The one who trusts {Psalm 84.12 memory verse}...

This disease isn't going to get better, my pulmonologist explained at the end of my annual visit with him earlier this week, but I don't need to see you again for a year...unless you begin to deteriorate.

Really? I thought. He'd been so encouraging earlier - telling me that the c-t scan and pulmonary function tests I'd had the week before showed no progression of the autoimmune lung disease. In fact, it hasn't appeared to have worsened in the three years since my diagnosis. This makes me very happy, he said. Did he really have to end the visit with talk of deterioration?

Throughout the hour drive back home in the cold drizzling rain, I fought to keep that joy-stealing word from taking root. It's a battle I wage still as I cling to the truth that it's the LORD who orders my steps and has numbered my days.

As January comes to a close, so does Psalm 84, with the exhortation that the blessings in this life come from trusting in the One who created and ordained my days before there was even one. 

For you formed my inward parts;
you knitted me together in my mother's womb.
I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.
Wonderful are your works;
my soul knows it very well.
My frame was not hidden from you,
when I was being made in secret,
intricately woven in the depths of the earth.
Your eyes saw my unformed substance;
in your book were written, every one of them,
the days that were formed for me,
when as yet there was none of them.
Psalm 139:12-16, ESV

Have you been memorizing Psalm 84 with me this month? If you have, I'd love to know it. I have a gift for you.

Compassionate Jesus - Rethinking the Christian's Approach to Modern Medicine::a review

Two hours south of this rural community we call home, one of our town’s own, a 12 year old boy named Zachary, makes local, national and international news as he remains in a coma in the intensive care unit of a Miami hospital – the victim of a rare and usually fatal brain infection called primary amoebic meningoencephalitis. Joined by compassionate people worldwide, our small community has come together to raise support for Zachary’s family, and more importantly, to unite with them in prayer – believing God for a miracle for Zachary*. 

Rapid and ongoing advancements in the field of medicine have certainly increased the chances of survival for patients like Zachary, but as author Christopher Bogosh states in his book, Compassionate Jesus – Rethinking the Christian’s Approach to Modern Medicine, as a result of these advancements, “… modern medicine has developed its own distinctive character and philosophical approach to illness, disease, and death.”(p. 8). Bogosh argues that it's an approach that conflicts with a Christian worldview. 

Bogosh suggests that…”With all things in the world, Christians need to ‘walk circumspectly’ (Eph. 5:15) and not be led astray through ‘philosophy and empty deceit, according to the tradition of men, according to the basic principles of the world, and not according to Christ” (Col. 2:8). This is no less true when Christians engage the world of modern medicine.” (p. 7) 

Bogosh offers his unique experience and insights to the discussion of health care in both the medical field – from his training as a medic in the Army to a career in intensive care nursing, as well as a degree in theology and a call to the pastorate that led to a ministry in hospice and palliative care. It’s this experience that inspired the biblical model for health care that he encourages Christians to consider. 

 “Jesus has a lot to say about the way we understand and use medical science, and from His teaching we are able to develop a compassionate health-care model rooted in His redemptive work that is relevant today – a model based on assumptions radically different from those of modern medicine.” Compassionate Jesus p. 8-9 

In the light of Philippians 1:21, “For to me, to live is Christ, and to die is gain,” Bogosh challenges Christians to consider two important questions: (1) Are we living for Christ in the midst of a medical crisis? (2) Do we see our death as great gain as we look in hope to Christ? He concludes that how we answer those questions will determine how we use modern medical science, how we will cope with our own medical crisis, and how we will provide compassionate care for others. 

As a former RN with thirteen years of experience in a variety of medical settings – from hospital intensive care to outpatient hemodialysis centers, a fulltime caregiver of my elderly bedridden mother in our home prior to her death, and a long-time consumer of modern medicine as a patient with chronic auto-immune diseases, I was both inspired and encouraged by Compassionate Jesus, and I highly recommend it for its ease in reading (even for those without a medical background), biblical foundation with multiple scriptural references, and valuable information on the history of health care and the philosophy of modern medicine and medical science. 

Compassionate Jesus is 160 pages, including an introduction, five chapters, a conclusion and suggestions for further reading. Chapter titles include: God’s Plan and Compassionate Health Care, The Science of Hope, Medical Science: Biblically Informed, God’s Medicine: Prayer in the Spirit, and Hospice Butterflies. 

I was provided with a free digital copy of Compassionate Jesus by Cross-Focused Reviews in exchange for my honest opinion.

*Please remember Zachary and his family in your prayers.

A heaven-hearted hope...

It's my favorite word in medicine, JR tells me after I describe the ongoing pain in my gut that landed me in the hospital two months ago and the grumblings the pain appears to produce. Borborygmus, he continues. It's onomatopoetic, don't you think - the medical term for intestinal grumblings? Borborygmus. He repeats, drawing out the bor bory, slow and deep.

JR is a PA in my gastroenterologist's office, and his little English lesson in the middle of my visit is amusing and makes me laugh, but it's not at all funny to hear that there are no easy solutions to the adhesions that they are sure are the source of my pain. Unless they cause a blockage, surgery to remove or cut them simply results in more adhesions.

The rheumatologist calls before my appointment last week. My hemoglobin levels keep dropping and he wants me to get more blood work before I see him. I'm not surprised. I can't remember being so fatigued as I've been the past few months. My iron levels are good. B-12, too. It's the anemia of chronic illness, he tells me. Iron supplements, a change in diet, or B-12 shots won't help, so he refers me to a hematologist for procrit injections. I worked for a hematologist once, so I know how this goes, and I resolve to refuse a bone marrow aspiration, should he suggest it.

I read that treating the chronic illness more aggressively is the best treatment for this kind of anemia, but my options are few. The rheumatologist offers the only biologic he believes won't make my lungs worse, but it comes with the rare risk of a fatal, untreatable brain infection. The risks are low, he tells me, but that doesn't mean anything if you are one of the ones that get it. 

I'm between a rock and a hard place, I tell friends, and that I think I'll stay on the Rock for now. I mean it. I'm not afraid of medicine. I'm an RN, a nurse practitioner even - once upon a time. For years I've willingly followed the suggestions of those in the medical profession I respect. But this? I pray and pray, but I don't have a peace about this medicine's risk, rare that it is, and I don't dare move forward unless or until I do.

The endocrinologist's office calls to remind me that I'm due for a sonogram to check on those nodules in my thyroid. The cyst on my cheek is getting larger and I wonder if I should have the surgeon who removed the cyst on my neck last summer take a look at this one before it gets any larger. And while I'm at it, I need to see the podiatrist about the corn on the bottom of my left foot that's causing me more and more pain. And I laugh again, thinking of JR's onomatopoeia and my mother's growing older ain't for sissies and the merry heart that's good medicine.

But what also comes to my mind is this...

Affliction is what fuels the furnace of this heaven-hearted hope. People whose lives are unscathed by affliction have a less energetic hope. Oh, they are glad to know they are going to heaven. But suffering makes the Christian experience more than signing the dotted line on an eternal health-care contract. Suffering turns our heart toward the future, like a mother turning the face of her child, insisting “Look this way!” Once heaven has our attention, a fervent anticipation for God’s ultimate reality – appearing with Him in glory – begins to glow, making everything earthly pale in comparison. Earth’s pain keeps crushing our hopes, reminding us this world can never satisfy; only heaven can. And every time we begin to nestle too comfortably on this planet, God cracks open the locks of the dam to allow an ice-cold splash of suffering to wake us from our spiritual slumber. 

Suffering keeps swelling our feet so that earth’s shoes won’t fit.  

~ Joni Eareckson Tada

I believe it. I truly do. And I'm OK with it, too. If I had a choice, I wouldn't choose these momentary afflictions that are swelling my feet anymore than Joni would choose paralysis and breast cancer, but to have that heaven-hearted hope and a fervent anticipation for God's ultimate reality makes it all OK.

{Photos: This week on Pollywog Creek - muscovy duck on the pond, a pair of grey squirrels in the sweetgum tree, and a fox squirrel out on a limb}

What if I can't...

"Have you had a stroke?" She had no way of knowing. We'd been out of touch for decades, but her question took me by surprise. Do I really look that bad? I wondered.

In public I'm simply embarrassed.  

I shuffle and hobble, stiff-legged and off balance. In a restaurant, I dread getting up from the table. I'm certain everyone is watching. I'm not that old. I bet they think I'm drunk. 

I survey the shortest path to where we sit in church but it takes me through a door where I imagine that all eyes are on me.  I try to walk faster, but it only accentuates my broken gait. 

At Gavin's party, the other grandmothers wear skates and play with the baby, and the little ones laugh. I sit at the table. I'm grateful it's not far from the restrooms, but the distance between where I sit and where almost everyone else is laughing and playing looks as challenging to me as a marathon. 

I can't skate. I can't play. But I can take pictures. I grab my camera and make my way across the room that gets larger in my eyes with each step. 

~ ~ ~

At brunch with a friend, she tells me that Pollywog Creek is a gift - the photos and family stories. She is sure it is a blessing to many.  And I want to cry. 

"What if I can't take pictures?" I ask. I can barely walk around the backyard, much less venture out to the creek or pasture. It's a monumental task to sit on the ground.

"What if I can't do the one thing I do that people love?"  I bite my lip, but I know my chin is quivering. Crying in a restaurant would only add to my embarrassment. 

My friend is compassionate. I see her tears. But she is also wise - and she reminds me of this: it is God that empowers me to do whatever He wants me to do. 

For am I now seeking the approval of man, or of God?
Or am I trying to please man?
If I were still trying to please man, I would not be a servant of Christ.
(Galatians 1:10 ESV)


{Photo}the goldfinches are coming back to Pollywog Creek - can the painting buntings be here soon?

The fair flowers of grace...

"I must try and cultivate an eye for life's mercies... And life, while it has its ugly swamps, its vile weeds, and its sharp thorns,has always its fair flowers to charm the eye with their beauty, or to fill the air with their fragrance..." ~ Rev. John Flowers Serjeant, 1878

It's my Pollywog Creek motto - to cultivate an eye for life's mercies, but sometimes that Pollyanna attitude of gratitude can be hard to hold onto when ugly swamps, vile weeds, and sharp thorns prevail.

Ann calls it the hard thanks - the hard eucharisteo - counting the gifts in the muddy bog of affliction. Paul called it a boasting in weakness for the sake of Christ. Ann knows and Paul knew - it's grace. 

Gratitude and contentment "with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities" is not a resignation in defeat or a lack of faith, but an acknowledgement that the fair flowers of grace are sufficient amid the thorns.

And when the sharp thorns of chronic illness dig deep, I press on with joy, comforted in the knowledge that He promises for the sake of Christ, that when I am weak that He is strong.

This is my comfort in my affliction,
that your promise gives me life.
~ Psalm 119:50



{Photos} a tiny monk orchid - growing wild under an oak tree on Pollywog Creek

It ain't for sissies...

One of mother's favorite adages was a quote from Bette Davis: Growing older ain't for sissies. Not exactly biblical wisdom, but truth none-the-less.

I could easily substitute any number of life situations for "growing older" and the "ain't for sissies" would remain constant - chronic illness, childbirth, mothering boys, etc.

Mother's quote comes to mind as I change the dressing and repack the wound on this open incision on my neck twice a day. It ain't for sissies, but that's exactly who I am. I dread each step of the process, and my hands shake as I cut the packing strip. 

My choices are simple. I can either be a sissy and avoid the pain that comes with that one small thing, or I can be mature and courageous and work with my doctors to promote healing.  

I choose healing, but I can't pull the courage I need to overcome fear and push through the "sissies" out of thin air.

It may be taken out of context, but God's word and character never change, and when I search for courage in scripture, He gives me this from 2 Chronicles 15:

"...The LORD is with you while you are with him....take courage! Do not let your hands be weak, for your work shall be rewarded.”

What about you? I'd love to know how God has given you a perfect word to encourage and strengthen you through a particular trial.