Transparency Leads to Transplant

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 The mountain was big and daunting to climb.  It seemed like a great idea when we all set out from the guard station at the base.  'The views will be amazing!' we proclaimed. 'We'll be able to see forever from the peak!' we squealed.  The ascent began. 

It was easy at first and the pull on the steering wheel to the left seemed natural and fluid.  We were a carload of smiles and laughter as we felt our ears begin to pop.  'That feels weird.' one of the kids in the backseat mentioned.  'I can't hear anything.' said another.  The car jolted ahead as we climbed above the tree line.  The landscape was changing quickly. 

Treacherous terrain dotted with pockets of snow along the rock faces began to appear.  'Mom, I feel dizzy." my oldest child whimpered as we rounded a few more curves.  My husband gripped the steering wheel more purposefully as the corners came with nauseating frequency. I spied the mountain ledge a few feet away from my locked car door and visions of our car flipping end over end off of the mountain threatened to take me hostage.  'How much further to the top?' we heard from the backseat. 

What seemed like a simple task when we were circling low at the base of the mountain, was now causing me to unravel.  The climb had taken nearly an hour and the peak still wasn't in sight.  My true colors as a Midwestern flat-lander were flying and I was bowled over by altitude sickness. 

Finally, we approached the peak parking lot and we knew we had arrived.  The climb had taken longer than we anticipated and we were relieved to escape the confines of the car. 

The mood of the trip had changed as frequently as the colors and geometrics in a kaleidoscope.  We began with anticipation and enthusiasm as we circled the base of the mountain.  As we climbed, we retold stories we'd heard about road races and speeding motorcycle races that had unfolded on the two-lane road we were traveling.  Some stories had heroic endings...some were tragic.  There were moments of fear as we looked down and pure joy as we looked up.

Now as we stood at the pinnacle of the mountain, we could see forever in all directions.  We were closer to heaven than we had ever been.  Three of my family members were elated.  They ran and jumped and begged to go to the gift-shop.  Two of us, however, were not doing well.  The nausea was overwhelming and the only relief we felt was when we sat with our heads between our knees moaning and begging to get back to flat land.  We could see forever, but we couldn't hold our heads up.  The altitude sickness was too much and we were miserable.

By definition of 'seeing the peak', we'd all been successful.  We had all endured the trip and we had all marveled at the scenery...but at different points along the journey.

Sight rests in the eye of the beholder.  I went to the opthomologist yesterday for a consultation on my loss of vision in my left eye.  What was diagnosed and treated as shingles in 2012, has left a scar that has gradually grown during reoccurring flare-ups.  It is now covering 90% of my cornea.  The current conclusion, which took my breath away, was that I am blind in my left eye.  Excuse me?  But I can squint and shift and walk closer or lean back and turn on more lights and still see....nothing. 

The truth is hard to absorb sometimes.  It was in that quiet moment of a doctor's obvious revelation that I was thankful that my wonderful husband, keeper of my secrets, protector of my heart, couldn't see my face.  The arms of the optical machines were surrounding me like an octopus, and with no glasses to assist my right eye, I couldn't see his warm gaze reassuring me from across the exam room. 

On the inside, my firmly built facade of control was trembling like an earthquake.  Had I locked eyes with my devoted husband, all of my irrational fears of disappointing him or my family or scaring them or worrying them would have tumbled down like a game of Jenga when the loose block is pulled.

The diagnosis had been made, and aside from a small 'last ditch' suggestion to try a hard contact lens to 'trick' the cornea into restoring itself, the only hope is a cornea transplant.
I am done circling the mountain. I've been hoping it would get better, taking 6, 9, even 12 drops a day off and on for 18 months.  My vision has not improved. 

I now must decide to pass the guard station and prepare for my climb.  The transplant surgery is tentatively set for mid-January and according to my new seasoned opthomologist, sounds fairly routine.  A cornea  will be harvested from a donor eye, my damaged cornea will be removed,  and the donor replacement will be stitched in place. 


The recovery is long, a full calendar year before the final benefit of the transplant will be known.  During that time, my climb up the mountain will require numerous trips to the eye clinic, lots of drops and a strict adherence to the 'no waiting around and toughing out questionable symptoms' theory of self-care that is foreign to me.  Any issue, no matter how big or small, could be a sign of rejection or infection and will require a doctor visit. 

Today my ascent up the mountain begins. No more circling, wandering or waiting.  I must begin to climb.  It will be treacherous and I will hear awful stories of climbers who didn't reach the summit, but I will meet others who have seen the peak and I will claim their victory as my strength. 

The views will be amazing and terrifying and there will be times when I want to sit and rest.  The summit may seem elusive, but that is my goal....a view from the top and a journey leading me closer to God.

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Lost

 I got lost.  Four little numbers and a stack of letters made up an address for a lacrosse field I'd never heard of, and despite a confident/arrogant GPS, my equally directionally challenged navigator and I, got sidetracked. I must admit, the annoying halo that my left cornea casts across everything it encounters is distracting, but today even that would have been a stretch to assign as the scapegoat for my morning mix-up.

Finally, I reshuffled my series of turns and thankfully arrived at my original destination. As we pulled in to the parking lot I slipped into a spot with ease and realized there was not a car on sight.  I quickly referred back to my phone only to discover we were early for the tournament.  One day early.
In my effort to point to the silver lining, I suggested to my backseat shadows that we would know exactly how to find the field tomorrow! They weren't buying it and they were irritated.
Not a great scenario to start the trip home.  The donuts I'd bribed them with 90 minutes prior were a distant memory and they were restless.  As we closed in on the halfway point of our drive back, a war broke out in the backseat....over a pillow pet named Bill. Previously, Bill had been laying dormant on the middle seat with not even a sliver attention sent his way.  With no warning, Bill was suddenly becoming the pawn in a heated battle behind me.  Little Sis decided on a whim to use Bill as a headrest and her brother immediately objected.

With my octopus arms, I kept one hand on the wheel and another behind my back as I felt around for the stuffed animal hoping to ward off the impending doom.  No luck and I began to unleash my next weapon of choice....the take-away trick.  But my experienced negotiator in the backseat was skilled in deflecting my tactics.  To every threat I unleashed he professed his lack of concern or interest as if he was holding up a shield and my words were ricocheting off of the ceiling of the car.  He was holding Bill and he was not giving up easily despite his sisters' pleas to let her lean her head on his plush belly. All the while my tween sidekick in the front seat was lost in her music with earbuds securely tucked in her ears.

As the battle raged on to no resolve, I pulled over to the side of the road. (the dreaded fear that would wash over most kids in this moment made no difference to my kids) I reevaluated my previous approach and decided to pull out a few more threats.  Still no success.  I had to get physical.
These moments are always so surprising to me....how could we have been happily enjoying donuts and milk less than two hours prior and now be pulling into a random dentist office parking lot raging at my son over a stuffed animal he refused to hand over to his little sister?
I was praying for guidance and counting to ten thousand as I shifted the car into park and opened my car door.  Trying to stay above the fray, my tween was begging to 'just go!'. She had no interest in Bill or the standoff in the backseat.

As I walked around to Ethan's side of the car I had no idea what I would do next...but I was praying.  I opened the door and leaned in and unbuckled his seatbelt and got him out of the car.  We were the only car in the parking lot and there was a huge walnut tree at one end of the lot.  I'm not sure where it came from, but I told him that we were not leaving until he could run from the car to the walnut tree and back in under 10 seconds.

He moped to the tree and stood under the canopy of falling leaves and nuts and wouldn't budge.  My stern warnings to 'get running' fell upon deaf ears and he stood still with his feet planted, lobbing walnuts across the blacktop.  We were at an impasse and I didn't have a plan B. Just to remind me that she was there, my front seat co-pilot opened her door to let me know she thought this was one of my less than effective parenting techniques.  "He's not going to run, this is stupid, let's just go home!" she pleaded.

All the while the walnuts kept rolling my way.
I was beginning to doubt my sanity and thought maybe the nuts my kid was flinging into the air were a subtle signal from God that He too thought I was nuts.
Just then, the entire mood of the moment changed thanks to my youngest kiddo.  After watching this unfold from her vantage point in the backseat (probably cuddling up to Bill!) she opted to join the craziness and ran around the car in her sundress and sandals. "Mom, I want to run! Time me!" she begged as she ran across the parking lot.  With Ethan still immobile at the base of the tree, I figured why not and the running began.  She ran back and forth and up and down.  She got faster and faster as I yelled out her times like a track coach. As she smiled and ran, laughed and squealed, Ethan inched out from under the tree and his competitive spirit took over.  Before I knew it, I was calling out splits for their sprints as they raced across the yellow lines that subdivided the slab of asphalt. As they ran a sense of appreciation swept over me.  I was thankful for my sweet Libby who changed the course of the afternoon with her innocent desire to join in what she viewed as fun.  I was beyond frustrated and in the moment, her fresh perspective was heaven sent.
God reminds us that His ways are not our ways.  His viewpoint is much different and if I'd failed to slow down and seek His face in the midst of the chaos, I would never have been gifted with the sweet outcome of watching two siblings racing in the Fall sun at a random office building parking lot.  Gifts come in all shapes and sizes and only when we slow down to see the beauty of the wrapping paper can we truly understand the value of the present.
After fifteen minutes of solid physical exertion, both kiddos crawled into the backseat and got buckled in.  As I pulled back into traffic I overheard Libby saying to Ethan, "Here, you can have Bill, I don't want him, he has your slobber on him anyway."

I've lost my vision.

I can't see out of my left eye.  I have been struggling with it for over a year and I'm sick of it.  It began a year ago in June when I was misdiagnosed as having had Shingles in my eye.  When diagnosed, I dutifully began steroid drops and hoped for the best.  After a week of no progress and worsening vision, I sought out a second opinion. By that time a scar had formed on my cornea and I had bigger issues.  Six bottles of drops later, multiple trips to various eye doctors, and numerous cries out to God, it finally began to heal and vision began to come back to my eye last October. 

Things were better, for a while, but sometimes you don't know you've taken the first step back into a room until you are already inside.  I've crossed the threshold and I'm back into the foggy world of limited vision in my left eye.  It had been creeping up on me for a few months.  I knew things were distorted and when looking into a large crowd it was getting increasingly difficult to see clearly.  I hate to admit weakness and ask for help.  I begrudgingly knew I needed to take the first step back onto the path of healing. 

It's arrogant of me to call it a step really.  You see my optometrist is a great friend who knows me well and is familiar with my stall tactics.  Here is how my cry for help went....I was standing on the curb at church when she was picking her son up from youth group.  I leaned into her car window and made small talk, briefly got caught up on the status of her week, and casually mentioned in a very loose fashion, at the tail end of our conversation, that "I'm having trouble seeing."  Ugh...the cat was out of the bag.

I'm not really sure what I expected her to say, perhaps an invite to call the office?  Maybe offer some free vision advice?  Who knows where my head was...you see I rarely let my guard down and ask for help and I was immediately furious at myself for letting it trickle out.  As I pulled in the garage at home and dropped my bags on the counter, my phone began to buzz.  The text message that I read offered me two appointment options for the next day.  Really?? Whose optometrist texts her at 9:45pm with appointment times.  Thankfully, mine does. 
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After more stalling, I responded and trudged into her office the next day.  She met me at the door with a huge hug and smile.  She never questioned my slow response to calling the office and she didn't chastise me for waiting so long.  She loved me and told me how glad she was that I was there.  I left the office with new prescriptions, a plan of attack and another appointment card for next week.  I have no doubt that if I fail to make the appointment or am even bold enough (or dumb enough) to cancel it, she will show up at my house.  She has me figured out and my excuses about not having time or putting others first won't fly with her.

My dear eye doctor's grace-filled approach is a "skin on" example of the way God greets us upon return to Him.  If you've been wandering or are in denial about your need for Him, don't deny Him based on a fear that He will chastise you or turn you away.  He longs to help heal your heart and love you   As I begin the uphill climb of adding 12 drops a day to my cloudy eye, I know that God offers soul healing that promises so much more than 20/20 vision.  Open your eyes to Him today.

More than a squeak...

 

Our dryer is broken.  It's been making an awful sound for several months now.  It began with an occasional squeak and I pretended I didn't hear it. Then it got louder.  It moved from a little whine to a squeal that could be heard downstairs and in the basement...probably even in the garage.
I pretended it wasn't that loud.  I turned up the music and sat on the patio and kept using it.  Now it's getting worse.  The squeaking has stopped and it's starting to damage our clothes.  We're noticing little holes in T-shirts and shorts and things are getting stuck in the rim just inside the dryer door.  It's time for a new dryer.

I have other squeaks in my life too.  I can let relationships drift and slide off my radar.  My house can get messier and more cluttered by the day, no matter how many cleaning ideas I 'pin' to make the tasks easier to tackle.  I can get lazy with my parenting.  What used to be unacceptable slowly creeps in and my passivity is perceived as acceptance.  What I accept in moderation they accept in excess.

Is there hope for change for me at 40-years-old or am I destined to continue my catapult into this 'blind eye' approach to living? 

In Tim Kimmel's book, Grace Based Parenting, he asserts that as parents our job is to act as a lighthouse for our kids to keep shining the light of Christ into their lives to help them avoid hitting the rocks.  Who doesn't love the image of a serene coastline with a stately lighthouse? It makes sense and is nostalgic. 

I can be a light, I am actually pretty good at it.  When the light is shining I can rise to the occasion.  Put me in a crisis and I'll be standing strong and steady.  My problem is not with the light, my issue is with the darkness.  It's in those 45 seconds of darkness when the light is busy shining in the other direction that I lose my way.

I can time it perfectly to take full advantage of the darkness too.  I have an uncanny sense of knowing exactly how to make the shadows work in my favor.  Avoid confrontation?  I'm a pro.  Pretend my shadowy vision in my left eye is really no big deal? Easy.  Circumvent a fight with my son by not insisting he clean his room? Done.  Lift the boundaries on movie viewing and allow a few PG-13 movies to keep the peace with my tween.  You bet.

When will the compromise end?  I even have special phrases to squelch the doubt that may creep into my head.  My favorite is "I have to pick my battles!" whew - that's better - suddenly I can justify anything that feels uncomfortable or hard.

The reality is...I need to suck it up.
Maybe you do to? The critical part of the light in the lighthouse is the magnifying glass.  Without the glass the light would have very little refraction and it would simply be a spinning bulb.  The life saving ability of the light is the power of the light to shine over wide distances coupled with the speed of the bulb to turn. 

When I shrink back in the darkness I have no power.  No power to shine for God.  No power to parent with grace and not fear. No power to care for my health or my house or my relationships.
I must be able to stand firm in the light and be agile enough to spin quickly to illuminate the shadows.

It won't be easy, but recognizing my habits is the first step.  I think I'll start by shopping for a new dryer.

Double take

 

 

The car visor is constantly down and the mirror cover is constantly open.  The main level of my house is a maze of mirrors and glass reflections that she must glance at before she can climb the stairs. The camera feature on my phone is a mobile mirror that can collect 30-40 "selfies" on a short car ride to the grocery store.  The temptation to gaze at her reflection is a constant indulgence my tween can't resist!

After rolling my eyes to my mom at Abby's behavior, that I perceived as nauseatingly vain, she made a wise observation (no surprise!). My mom had spent several days with Abby and I and she sensed that I was growing weary of this tween-induced-narcissism that can sometimes propel her like a robot.

After reassuring me that Abby would move beyond this stage, she gave me some great insight.  She suggested that perhaps Abby wasn't holding hostage any self-reflection she could find to merely ogle at herself in the name of vanity.  Her suggestion was that in her rapidly changing world, perhaps she needs to gaze in the mirror to keep track of who she is on a daily (hourly!) basis.  Maybe the hair flip and the duck face lips that she can't help posing for, are her tether to remind her of who she used to be and who she is rapidly becoming.  Life is changing so quickly for her and maybe glancing in the mirror is her way of making sure her outward appearance matches who she feels she is on the inside.  Kind of a tween "self-soothing" mechanism.

As her over-protective mom, maybe an occasional glance in the mirror would serve me well too,  As I age and climb beyond 40, I want to look at my reflection less and less - the wrinkles and the sun damage are staring back at me and I feel frustrated by the changes I see.  Just as Abby gazes longingly at herself to stay on guard for any new shadow or freckle, perhaps I need to catch my own gaze and stare past the brown-eyed reflection into the wisdom I have amassed as a mom.

I need to look beyond the laugh lines and the stray eyebrows and gather my confidence as I ascend 'tween mountain' as Abby's Sherpa.  I refuse to be propelled by fear and anxiety.  The world wants me to believe that life is out of control, busy is better, chaos is normal.  Magazines and media want me to ride the wave of parenting and 'hold on tight' and just try to weather the storm. 

God tells me something different.  He whispers "you are perfectly matched with your children - I entrusted them to you for a reason" - He reminds me that He is with me and He adores my kids even more than their Dad and I do.  He reminds me to reflect His love to them.

So as summer gets underway, I'll pull out the Windex and shine up the mirrors for Abby's reassurance as she checks in daily (hourly!) on her evolving reflection...and I'll shine up my vanity mirror too and try to remember not to stop short of occasionally looking at my reflection too.

Have you gained weight?

This time of year is so emotional, isn't it?  The end of one school year and the promise of new beginnings.  Graduations and weddings...it doesn't take much to melt a mom into a puddle. 

As I watch Abby anxiously await all that Jr. High promises her, I am so thrilled to have Ethan and Libby each content to trail two years behind her.  They give me a chance to relive all of the experiences that flew by so quickly with our oldest child. 

As I talk to the precious teen girls in my life who are spreading their wings and testing their boundaries, I hear a common pet peeve that they all claim leaves them feeling wounded.
'I hate when my mom asks me why I can't be the sweet little girl I used to be...' 

When we ask our daughters 'what happened to my sweet little girl?' they are hearing 'I don't like who you are becoming...'  Adults have the perspective of the passage of time - we can pull images from our memory pendeflex that can elicit tears of joy or pain in an instant.  Teens don't have that vast perspective - they live in the present.  Many times they can't see beyond today which is why friend drama erupts so frequently and their moods morph on a dime. When we ask open ended questions that paint their past appearance/behavior/interests as masterpieces and downplay their current status, they feel rejected.

Without a doubt, in the right setting, they enjoy a trip down memory lane discussing their toddler days or grade school achievements, but be careful not to frame those days as better than today.

Have you ever had a girlfriend compliment you on a weight loss?  It's a great feeling...until you start pondering it.  Did they think I was fat before?  How big was I...did everyone think I was huge? We would never dream of asking a friend, "Why don't you put that 20lbs you just lost back on?"  It would be immediately offensive and it could insinuate that you thought all of their weight loss effort was a waste of time.   Perhaps you would feel better about yourself if your friend put their weight back on?

When wistfully we ask teens why they can't be who they used to be, they are offended.  The process they are going through to figure out who they are is painful, confusing and scary.  For our intuitive daughters (& sons!) our misty eyed question about their past may bring up feelings of fear of your disapproval of who they have become.  Are we wondering about who they used to be because it was easier for us to parent them then than it is now?  Don't allow your insecurity about your ability to parent them now become their issue.

If you feel the desire to ruffle your tween/teens hair and ask where your little kiddo has gone, resist and consider how it would feel if someone asked you where the heavier, chubbier version of you has gone?  Not a good feeling - compliment their progress and save the walk down memory lane for the wedding toasts, don't drag it out every time your teen makes a choice you disagree with. 

And remember...keep the Kleenex handy...you'll need them for more than seasonal allergies in the weeks ahead.

Dear 16-year-old-me;

I've missed you.  It's been so long since you crossed my mind.  You've worked so hard to stay on the right track.  Even when it felt lonely and boring, you steered clear of the drug and alcohol scene.  Good friends are making such a difference in your life.  You could be kinder though.  Not all of your friends are heading to prom or getting keys to their own car.  Think about how they feel when you drone on about the little things in life that frustrate you.  You can be nauseatingly narcissistic sometimes - sorry to be so blunt, but it's true.

You are so pretty and I wish you didn't spend so much time thinking you are fat.  You are not...but you do have big hair.  It's probably impossible for you to believe, but your obsession with VAVOOM hairspray will run out and you will give up your big hair two years into college when a sappy chic flick called, Ghost, hits the movie theatres.  You'll bravely get a short Demi Moore cut that you still wear 20+ years later.  Oh honey, it's so much easier than using the curling iron and that teasing technique that you obsess over every morning.

You know that really nice football player that always asks to borrow paper in your typing class?  He likes you - in fact he'll be your prom date this year.  He's really sweet and he has strong morals.  Pay attention to his study habits and his work ethic.  You could learn a thing or two.  Stay awake when he drives you home from the 24 hour student council dance marathon next month.  He'll be bold and surprise you with your first French kiss....don't worry, he won't care about your bad breath.

Enjoy your big circle of friends - the group lunches, weekend movie nights and endless orders of cheese sticks from Pizza Man, but don't forget to protect your heart.  You'll choose to keep a long distance relationship going for your last two years of high school and all through college.  The weekends when you reconnect will be great and you'll amass a beautiful box of sentimental letters, but you'll have lonely times when you see other girls holding hands, flirting and living in the moment and you'll wonder if it's worth it, it is.  God is writing your love story - even without you knowing it!

Study harder in school - don't wait until the last minute for everything - this bad habit you've developed will plague you forever.  You know that English teacher that you can't get enough of, Mrs. Walker?  Soak in every word she says...be present in her class.  Her ramblings about Murray State University will set the course for your future and you will become a fellow MSU alumni too.   She believes in you - be receptive to her comments and critiques of your writing.  Embrace your love for writing and drama no matter what others may think.  You are really good at both.

Stop worrying about having to take care of your parents  - it's not your job.  You may be an only child, but they are the adults.  I know you get scared that they might divorce - they will in 5 years - but it's not your responsibility to make them happy.  I know you were embarrassed when your history teacher pulled you out of class to speak with the school counselor, but she cared so much about you.  Your grades were dropping and she couldn't watch you implode.  I know you were contemplating suicide when you said subtle things like "I just want off of this ride."    Therapy sessions were so healthy for you and were such a safe place for you to vent.  Counseling isn't for the weak - its an investment in your soul that will vaccinate your emotional health from future disease.

Speaking of safety, you really need to work on your driving.  Thank goodness the automatic transmission vs. the stick shift that your dad taught you to drive on has become a thing of the past.
You can't handle being pulled over by the small town cops anymore for rolling through stop signs.
You've gotten lucky the last few times to pull away with a warning, your luck will run out.  I promise a ticket is in your future.  Take it easy on the "parking" at the end of every date too.  I know you have your "spot" and you love to roll down the windows in the summer and listen to Richard Marx and Breathe, but you are playing with fire - too much passion with too few boundaries.  You will be a virgin on your wedding night, but only by the skin of your teeth.  A little self-control goes a long way.

So back to that guy who borrowed typing paper?  The one who you arranged your trips through the hallways between classes just to catch a glimpse of a few days a week?  He will ask you to marry him in three years and the month after you graduate from college you'll pledge a lifetime of love to him.
You have so much to look forward to and I don't want to spoil it. 

I've loved walking in step arm in arm with you again.  I really like you and the person you're becoming.  Dig deep and be confident in who you are...she's wonderful.  You may not think God is a big deal to you right now, but He will shape everything about your future.  Those long conversations you will have in the months to come with your future husband about your ideas of a woman's role in the church and which denomination you'll raise your future children in?  Those conversations are worth having and offer such a valuable perspective into the heart of the man you will marry and his desire to build a life with you.  He adores you and will keep you afloat on the days when you want to hold your breath and sink.  You will do the same for him, so don't feel too hurt about my comment at the start of this letter about your narcissism....you grow out of it.

Press on sweetie - take a look around and thank those who are pouring into you, there are so many mentors who will come your way.  Hug your parents and look for someone younger to pour into.  God's economy is not about soaking up all of His blessings like a sponge, it's about squeezing them into others. 

Much love to you....

Your future self...

PS...wear sunscreen...even if it's just on your face!