It's been awhile -- at least it seems that way to me. I could hardly believe it when I saw my last post was two weeks ago. But as blogging seems to have slowed down in general for the summer, I'm okay with it.
I'll be honest: I've had a hard time of it lately. My health is not improving; in fact, my insides are behaving as though they're forty or fifty years older than I am. As I was discussing the latest slough of symptoms with my naturopath, he told me that the conversations we're having about my health now are ones he usually has with patients in their seventies. Simply put, my body is failing at some of its most basic processes: digestion, elimination, absorption, and some others that I just don't want to talk about here.
The word chronic has been used.
On a good day, I'll tell you that this body makes me long for heaven. I'll tell you that I am finding blessing in unexpected places. I'll tell you that I know and trust that God will redeem this.
But on the days that aren't so good or as hopeful -- on days like today -- I am angry. I'm frustrated and weary and truth be told, just plain furious. I wonder what my later years might look like if this is my life and my health now. I wonder what the point is of trying to be healthy at all when my body is failing anyway. I wonder where God is when I cry out for mercy and heaven is silent and still again, again, and again. I wonder with the Psalmist, How long, O Lord? How frickin' long?
I'm tired of investing money and energy and hope into remedies that seem to help at first, but later have no effect on my body.
I'm tired of the way hope inflates and deflates inside me.
I'm tired of having a carrot dangled in front of me only to have it yanked away time and again.
I'm tired of being chronically unwell. I'm tired of the sounds of my own complaints.
I'm tired of trying to find blessing or anything good in this place. I'm tired of taking the long view, of wondering how God might use this to bless others in a distant time known only as someday.
I'm tired of the tension that exists between knowing God is there, but having the feeling as though He's absent, silent, and idle. I'm tired of how any prayer I offer hits the ceiling and falls in a heap at my feet.
I'm tired of spending time in the offices of every doctor who has a chart for me, of talking about my bowel and menstruation habits at length, of being subjected to test after invasive test, of lying exposed on cold tables, of hands pressing in on my body.
I'm tired of the looks from physicians who are as baffled and frustrated as I am.
I'm so tired of trying every possible option to be well and as far as I can tell, of it meaning nothing.
I'm tired of how isolated and alone this makes me feel, of how difficult it is to feel engaged in my own life, of how much I don't want to accept that this is my life.
I'm tired of being the oldest thirty-year-old that I know.
This doesn't mean that I don't want to know how you are, and it certainly doesn't mean I don't want to celebrate with you or hear about your days. This doesn't mean that I don't want to talk about other things or that I've lost sight of the world beyond the boundaries of my skin or that I'm incapable of laughter. I may be quiet or I may be absent from time to time, but I'm still here and I love knowing that you are, too.
I know it's difficult to be with people like me in these kinds of places. There's nothing you can say or do, no solution you can offer that will make it better. I understand this, and I can appreciate the difficulty. That being said, please know that I don't expect solutions or cures or words that will illuminate all of this perfectly. I don't expect you to know how to fix this.
I'm just glad that you're here, listening and sharing in this life with me.