really need to know what makes this simple surgery so stressful for me? Is my pride that important?

I begin to feel marginally better; try to find a comfortable way to sit with my head back or forward toward my knees. There’s no place to recline.

I’m shocked by my physical response. Shocked that I continue to feel faint and nauseous. Begin to wonder if it’s something I ate, but all I’ve had is coffee since four in the morning. David gets me some peanut butter filled crackers from the waiting room, which I slowly begin to eat hoping they will settle my stomach.

Every time I try to sit up I feel faint and increasingly nauseous once again.

Eventually, the nurse disconnects Gracen’s IV, heart rate monitor and blood pressure cuff. David heads out to get his laptop from his car then pull mine to the patient pickup area. (I’m not safe to drive. We will figure out how to retrieve his vehicle later.)

I’m not at all confident that I can get Gracen dressed and into her wheelchair without passing out, but I manage it weak knees and all.

I hate that I have become so weak before her very eyes. How much confidence can she have in my ability to care for her after this? I’ve managed multiple trips to clinics and hospitals and two trips to the ER one of which required a call to 911 and an ambulance ride without such a staggering reaction. Am I just getting worse instead of better two and a half years later?

I follow the volunteer pushing Gracen out to the pickup area hoping she won’t faint and tumble out of her wheelchair and that I won’t pass out in the hall.

And I breathe a sigh of relief as David pulls up just minutes after we exit the hospital. I load Gracen into the front seat and climb in the back leaving him to stow the wheelchair in the trunk.

As I lay my head back in the car, I notice I no longer feel nauseous, no longer feel faint and we haven’t even exited the parking lot. But I’m no longer in that place.

That building.

The facility David and I were transported to and treated with such care and kindness—Mercy Hospital in Rogers, Arkansas. The ER Doctor, nurses, and techs who treated us, cried for us, and prayed over me, for us, and for Gracen.

I am filled with gratitude, respect, and appreciation for the men and women who served us and serve this community day in and day out and yet it’s a reminder of dark and stress-filled days.

A reminder of what’s been lost.

A reminder of the high yet worthy price of love.

And I don’t need reminders.

Every waking breath I draw remains charged with the tension of love and loss and fear and faith. Every single breath is weighted with emotion sitting heavy on my heart.

A text message comes in just before we arrive home from the grief counselor, Ruth, both Gracen and I see. I tell her that Gracen did much better than I and am surprised by the response I receive to my recitation of my unexpected reaction a few hours later. “Yes, we [mental health care professionals] would anticipate a fairly significant trauma response as described in your piece last night.” (She received a pre-release copy of my blog post describing how I expected to feel at this time.)

Ruth’s response is as liberating as it is knowledgeable. Maybe it’s liberating because it’s knowledgeable. And as a result, my mind soaks in this truth . . . regardless of what others think; I’m not a freak, just a badly traumatized mother who manages to hold it together 99% of the time.

Now if I can just learn to extend myself a little grace, to reject feelings of embarrassment and humiliation the 1% of the time when my biochemical response is triggered by unavoidable sights, sounds, smells, words, and fears. Maybe that would represent more of a victory than trying to master my body’s biochemistry.

And Gracen—she is doing well.  When we first got home, I told her we needed that communication device we’ve been selecting and justifying to Medicaid right now.  I couldn’t understand a single word she was trying to speak.  But, the bleeding has stopped and she no longer has a mouth full of gauze.  She’s much more understandable although she sounds pretty croaky due to the tube the Anesthesiologist threaded through her nose and down her throat. We’re also managing pain well and she’s not terribly swollen, although we’ve been told that will get worse before it gets better. So Friday and Saturday may not be very pleasant. One day at a time is my mantra these days so we’ll just let tomorrow worry for itself to the best of our ability.

Many thanks to all who prayed for Gracen, David and me today.

“The insistent prayer of a righteous person is powerfully effective.” ~ James 5:16b (World English Bible)

 
6 Comments

Posted by on August 12, 2016 in Adversity, Faith, Muscular Dystrophy

 

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Stay

Jesus was a storyteller. He used everyday examples He knew His audience could relate to in order to teach biblical principles. He understood the power of a good analogy.

This blog post paints a vivid word picture describing a thought provoking truth regarding a Christian’s struggle to wait upon the Lord. Frankly, it was a valuable, yet painful read for me, in this season of my life. But I believe Adrien Rogers got it right when he said,

“It is better to speak the truth that hurts and then heals, than falsehood that comforts and then kills.”

Follow the link below by clicking on the word “Stay” highlighted in red to read the article from blogsite “Patchwork Scraps of Life”. I added the scriptures below the link regarding waiting upon the Lord  for your review.

The command was clear and firm… and it appeared to be just about killing her…

Source: Stay

Psalms 130:5-6 “I wait for the LORD, my soul waits, and in his word I hope; my soul waits for the Lord more than watchmen for the morning, more than watchmen for the morning.”

Psalms 27:13-14 “I believe that I shall look upon the goodness of the LORD in the land of the living! Wait for the LORD; be strong, and let your heart take courage; wait for the LORD!”

Isaiah 30:18 “Therefore the LORD waits to be gracious to you, and therefore he exalts himself to show mercy to you. For the LORD is a God of justice; blessed are all those who wait for him.”

Lamentations 3:25 “The LORD is good to those who wait for him, to the soul who seeks him.”

Micah 7:7 “But as for me, I will look to the LORD; I will wait for the God of my salvation; my God will hear me.”

 
4 Comments

Posted by on July 21, 2016 in Adversity, Faith, Links, Uncategorized

 

Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

This Body of Death 

VR-JULY-7-24 - EditedI feel like I’m sinking—sadness weighing me down—regardless of the medications I’m taking. Why can’t I overcome this? Is it possible that trauma causes bipolar disorder?

I just want to escape this body of death. That phrase, “body of death”, had little impact on me before—before my world imploded. Now, well now, I have an entirely different view of—and response to—that phrase. Now it’s way too personal, way too descriptive!

Every day I am bombarded with the visual representation of that phrase. I perform acts of service that reinforce those images. I cannot escape this body of death and I desperately want to. I want to flee from the future and the daily reminder that things are just going to get worse—lots worse.

But there is nowhere to go, nowhere to hide and the only means of escape available is one which further injures those I love, who frankly, have already suffered enough—more than enough in my opinion.

Somehow I have to learn to live with the cumulative pain and losses of the past while surviving the emotional erosion of the soul caused by daily care requirements, simultaneously bracing for and absorbing the blows each new and upcoming setback includes.

I can continue to put one foot in front of the other (although I’ve noticed it getting harder and harder to do; which concerns me) but I have yet to discover an emotionally heathy way to cope with this life I’ve been left with.

Distraction, distancing, withdrawal and emotional numbing may be effective coping mechanisms to prevent a complete breakdown but they are not healthy. They are nothing short of a delaying tactic that builds barriers between an individual and the people they love and later serves to compound the pain in the long run.

Those coping mechanisms are a completely normal and common human response to emotionally deep wounds, I’m told, regardless of the cause. They are not unique to my situation. But when consistently exercised they heap guilt, shame and despair on the heart as the individual becomes aware that they’ve lost precious, unrecoverable opportunities to spend time and deepen relationships with those they love in a conscious or unconscious attempt to protect their hearts from further pain. And that awareness, when it can no longer be avoided, is nothing short of agony. Time lost cannot be redeemed in this earthly realm.

Some time ago I questioned my daughter’s physical therapist about the potential benefit of a medical procedure that had worked well for another child in the clinic Gracen receives services from. The procedure involves creating holes in the overly tight muscles of the legs so that the muscles will stretch and enable more freedom of movement.

The PTs response was that the tension–the tightness of Gracen’s leg muscles are the very thing that enable her to stand. Loosening those muscles would make her legs noodle-like; unable to support her slight weight.

IMG_1195I am very much aware of the painful emotions that accompany my past and current life circumstances. When I find myself confronted with “negative” emotions, I don’t allow myself the freedom to experience and work through them. No, instead I distract my mind from them primarily via fiction (emotional numbing) locking them to the far regions of my heart. I am constantly aware of the existence of this metaphorically locked box of emotions, but I refuse to open and cope with the contents. Shoot, I’m pretty sure the contents of that box are under so much pressure that the slightest move to open the box (maybe my next effort to shove new emotional turmoil into the box) will result in the contents being forcefully expelled like an erupting volcano — an apt description as rarely does a volcano erupt without prior warning and I’ve experienced years worth of prior warnings. Warnings that the pressure is escalating.

 

 

IMG_1200The tension required to push those emotional realities away, to pack them into my own personal Pandora’s Box, is the tension that my emotional health is standing, or maybe in my case a better word is “balanced” or “teetering” upon. Like a car precariously balanced upon a cliff, one shift in weight forward without substantial counterweight will send the vehicle plunging over the cliff.

Opening Pandora’s Box is the means to healing I’m told, but it is a terrifying prospect. It will push me over the emotional precipice and I fear what that will mean, what it will look like; what living with it, living through it, will cost and what, if anything, will be left of the woman I once was. And worst of all, my greatest fear, will I be left in a recoverable state?

images (45)On top of everything that implies, opening Pandora’s Box only allows past emotional trauma to be vented. How then, in this new weakened and vulnerable state, do I cope with the ongoing trauma progressive disease constantly thrusts upon me? Where is my shield of defense when the communication device or the stander is delivered? How will I cope with the installation and use of a tracking system in my home, let alone the day when it no longer makes daily life less physically taxing for both Gracen and I, but when it becomes a necessity I must use alone in order to properly care for her?

How will I cope in a healthy way with the complications that arise from a lack of mobility: pressure sores, stiffening and less moveable joints, decreasing core strength that results in the inability to sit up from a prone position and maintain an upright position once seated? How emotionally strong will I be when verbal communication is lost and I can no longer hear the sound of my daughter’s voice?

IMG_1201The boxer in round ten is less capable of withstanding a body blow that was thrown with far greater force in round one. The boxer’s split skin, bruises, and broken ribs don’t heal between rounds. He just rests, catches his breath, gets his cuts taped up and smeared with antibiotic ointment while receiving instruction and encouragement to continue the fight.

Is this not a picture, yet another metaphor, of the Christian life? God binds up our wounds between rounds, but the damage inflicted in the early rounds affects our ability to fend off and endure the blows taken in later rounds. Training, muscle memory and endurance developed prior to the fight are the believer’s  primary form of defense in the midst of the fight.

When the metaphorical boxer ignores the instructions, is unable to rest as adrenaline floods their system,  rejects the antibiotic balm and encouragement in the early rounds as young, brash believers are known to do, determined to “Do it My Way” as Sinatra sings, ineffective strategies are employed and more blows from the opponent successfully land escalating pain and weakening the cocky boxer.

Come the later rounds, desperate for the ministrations pridefully refused when the fight began, the beleaguered boxer attempts to tune his ear to those words of instruction. Humility has replaced pride and his brain, so distracted by pain and fatigue is far more inclined to seek and listen for the guidance of the Holy Spirit as we rest on the Cornerstone of our faith in dreaded anticipation of the sound of the bell that propels us back into the fray. And when the final bell rings we either find ourselves flat on our backs from a knockout blow or in the middle of the ring, beaten, bruised, and so fatigued that we can barely lift our arms in victory.

The bell has rung repeatedly in my life and I’ve been forcefully shoved back into the battle over and over and yet again. So weak, dreading the next blow that I know without a doubt is coming, trying to simply raise my arms to protect myself. Too tired to be effective, desperately attempting to put into action the instructions received in the corner, I huddle against the ropes frustrating my opponent and the audience who scream at me to step into the fight, defend myself, and destroy the enemy who contends for my faith.

IMG_1205What will be my fate when the fight ends? Will God step in and call the fight? Will I find myself stretched out on the mat breathing heavily but defeated all the same or will I be doing my best to hold my hands up in victory when the final bell rings?

Your guess is as good as mine!

 

IMG_1203I hope to be silently caught up in the air as God calls the fight or to hear the sound of the trumpet signaling the arrival of my Savior, rescuing me from this body of death and torment. But I fear I will continue to find myself stretched out on the mat breathing in the stale and bitter aroma of sweat and fear–yet another bout in my future, yet another beating to endure. Will I enter the ring the next time stronger and better equipped?

Will I ever find myself hands raised, a victor over the cares of this world?
 
2 Comments

Posted by on July 6, 2016 in Adversity, Faith, Muscular Dystrophy

 

Tags: , , , ,

 
%d bloggers like this: