A Little-Known Burden (That's Rather Large)

As I read about Timothy and Epaphroditus yesterday morning, there was a verse that stood out to me, but it was quite different from most verses that speak to me. Usually, the verses I'm drawn to are verses that challenge me. But this one caught my attention for a different reason.

"For he longs for all of you and is distressed because you heard he was ill."

Philippians 2:26. I'm guessing you've never heard a message on that verse, have you? Exactly, neither have I. It's not at all surprising that it jumped out at me, though. Because how normalizing to read that Epaphroditus was distressed because the Philippians heard he was ill.
I know that distress.
I know it well.

This is a really atypical text observation, God. And it makes sense that it would catch my attention, though I’m not really sure how to practically apply it to my life. Maybe You simply want me to receive Your permission to accept that reality?

The night before I came to that verse, my husband made a minor shift in his schedule to accommodate having dinner with me while our son was at a basketball game. Something he knew I wanted because I'd mentioned it earlier. A normal response to a kind gesture like that would have been a warm and fuzzy one, not the adverse reaction I threw back at him. When he told me about the shift he was making, he said that I always accommodate him and his schedule, and he wanted to accommodate mine this time. Super loving, right? Well, I sorta lashed back by reminding him that he’s been accommodating me and my sickness for 10 years.

That really bothers me. It weighs on me.
Frankly, I hate it, Lord.

(Besides, it's so much more comfortable to be the giver than the receiver. Receiving can be such a vulnerable experience.)

You see, when we think of our friends who are trudging through chronic illness, it's right on point to follow what the Bible says about bearing one another's burdens. In addition, you need to know about a burden your sick friend is bearing. It's the burden of your concern for her. She's bearing your burden for her -- in addition to all the burdens of her illness.

"For he longs for all of you and is distressed because you heard he was ill."

Epaphroditus was the sick one, and HE was distressed -- because of his community's concern, because of their distress. The emotional burden that a sick person bears on behalf of others, in light of others’ concern for them, is real.
And it's heavy.

Might I offer a little sidebar suggestion? The next time you visit or talk to your sick friend, please be aware that she knows you're concerned about her. And she knows you have some of the same questions she does about her circumstances. There's nothing you can do to alleviate that burden, but you can avoid adding to it. Here's how: Don't compound your friend's burden by sharing how concerned you are about her.

This concept is covered exceptionally well in this article about the Ring Theory: How to Not Say the Wrong Thing. It’s an article on grieving, not chronic illness, but suffering with chronic illness always comes with a grief journey, so the principles certainly apply.

Here's what that article doesn't mention, though. There's a certain amount of "dumping in" that happens with absolutely no interaction. Why? Because I know my family and close friends care about me. When I'm not doing well, I don't have to hear about my parents' concern to know they're concerned. And I don't have to hear my husband say how difficult it is to be at the mercy of both me and his business when I'm bedridden. I can see the weight of it all when he's single-handedly juggling care giving with work while functioning somewhat as a single parent during those times.

So to borrow the phraseology from that article, “Comfort in. Dump out.” There's enough implicit burden in the situation. No need to compound it. 

"For he longs for all of you and is distressed because you heard he was ill."

So what do I do with this verse, Lord? . . . 
You beckon me to come to You, all who are weary and heavy laden. You beckon me to bring You the burden I bear on my husband's behalf. I’m not sure I always even know how to hand a burden over to You, God. It seems so abstract. 
Yet here I am, desiring to take it off my shoulders and place it on Yours.
Amen.

After a bit more internal kicking and screaming from my pain, my husband and I had dinner together, by the way. All was not lost.

“Let the past rest, but let it rest in the sweet embrace of Christ.”
~ Oswald Chambers (My Utmost for His Highest, 12/31)

My Love Gift

"Whenever you get a blessing from God, give it back to Him as a love-gift."

That exhortation that I read the other day challenged me so much that I decided to incorporate it into my morning time with God. And when I came to it this morning, God immediately nudged me yet again. The blessing that came to mind was my husband.
Um, but how do I do that, God? How, exactly, do I surrender my husband to You? 

"If you hoard it for yourself, it will turn into spiritual dry rot, as the manna did when it was hoarded." 

Ah, I see now. Quite clearly. In offering my husband to You, You protect me from a spirit of entitlement. Whew, I've definitely created my share of dry rot there, at times.

"Take time to meditate before God and offer the blessing back to Him in a deliberate act of worship." 

I thought about Abraham as he laid his only son on the altar. And also what I read about his sacrifice just yesterday, and God's call to be a living sacrifice: "God never tells us to give up things just for the sake of giving them up, but He tells us to give them up for the sake of the only thing worth having, namely, life with Himself."
He wants my marriage to be a living sacrifice.

Another note I'd jotted down for my morning routine, right along with the love-gift, were Jesus' words, "Bring Me what you have."

My eyes welled up, and stayed fixed on those words for quite a bit. You would think I would have given myself a personal punch in my own gut to offer my husband to the Lord at any point last year given that in 2019, I grieved with a close family member who lost her husband. And with a friend who also lost her husband. And with another friend who also lost her husband. Three women whose worlds were turned entirely upside down at the loss of their beloveds. But I've been bearing their burdens so heavily that apparently my soul hasn't totally come up for air to consider what God may be calling me to consider about my own beloved in the midst of all that.

Bring Me what you have, He says.

I still have my husband. . .

(hence the tears)

Oh Lord . . .
Forgive me for taking my husband's mere presence for granted. Each day that I get to be in his presence is a gift. For at any given moment, he could be gone from this world. Please replace my default posture of taking him for granted with a spirit of cherishing, gratitude, and joy.

He is Your servant. Do with him according to Your will.

"God will never allow you to keep a spiritual blessing completely for yourself. It must be given back to Him so that He can make it a blessing to others." 

And may our marriage be a living sacrifice so that you may make it a blessing to others. Amen.

(All quotes aside from Jesus' are from Oswald Chambers' My Utmost for His Highest January 6th entry, except the living-sacrifice quote, which is from the January 8th entry.)

Trust Falls

Yep, that's 17-year-old me.

During the summer before my senior year of high school, I had the opportunity to go rappelling. And I loved it. Except for that moment when I was standing right on the edge of a cliff with my back entirely to its steep height. At that point, you're supposed to bend your legs at a certain angle and lean way back while holding onto the rope (before moving your feet down any). I'm pretty sure I didn't do either technique right because, well, because I was just a tad freaked out by it all. 

During my senior year of college, I had the opportunity to be a Resident Assistant (RA) in Willets Hall. As a kick off to the year, all the RAs went on a team-building outing where we did all types of cooperative activities, including a trust fall. Not terribly different from my high school rappelling, the trust fall required me to stand on the edge of a raised podium with my back to all the crossed arms that were going to catch me. With this activity, you're supposed to keep your legs totally straight. I didn't. My legs buckled as I fell back with much trepidation. (Mind you, this was nowhere near the height I was at when repelling!) 

Fast forward several years to my career in IBM's Worldwide Marketing Department. I had about 6-7 different marketing jobs during my time with IBM, and my favorite by far was when I was our division's corporate event planner. And unlike my high school rappelling and college trust fall, I was good at it. 

Because I was largely in control. 

Certainly not entirely, but there was a lot that rested in my hands, and less in each plan that relied on others. 

I liked it that way. Very much. 

Any control freak would. :)

Fast forward one more time to the start of 2020 when I dusted off My Utmost for His Highest, one of my favorite devotionals. If you're not familiar with it, I highly recommend it. And the other day, the morning's reading was titled, Worship, which Chambers defined as giving God the best that He has given you. He said, "whenever you get a blessing from God, give it back to Him as a love-gift." I felt a nudge, kept on reading, but had to come back to it. And when I did, the blessing that immediately came to mind was my functionality, my current ability to function. (For those of you without chronic illness, I imagine that sounds pretty odd, huh?) Yet the thought of giving that back to God frankly left me afraid and unwilling. So I brought all that honesty to Him, telling Him what He already knew about the chasm between where my heart was on the matter and where I knew I needed to be. 

The last time I can clearly recall purposefully contemplating a general life offering was ten years ago when our son was about to start Kindergarten. I'd been consistently seeking the Lord in prayer, asking Him how He wanted me to spend all the time I thought I was about to have with our son in school. Never would I have never expected that His answer would include having me on our living room couch for months on end, largely incapacitated, followed by a decade of navigating life with chronic illness. Yet that's precisely what happened. Exactly one week after my 21st rebirthday with the Lord, I was ushered into the beginning of my spiritual adulthood journey through a health crisis that continues to leave its mark on my life. 

Since that September day etched deeply in my soul, I've had several set backs that usually last an entire year. Like just in 2018 when I was once again bed bound for a while, back in a wheelchair at points, and unable to drive until around Thanksgiving. So 2019 pretty much didn't have any direction to go but up, and I'm thankful that it did. It was a pretty solid year for my health with some noticeable little victories. And so to contemplate this idea of giving back to God as a love-gift my cherished blessing, my current ability to function, given what His answer involved last time I sought Him like that, and during a time when I feel like I'm finally getting back on my feet -- once again. It's not just enough to make a girl pause before offering such all-out surrender. It's downright terrifying. 

Chambers went on to say, however, that "If you hoard it for yourself, it will turn into spiritual dry rot, as the manna did when it was hoarded." Um, ouch.

I continued to wrestle with the Lord, and He brought to mind the principle where He calls us to "bring Me what you have" when He feeds the 5,000. (I almost didn't catch that both that principle and Chambers' manna reference involved food provision.) It's a powerful account of the big God can do when we give Him our little. That principle wasn't entirely resonating with me in this situation, though, given that the fish and loves is a context of seeming inadequacy. Whereas my current context that I'm afraid to bring Him is a bit the opposite. I'm afraid to give Him what feels like abundance. 

In my context of chronic illness, being able to accomplish simple things like driving or even taking a shower, those "accomplishments" that most take for granted, very much qualify as abundance for me. 

But maybe He wants me to bring Him my little abundance so I can see what greater things He can do, right? That may very well be. Yet I'm also keenly aware that He doesn't always work the way we think He will work, and oftentimes uses suffering as a crucible for (His definition of) abundance, which is all about His glory, not my comfort. And that reality admittedly leaves my heart wanting to take a step back rather than lean into the great unknown as I stand at the edge of this soul cliff not facing my future with clarity, but with my back to it.

God lovingly took my mind to Luke 1:38, a verse that really struck me at the start of the Christmas season. In essence, Mary says, "I am Your servant. Do with me according to Your will."

Ever forget you're God's servant? That your life is not your own? I know I sure do. Pretty much daily.

I let those words play on repeat in my heart and mind for a while to help them sink in: I am Your servant. Do with me according to Your will. I am Your servant. Do with me according to Your will. . . 

It can take a while for my heart to catch up to my head, for my will to bend its knee in surrender. And even as my soul began to take on a posture of willing surrender, I was keenly aware that I am so prone to wander, Lord, I feel it. I know the propensity of my heart to "give and take" in this life call to surrender. I struggle to trust because I'm afraid to lose my "life," my ability to function well enough to live somewhat normally.

"He who loses his life for My sake will find it." ~ Jesus

Okay, God. I don't want to love even my fundamental ability to function more than I love Christ, Lord. So here I am, giving my current level of functioning back to You as a love-gift. My legs sure aren't in perfect form as I lean back, slowly, in the trust fall. 

Yet I am Your servant. Do with me according to Your will.