Out of the Ashes - Part 2

This is the cover for a book I've written, and rewritten and rewritten. It's never been published, so as much as I know you'd love to have it, it's not available. :) This experience is just one of the many included in the journey of knowing that even though I'm so familiar with the words to Psam 23, "The Lord is my Shepherd" the statement "I shall not want" when actually put to the test, is a whole different matter...


Just when I thought the dark couldn't get any darker...it did!
As the treatments for the Hepatitis wore on, I found the very foundations of my faith snapped out from under me once again. Sporadic prayers tumbled into a bottomless pit of constant pain and difficult days. Trivial tasks I'd once taken for granted, like cooking, making the bed, driving the kids to school, suddenly proved monumental. I remember envying other drivers who seemed to do it effortlessly. Life "went on" for those around me and I couldn’t keep up. Defensive and insecure, I was reduced to this stranger who wanted to hide from the world. Each day I grew weaker, my life moved further into this wierd place. I developed an acute sensitivity I hadn't experienced since God had changed my life so drastically. Withdrawing wasn’t easy for the ‘people person’ that I’d always been. In fact, up to that point, my life was an open book. The fact that God had changed my life in a such a powerful way just a few short years earlier, compelled me to share what He'd done with anyone who'd listen. Honestly, my confidence in the power of the Gospel had given me the desire to be sincerely available for anyone who needed someone to talk to. But had it really been sincere? Dang, I was barely able to tolerate talking to them, let alone listen to problems. Suffering made me irritable. All I wanted to be was...alone! Gripped with self pity, miserable with no end in sight, there seemed no words to speak to God, only tears to cry before Him. Why couldn’t someone understand? Couldn’t someone feel what I feel?

Even my children, who love me more than anything, grew frustrated and began displaying annoyance with the fact that mom “never feels well”. Probably one of my most heart wrenching memories during the ordeal was holding one of my sons, sobbing.

“Why does this have to happen to you?”

“I’m sure God has a reason”, I answered. But, for the life of me, I couldn’t see it.


And no wonder isolation was bliss! While I’m absolutely certain loved ones and friends never intended to wound, in this vulnerable state, their inuendos seemed to dictate life itself. Advice such as “you need to exercise! You don’t look like you feel bad! You probably need to focus on other things," I'm sure was meant for my comfort had exactly the opposite effect. And to make things worse, being in the beauty business for years left me with this annoying habit that didn't help the situation one little bit. Every day since entering beauty school at age 17, I'd faithfully applied make-up and styled my hair; through surgeries, hospital stays, pregnancies...no matter what or how bad I felt. I could do it with my eyes closed. I could do it if I was dying. It was not, however, a habit that would attract much sympathy from doctors, friends or family. It was a doggone curse, I tell you...to look so good and feel so bad!

I learned a lot during those days though; always quick to give answers and comfort, I could find none myself; so many times I’d boldly told people that Jesus is the answer to all things, yet as I grew weaker and weaker, despair just came creeping in. Thoughts of times I'd met others in crisis with not only prayers, but, quick advice and relative scriptures, now seemed almost trite. Though I'd meant well...some of my very own words offered in the pain of suffering friends , suddenly seemed...well...almost callous.

"Alice in Wonderland" (by Susan Ashton) a song that played over & over in my shop took on a new meaning;

When Alice has an answer it's a common rationality
She measures her phrases, tipping the scales of reality
But does she know that it's cold to sing songs to a troubled heart
Tho' her aim is sincere she's missing the mark

I said - Alice look around you, people are falling to pieces
Yea, even the faithful, the ones who still believe in Jesus
But that doesn't mean they've fallen from grace
But in her landscape, their heartache is so out of place


“Is your church praying for you?” What??? I feebly smiled at one woman’s remark, but fought a rising temper..and to be honest, a temptation to hit her or at least, pinch her nose....really hard. She and I both knew what she really meant; that the horror of what was happenening and this growing weakness was some sort of sign of unfaithfulness or lack of spirituality. On more than one occasion, well-meaning brothers and sisters in Christ would refer to this illness that was destroying life as I knew it, as some consequence of sin or lack of faith. In the midst of this hideous never-ending trial, I felt more incredibly alone than I’d ever been in my life.

So many times I’d paraphrased 2 Corinthians 12:9, saying, “the Lord’s strength is perfected in my weakness”, yet I despised this weakness taking over my own body. I wanted my old life back! I just wanted to go back to the way things were! I know this might be difficult to understand, but, what I'd come to learn is that God loved me too much for that!

You know what I'm talking about when I say that some of us would rather gnaw our own arm off than admit we need help? That was me! However, at the beginning, when my 'control-freak' self finally conceded to the doctor's diagnosis of "depression," I gave in and saw a psychiatrist. Honestly, I was so desperate to shake the suffocating sense of darkness with no end, I was willing to do just about anything; even run in the opposite direction from what I'd come to believe.

Dr. Brill was about eighty years old. He limped into our first meeting with a huge cast on his foot. A no-nonsense type, loaded with cynical, sarcastic remarks, he was pretty intimidating. It was pretty obvious immediately, he was a very wise man...at least in his own mind. Fluffing off any suggestion on my part of what I thought the problem was, he stayed adamant about bringing up my childhood memories. He dismissed my insistence that my past had nothing to do with not feeling well. I quickly learned that he was not at all interested in talking or hearing about the most important thing in my life; my faith in God! Dr. Brill wanted to focus more on relationships he felt were making me codependent and miserable. He prided himself that he had the knowledge to "fix" them. Two whole half-hour sessions and he'd figured it out...my problem? Frank! He felt that my marriage was, let’s just say, not beneficial for my health and suggested that we both come the next time. Frank refused to go back after the doc called him a 'smart$#%*" In fact, I only saw him a few more times because my strength began to return somewhere after my third or fourth week. Maybe it was a reprieve from the disease, I don’t know, but along with renewed energy came my old passion for life. I called it enthusiasm. Dr. Brill called it "manic depression" or "Bi-polar disease". I don't think I've ever felt as broken as the day he sent me for liver tests to put me on the drug Lithium. Now, this is just my own story...I'm not dismissing the reality of "BiPolar or Manic Depression" I'm just telling you that suddenly, something snapped and I walked out of his office one day, suddenly feeling I’d wasted time and money when the Lord had the answers. Back when I'd seen Dr. Brill, there was one of his suggestions, however that just kept haunting me; the one about my marriage. Particularly when the worst was yet to come.

Somehow I’d built some kind of fantasy that this crisis would cultivate stuff in our marriage like closeness, nurturing and protectiveness. Boy, was I disappointed! There was no stopping the building resentment. Frantically, I had looked to the medical field with desperation. However, in a very practical sense, God knew what our family needed. I had been the center of our home for far too long. One of the most frustrating things for me to do is ‘nothing’. For me, that sense of uselessness and weakness was absolutely repulsive. Allowing others to do anything for me was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to ‘learn’. Though a tough lesson, it was during that stressful time that I found God does as much in our lives when we are quietly before Him as when we are busily serving Him. Some of us do that automatically; some of us need to be forced. I’d read for years that the man or husband is supposed to be the Spiritual head of the house. I had no idea what that meant. Actually, sounded kind of frightening to me. Demanding or maybe even violent. Then again, since he'd been more than happy to let me run everything, I’d always assumed my husband didn’t want that role. Truth is, I had never let him. All my life, I’d taken care of myself...and everyone else within range. My way. Proud of the fact that I didn’t need anyone, that sense permeated our marriage. Now I did, I needed him and I have to tell you, I resented it deeply. And to tell you the truth, I think he found my needing him a little frightening and strange. My expectations for him now were so great, he couldn’t meet them if he tried. If I now agreed that my husband should be the man that I could lean on, I had no idea where or how to start.

When I became ill, he had to assume a different role. It was, and continues to be, a slow and painful process...for both of us. It is not an easy thing...to trust God over disappointment with each other. Learning to release strengths we’ve always relied on. Sometimes those things we hold onto need to be destroyed before attempting to build healthy relationships. Neither of us knew how to really committ to one another in "sickness and in health, for better or worse" until we each individually understood how much we were loved by God.


And that's the thing...how could you go through something like this and know you were loved by God at all, let alone how much? However, teachings I'd heard in the early days of my faith kept coming up. There were so many things relative to what I was going through. Yep, even those heroes of the faith dealt with depression, despair. Even though I found it difficult to read or study, I remembered different teachings. One Psalm in particular, the writer ends a very descriptive litany of anguish, one which I could now relate, remembering what God had done in his past. This was the hope he was able to cling to when doubt mocked everything else.

I found it interesting to learn that King David, while still a shepherd, penned the 23rd Psalm when he was penned in, trapped on every side with the army of his enemy King Saul in hot pursuit. “Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil, for thou art with me”. I don't know if it was because I thought I would die, or what, but that verse kept popping in my head. Exhausted from the struggle, I think it was then I realized that I'd looked to every single arm of comfort but HIS. Yet, now there seemed something so peaceful, so patient and loving in the Psalm that, until then, I'd only heard recited at funerals. I think it's that "want it right now" mentality we all have today, that sent me looking into every promise of reprieve, but I was definately finally reaching a point, with nowhere else to turn, of pure eshaustion or brokenness. Finally, I prayed...really prayed. However, His words for me were not exactly what I expected to hear.

He spoke to me through the book of Isaiah that seemed to pop off the page; ”My eyes grew weak as I looked to the heavens. I am troubled, O Lord, come to my aid… But what can I say? He has spoken to me and he himself has done this. I will walk humbly all my years because of this anguish of my soul. Lord, by such things men live; and my spirit finds life in them too. Surely, it was for my benefit that I suffered such anguish.” (Isaiah 38:14-17)

Why in the world, you ask, would this prayer of King Hezekiah during his own awful illness bring comfort? I guess it was comforting to me to know that God had not turned away. This was not some punishment for something I'd done wrong, nor a lack of faith. It simply was. It was also comforting for me to know that I had not for one moment, slipped from His knowledge or His love. It was transforming to realize that this trial, as painful as it was, seemed suddenly a loving vehicle of precious intimacy, providing a deeper relationship with the One who created me. From the other side of this "crisis" I would view life and faith from a whole new perspective that I could never know any other way.