Smaller Moments Mean More

When the mist on the pond lifts up to the air

The morning hath come and I give witness to life once again.

For I am up through the night, my old haunts hath returned

A way of coping, of living:  just what I gotta do for right now.

So I edit a magazine, make charts of treatments, plan for when I will be well,

Most folks would not notice the shifts ever so small

The wretched episodes continue albeit with shaking, less overall.

I had to gain courage to take more meds/more remedies than ever before

Go rogue to kill the monsters within with faith and every tool from this road.

“Parasites in the brain” sounds pretty scary might you agree?

Yet that is exactly where I have arrived so be that as it may

Find me spacey perchance to dream when restorative sleep comes that way.

The smaller treats of life mean more to me now in my softened state

I get to see them in slow motion and savior their texture, their smell even when awful like glue.

What is before me fills every moment in much more detail

Healing comes small before big so intentionally I walk through most of the day.

Don’t get me wrong, the chores fill more hours than they used to years ago

That ‘s just one part of the plan so is rest and in times of rest I believe answers we have found.

Wyoming, clouds, blog, metaphor, analogy, Chistian, faith, majesty, creation, God, sky, big

One does feel ever so small next to God’s majesty revealed in the big sky over Wyoming . . .

Being married to me

Must be tough being married to me

A kiss can turn into a nightmare, intimacy much worse

When the beast of illness rears its ugly head

And convulsive episodes ensue and last and last . . .

You never really know when

Some sweetness will turn to black

Your affections will turn to caretaking

Yielding another failed remedy instead of a back rub . . .

No partner by your side

Others asking about the phantom wife

Does she really exist out there somewhere

Or is it just on paper and within her cage of the home?

She cooks alright and keeps the house afloat

But complains every time you call

Of this dire affliction or that when he’s at work

Helpless, other-directed, and burdened under the strain . . .

Months turned into years

As life tried to move on so we

Try to celebrate this or that, have a nice meal

Only to have her collapse at the kitchen table again . . .

He has gotten stronger

From carrying her burdened frame

To the toilet, the bed, the couch, off the floor

Rolling her over in bed, lifting her up to drink . . .

He has had to adjust to this abnormalcy of life

Never mentioning it unless another asks

For the pain of the story isn’t worth the awkward moment

A thousand times told, untold a bit later . . .

Tis the Lord’s will

The believer in Christ must contend

Yet are we not commanded to fight

For good, for answers, for more faith when tears flow?

Altogether lovely

He remains strong

Goes to work and play

To cope with the madness . . .

She waits at home

What choice does she have?

Her calling different from his

Or is it when bound by love?

There is no right way

To navigate a life gone off the rails

Except to breathe daily in prayer

When being married to me.  JJ

Where to go from here?

More testing, more phone calls

Why did I ask for preliminary results?

Wouldn’t you knowing my next appointment was so far away?

Two hours of seizing.  Every day now.  Of course I asked!

Sigh.

Full report due next week.

The findings of acute toxoplasmosis will be clarified.

Will PCR or the summary mean more antibiotics

To challenge my innards, still reeling from IVs last year?

I cried when I should have been glad

To know there was something there after all —

The test will cost over a grand

And we have no idea what insurance will do.

So for now I wait.

The specialty lab is delivering on time

Hoping the Lab Director talks to my Doc

And none too soon . . .

Hold me Jesus.

Taking Turns

He needs me not but benefits just the same

And I am there to fill his tummy, help out at river races.

Then the nights return with my special kind of hell

And he brings me this or that to get the ravages of illness to stop.

Both are love in their simplest forms:

Meant to serve, to go beyond what is comfortable to desires of the heart.

Oh that my end could be gentler, the wretchedness, the pain

Making the care less traumatic between seemingly timed screams for hours on end.

But that is not our story at least for this season of life

(We define our bond in sickness and in health)

In moments at edges of the extreme . . . for over five years now.

We are weary from the journey with bodies broken with fatigue

Where only the Holy Spirit can infuse us with grace to carry us through the nights and days.

So when those pundits talk formulas of 50-50 or equations of sort

Plunge them into our caldron and see how the overflow of energies exceeds the common core.

Marriage is simply the art of taking turns without keeping score

The Heavenly Father sees the man, the woman and makes you what you are:

Instruments of His hands, ministers of His peace

Care that makes love come alive, pictures of His glory.

One day we will know why

 

 

kayak, canoe, racing, paddling, awards, ceremony, St. Joe River, Fort Wayne, competition, C2, Stellar, Steve Horney

Steve on the right, congratulating C2 Aluminum Canoe paddlers George and Tilman during awards the Three Rivers Fest 7.15.17

this all came about

In the meantime I will take my turn when it comes

And serve my beloved for a purpose beyond . . .

JJ

Into the clearing

When a calming washes over me with which I am unfamiliar

I wonder if it could be here to stay?  Oh my merciful Lord, please!

The headache barely whimpers anymore and her pain cousin screams less

Making me wonder if something real is happening:  “is it live or Memorex?”

Napping fills my afternoons, pill counting still dominates my days, overnights

With fewer medical appointments I can listen to my own body better

And experiment with all that I have learned, all my Great Physician has taught.

Some little sewing projects have kept me going through this stage of recovery

I’ll share it with you if I ever get them done with scraps of stuff from here and there,

Just like life isn’t it when putting pieces together then ripping out the crooked ones?

Maybe someday it will look pretty or be useful somehow . . . until then my Maker “sows.”

What will I reap when the seizures finally stop?  Will life become filled with color and smiles?

Alas until then, Gentle One, watch this space with me for I am hopeful again, not as bad,

Yes at last, I am hopeful again.  JJ