It all started with a pain in my right hand and arm. A sharp, stinging pain, to be exact. Then my hand and arm started going numb. Not good--especially since I use my arm all the time to write, either by hand or on the computer.
I made an appointment with my chiropracter, who had just given me an adjustment. And I saw my general physician, too. They both agreed it wasn't a pinched nerve and probably wasn't carpal tunnel, because of the way the pain was radiating. It could be an irrirated nerve, my doc said, and gave me anti-inflammatories. She said to call back in a few days if it wasn't better and she would do an X-ray. (I'm in those few days right now, and it's better, though not totally.)
No big deal, right? Except I started really freaking out. As in my mind going crazy places (is this the beginning stages of something awful? Is it my autoimmune disease going awry?) and fear overtaking me, until I could only cry.
I prayed, and tried to rest in God's goodness and sovereignty. I meditated on scripture, too, but I still had no peace, and couldn't figure out what was going on.
And then I remembered.
I was my oldest son's age when my mom began having weird symptoms like tingling arms and hands, bad headaches, etc. For years, she was in and out of doctors' offices, and she was often in bed. She had every kind of test, and most of the doctors concluded she probably (but not certainly) had MS.
It was a devastating time, but we didn't talk about it much at all. We just lived, and tried to pretend everything was normal. As a teen, I did much of the cleaning, cooking, and shopping when Mom was ill. I never knew if she would be fine or in a wheelchair. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason to her symptoms.
And though I was scared that she was going to get worse and worse and eventually die, I didn't share that with anyone. I kept everything inside and got good grades, pleased my parents and teachers, and prayed. I was a good girl, because I felt I had to be perfect, almost as if by doing so I could "hold everything together."
Years later when I was in college, Mom was diagnosed with conversion disorder, a rare disease which was common in Victorian times. Mom never learned to talk about or process her feelings, and so her body shut down, little by little. Once she had a diagnosis, everything changed. She went to an inpatient Christian counseling center for a week, and she learned how to express her emotions. At different times, the rest of my family through counseling, too. We're all very different people now.
And yet. Just when I think I'm "past" my past, something crops up and my emotions and fears overtake me. I moaned to my husband the other night, "Why can't healing be once and for all? I think I'm over this stuff, but it keeps coming up. It's like a circle that never ends!"
He held me and let me cry about how scared I was as a child, and how hard it was to never know if your mom was going to be okay or not. He listened as I admitted that I still struggle with letting go (in many areas) because I feel like I have to hold everything together. He let me vent my fears that our kids would have the same kind of struggles, because I don't know what the future holds (though I do try to take care of myself and be proactive about my health). And he encouraged me to keep turning to our Heavenly Father with my sadness and grief.
I have a good guy, y'all! :)
So that's what I've been doing...talking to God about the grief I still feel sometimes about a lost, lonely, sad childhood. I'm asking Him to teach me to let go, so that I can live by faith and not fear. I'm also talking to my kids and letting them know what's happening. I want them to be able to ask me anything and discuss their fears and concerns with us, no matter how hard that might be.
And today, God whispered to me that healing isn't a circle at all. It's a spiral. If I keep my eyes on God (because He's big enough to handle my pain), each time I grieve, even if it's over the same things, I get a little closer to His heart. He whispers His truth to me, replacing the lies I've held onto. He counsels, comforts, and loves me. He never tires of listening, and he places all my tears in a bottle. Someday, His word promises, they'll be jewels in my heavenly crown.
Just now, He spoke to my heart that though my past may affect my present, it doesn't determine my future.
I'm counting on that.
