LORD, IS THIS ALL THERE IS?

 

          Passing the fifty-year old mark was more traumatic than I thought it would be.  Somehow, it seemed old to me.  AARP had already contacted me, seeking my membership.  My body was flabby and there was too much of it.  Although I joked about my weight with my husband, saying he now had more of me to love; I was secretly chagrined and angry that I had allowed myself to get in this condition.

            I was starting to see those lovely liver spots on my face and hands and legs.  What had happened to that great figure and good complexion?

            A few years later, I started becoming extremely fatigued.   I had suffered from depression in the past and knew what it felt like.  This was different.  I would shake and drop things.  I’ve always been a klutz, but it was happening with more frequency.

 

            I had been a registered nurse, so all sorts of scary diagnoses popped into my mind.  MS?  A tumor?  Fear enveloped me as the symptoms worsened.  Before long, I couldn’t walk across the living room without needing a rest.  I became terrified.

            A visit to the doctor showed I wasn’t having any heart attack or artery problems.  He didn’t feel I had MS. (Phew!)  But, he couldn’t really tell me what I had.  The problem grew worse and my muscles went into spasms.  The pain was unbearable at times.  I had to withdraw from my normal activities and spent a lot of time in bed.  My husband had to take over the household, as often I couldn’t even wash the dishes (that was the only good thing about the whole illness).

            I couldn’t sing in choir any longer and often didn’t even make it to church.  I was dizzy and weak.  More consultations with the doctor finally came to the diagnosis of Fibromyalgia.  It’s a long-term debilitating condition, and while not fatal, it is incurable and certainly threw a monkey-wrench into my life.

            You see, my career as a freelance writer was beginning in earnest.  I looked forward to producing many books, articles and poems.  A symptom named fibro-fog stole all my clear thoughts.  I couldn’t even write anymore.  Most of my days were spent at physical therapy or the doctor or in my bed.  My life, as I had planned it, was over. 

I wanted to cry but I was too tired.  Well-meaning friends told me it was in my head.  I didn’t feel as though anyone but my husband took me seriously.  I hurt all over and constantly felt like I had the flu.  Muscles went into spasms and I spent hours on my bed doing deep-muscle relaxation exercises.

People didn’t seem to remember me.  Few called or wrote and my isolation was pretty complete.  I didn’t trust myself to go on outings because I couldn’t be sure when the dizziness might attack.  With the amount of medication I ingested, I felt like I’d had a full-course meal.

One weekend, my husband and I went to Seattle to visit long-time friends.  I was feeling a bit better and we went to a little Art Fair in one of the surrounding towns.  It was a very hot day.  We got separated and I suddenly became ill—I had nausea, dizziness, headache, and extreme weakness.  I made it to the curb of the street where there was some shade and sat there, trying to get my bearings.  I couldn’t see my husband or our friends among the milling crowd.  The thought went through my head:  “Am I going to die here?”  No one stopped to see if I were alright.  A policeman eventually came along and I thought I’d ask him to call 911.  Instead, he leaned out of his car window and told me I would have to move because I was obstructing traffic flow.  I told him I was ill but he told me I’d have to move on.  Then he drove away.

I was ashamed and angry.  I felt as though he thought I was loitering and a bag-lady.  The story ended well, but it shook me to the core.  My husband and friends came back and we drove home where I went to bed and slept for hours.

Fibromyalgia is not well-known and there is skepticism even among some in the medical field.  It was bad enough to feel so horrible, but I think the real pain came from the indifference or plain disbelief of those around me.

            I cried out to God: “What about the calling I felt to write, Lord?”  It seemed as though there was just silence from Him.

            Loneliness, bitterness and pain were my closest friends at that time.  I prayed and prayed asking God to show me what He wanted.  I dug even deeper into His Word to see if there was something else I needed to do.

            One day, I remembered a book by Catherine Marshall.  She lost her husband and went through the grief and then thought it was time for her to write.  Then she was stricken with a disabling disease that kept her from fulfilling her dreams.  She too wrestled with the anguish.

            Yet, God brought her out to a brand new place and she has fulfilled her dream many times over.  Would He do that for me too?

            Although the situation was horrible, I still found humor in some of my more ridiculous moments, like missing a stool in front of the open closet door.  The stool tipped over and I ended up on my back in the closet with clothes falling neatly in place on top of me.  I had to laugh.  It was too bizarre not to.

             During the times of utter loneliness, I got to know the Lord a whole lot better.  He became my Sounding-board, my Friend, my closest Companion, the Wiper of my tears, and my beloved Savior.

            By this time, I wondered if I was meant to be a shut-in.  “Is suffering and hurting all there will ever be to my life?” I asked God.   Bitterness over feeling neglected poisoned me.  It bubbled and churned like a witch’s brew.  But, God listened to all of it.  He showed me what it was and how it was hurting me even more than the illness.  I worked with Him through all the troubled emotions.  Through the course of those years—yes, I said years—He taught me and gave me new peace.  He matured me.  He took each arid place and made it into a spring of living water.

            The phone didn’t ring any more often.  I didn’t suddenly get reams of E-mail or have people stop by to see how I was doing.  Actually, the only thing that changed was me.

            About a year ago, I went to a prayer meeting at our church.  There was a man preaching who had been healed of leukemia.  My medical background had made me somewhat skeptical of “faith healing.”  I knew God had the power to heal, but hadn’t seen much evidence in my own life.  I went forward for prayer and asked God to show me His power.  Nothing happened--not that I was really deep down expecting anything to, with my superior medical knowledge!

       A few weeks went by and I noticed I was doing more things and didn’t get tired so easily.  I would say after I did something a little strenuous: “Oh, I’ll suffer for this in the morning.”  But, I didn’t.

I’m happy to say, the Lord has healed me.  I get occasional symptoms when I get too carried away, but have learned to listen to my body and pace myself.  I am now working fully on my writing and am seeing success.  God has indeed brought me out to a large place.  He has replaced the years the enemy stole from me.  The loneliness I learned to accept has shown itself to be a necessary part of writing and I can welcome it.  I need many hours alone and with few interruptions in order to write.

When I think about asking Him, is this all there is, I rejoice knowing the best is yet to come, regardless of my circumstances or age.  Life will never be perfect until I reach heaven but with my hand in His I need never fear, for He has my best interests in store.  He will give me all the time I need to complete His will for my life. 

Postscript:  Over 18 years later, I launched a new career and ministry to those who hurt emotionally, physically and spiritually.  I wrote a book and had it published last year.  God is so precious and I can say with assurance, He has "restored the years that the locust has eaten" so that I can give hope to others.  God bless you.  Here is a link to my ministry website: http://www.facebook.com/gentlyflowingwater