Princess? Yes I am, just not the way I thought.

I was raised a princess. I grew up knowing that I was loved for just being here, with few stated expectations other than being polite and doing my best at whatever I did. I didn’t really know what “my best” was, because there was never a concrete definition given. If I earned a C in a class, but had done my best, my folks were OK with that.

My parents were very focused on making their children’s lives better than theirs were, working hard to provide for our financial “needs.” Alas, I learned that fine clothes, travel, and in general having the best of nearly everything meant that I was loved. Sure, my mom was away from home more days of the month than she was here, and when she was home she was usually sleeping or dressed for bed (which meant no going to do whatever I might like), but what I lacked in quantity of time I gained in quality (and quantity) of stuff. I felt sorry for my friends whose parents didn’t provide the best of everything, because that meant they weren’t loved very much. I perceived those parents to be failures. I was a princess because my parents loved me enough to give me stuff. By the way, this was not the lesson my parents sent, it was the one that I learned.

Well, then I got married. I had graduated from a good private college, but it was the early 80’s and jobs were non-existent, so I didn’t find one. My husband was making good money at his job, but with only a single income, we were poor. When I was single and living with my parents, I could use my income to purchase gifts for others – to show that I loved them. Now I couldn’t even buy good quality make-up for myself! To my way of thinking, my husband didn’t really love me because he couldn’t give me even the most basic good stuff.

 

Then we reproduced. Now I was a poor parent that couldn't provide the best for my baby. The embarrassment and shame were horrible. I was doing everything so wrong!

Fortunately, some good Christian counseling helped me identify the error in my thinking, but the harsh reality was still devastating to me. I WASN’T A PRINCESS! Good stuff was not just going to drop in my lap because of who I was. I was so disillusioned.

I did find some solace when it became obvious that my contemporary, Princess Diana, wasn’t really having that great a life either.

My recognition that I was a non-royal empowered me to take ownership of my life and myself as a person: I was very intelligent, I had a degree, and honestly had abilities and skills that made me a valuable, worthwhile person over and above the fact that I existed. Learning about the real Susan was far more valuable than being a princess.

For the next twenty-five years I was very anti-princess. I even did a bit in my stand-up about how bad it was telling little girls they were princesses:

You know, I’m not in favor of the Princess thing that that big theme park pushes, where you can dish out a lot of money and turn your little darling into a princess for the day … I don’t think America needs more women thinking they are princesses.  Too, when that little girl gets into her mid-20’s and comes face to face with the reality that she’s not really a princess – that just hurts!

I can’t tell you how many times over the years I tried to set other parents straight about the damage caused by perpetuating the princess myth. I thought it was a public service, really.

Then, too soon, I found myself resting on a couch in the hospice room where my dad lay dying. We’d been told it would be that day, so I didn’t want to leave, but the MS demanded I rest. Of course I didn’t sleep. Instead, God send me the last lesson my dad would teach me.

As I laid there, it dawned on me that Dad always referred to me as HIS princess because my very existence made him feel like a KING. I had spent a lot of time resenting being raised in a delusion, but really I STILL hadn’t understood my dad’s reason for granting me such a noble moniker.

Around two o’clock in the morning a nurse came by and announced that apparently Dad wasn’t going to die that night after all, that it might be later in the morning. I decided I had to go home and get some rest because the next few days were going to be very demanding. It was so hard to leave that room. Before I did, I went over to my dad and whispered “Your princess has to go home, but I love you, and will see you when I get to Heaven.” My dad had been non-communicative for about four days, but when I said those words, he responded with three utterances, which I took to mean “I love you.” I was glad there was no traffic on the expressway; I was crying too hard to really see.

When I woke in my own bed later that morning, I called the hospice, bracing myself for the words I knew I’d hear – that dad was gone. Instead, I was told that he indeed had not passed away. We figured that he’d gotten wind that people were predicting his behavior and would have none of it! He quietly passed one week later, on the anniversary of his first daughter’s birth. She died before her first birthday. It was "so Dad" to get to Heaven as a surprise for his first princess’s birthday.

So I’m not a real-life princess; I know I have real gifts and talents to share. I’m my dad’s Princess, and I can’t wait to tell him how much that means to me. And I’m fortunate to be a child of the Risen King, as that means so much more than being mere earthly royalty.

 

Spend the rest of this month embracing who you really are, spending time thinking about all your good qualities. That will be the best gift you'll get this season.

 

 

Merry Christmas

Lessons from the Words of Another

       

"What I have is a mission. A purpose. I am here to live the best life I can with what I have been given.

 

I am here to live out this human existence as a spiritual being... a servant to God and His people... before I head back home to Him.” Sara Frankl, Gitzen Girl

      This lady wrote my thoughts so beautifully, I'm sorry I didn't get to read her while she was alive. Her illness took her home early, but she made the most of the time she had. Google her name and see the difference she made while she was here!
     According to everything I've read, my disease will probably only shorten my live by ten years, so I don’t have the time constraints Sara had, but her statement is exactly how I see myself living the rest of my life!
     Yes, she was disabled and isolated, as am I, but she shared her thoughts in such a way that every believer can read her words and think "Me, too."
      My sister-in-law gets up early every morning to have her devotion and quiet time. I had carved out similar time throughout most of my adult life, but had no energy to make that time for the last fifteen months I was working. I was frustrated, angry and exhausted, and I knew things were out of balance. I was truly just living to work, and I actually missed my quality time with God.

     Perhaps that is one of the blessings of disability: the world's goals (Get! Make! Go! See! Do!) can no longer dominate the day's moments, so the Spirit's whispers can be heard and relished.

     I really think Sara’s stated mission is all of ours.The Holy Spirit whispers to you every day. Do yourself a favor and make time to listen.  If you don't have the time, your life isn't going very well - so CHANGE IT!

Find more of Sara’s thoughts the (in)courage devotional available through www.DaySpring.com.

 

Hard Stuff

I praise You because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; Your works are wonderful, I know that full well. Psalm 139:14

 

Went swimming for the first time in four years yesterday – I got a scholarship to a Salvation Army Kroc center – the first pool that I could easily access. Very nice place, new swimsuit, Mom came to help. I was told years ago that exercising in the pool was good for people with MS – because you can’t fall doing stuff in the water!

 

I knew I had to be mindful of the time I spent in the water – too much and I’d wipe myself out. I just didn’t know that my legs wouldn’t kick when told to. I “pushed off” the way I always have, and my legs just hung there in the water. It was a surprise – another bad one! I had already noticed how my legs really felt the resistance from the water, but to tell my legs to do something, and them to just not was offensive.

 
The problem was not so much a lack of strength as that the demand for action wasn’t being received by the muscles. As much as I’ve always known that demyelization results in a breakdown in communication between head and muscle, there’s just nothing like seeing the results in action – or lack thereof.

You know, being only five feet tall, I never held aspirations to be great on the basketball court. As a child, I learned to accept that I wasn’t flexible enough to do a backbend like my more lithe friends could. Those things never really bothered me. But when my legs don’t move like they always did?  It’s a real hit.

I’m reminding myself that, like my height and flexibility, there’s nothing I’ve knowingly done wrong to make my legs like this. Still, my mind keeps looking for a solution to this problem. I don’t know that there is one. I will keep going to the pool, though. Who knows? Maybe I’ll regain some of what I’ve lost, even if it’s only a firmer waistline.

 

I’ve also been accepted into a Gateway to Wellness course through the MSAA, which will be held in a Physical Therapy setting, with a PT leading each session. I’m looking forward to learning more about my limitations, and what a professional thinks I might be able to get back. In THAT setting, I’ll be prepared to identify the losses and learn. It won’t be as much of a surprise as swimming was.

You know, I guess I’ve spent two years accepting the fatigue and cognitive issues, and the loss of some small muscle ability – like holding a pen or applying eyeliner.  Really, the cognitive was the hardest to take. Now that I’ve gotten used to those things and stabilized there somewhat, it’s probably just a healthy “next step” to identify the losses in large muscles. I just didn’t know how much there was.

 
In spite of this hit, I choose to believe that since I’m still here, God can still use me. He doesn’t need the parts that don’t work. He needs a willing heart.

But could you do something for me? Over the next few days, if you're standing while in the shower or while brushing your teeth, give Him a shout out - because you are fearfully and wonderfully made.  

God is Moving!

I've been trying to create a new blog post for weeks and it's just not coming together. It is rare that I can't write, but whatever I put down seemed so trite and too me-focused, which has never been the goal for this venue. God has been so present with me especially in these past few years, that I want everyone who visits this site to give Him all the glory because of what they see here.  It's a challenge when every post is written in the first person.

But God's recent movement has me so excited!

 

And a little intimidated, because it feels so BIG. I met the head of women's studies for my church this summer, and in a very brief conversation we launched the idea for an Online Bible study for physically disabled or shut-in women, facilitated by a disabled woman (me)!

 

Women will be able to go online and watch each video when it’s right for them, answer the questions posed at the end of each, then post their thoughts or questions in a private forum through Google Groups.

I was of course worried if the MS would stand in the way, and went to God in prayer. Would I be able to do this in a way that would glorify Him? That Sunday, the sermon was titled "Costly Worship" based on 2 Samuel 24, when David insisted on paying for what he was going to give to God saying "I will not sacrifice to the Lord my God burnt offerings that cost me nothing." 2 Samuel 24:24. Well, meeting the requirements of facilitating a new study will cost me, physically, and that sermon gave me the resolve to do it no matter what!

If you (or someone you know) are physically limited or shut-in and want more info about participating, I just need your email address - so let me know in the comment section! We will start on October16th.

God is so good!
Susan

 

The benefits of Acceptance

Guess what? My two year anniversary, June 21^st, passed and I didn’t even notice! That’s the day in 2010 when I accepted the reality that the disease had gone too far for me to continue trying to drive or work. I choose to believe that is a sign of progress – too busy living today to think about stuff from the past! Yeah, let’s say that.

So what am I doing in my new circumstance?  Not much!  I am continuing my lessons on living with grace. I may have said it before, but it bears repeating:

 

Acceptance is a huge part of grace.

Acceptance is not admired as much as it probably should be. It is only seen as a goal in the stages of grief – Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, Acceptance, and in reading books on grief, usually speaking about the death of a loved one, it is seen as elusive. I guess it is bantered about in today’s culture a little, one should accept the ones who don’t quite fit the norms of society, but not much is regularly stated about taking an honest look at your life and accepting yourself, warts and all. In terms of introspection, we are all about “overcoming our limitations” and “never saying never!”

But I say if you want to live in grace, you have to first accept your reality. I have not always been good at this. Frankly, I don’t much care for my reality, and have longed for the days when I was doing good things for a good company, was part of the dynamic team of people making things happen, was respected for my God-given skills, and wore pretty clothes every day. Oh, and going to lunch at pretty places! But I digress.

Came across this picture on Facebook recently, and though I've seen it before, I finally understood what Mr. Hale was saying. It appeared the day after I was witness to some odd activity outside my apartment during that string of 95 degree days we had in July. A young lady, a young man and a baby kept walking past my slider door. The adults looked to be in their early 20s. The girl was on the phone, the guy was carrying the toddler. Back and forth they walked, and I didn’t recognize them as neighbors. After awhile, a police car pulled up and spoke with the girl and I heard her exclaim “I don’t know what to do!” through tears. Using my walker, I went out to the girl and offered her a seat on my porch, which was shaded. She then told me of her hardship – she wasn’t getting any response from a relative who lived in my building – and in fact, the lady had passed away in her apartment. Then the guy came back with the baby and told the girl that it was too hot to sit in the car, so I got them some ice water and invited them into my air-conditioned home.  It wasn’t very long before the police were finished and the little family could go.

I am only one, but I am one. I cannot do everything, but I can do something.

And I will not let what I cannot do interfere with what I can do.

I might still wish for the exhilaration I got from doing cool things with neat people in a corporate office somewhere, but I am grateful that neither my health nor my longing for what “should have been” kept me from doing something to help strangers in a time of need. I like to think that my ability to accept my reality made it possible for God to use me, just where I am. Maybe my reality isn't that bad after all.

Multiple Sclerosis takes so much

Multiple Sclerosis takes so much from a person.

That is a truth. An angering, putrid truth.

For me, the goal is to overcome the anger and focus on what I can still do, do it to the best of my ability, and always ask God to make it the best it can be.

A second cousin of mine was recently married. When I learned of the impending ceremony, my first thought was about a gift, knowing how limited my funds are. There would be no way for me to afford a standard wedding gift like dishes or a setting of silverware, and that stung. Almost instantly I hit upon another idea – to embroider some kitchen towels and attach a note about her great-grandmother, who was my grandmother. Gran is the one who taught me how to embroider.

I found the same embroidery patterns that Gran had purchased for me way back when, and carefully selected the towels and the colors of the floss I’d use for the project. I could hear my grandmother’s coaching as I stitched, and, as I do with all needlework projects, prayed for the recipients throughout.

I saved writing the note for the end of the project. I knew I wanted to “set the scene” for how I learned this craft, and share some family history. The note really wrote itself – and I was pleasantly surprised by it. I’ve learned that feeling usually means God did more of the writing than I did.

I had set a deadline for the completion of my project so that it could be received before the wedding, and I was gentle on myself on the days the MS kept me from my task. I missed my deadline by a day or two, but the package went off in time.

The morning of her wedding, my cousin sent a Facebook message thanking me for the gift, noting that she would be framing the note I’d sent. She said it was her favorite gift so far! I was astonished that she would take the time on the morning of her wedding to send me a message! My gift had struck just the right note, binding us together in a way unlike any of her “registered for” gifts ever could have. It was truly a God Thing!

Yes, MS has stolen a lot from me. There are many, many days when my goal is to get out of bed, or get fully dressed, or to brush my teeth (I sit down for that, you know). But that’s not EVERY day, and I so enjoy the good days!

The important thing to remember is that, whether it’s a good day or another wretched day, I’m doing my best, God is with me, and He will make whatever I do immeasurably better than I could ever have done on my own. And that's true for everyone.

Honestly, though

Over the past little while I’ve shared how God has made His presence known to me even as I endured the worst that MS has done to me yet. His presence in all of this has been palpable, and I give thanks every day, sometimes every minute, for His grace through it all. But I am not a Pollyanna, and confess that I have been really furious about how my life has turned, and continue to be broken-hearted about much of it.

In my twenties, the concept of the Holy Trinity, Father, Son and Holy Spirit was easy to accept for two reasons; 1). He’s God and can do it however He wants, and 2). I was already a daughter, mother, wife and just me all at the same time. Susan-the-mother saw the world much differently than Susan-the-person, and somehow knowing that I, a mere human, could be at least three different things at once made the trinity easy to accept.

Over the years I’ve honed how I see my “selfs,” if you will. There’s Susan-the-person, Susan-the-tired-four-year-old, and Susan-the-Child of God. My goal is to always be the latter, but it’s the first two that have been so angry and hurt and frustrated the last almost two years.

Susan-the-person still references the “To Do” list, and can be so disapproving of herself. She hasn’t published a best-selling book, doesn’t own a house, and has never thrown a grand party to raise money for a worthy cause. She doesn’t even have a passport. Heck, she’s never owned a new car! I could go on, but you get the idea. The plans Susan had made have died hard.

Even Susan-the-person can chuckle when Susan-the-tired-four-year-old (she’s wearing a dress and red patent-leather shoes) makes herself heard. She made a brief appearance last night, when my son, who could see how tired I was, asked if I wanted to go to bed. It was 8:30. Screw that it might be exactly what I need! The four year old wants to know why, why, why, and doesn’t like it no matter what! She is usually quieted when she sees she can win the battle she’s trying to fight. She is easy to appease with love and laughter.

Today, I am glad that Susan-the-mother made hard decisions that were so contrary to what Susan-the-person wanted. And, hindsight being what it is, I can see now the decisions that MS made throughout my life. So while Susan-the-person remains greatly unsatisfied, Susan-the-tired-four-old will accept the realities. But Susan-the Child of God can see how and why I got where I am, and what a good place it is for me. And Susan can be proud. Maybe that’s what dying to self is all about.

 

No Thinking Days

I kind of hate the days of no thinking. I don’t beat myself up about them anymore, but I miss all the things I could have done with a better day. At the same time, I realize that missing what could have been is a waste of time.

There is a reason I don’t do the things Susan wants to do. For so long I did everything in spite of the MS, and now I can do only what the MS permits. I have run the fences, tested the limits, and I pretty well know when I’m doing more than I should. It still stings that ironing is too much, sorting laundry is too much, and cooking is too much. It is nice, though, to know when I’m deliberately coloring outside the lines, so to speak, instead of being blindsided by the results of over-doing it. It is also nice to choose to do it, instead of all the years that I did it because there was no other choice.

And I don’t have to stand in self-condemnation for not doing more, or not doing better. All the years I compared myself to others, not knowing that I had a disease that knocked me out of the “normal” range. I always thought that old adage “don’t compare yourself to others” was something that was said to “losers” (me) so they (I) wouldn’t beat themselves (myself) up for their (my) failings. Now I truly understand that it is unjust, because I’m not like other people. I’m at the edge of the bell curve, and that isn’t always a bad place to be - but more on that later.

 

It is truly a gift that I don't have to force myself to perform, most days. That fact has made self-acceptance possible. Acceptance has made it easier to ride out these days, and to laugh at myself. There is a lot of laughter in my house, and I'm the cause of most of it. Why can I laugh? Because I know this is all temporary. Yes, it might continue for another thirty years, but that is still quite short in the scheme of things. And I can laugh because I am loved by a mighty God and by wonderful people. It's all good.

 

 

 

 

My Dad

Four years ago today, my dad went home. March 19th is also my parents' first child's birthday. She died before her first birthday, so it was totally like him that Dad would go to celebrate with her. Here is the piece I wrote for him when we knew he was in his last days.

My Dad

If I speak with the tongues of men and angels, but have not love, I am a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have faith to move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames, but have not love, I gain nothing.     I Corinthians 13

As we were waiting for the ambulance to pick up my dad on November 26, 2008, my mom turned to me in utter desperation and exclaimed “I’m running out of time with him!” As a happily divorced woman, I remember feeling slightly jealous and a little cheated at the idea that 60 years just wasn’t enough time to be with a husband. I also knew that God had a lesson in this for me, probably something about love being worth the risk.

 A week later, I was once again completely frustrated with my dad. I got that way a lot. This time, though, he had stubbornly refused to go to rehab for the second time in as many weeks. He was being completely illogical and going against doctor’s orders. I was so hurt that he would defiantly choose to hurt himself by doing the wrong thing. Too, Mom didn’t need all the responsibility of trying to take care of him, couldn’t he think about her for a minute?

He had provided the lamest excuses for not wanting to go to the rehab facility, and I had figured out that he was just afraid it was going to be a nursing home and would never come out. But see, I have a psych degree and I’ve had lots of counseling and know that you just have to name your fears to start to overcome them, so I wanted to help so he could do the right thing! I mean, let’s face it; the right thing is often contrary to what my dad did. His theme song was “My Way,” for pity sakes, so I carefully planned what I was going to say and went over to see him.

It took some conversation, but he finally got around to a sweet, beautiful truth. With some exasperation, he said, “Don’t you get it? I’d rather spend two weeks home with your mother than four or six weeks somewhere else without her.” And God let me see, once again, that sometimes there is more than one “right.”

One of my earliest memories of my dad is playing “Pickle” with my brother and me in the early evenings as my mom prepared dinner. He rarely said no to his family about any want, in fact, my mother got in the habit of not mentioning interest in things because John D. would move Heaven and Earth to get them for her. Then there was the infamous shopping trip the year I was 11, when Dad took me to Jacobson’s and purchased a fabulous summer wardrobe for me, spending all of the money Mom had allocated for his birthday present. She was mad, of course, but he just smiled and said, “Hey, I spent it the way I wanted to!” Whatever we wanted, he made sure we got, even if it wasn’t necessary or fiscally responsible. Contrary to his own upbringing, he encouraged my brother’s participation in football. I don’t think he ever missed a game – not a single one. He also made sure to hug and kiss us, always.

Another of my lifelong memories is people telling me how cute my parents are. It began almost as soon as I started going places without them, which in retrospect was pretty early. From the time I was six, my brother and I spent our summers in the small town were my parents met and married. Every year someone in town would relate the story of how my dad would take a rose from his dad’s “prize” bushes and put it on the seat of my mom’s family car when he knew she was in town. I would also usually hear stories of how my dad exasperated his mom, much to the delight of, well, everyone in town. Did I mention that this was a really small town? There was always a sweet story that people freely shared about my parents.

When I was a teenager I started hearing how great my parents were when I’d stop at Forest Hills Foods (I think it was Shoprite then) or Reilly’s Drugs. I was always so proud to hear people say “Your parents were just here, they are so cute!” Even now, when Dad was in the hospital over Thanksgiving, I was in the room when his nurse told my parents that she loved how sweet they were to each other, and how she wished she could just stay and spend time with them.

One of Dad’s nephews became close with my parents when he was grown with a family of his own.  He and his wife were touched by the partnership they saw in John D. and Patsy, their warmth for each other and their profound commitment. Their children also have wonderful memories of times with my parents, while they never really knew their own grandparents. Patsy & John D. even drove to Missouri to attend their eldest son’s college graduation – which blew the kid away! This is just one example of the love my dad freely gave to others.

My dad did things his way. His mom wouldn’t pay for college if he were married, and he wanted to marry my mom, so he refused to go to medical school. He wouldn’t take a traveling job that would have made lot more money because he thought it was important to be around for his children. He told his company he wouldn’t take a promotion that would mean a move because his kids were in high school and moving at that age could be damaging. He did his very best to put his family first. For most of his life, money existed to be spent, and he stubbornly spent a lot more than he had, especially if he was buying things for his family.

You know, the Bible doesn’t talk about having a “paid for” house, or a large retirement account. But there’s a whole chapter devoted to love, and my brother and I know what love is because of our dad. I have to say, I think my dad got that right.

God Things since Feb 2010

 

I’ve shared about the big God Thing – getting the job and having benefits; but God didn’t stop there! Here is a list of some of the other ways He made his presence known as MS changed my life.

·         My second to last MS speech was to a Christian group – it felt so good to be able to openly share faith in this otherwise secular setting – I opened with “I know that I am fearfully and wonderfully made!”

·         My sister-in-law is a teacher, and this all happened when she was off for the summer and able to take me to the various places (Social Security, DHS), and search for a new place for me to live since I lived on the 3^rd floor of an apartment complex

·         When I applied for disability in 2003, I waited in a congested room for about 4 hours to see someone. This time the office was empty – we waited less than 5 minutes to be seen. We didn’t have to wait long at DHS, either.  Even now I am only good for about two hours when I’m out and about

·         The ideal apartment opened up in my complex – I can access my unit through the slider in the living room – no stairs! And that slider is only 12-15 feet from the driveway

·         Dear friends came over to help me pack – I loaded only one or two boxes with books, everything else was done by others

·        I needed to make a path from the road to my porch by the living room, and I was surprised to learn the “do it yourself” method would cost more than $300, and to have one poured by a company would be a lot more than that. It “just so happened” that my apartment complex had retained a concrete contractor for some other work. The day I learned the various costs, my mom saw the guys measuring existing sidewalks. She approached them and they “added” a strip of sidewalk for me at a fraction of the cost for all other options! 

·         A friend gifted me with a cat from a cool cat rescue place - his name is Remy and he's added to my life immeasurably! Here, he's borrowing an emory board to file his teeth

·       Remy had health problems, and the vet who owns the cat rescue place has covered his care at no cost for more than a year

·         I was approved for SSDI the first time out

·         My brother, a fine Christian man, had been planning for this occurrence for years, and was prepared to offer any support I need

Big needs or small, God had them covered in ways I couldn't imagine. Not that I was really surprised, considering the birth control pill thing. It is such a blessing to really say “Whom shall I fear?”

My challenge to you – look for the God things in your life – I promise you they’re there!

 

A little digression for the start of 2013

I wanted to share the submission I made for a writing contest recently. The top prize is a publishing package, and alas, I didn't win (but next time!) I promise I'll get back to all the God Things that have happened since I became disabled, but meanwhile, please enjoy this little window to my way of thinking.

I Get it Now

Everyone who is called by my name, whom I created for my glory, whom I formed and made – Isaiah 43:7

May the words of my mouth and the mediation of my heart be pleasing in your sight O Lord, my Rock and my Redeemer.  Psalm 19:14

I spent a number of years after developing a close relationship with Christ wondering what He wanted me to do with my life. I bought books on it, I prayed. As a goal-oriented person, it was important to me to identify what I was supposed to do so that I could do it right.  I hoped to get a clear message, preferably on the side of the Goodyear blimp, but that didn’t happen.  When I read these verses it became clear:  I am here to glorify and please God.  That’s the goal!  We do that, and we’ve won. Guess I could have skipped those aptitude tests.

As easy as it sounds, life can certainly make glorifying and pleasing God hard to do. You know that overused saying, “God never gives you more than you can handle?” How infuriatingly banal.  For years I responded to that phrase saying “I wished He didn’t think so highly of me!” You see, I am divorced, have an estranged son, grandchildren I’ve never met and have survived ovarian cancer. In addition, I am living with Multiple Sclerosis, and as of January 2012 am officially classified as disabled. The world says I have earned a double serving of angry and bitter. 

We all know people who live their lives being unpleasant, bitter, spiteful and such.  It seems to be more common today than ever, something about only ‘being human.’  Well, I’m human, but it seems logical that poor attitudes don’t align with my goal to glorify and please God.

It is perfectly natural to become bitter when faced with a society that can’t really accommodate your limitations.   If your energy is limited, you are not able to attend evening functions. That means missing out on small groups, choir practice and any other events that would provide fellowship because they take place when the majority of people can utilize them – at night. Being unique is good, but it hurts that my differences keep me so far out of the majority.

Another source of bitterness can be government and non-profit assistance agencies.  While on the surface there are lots of programs available to assist the disabled, it seems they are all designed to serve as few people as possible.  It is understandable that measures have been developed because of abuses, but that really means the disabled person is given a hard time when times are already hard. On average, a person can expect a three year fight to gain access to earned Social Security Disability benefits. I have an MS friend whose battle was five years long. As for me, the first time I applied, the attorney I sought out after the expected decline after the standard six-month wait told me I’d be turned down no matter what because I was too young, so I kept trying to work for eight more years. As for other assistance, I didn’t jump through enough of the unmarked hoops to get government assistance when I was facing eviction, and they paid a quarter of my gas bill when I was facing shut off for that utility before Social Security was approved. I do get $16 a month in food assistance.

The death of dreams is the bitterest pill.  Dreams die hard for everyone, but for the disabled, the dreams that die can include the chance for marriage or love, a stimulating career, travel, living independently or caring for others.  Add to that the isolation that is a part of being physically limited and the disabled person can have a lot of time to stew in bitter juices. What else should be expected? 

Glorify God and bring Him pleasure. As a child of God, that’s what I’m here to do.  Do I glorify God more by complaining that I can’t attend evening functions, or by trying to establish a Saturday morning small group?  Should I be unpleasant when dealing with the agencies that seem offended by my calls, or should I pray that I can be a beacon for the person with whom I am interacting? Is it better for me to just sit alone with my thoughts, or try to brighten someone’s day through a blog?  Should I let my dead dreams prevent me from praying for people when I’m stuck in bed for days on end?

Remember that banal statement? Over the years, my fury has given way to understanding that God just trusts that I will run to Him for assistance more quickly. I’ve also learned that phrase is not biblical – God will never give me more than He and I can handle.

This world is going to knock us all around a bit, and it can be hard to remember why we’re here. When we choose to glorify God and bring Him pleasure, we do what we are here to do, and everybody wins.