Migraines. I am sure everyone has heard the term, even if they are not migraine sufferers. I bet there are many who haven’t been diagnosed, I was only diagnosed 10 years ago while in the throes of the worst headache I have ever had. I literally sat in my car crying because I didn’t know how to drive home. A migraine is something I would not wish on my worst enemy. Ever.

What does a migraine feel like? It is different for everyone. Some people see auras, some do not. Some people get violently ill, others do not. Many people hide it. I can, if I can avoid the worst of it I can continue to function relatively normally. But if you look close, and see my right eye a little droopy, that is my telltale sign. I may smile, but inside I want to die.

For me it starts with an aura. It tends to match the beat of my heart, and is like flashbulbs or fireworks. A flash to the right, and to the left, everywhere. No pain yet, just flashes. I have been woken in the night by these flashes, and I listen for the thunder; only to realize with dread, that it is a migraine. So I rush to my drug cocktail, hoping to curtail the next phase before it hits.

And it does. It starts slow, like a freight train off in the distance and comes roaring to life behind my eyes, while the flashes continue merrily. This is the start of pain, like being crushed by a giant fist I feel pressure building slowly and I feel as though I might burst.

If the drugs haven’t kicked in yet, they won’t and the worst is coming. By now I feel like my brain is being squeezed into my throat and I cannot breathe. But I can, now it is psychological. My common sense is cowering in a small corner of my brain and the rest of me is starting the think the worst. Which triggers the panic attack, and I feel like crying.  But I don’t, I still have to grab my daughter from school and make dinner. If I survive till my husband gets home, I will find comfort in a cold dark room, with an ice pack on my head, praying for the pain to ease enough I can sleep.

When I wake up, I feel better. Like the pain of childbirth, I almost forget how bad it got. Hopefully I will not be reminded of this for at least a month.

My baby girl is a senior!

Today my daughter started Senior Kindergarten. It seems like yesterday she started Junior Kindergarten…suddenly she seems so grown up. So many tears at drop off, as parents dropped their first-born off to JK, I used to be that mom. Now I am excited! New year, new friends to meet, old friends to reconnect with. She is excited too.

I am also a little sad. She doesn’t like to snuggle on my lap anymore. No more middle of the night feedings and snuggles. She is growing so fast, and the things I didn’t relish, I now miss. She used to eat what I fed her. She has her own tastes now, and none of them what I am serving. Even though I don’t like making a separate meal for her now…one day, I will miss doing that.

I am trying to raise her to be kind, compassionate, and friendly. She is shy most of the time, but I love hearing how she opens up when I am not around. She has such fantastic teachers, and she has blossomed so much over the last couple of years. I am trying to teach her about differences. To enjoy the fact we are not all the same. I think she gets it. Time will tell.

I am excited to see what this new year holds for her, and I will relish the quiet times alone we share, when she can open up about the things she loves, or the things that frighten her.

Long time, no see...

It is time to get back into it.  I love to write, why do I have a hard time actually writing?  I don’t know.  I get lots of encouragement to write, and I think it is high time I get back to it. No excuses.

                                                                                    

I sometimes wonder if my reluctance is fear.  Fear of criticism.  Problem is, criticism is required to improve oneself; but it must be delivered with encouragement.  Criticism is funny. If you criticize too much or too often, one can lose faith in oneself.  He loses hope, ambition, and the love of what he enjoys.  At the same time criticism, when dealt with respect and encouragement, can have the opposite effect.  Giving then, someone hope, ambition, and a self-love that is often difficult to achieve alone.

So here I am.  Ripping off the Band-Aid, and opening myself up to criticism.  I am not so naive as to think I am free from judgment, rather the contrary.  Judge me.  Help me to grow and learn.  We can only learn, and better ourselves by making mistakes – good or bad.

I promise to write more.  I also promise I will get better. Stick with me, this will be a fun ride!

Thank you God for my... uh… back pain?!?

Sarcasm?  Perhaps it sounds like that.  Many people use sarcastic comments to illustrate their dislike of some circumstance.  I am not expressing sarcasm though… nor am I trying to come across as some self-righteous zealot.  Let me explain. 

I suffer from arthritis, and migraines.  Often experiencing pain I would not wish on my worst enemy.  Some days it hurts to breathe, or wiggle my toes.  During these times I turn to God for support.  I plead for miraculous cures that don’t exist.  Thankfully I have found Tylenol, Advil, and ice to be reliable for the most part.

Some days I am pain free.  The first pain free day I might thank God for relief, and for the blue sky, and the birdsong in the trees.  The next, I thank him for my blessings and the rain, and the smell of lilac on the breeze.  By the third day I almost forget what the pain was like, and I stop leaning on God so much.  Over time I imagine that I might get lost in the trappings of life, blessed as I am, and forget to thank God at all.  Until the pain returns and I am reminded that I am weak, and need God to help. 

I was thinking about Paul today as I read from 2 Corinthians chapter 12.  He was given a thorn in his side, and pleaded with God to remove it.  In verse 9 God refused, stating “My power is made perfect in your weakness.” I wondered what the “thorn” may have been.  Could Paul have suffered from arthritis or migraines as well?  Paul accepted the “thorn” and praised God for the chance to experience the fullness of God’s glory.  How can I then cry foul, or plead for relief.  I am reminded instead to praise God all the more, and humbly ask for His help to get over the hurdles I might face. 

So yes, thank you God for my back pain, and my migraines; it reminds me I am blessed, and loved; I have a roof over my head, and a wonderful job.  Most importantly, I have a loving God who cares for me.

“Why do you love God?”

“Why do you love God?”

As a Christian I am often faced with this question.  Many non-believers I encounter find it difficult to understand my unwavering faith and love for an unseen God, who seems to allow terrible things to happen.  Bad things happen all the time.  Bad things happen to good people, but bad things happen to bad people too; we just tend to focus on the good people getting shafted.  We live in a broken world.  When God created mankind, He gave us free choice.  This freedom we have been given leads to sin.  Hate and greed are foremost at the root of what we see as evil.  It leads to war, and poverty.  Years ago I was faced with this question from a colleague.  With the recent Rafferty trial concerning the brutal murder of little Tori Stafford, I recall the events from the early 90s well.  We found ourselves on the topic of salvation, and I asked if she was saved.  She admitted she was not and added “how could I possibly love a God who allows evil men and women into heaven?”  She was referencing the now infamous Paul Bernardo and Karla Homolka, and the horrors our community faced at their hands.  I went to the same school as Leslie Mahaffy and knew the anguish to which she referred.  She commented that she was familiar with Christianity, and knew that God would forgive them of the crimes committed, if they were repentant.  She could not stand going to heaven if monsters like that were there as well.  I knew this would be a tough sell; how can I explain this in a way she could understand.  I decided to draw a parallel for her.  She was a mother, and I could use this to demonstrate God’s love for all of His children.  Similar to “TheProdigal Son” 

Imagine your son or daughter, whom you love dearly, begin to distance themselves from you.  Then, unimaginably they murder someone.  You would be hurt, disappointed and perhaps angry; but you would never stop loving them.  In time he, or she, approaches you with genuine remorse.  They understand the horror they have done in your eyes and the eyes of everyone else; would you not forgive them and welcome them back into your arms?

This is God’s love.  We are all sinners, and have done, or thought terrible things throughout our lives; sure not nearly as bad as murder – but there are still monsters among us.  As we approach God with genuine remorse for the wrongs we have done, He welcomes us home with love, as only a Father can.  With this true assurance of pardon and salvation, how can I not love God?