Dance of the Firefly

 I worked a double shift today.  Only few hours into that double, my husband informed me that both he and our younger son were diagnosed with bronchitis.  This on the heels of our older son’s sinusitis diagnosis.

With 3/4 of the people in the house on antibiotics and in bed, here I sit on my back deck, in the black of night, alone, with every passing moment drawing me nearer the witching hour, praying that the nagging ache in my back, hip, and leg quiets enough that I may sleep sometime tonight, and I catch, out of the corner of my eye, the momentary flash of a lightning bug.  I can’t help but smile.  

Do you remember, when you were young, spending an evening catching lightning bugs with the neighborhood kids?  Did you put them into a jar with holes poked into the lid so the bugs didn’t suffocate?  Did you release them in the morning?  I do, and I did.  I would even put blades of grass and small twigs into the jar so the lightning bugs had something to do besides sit on the floor of their prison - tho, I didn’t realize as a child how cruel it must have been for the bugs. 

I spent my earliest years growing up in one of the fastest declining urban areas in the country, but you don’t understand such things when you are wrapped in the protective blanket of innocence in youth. Our small intercity lot had a plum tree in the far corner of the back yard, a pear tree so close to the house that my brother would reach out his bedroom window to snag a fruity snack, and a raspberry bush behind the garage that we raced to in the mornings during their season to get to the berries before the birds did.  We were blessed with great neighbors on both sides, and just past the house to one side of us was a wooded area with a tiny walking trail and vines we had no business swinging on but did anyway. Across the street was another small cluster of trees flanked on one side by a vacant lot and the other by a small field that no one claimed and, thus, was never mowed.  Doesn’t sound quite urban, does it?

Most summer nights that small, unkempt field, the little wooded area, and the empty lot magically manifested into a stage, a theater in which one could witness a dance as old as time - the dance of the firefly. Our front porch was a prime location to watch the one of nature’s finest masterpieces. I would sit on that porch mesmerized, watching the myriad of tiny lights pulsing in and out, floating as if tossed by gentle waves. Few moments in my life seemed as peaceful as sitting in the dark watching my own private lights display. 

I live suburban now, in a condo community with lots so tiny that if I stood between two houses and reached my arms out I could touch each simultaneously, and lightning bugs are a rare sight indeed. And yet, every now and then, I catch a fleeting glimpse of yellow in the darkness that surrounds me, reminding me that there is still something good, something bright, and something simple that can bring only joy into the night of my world - the dance of the firefly. 

All I Did Was Get Out of Bed: weeks 3&4

Saturday April 3:  Got my ass handed to me at work today.  Feeling rough no matter what pain-controlling measures were attempted.

Sunday April 4:  Easter.  The day Christ was resurrected.  I believe in a God of miracles.  Maybe He’ll see fit to work a miracle for me and resurrect my broken body.  Or not.  Today sucked.  After running my tail off yesterday, I am REALLY hurting.  Even the smallest movements cause crazy pain.  Thankfully, today was much less busy and I was able to skip out a couple of hours early.  Not sure how tomorrow’s overtime shift is gonna go.

Monday April 5:  Feeling somewhat human today.  Donated blood.  Worked an abbreviated OT shift.  Maybe there’s hope that I may stabilize at some point.

Tuesday April 6:  My only day off this week.  Feeling OK.  Been walking the dog for the last week and today took her for a longer walk at a park.  Def felt the stiffness afterward, but the pain has calmed down quite a bit overall.  Do I dare to hope?

Wednesday April 7:  Doing alright.  Last night was the first that I was able to roll over in bed without the lightning bolt in my back – though, it still didn’t feel great.  Pain has concentrated to left side.  Wore the TENS unit to work but hardly used it.  Still taking meds on the regular.  Work didn’t kill me.  Def improving.

Thursday April 8:  Still can’t move very quickly, and still need to pay attention to how I move, but the pain is much better.  Took the TENS to work, but never put it on.  Still taking NSAIDs.  Progress!

Friday April 9:  See above.

Saturday April 10:  Woke up feeling OK.  Still taking meds preventatively.  Ran errands.  Spent a lot of time in the car, as well as getting in and out of the car.  Much walking and cleaning the house.  Feeling really rough this evening.

Sunday April 11:  Major backslide.  Woke up in wicked pain again, but it was different somehow.  Back to using the TENS religiously 30 on, 30 off.  Got the J&J COVID vaccine in spite of already having heard about the severe reactions.  Took a nap, then readied for dinner guests.  Enjoyed fabulous food with a fabulous family, then sat for quite some time chatting with my friend while the guys played board games.  At some point, I noticed pain radiating down the side of my leg.  Odd, but chalked it up to stiffness from sitting for so long.

Monday April 12:  Holy shit!!  What the f*** happened?!!  Major pain when rolling over in bed again.  Woke up in pain every bit as excruciating as it had been 3 weeks ago, but different.  Thought it was pain and stiffness from being sedentary and decided to walk the dog to see if it loosened up.  A quarter-mile into a 1-mile loop I was crying from the pain in my hip.  Terrible nerve pain radiated down the side of my thigh and made every step horribly painful.  Couldn’t take a full stride without agonizing pain.  Husband unnerved to see me in tears – doesn’t happen often.  Got to chiropractor’s office right after they opened.  God bless Dr Ryan.  Poor man was completely befuddled.  In short, not only was the left SI joint still subluxed, but so were the left hip joint and pubic symphysis – so NOTHING about the left side of my hip/pelvis was stable.  Cried out in pain and teared up more than once during the adjustment.  Absolutely NOT going to work today.

Tuesday April 13:  Newest development – knee buckling.  Are you f***ing kidding me?!!  Still have searing pain in the left hip, as well as intense nerve pain running down my IT band and lateral quad, and now my knee buckles if I move too quickly or downward, like down stairs or the slant in my driveway.  Saw a different Dr at the chiropractor’s office who was just as befuddled about what the hell is going on.  SI joint and hip still out, but pubic symphysis holding steady.  Def not getting back to work today.  Kept my hair appt, though, since all I had to do was sit for about an hour.  Easier said than done.  Informed my stylist that I had hurt myself and needed to move very slowly.  About screamed when she leaned the seat back to wash my hair, had to bring my knee up toward my chest and hold it there as long as I was reclined.  Leaving the salon, my knee buckled as I stepped off of the curb, I couldn’t recover, had visions of face planting on the asphalt, reached out to steady myself against a total stranger’s car.  Got home to find out that not only does my knee buckle when going DOWN the stairs, I now have loss of strength to lift myself UP the stairs with my left leg.  Can we cut the f***er off now?  PLEASE?

Wednesday April 14:  Radiating pain seems to have eased some, now the quad feels stiff and like it’s riddled with trigger points.  Still dealing with the knee buckling and pain/loss of strength when going up the stairs.  Discovered that I have loss of feeling in the front of my left leg from just above my knee to just above my ankle.  I am officially done.  Saw the third Dr in the chiropractor’s office, who has been treating me for 13 years and been informed of the latest enigma my body is pulling off, he is also stumped.  Seriously, can we just cut the f***er off now?!

Thursday April 15:  Should have been on my way to Gatlinburg with my mom today.  That’s not happening now.  Not feeling nerve pain down my leg today, but still dealing with numbness and knee buckling.  Regained some strength for lifting myself up the stairs on my left leg.  Still not perfect, still painful, but I will take the little victories wherever I can find them.  Still can’t take a full stride without intense, sharp pain in the hip.  Still get very stiff if inactive for too long.  Lateral quad still achy.  Decided to try foam rolling and found many very painful spots – may have invented a few new 4-letter words.  Husband keeps asking if he can get me anything, I tell him “a new hip and leg.”  Decided to see how long I could go without pain meds today and didn’t do half bad.  Really feeling it this evening, though, so took the PM stuff.  Here’s hoping.

Friday April 16:  Do I think it?  Do I dare allow the words to leave my person?  The last time I did all hell broke loose.  Am I actually recovering?  Feeling pretty good today, all things considered.  Still get a jolt when rolling over in bed, still numb in the front of the lower left leg, still stiff thru the lateral quad, knee is still buckling.  BUT, no intense nerve pain, stride length is getting longer before the catch in the hip, a little stronger today lifting myself up the stairs on the left leg.  Can do a forward fold and roll myself back up to standing with no pain in my back.  Still get super stiff when inactive and take a minute to get moving without pain, still need to be very mindful about how I move, but got thru the entire day without TENS or meds.  Do I hope?  Better shut up before the shit hits the fan again.

All I Did Was Get Out Of Bed: an episode in the life of a middle aged person with joint hypermobility syndrome - weeks 1 & 2

 Saturday March 20:  Woke up with an ache across my low back/hips, thought it may have been delayed onset muscle soreness from my strength workout 2 days before, or the ache I experience with my menstrual cycle, though the timing as slightly off.  As the day progressed, the pain increased significantly and radiated up my back along my spine – definitely NOT DOMS or menstrual pain.  Very confused about cause since I have no memory of hurting myself.

Sunday March 21:  Woke up with intense pain in low back, broke out my TENS unit – 30min on, 30min off from the time I got dressed until I got ready for bed.  Could not bend from my hips without pain; left more so than right.  Eventually figured out that I could do something like a one-legged squat on my right leg to reach items on the floor.  Reaching across my body in either direction hurts.  My posture hasn’t been this perfect since high school choir seeing as slouching is excruciating.  Messaged bosses to ask permission to come in late tomorrow so I could see the chiropractor – granted.  Tried to get some sleep but rolling over in bed sends a lightning bolt thru my back.

Monday March 22:  Chiropractor confirmed what I suspected – both SI joints subluxed, as well as L5 at the S1 junction.  TENS unit is still my best friend, as is ibuprofen.  Tried to work my scheduled double, bailed after 11 hours when the workload died down.  Had great fun trying to explain to people who are unfamiliar with my connective tissue disorder that I literally woke up this way and have no idea what caused the injury.

Tuesday March 23:  Definitely over did it yesterday, called off today.  Back was screaming.  No noticeable change in symptoms.  Continued to use TENS and NSAIDs religiously.  I can’t walk my dog, but my new hiking shoes came today (pout).

Wednesday March 24:  Chiropractor is still stumped, as am I.  Did a seated workout, even that with modifications.  Made it to work today with the TENS and meds.

Thursday March 25:  Managed a very low impact, low key workout and some yoga.  See comment about work from previous day.

Friday March 26:  Chiropractic visit, we are all still baffled.  In addition to the stifling pain in my back, this evening I discovered something creeping out of the opening of my vagina.  Cuz I don’t have enough going on to panic about, now I have something that is supposed to be internal trying to escape via an already existing orifice.  Need to let this new discovery settle in my brain before progressing.

Saturday March 27:  Decided to google vaginal mass and followed the rabbit hole to something that looked probable – pelvic organ prolapse, specifically uterine.  This would explain not only the weirdness happening in my lady parts, but possibly the back pain if the ligaments that anchor the uterus to the abdominal wall were pulling the vertebrae out of alignment.  Took a pic of what was trying to fall out, looked like a seahorse.  Looked up pic of uterine prolapse and wasn’t convinced that’s what it was but decided to schedule with my GYN to rule it out anyway.

Sunday March 28:  Maintained status quo throughout the day.  Rolled over in bed that night and suffered such a sharp, stabbing pain that I cried.  Managed to get out of bed and limp down the hall for more ibuprofen.  Husband saw me limping and crying and asked if I was OK.  I said no.  He asked if I needed to go to the ED.  I said hell no, I just needed meds and to go back to bed.

Monday March 29:  Scheduled to work another double, talked to bosses about the weekend’s findings.  Asked if I had permission to leave if I could get an appointment same day, was told that if I couldn’t I was to go to the ED.  I’d rather give myself the hysterectomy, but was threatened with being hog-tied, tossed into a wheel chair, and driven to the ED by one of the bosses.  Couldn’t get an appt Dr until Wednesday, told the boss I would walk to the ED.  Registered at noon, walked out of waiting room at 4pm without ever having been roomed.  Found out later that they had tried calling me once at around 440pm and again around 930pm FOR VITALS! – not even to room me.  I work for this hospital, sometimes in that ED, told them when I registered that my boss sent me there because of the pain I was experiencing, they noted on the trackboard that I was an employee, and they still would not have roomed me after 9 HOURS.  Explained to my husband that this is why I won’t go to the ED unless I am bleeding profusely or have a bone visibly sticking out of my body.  He quipped that if I had let him take me the night before maybe I would have been roomed by 4 that afternoon.  Informed bosses that I left the ED without being seen, and that I would not return until I had been checked out by my GYN on Wednesday.

Tuesday March 30:  SSDD (same shit, different day)

Wednesday March 31:  Finally saw the GYN, who concluded that I have an insignificant vaginal wall prolapse that is very common in women my age who have had multiple vaginal deliveries, and it requires no intervention.  It definitely is not contributing to the severe back pain.  Chalk it up to coincidental timing.  Pain level remains high even with several chiropractic visits and constant use of TENS and NSAIDs.  Must continue to be very cautious of how I move, and rolling over in bed still sends a jolt thru my back.  Still no solid answer as to how this whole shenanigans came about, but all are certain that the main underlying contributor is my damned connective tissue disorder.

 Thursday April 1:  SSDD.  Mother is not happy with me for deciding to go back to work tomorrow, thinks I need more time off to rest.  Reminded her that the last time I subluxed my SI joints it took 10 months for them to stabilize.  I don’t have that much PTO.

Friday April 2:  Back to work after almost a week off.  I have good days and bad days, and today was decent.  Pain was manageable with TENS and meds.  Got thru my shift no worse for wear.

TO BE CONTINUED...

The Choice

One day, while his family sat around the dinner table talking about life, a young boy asked his mother, "Why do people say being gay is a choice?"

Mom took a moment to consider how to answer the question.  Being a Christian woman, and the wife of an ordained pastor, she had her own struggles with reconciling the belief in a loving God who forgave all of her sins against Him with notion of a hateful God who would not offer that same forgiveness to all of His children.  After all, the book of Matthew says "every kind of sin and slander can be forgiven, but blasphemy against the Spirit will not be forgiven."  Every kind of sin.  Should that not extend to the "sin" of homosexuality?

Setting aside her own internal conflict with the matter, Mom also understood that this is an impressionable child, a young mind waiting to be shaped and molded by the influences around him.  How could she answer the question in such a way as to suggest a notion of understanding and acceptance toward all people who do not live life the way their family did?

Finally, Mom responded with a question of her own.  "Do you believe God makes everyone the way they are?"

"Yes," her son replied.

"Do you believe that God makes mistakes?"

The young boy responded with a strong, "No."

"So, you believe God made every person the way they are for a reason."

"Yes," he said again.

Mom looked lovingly at her young son, and said, "Maybe the choice is this:  They must chose, just as we do, whether to live the life other people tell them they should, or to life live true to who they believe they are."

Every one of us has this choice to make.  Will you live true to what the world says you should be?  Or will you live true to who you believe you were created to be?  I was created to be a beautifully broken and willfully disobedient, yet deeply loved and forgiven child of God, who has commanded me to love the rest of the beautifully broken and willfully disobedient family.

1 Corinthians 5:11

Believe it or not, I DO read my Bible.  In fact, I have read it in its entirety multiple times, which is a fact that tends to surprise people.  Perhaps I don't come across as a person who would actually study scripture.  I'm never sure how to respond to someone who is taken aback when they learn that I have read the Bible through even once, let alone close to a dozen times.  Sometimes I want to ask if they have ever read it entirely, if they just stick to the New Testament, or worse, if they only read what's displayed on the screens as part of the Sunday sermon.  I can't remember the last time I heard a sermon from Lamentations or Leviticus.  With all of the online options available these days, owning a physical Bible is no longer a requisite to reading it, so asking if they own one is impertinent.  Even if a person does own a Bible, that doesn't mean they read it, or even have any familiarity with it, or even know where it is in the house.

What about me that makes it so remarkable that I would have read the Bible all the way through, anyway?  I participated in 3 years of Mormon seminary when I was in high school, during which we studied the New Testament, the Book of Mormon, and the Doctrine and Covenants and the Pearl of Great Price.  I was no longer a practicing Mormon the year I would have studied the Old Testament, but I read it on my own.  Another fact that surprises people is that we used the King James Version - as teenagers.  And the most shocking fact of all - this was not the first time I had read the Bible through.  I completed my first cover-to-cover reading when I was in middle school.  It took 2 years to struggle through the KJV, but we were encouraged to independently study scripture by our church leaders.

Since rededicating my life to Christ as an adult, I have read the Bible through 8 or 9 times ~ I honestly can't remember how many for certain ~ in at least 5 different versions, even revisiting Old King James.  I have a personal goal to read it through every year, sometimes starting in Genesis and moving straight through to Revelations, sometimes following a predesigned chronological reading plan, sometimes jumping around between the Old and the New Testaments.  I couple of years I didn't quite make it all the way through, but I finished up in the first part of the next year and then started over again.

One of the benefits of reading the Bible multiple times, and in multiple translations, is that each time I read it I do so with different eyes.  I'm always a year older and, hopefully, a year wiser.  This allows me to catch details I may have missed in earlier readings, or interpret the same scripture I've read so many times before in a new light.  A case in point...

Some years ago, as I was reading the book of Numbers in bed one night, I started to giggle.  My husband asked what could possibly be funny in the Old Testament.  I had come to the story of Balaam and his donkey.  The third time the donkey saw the angle of the Lord, she laid down in the middle of the road and refused to move.  When Balaam got off of the donkey to beat her, scripture says the donkey spoke.  This did not strike me nearly as funny as the next passage, where it says, "And Balaam responded..."  I found this very nonchalant response to a suddenly talking donkey to be quite amusing.  I thought to myself that if I were disciplining my dog and he suddenly turned to me and said, "But MOOOOOOOOOOOM...", I would not have answered the dog, I would have checked myself into the loony bin believing that I was suddenly hallucinating.  How many times had I read that passage and never seen the story in that light?  This is why we must never cease our study of scripture ~ ALL of it.

Right now, I'm reading 1 Corinthians and I have come across a verse that troubles my heart.  5:11 reads:  "But now I am writing to you that you must not associate with anyone who claims to be a brother or sister but is sexually immoral or greedy, an idolater or slanderer, a drunkard or swindler. Do not even eat with such people."  But isn't that exactly what Christ did?  Aren't those the exact people Christ hung out with?  If the reason is because these people have already professed faith in Christ, would shunning them really encourage them to repent?  Wouldn't it be more effective to surround these folks with positive influence?  Does Paul think the entire community so fragile in their young faith that they would be easily corrupted by these tainted believers?  What context am I missing here?  And how many times have I read this verse before and never seen it in this light?

Unfortunately, the online commentaries I have read regarding this chapter shed no light on a deeper or historical context as to why such harsh instruction is necessary, only the reasons these verses justify judging and condemning those who behave in these ways.  I get the idea of keeping the community pure, and that it's much easier to throw out the damaged goods than it is to clean them up and repair them, but it seems contrary to so many of Christ's parables.  The one about the lost sheep, for example, where the shepherd rejoices at finding the one sheep that wondered off, or the one about the widow rejoicing after finding her lost coin.  Neither of these parables address the cleansing of the dirt the sheep or coin picked up in their wayward travels.  They once belonged to a master, strayed, and were met with joy at their return.  Sounds like the story of the prodigal son to me.  I fail to understand how ostracizing someone, essentially casting them out of the community, fosters any hope of a return to the ways of righteousness.

And so I am conflicted in my heart about this verse.  Maybe next year, when I am another year older and, hopefully, wiser, another nugget will be revealed to help me understand the deeper meaning.

A Lesson of Love and Sacrifice at Conkles Hollow

To celebrate our 20th anniversary and my recent graduation, my sweet handsome hunny planned a getaway to a nearby state park.  He pulled out all the stops and spared no expense for my enjoyment.  He rented a cabin with a hot tub, planned a fantastic day hike, even arranged for a couple’s massage at the cabin.  After a frustrating start to the week with a power outage at the cabin due to a string of storms that ravaged the area, flooding the driveway to the cabin and felling a tree across the most direct route to the main road, the week improved markedly.  Even on the rainiest day, we settled in to relax with a movie marathon.

Though, when the rain broke that day, I did suggest checking out a nearby state nature preserve.  Spending a lazy day lounging on the couch with the love of my life does wonders for the spirit, but the hips get stiff and creaky, and I knew I needed to move a little or I would regret it in the morning.  My husband was up for it, so we took a short drive to check out Conkles Hollow State Nature Preserve.  Looking at the map, we saw that there were 2 trails available at the preserve.  One was a short 1/2 mile out and back again "gorge trail".  The second was a 2.5 mile loop "rim trail".  Considering that I had spent the majority of the day sitting, proven by my fitbit woefully stating a mere 600+ steps for the day, I suggested the longer trail, thinking 2.5 miles really wasn't too long and should only take an hour even if we lollygagged.

"Rim trail" is an uncannily appropriate descriptiion.  This 2.5 mile trail skims the rim of tree-lined and rocky cliffs.  And for city slickers like us, the trail is technically challenging.  A fairly steep initial incline leads to an often narrow footpath that seems to be only inches from a 200ft drop and is further complicated by the rocks and tree roots jutting up and criss-crossing the path.  There are rocky outcroppings where one can stand and gaze out over miles of tree covered hills in Hocking County.  There are areas of shallow water run-off that cross the trail and lead to a small waterfall.  Even on this gray day, it was strikingly beautiful.  But the fact that it had rained quite a bit over the previous couple of days meant that all ground surfaces were wet and slick or outright muddy, making getting a decent foothold tricky at times.

Personally, I loved it.  I walked out on those first few outcroppings to have myself a look at the gorge below and the miles of tree-covered hills sprawled out in front of me.  I looked down the crags in the cliffs that cut into the trail.  I was enjoying the challenge of the rocky, root stricken terrain.  I felt nothing but exhilaration as I took what I calculated to be the surest footing, even if it was only a foot from the rim.  Then I noticed my sweet love lagging behind.

At first I thought my quicker pace was due to my better physical condition and agility than his current state.  Truth be told, we have both fallen off of the peak-health-pursuit wagon, but he fell longer ago and harder than I.  Though I have gained some serious weight while being in school, blaming hours of sitting on my duff studying and stress eating for the packing on of unwanted pounds, I have managed to continue with a regular workout routine.  I run, cycle, walk the local nature trails, and cross train.  Not only has the love of my life traded a physically active job for one behind a desk, he has not compensated for the change with regular physical activity elsewhere.  And let us not forget that the man is a chef by trade.  He doesn't know how to cook a bad meal, making it even more challenging at times to behave with the calorie count.

As we trekked along, I began to realize that the real reason for my sweet love's slower pace was anxiety.  He was long ago diagnosed with anxiety disorder and has been medicated for it at different times in his life, but is not currently. In 20 years of marriage, it never occurred to me that he would be so uncomfortable about being so close to a 200ft drop off without a barrier.  I slowed my pace to more closely match his, asking often if he needed to stop for a moment and if he was going to be ok to finish the hike.  He unconvincingly tried to assure me that he would be and we pressed on.  As we continued to hike, I mentioned that I would love to bring our teenager out here, that this might be a good short but challenging trail for us to hike together.  My husband said he definitely would not be joining us on that hike, that he wouldn't be able to see our son on this trail so close to the edge of a such a steep drop off.  That's when it hit me.  My love was not only struggling with the anxiety of being in what he perceived to be a situation flirting with death, but he was also struggling with the fear that arose while watching me flit along the edge of a cliff.  

Taking this sudden realization into account, I started actively seeking optional paths that were a safer distance from the edge of the rim.  Because of the natural layout of the terrain, the further footing was often slightly higher than the path closer to the rim, and frequently more studded with rocks and roots.  As I traversed the further footings, I chuckled at a thought that came creeping into my mind ~ the higher road is usually not the easier one, maybe because it is the road less traveled.

In more ways that one, both of us were taking the higher road on that hike.  My husband sacrificed his peace of mind, experiencing fear and anxiety on an intense level for a prolonged period, in order to complete that hike with me, knowing how much I wanted to do it.  I gave up the adrenaline boost of flitting along the edge of a cliff, fought the desire to venture out onto every outcropping, resisted the urge to look over the side of the cliff where the water was falling, and generally battled every ounce of my risk taking spirit because I knew to continue taking those risks would unhinge the love of my life.  By the time we reached the trail's end 90 minutes after we had begun, we had both apologized to each other multiple times ~ he for not being a better hiking partner, I for putting him through such mental anguish.  Granted, neither of us had been on this trail before, so how would either of us had known what it would be like?  Nonetheless, each felt badly that the other had a less than optimal experience.

Love and sacrifice.  My sweet husband loves me enough to battle his inner demons in order to finish that hike with me.  I love him enough to battle my own inner demons in order to attempt to ease his burden.  He sacrificed in his love for me, and I in my love for him.  It's things like this that people need to understand when they ask how we have been able to remain happily married for 20 years.

Confession of a Fair-Weather Christian

I don't know how much of a confession this really is, but I am a fair-weather Christian.  I profess a love for God and Christ, and I willingly give Him praise and glory when things work out in my life.  But give me one frustratingly sleepless night and praising God is the last thing I want to do.

Insomnia is a horrible state.  I would be willing to call it a mental disorder in my case since it is more often than not the continual racing of my brain that prevents sleep from coming.  Have you ever been so bone-weary that you don't even have the energy to fall asleep?  Been there.  How miserable it is to drag through the last few hours of your day, wishing for nothing but a nap every time you yawn, and then not being able to fall asleep when you finally turn off the light.

This is an all too common occurrence in my world.  I have been an insomniac my entire life.  I have very early memories of being awake all night playing with my toys in the dark so as not to wake my  brother, with whom I shared a room at the time.  By the way, that ploy seldom worked.  More often than not, the commotion woke him.  As a young teenager, I would spend my sleepless nights lost in books.  Despite dyslexia, I would devour a novel in a night or 2, since I had nothing better to do.  As an adult, I have gone through phases of how I handle insomnia.  As I age, the effects of a single sleepless night are much more devastating than they had been in my younger years, and multiple sleepless nights leave me pleading with people around me to keep an eye on me so that I don't do something stupid.

Extreme exhaustion can do strange things to people.  Much the same way that a panic attack or depressive episode can create a warped lens through the individual sees their world, extreme exhaustion can cause an altered mental state in which the individual may not be able to use rational or logical thinking at the highest degree, or in my case, at all.

Which brings me to last night's insomniac attack.

Ordinarily, despite the fact that I run my tail off most days, I utilize pharmaceutical assistance in order to sleep.  Some nights I forget.  Last night, I forgot.  But last night I also drank the better part of a bottle of wine, so one would have thought that the alcohol would have done the job.  That would be a negatory.  After tossing and turning for 2 hours, utilizing every mental trick in my proverbial bag, I decided to get out of bed and spend my wakefulness being productive ~ I did homework.  Woo hoo.  After 2 more hours, I decided to try to sleep again.

By this point, even if I had fallen asleep the instant my head hit the pillow, I would have gotten less than 2 hours.  Alas, it was not meant to be.  Lying there dodging invasive thoughts and praying for rest, my prayers eventually turned into gripes, then into full blown curses.  The book of Lamentations has nothing on the thoroughly pissed off, ridiculously exhausted complaining that I was doling out. Four-letter words were the order of the wee hours of that morning, and I think I may have even invented a few new ones.  I let God know that I "fucking hated Him for torturing me".  Ironically, earlier that day I'd had a praise song stuck in my head, and the fact that it is a bit of an ear worm was part of the reason I had trouble falling asleep.  As it continually tried to creep back into my thoughts, I became more and more angry, reminding God that I had no intention of praising Him at the moment, that I wanted Him and the rest of His trio out of my head.  Like an entitled teenager throwing a hissy fit, I demanded that everyone get out of my room and leave me the hell alone!  Any guesses on how well that went over?

At some point, I managed to drift off into a fitful, restless nap, waking much too soon in order to assume my duties as mother to a teenager who refuses to get himself out of bed in the morning.  Per usual in the wake of an insomniac attack, I have managed to drag myself through the day.  I even read my scripture and devotional, in spite the overflow of aggravation with God's lack of mercy on my drained soul the night before.  What really sucks is I still won't sleep tonight without pharmaceutical intervention, regardless of exhausted I am.  A racing mind is a terrible thing, and a frustrated, wearied Christian mind is definitely the devil's playground.