Not my plans for the weekend!

I don't know how many of you know me from Facebook, but I've noticed that I've gotten a few more followers and sorry to say, I don't recognize all the names.  I feel so blessed that you have chosen to read my blog for whatever reason.  I do this both so that I can have an outlet and I pray that I can be an inspiration to those who read it.  I've said from the beginning, if I can do it, anyone can.  I'm just an ordinary woman trying to live a life in God's grace.

This past weekend was an absolutely beautiful weekend in Southeastern Minnesota.  Highs in the low 70's, clear blue skies.  One of those weekends where you just want to squeeze every ounce out.  Once of those weekends where you want to stay out as long as you can because you can smell Fall on the horizon and know that there are not going to be too many of these types of weekends left before snow starts to fly.  We had plans.  I had a meeting in Albert Lea that was supposed to be all day on Saturday and Mike was going to take Nate and Rachael with a friend back to New Ulm to bring a U-Haul truck back with the rest of the furniture from his dad's house so that we can be ready to close at the end of the month.  Sunday we were hoping to go on a long bike ride and enjoy the day before school started for Rachael on Monday.  Good plans right?  Not His plans!

Friday morning I went about the morning.  Worked on budget stuff (which I hate, HATE doing, but it needs to be done, right?) and about 12:30 went to make some lunch for Rachael and I.  As I was standing at the counter I felt a sharp, twingy pain shoot through the right side of my lower back.  I remember thinking it was strange and tried to stretch it out a bit.  Wondered what I had done to pull a muscle.  Finished making lunch and sat down to eat and got one bite and the sharp twinge turned into a shooting stab that took my breath away.  It hurt to sit, it hurt to stand, it hurt to pace.  I went and laid on my tummy on the couch hoping it would go away.  Laid there for about 30 minutes and it faded a bit.  Sat down at the table again and finished my lunch and it hit me again.  I went to the bathroom and lost my lunch and grabbed the heating pad.  Back to the couch I went again and texted my husband to tell him I wasn't going to be able to get to the store like I had planned.

This time, it didn't get better.  I was moaning and crying. I just couldn't help myself.  The dog was freaking out, my 5-year-old was kicking into "mommy"-mode and as much as I hate to admit it... I wasn't being patient and I wasn't being helpful.  I'm sure she was scared because I knew I was.  It kept getting worse and I finally went to the computer and texted my husband because he wasn't answering his phone.  He's been incredibly busy and this doesn't surprise me.  Being that he works on a computer all day, I knew he'd get the message.  I simply wrote, "I need you to come home and take me to the hospital."  He was home within 1/2 hour. 

In the ER, it was taking everything I had to hold myself together and not make a lot of noise.  Mike was trying to distract Rachael as I sat on the edge of my chair rocking and quietly moaning.  It was a busy afternoon at the Olmsted Hospital Emergency Room, but they got me back within 1/2 hour and hooked up to an IV with pain meds shortly after that.  Went back for a CT scan and suspicions were confirmed. I had a kidney stone. I got back to my area in the ER and the doctor came in to talk to me.  He said that he could send me home to manage the pain there (it wasn't being managed at this point) or they could admit me.  I told him he was the doctor, what would he suggest.  He suggested staying overnight until pain control could be established.  So Friday night, I was admitted to the hospital.

Now, it's interesting.  I have heard that kidney stones are one of the most painful things that a person can have happen.   I certainly know that they are the most painful thing I have had happen to me.  The pain never did become completely manageable.  I was on high doses of Fentanyl hourly.  100 mcg/shot and that only dulled the pain to a 3-4.  All night Friday, they were giving me shots in the IV hourly.  I didn't sleep, I'm sure those in the rooms around me didn't sleep.  I felt like a wimp.  I felt defeated.  Saturday morning, they gave me a pump so that I could self-administer the Fentanyl.  This helped!  10 mcg every 5 minutes as needed between oral doses of oxycodone seemed to be making it manageable.  Unfortunately, they can't send you home with a PCA pump so another night at the hospital it was.

My biggest fear was going to sleep and to wake up in agony because you can't push the pump when you're sleeping.  I was assured it would be ok and finally drifted off to sleep at about 8:30.  Around 10 p.m. I woke up.  It's funny when you wake up in that kind of situation because your brain immediately does an assessment.  "Ok.  In the hospital.  How am I feeling.... Oh yeah, there's' pain.  How bad is it?  Oh.. not good!" I started pounding on my pump and hitting the nurse call button for help.  Unfortunately, 10 mcg every 5 minutes doesn't put a dent in the pain and was not due for my oxycodone for another 45 minutes.  I was told until they could get a hold of the doctor on call, there is nothing that could be done.

So what do I do?  I'm curled up in the fetal position crying and moaning and I hear a small, quiet voice in my head.... "Call on me.  I am strong enough.  I can handle this.  Give it to me."

So that is what I did.  "Jesus help me.  God take this from me.  Help me through this.  Give me strength.  I give this to you. You are strong enough. I can't do this without you." became my mantra.  Over and over again.  Maybe not those exact words, but pretty close.  While He didn't take my pain from me, somehow, time seemed to go faster and it did get more bearable.  I wish I could say it was the only time it happened, but it wasn't.  I was in the hospital until Monday morning when I finally passed that little devil of a stone and the pain was never completely under control.  I think this happened at least three more times, maybe four, but I found that when I called on Jesus, the time went faster and it was easier to handle the pain.

Jesus was my Rock.  I could feel His arms around me as I sat and moaned and rocked back and forth.  He was my Comforter.  The funny thing is, is that He wants to be all these things when times are good, too!  He wants to rejoice with us as well as cry with us.  He wants dance with us as well as lay down with us.  He wants to be our confidante.  He wants to be our Friend.  How easy it is to call upon us when things aren't going so well, but then to turn around and forget when things are going our way.

Take a moment.  Take a moment and thank Him for all that you have.  Thank Him for the little things.  The things you take for granted.  Thank you for the things that trouble you.  Thank Him for everything because without Him, we would have nothing.

So as strange as it might sound, I thank him for the pain I had over the weekend as well as the soreness and tenderness that I have as I recover because it reminds me that I have life!  It reminds me that I do have so many things to be thankful for.  Thank you, Jesus, for it all.

Peace or band-aids?

Sometimes a Bible verse touches you in ways you don't expect.  This morning, Mike and I were doing our devotion and the verse was "They dress the wound of my people as though it were not serious. “Peace, peace,” they say, when there is no peace." (Jeremiah 8:11) and tears started welling in my eyes, because I understand.  This has happened to me and, unfortunately, I have done it to others.

People who are hurting deeply know when they're being placated.  Patting someone on the back with a, "There, there, it's going to be alright." because it makes you feel better isn't helping that person experiencing pain.  Yes, it is going to be alright.  With God's help, everything will be alright, but that pain, that hurt, and eventually, that scar are all real and they ache.  

I remember back when we were hurting so badly because it felt as though we'd been tossed out by our ear by the church we so loved we got lots of cards and a few flowers.  Because it was so sudden and quietly done, people didn't know what to do.  While we appreciated the sentiments, what meant the most was the few people that walked alongside us.  Those that lifted us up and let us lean on them for support. Those that lifted us up in prayer and prayed with us.  We were broken, shattered and limping.  We are still healing and sometimes, when it feels as though it's all better, a little reminder comes along to remind you of the scar that remains. 

Some wounds are serious.  Some wounds require more then a band-aid and pat on the back.  Some wounds have cut so deep that it takes a Healer to mend them.  They take time and they take love and they take forgiveness.  They take Jesus.  Proverbs 3:5-6 says it well, "Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to him, and he will direct your paths."  

Some versions say, "he will make your paths straight." but I tend to like the "direct your paths." because the path is not always straight.  It's not always even.  There is going to be stumbling blocks and side tracks, but He will direct it.  God will show you the path, He will put people in your path that will help you on your journey, but you need to trust Him instead of yourself.  I know the times that I've tried to rely on myself are the times I've been led down the wrong path. You have to have trust in the Lord.  Do you trust Him?  Are you willing to let Him direct your path?  Are you willing to let Him heal your heart?  It's not an easy choice.  It's not a choice that normally goes along with societal norms, but it us one that has great satisfaction.  When I have trusted God, I have known rest and peace.  It's a path that leads to restoration instead of band-aids.