Cake!

A week before my birthday, I'm setting the table at my grandparents' house (my parents and I are staying the night because they live closer to the hospital where I'm scheduled for an appointment the next morning).  


It's been said in our family that you don't have a true birthday unless you participate in the family celebration.  I'm certain some people think musicals are hokey and unrealistic.  No one breaks into song in the middle of dinner, or in the midst of a rousing conversation, right?  Wrong!  Completely and utterly wrong!  My family does this, and do you know what?  We do it all the time.  And do you know what else?  I LOVE IT!  So, my birthday cake rests on the kitchen counter, waiting to be unveiled at the perfect time.  When my family sings "Happy Birthday," they don't just sing--oh no!  A thrilling interpretation of this classic song rings forth with glorious four part harmony and vibrant gusto (once my cousin's grandmother on the other side of her family was so amused, she asked us to sing again)!  Needless to say, I was excited about this dinner (and the possibility of singing a show tune later).


My cousin and her daughter Brynnlee came over early.  Brynnlee's eyes lit up after seeing the birthday treat.  CAKE! CAKE, CAKE, CAKE, CAKE, CAKE!  Such innocence and excitement radiated from her darling face!  She delightfully ran around babbling nonsensical words to anyone who would listen.  She discovered the cake and needed everyone to know.  After dinner, my mom passed the slices of our dessert around the table.  When Brynnlee joyfully received her piece, she hugged my mom and gave her a kiss!  Her joyfulness was intoxicating--and all over a slice of cake!

Brynnlee

When was the last time I was truly excited about something--truly joyful?  I don't just mean happy, but jubilant, enraptured even (like Brynnlee).

Living with a chronic illness for over two years has the capacity to overwhelm and defeat you.  I lament over how easy it is to become preoccupied with all of the things I can't do as opposed to the many things I can do.  It's hard to stay positive.  It's hard to feel cheerful, and even more difficult to feel satisfied.  

The illness I'm plagued with makes it almost impossible to have a life.  How can I feel satisfied when the only thing I did today was walk one block to the bank to deposit a check?  Unmotivated to cook, I ordered take-out.  Exhausted and unable to manage the pain, I stayed in my room all day.  Transitioning from an active, multi-tasking, efficient college student who had mastered the "almost-running-yet-still-walking college gait" has been more than difficult.  I had places to go, things to do.  Now, I can't even walk up a flight of stairs without intense difficulty (during the pre-registration phone consultation for a procedure I recently had, the woman asked me if I was able to climb a flight of stairs or run a short distance.  I regrettably had to answer "no").  I'm 22!  Bounding up three flights of stairs to my apartment should be a breeze!

When I think about Brynnlee and her over-active happiness, I smile.  This little girl full of innocence who can barely talk can teach me something.  Her excitement about eating cake makes me realize that joy is tucked away in hidden places waiting for me to discover it.  I can trudge through life feeling sorry about all of the things I'm no longer able to do, or I can celebrate and acknowledge the blessings God is sprinkling through my life (and as I practice this, I've become cognizant that it's more like a downpour).  I can grumble about feeling sick all day, or be grateful that I was able to enjoy the fresh air as I walked to the bank.  Instead of feeling bitter about staying in my room all day, I can express happiness that several friends called to chat with me.  

I hope to regain the abilities I once had after my doctors discover what's ailing me, but for now, I'm content to relish in the small things--like cake!

A Comforting Stranger

I'm laying in the hospital bed listening to the steady beeping from my heart monitor.  I'm nervous.  I know this is an easy procedure, but that doesn't make me feel any better.  This is normal, right?  I mean, who wouldn't feel a little nervous when covered in electrodes and hooked up to so many monitors?


The doctor arrives.  Standing near my bed preparing me for the procedure is my nurse.  She looks to be nearing retirement age and continually calls me "honey" (generally something I don't care for, but today it's okay).  As my anesthetist is about to administer the anesthesia, my nurse looks down at me, and lovingly brushes the hair from my face. "Don't worry, honey.  Everything will be fine," she says (and smiles).  Instantly, I felt relaxed.  Who knew such a simple statement from a stranger could be so comforting?  


Amidst the hustle and bustle of our busy lives, we tend to forget the powerful impact of simple words or a gentle touch.  This evening as I thought about my nurse and her calming actions, I thanked God for placing her in my life today and asked Him to allow me to be that comfort for someone.  Let me offer the caring words spoken in a time of need, the loving hug to a friend or family member, or even a listening ear!


Too often, we forget to care for each other and revert to focusing on ourselves.  Living with this chronic illness for the past two years has helped me displace the self-centered mindset I think we all tend to get stuck in from time to time.  Trust me, it's harder than it sounds, but it can be life changing and empowering to expel the "me first" attitude!


"Don't worry, honey.  Everything will be fine."  Seven simple words that made a world of a difference.  Who could you comfort with seven words?

What am I going to do with you?

I'm chatting with my mom when my doctor enters the room.  After welcoming us and saying it was nice to see us again, he looks me in the eye, shakes his head and asks "Emily, what am I going to do with you?"


Truth be told: not the greeting I was looking for.  I want answers!  I want progress!  Tell me what's wrong, what's ailing me!  Why am I continuously feeling sick?  A positive attitude proves difficult to maintain when my doctors are unable to figure out why I'm in pain.  After two years of feeling sick, I sometimes wonder if an answer will ever present itself.  But, I know there is a light at the end of the tunnel (I just don't know how long it will take me to get there!).


Does God say this to us when we're created?  "Emily, what am I going to do with you?"  He has a plan for me, I know that--I believe that.  In all of His infinite wisdom, He has this whole thing already worked out (and that includes this illness I'm battling).  Something will come out of all of this hurt and frustration--something good even!  


Has God deemed me fit to travel this journey in order to help others along the way, influence someone or something, or just grow due to his grace?  People may think I'm crazy when I say I'm blessed.  I am so blessed!  Anything is possible through God, and I know I will not be given more than I can bear (a very calming and encouraging thought).  I can do this!


I exude thankfulness and happiness for so many things in my life. Despite my vision problems, I can still see!  Despite my pain, it can be managed!  Despite the countless other issues I encounter, I'm alive!


I may never fully understand why I have been put in this situation, but the abundance of blessings are already appearing.  It helps ease the pain and the sorrow knowing that God is working in my life with a plan to which he already knows the outcome.  


When the feeling that I'll never find answers drifts over me, when the sadness and heartache interfere, I remind myself that it's all part of God's plan, and there truly is a reason behind all of this.  I just need a little bit of faith and let his blessings and grace wash over me.  

Unexpected Clarity

Ear plugs are my friend.  I wear them almost every day to block out noises that, to me, are so abrasive and overwhelming.  From riding in the car, walking down the street, or just sitting in my apartment, they protect me.  The ability to hear people talking or other important sounds is still present, but these ear plugs eliminate all of the extra noise and offer a softening effect.  They remove the nonessential background noises that people normally disregard (but are paralyzing to me).  It's so perfect!  I pop these ingenious devices in my ears and, just like magic, everything seems more manageable.  

So, this got me thinking yesterday.  What if I applied this concept to my life?  These ear plugs clear out the unnecessary noises and make everything clearer.  This unexpected clarity--this relief--that comes from something so simple astounds me.  


I've come to learn that if I simplify my life and work to remove the clutter--the negativity, the guilt, the constant worry--things are smoother, easier to control.  The realization that everything will indeed be okay offers difficulties, especially when I'm in the situation.  But, hindsight is 20/20 and my tendencies to over-think things almost always prove foolish in the end.  I have adopted the mantra to live simply (and it's working!).  


Now, my ear plugs serve as a reminder that clarity and order are attainable, despite my difficult situation.  When I adjust my attitude and actions, a beautiful calmness appears.

Today is the Day

For a while now I’ve been thinking about starting a blog.  To be honest, I’m not entirely sure what has been stopping me.  When the idea of blogging first came to me, my inner voice shouted “But you aren’t the blogging type!”  The worst part about this is I actually believed the little voice echoing inside my head.  What does that mean, anyway?  Not the blogging type—who says?  Do I have to be a certain type of person or part of some elusive, secret club to be inducted into the vast world of bloggers?

Maybe some hidden irrational fear of sharing my thoughts with the world is lurking somewhere deep inside me.

I remember keeping a dairy when I was about nine years old.  I never had a fancy diary.  My friends at school proudly carried their sparkly, pink, dairies of awesomeness that came complete with a shiny brass lock and key with which to lock their secrets away securely.  Mine was really just a little book.

Then, it happened.

I went up to my room and the door was cracked.  I had specifically remembered closing it because I didn’t want my brothers and cousin (who was visiting) invading my room.  As I pushed the door open, I heard laughter.  Boy laughter.  There stood my brothers and cousin reading my dairy (apparently the hiding spot I thought adequate was not).  My biggest fear at the tender age of nine had been realized.  My thoughts—my private thoughts—were being mocked and ridiculed right in front of me. 

Behind closed doors, the laughter and ridicule turned to tears.  Why did I care what those mean boys thought?  Did it matter that they made fun of my deepest secrets—of me?  As a fragile nine year old girl, the answer could be none other than “yes.”  Distraught, I dealt with the matter in the only way I knew how; I ripped the pages out of my dairy and after tearing them up and disposing of them, vowed never to write in it again.

As I sit here today thinking about this experience thirteen years ago, I can’t help but wonder if I’m reliving it in some ways.  Have I procrastinated starting a blog because I’m actually stricken by a fear of what people will think about me—about my thoughts?  There is something slightly menacing about opening up to the world and embracing vulnerability.  Then again, does it really matter what people think?

My longing to start a blog has really been fueled by the thought that it is something I could do for myself, not for anyone else.  So, when my English professor suggested keeping a blog to fulfill my honors requirements, I secretly rejoiced.

Thanks, Dr. H., for giving me the push I needed to finally do this.

So, today is the day—and I’m thankful!